#and as i said his hands in my hair on the back... he said they're soft :)

[aesthetically-dying101]

Letters to the past

A/N: in which they find a love letter that you wrote to them years ago. (im tempted to write a version of this of pure angst, where reader is dead and they find the letter later, but for now im being nice), inspired by real world events!

warnings: light angst (with a happy ending), suggestive, crack, shits n gigs

Characters: Nanami, Toji, Gojo, Geto, Sukuna, Choso, Shiu, Higuruma. (in that order)

Nanami was quietly tidying up the shared office, something he did on his very rare off days, he was organizing a particular stack of papers on his side of the desk when his hand brushed against something unfamiliar—something soft, wrapped in a ribbon. Curiosity piqued, he pulled it out—an envelope with his name scrawled in your handwriting. The paper was a little yellowed with age, the ink slightly faded, but the love was still so palpable.

He carefully opened it, unsure of what he was about to read. What he found inside was... a letter. A love letter. From you.

He chuckled softly, his heart squeezing in his chest. The date at the top: “One Year Together”.

The paper was dotted with sketches—little doodles of him—and he couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling in his chest.

A light chuckle escaped his lips.

“I can’t believe this… you drew me like that? I was such a dork…”

Nanami's chest tightened.

Seven years. It had been seven years since you two had been together, and four years of marriage. Time had flown, but reading the words from that first year? From when everything had felt so new and exciting? It was... overwhelming. And there were even little doodles of him scattered throughout the pages, goofy sketches of his serious face, his messy hair, and him in his work clothes.

It was... perfect.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, eyes scanning over the words. “I can’t believe you wrote this…”

You had always been dramatic when it came to love, but that had been one of the things he adored most about you. Your passion, your sincerity, and how every little detail felt like it had meaning.

Just as he was wiping a happy tear from his eye, he heard the door open.

“Hey, Kento!” you called out, your voice bright and bubbly from a long day of teaching. But when you walked in and saw him standing there, holding the letter, your face immediately fell.

“Wha—” you began to sputter, running over and snatching it out of his hand. “No! Oh my god, why do you have that?!” You were practically in full dramatic panic mode, hands shaking slightly as you tried to hide the letter behind your back.

Nanami couldn’t help but laugh, amused at how flustered you were. “I just found this,” he said, his voice full of affection. “I didn’t realize you were such a poet. And these drawings—” he gestured to the little doodles of him— “they’re... adorable.”

“Oh, please,” you groaned, your face flushing. “Stop it! Don’t even read it out loud. It’s so embarrassing! I was like—what—21? It was a year in! I was still figuring out how to not be awkward!”

Nanami grinned, leaning in slightly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “I think it’s perfect. You were so honest, so sweet. And the drawings—” his voice softened, “they're so cute.”

You crossed your arms, pouting. “Kento, nooooo, don’t you dare! I can’t believe you found that. You’re gonna be all ‘oh, look, look at my cute, romantic wife’ for the next week, huh? God, stop being so dramatic about it.”

“Is that really a problem?” he teased, giving you an amused glance. “I think it’s adorable. And I’m the lucky guy who gets to read it now.”

You dramatically slumped against the desk, covering your face in mock embarrassment. “I can’t with you. You’re making me so red. You can’t show anyone this, Kento. Not a single person.”

“Why?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, amused at your antics. “We’ve been together for seven years, married for four. You really think it’s embarrassing now?”

You peeked over your hands, your voice soft but still teasing. “Yes. Because it’s cheesy and gushy, and I’m just... ugh. So much poetry.”

“I happen to think that poetry is one of your many talents,” he said, voice gentle as he moved closer to you. “And you’ve always been perfectly you. I love you even more for it.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to hide your smile behind your hands. “Stop it, Kento. Stop looking at me like that. You’re gonna make me cry with how sweet you're being.”

Nanami chuckled, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry. But seriously. I’m glad I found this. You’ve always been so good to me.”

You melted into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your heart. "You're so ridiculous," you whispered, pressing your face into his chest. "But I love you."

He kissed the top of your head, chuckling softly. “I love you, too. Always.”

And as the two of you stood there in the cozy office, holding each other close, Nanami couldn’t help but feel so incredibly lucky to have found you—his partner, his wife.

Toji was knee-deep in moving boxes, his muscles flexing as he grabbed yet another heavy one- he was glad you weren't home, or else you would've made a comment. The sound of cardboard scraping against the floor filled the room as he shifted it into place. It was one of those days where every corner of their house was chaotic, half-packed, and filled with the usual mess that came with moving.

But then something fell.

A soft sound, followed by paper crinkling, caught his attention. He raised an eyebrow and crouched down, picking up a stray piece of paper from the floor. The corners were worn, the edges curling slightly with age. He blinked when he realized what it was.

A letter.

Her handwriting.

Curiosity piqued, Toji slid off his old man glasses from the top of his head with an exaggerated flair, rolling them into place before he cracked open the letter.

And that’s when he saw it.

A love letter—one from you.

From the early days of your relationship, when things were still fresh and you were... completely infatuated with him (not that he ever let it go to his head or anything). Toji’s lips quirked into a devilish grin as he leaned back against the box, settling in for the show.

He read through the entire thing, each line making him chuckle louder and louder. The dramatic declarations, the overly poetic descriptions of his “dangerous” eyes, the flowery words about how he “was the center of her universe”… Oh, this was gold.

“Well well well,” Toji muttered, barely able to keep himself from busting into laughter. “Look at you, all sentimental, huh? Just how cute…”

He kicked his feet up, reclining on the nearest piece of furniture, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Gotta admit, babe. You were delusional back then."

You had just come home from a walk in the park with Megumi, trying to get some fresh air after the chaos of packing. Megumi was by your side, his small hand holding onto your sleeve, talking about something he saw at the park. You were listening, but the moment you stepped inside, you noticed Toji—sitting with that mischievous grin plastered on his face.

He was holding something in his hand. The letter.

No.

"Toji..." you groaned in embarrassment, already knowing what was coming. "What did you find?"

“Oh, just this little thing…” Toji drawled, waving the letter in the air, his grin practically splitting his face. “Look at this, sweetheart—look what I got.”

Your eyes widened, and you immediately lunged forward, making a grab for it.

“Toji! Give me that!”

But he was already one step ahead, holding it high above his head as he leaned back, savoring your reaction. “What’s the rush? I’m just having a little fun, doll. Let me enjoy it for a second.”

You groaned, your face turning an embarrassing shade of crimson. “No, please! That was years ago! It’s… so embarrassing!” You jumped up, trying to wrestle it out of his hands, but he was too strong.

“‘Toji, I adore you, you are the light of my life, my heart beats only for you…’” He read aloud dramatically, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he quoted your words. “‘Your smile is like the sun, and I am forever basking in your warmth.’ Oh, I’m dying here, baby. This is priceless.”

“I was naive back then!” you shouted, flipping him over your shoulder in a fit of frustration. “I was delusional! It was a different time!!”

“Delusional? Baby, you were love-struck,” Toji teased, completely unfazed by your attempts to wrestle the letter away. "I’m just surprised you actually thought I’d believe that sappy stuff back then.”

You both tumbled onto the couch in a mess of tangled limbs, but you didn’t stop. You were determined to get that letter back, even if it meant flipping Toji over—again. Your fingers scrambled for the piece of paper, but Toji’s laughter made everything feel lighthearted.

“You knew what you were saying,” he laughed, pinning your wrists down, still holding the letter just out of reach. “I didn’t even know I was such a heartthrob back then.”

“I swear to god, Toji…” You wriggled beneath him, doing your best to twist and turn, but it only resulted in you getting a little closer to him than you intended.

Toji’s face softened for a moment as he looked at you, his playful grin slowly fading into something far more intimate.

"You were adorable back then," he whispered, voice low. "I liked it. You’re lucky I never threw that letter away."

“You better not have,” you muttered, eyes meeting his. He was so close now, your breath mixing in the air between you.

His hand shifted from the letter, instead cupping your cheek, his lips pressing against yours in a deep, slow kiss. You melted into him, your hands wandering, sliding beneath his shirt as you tugged him closer.

You were so lost in the kiss, the heat building between you, that you barely noticed Megumi stepping through the door.

“Dad?” Megumi’s voice interrupted from the doorway, his little face peeking around the corner.

You both froze, wide-eyed, your hands still dangerously close to Toji’s waistband. Megumi blinked at you, looking oddly embarrassed for someone his age.

“I forgot my plushy at the park,” he said, face turning pink.

Toji groaned in exasperation, pulling away from you just enough to shoot you a look. “Guess that’s our cue, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “This isn’t over, Toji.”

“Yeah, yeah. Later,” he smirked, rolling off you and giving Megumi a playful pat on the head. "Let’s get your plushy then."

As you all prepared to head back to the park, you swore—next time, you’d get your revenge.

Gojo Satoru was hunched over your shared office desk, papers scattered in every direction as he sifted through stacks of documents. He was searching for a specific file on a curse, but knowing Gojo, he’d probably get distracted and misplace half of them before finding what he was actually looking for. Not that he’d admit it.

His fingers brushed against something odd tucked between two thick folders—an envelope. His eyes narrowed, curiosity piqued. It was a very familiar envelope, one with your handwriting all over it.

Wait… What the hell?

He blinked, disbelief settling over him. The letter was from you—a love letter. From when you were still dating, after just one year. You two had been together for eight years now, but this letter… it felt like a lifetime ago. He could feel his chest tighten as he carefully opened the envelope, the old, yellowed paper inside immediately making him grin like an idiot.

It was poetic. Deeply poetic. And so you. He could almost hear your voice reading it out loud, the words seeping into his bones. And the drawings—of him.

“Oh my god,” Gojo whispered under his breath, blinking rapidly as he read more. “This... this is way too much. Is this really what I was like back then?”

His hand shook a little, a laugh escaping him as his mind tried to wrap around the overwhelming wave of emotion that suddenly flooded him. He couldn’t help it.

The Strongest Sorcerer was about to cry over a letter.

When you walked into the office, the first thing you noticed was the unnatural stillness of the room. Gojo was sitting there—completely silent, holding the letter. His usual carefree demeanor was absent, replaced by something entirely different, something soft and vulnerable.

You froze in the doorway, your eyes widening in panic.

“Wait... is someone dead?” you asked, voice rising in pitch as you rushed toward him. You immediately looked around for any sign of trouble. “Is it Shoko? Is it Suguru??”

Gojo blinked slowly, slowly looking up at you. His expression was a mixture of awe and—wait, was that a tear?

“No. It’s just... this letter,” he said quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft, the letter still clutched in his hand. He looked up at you, his eyes wide. “I had no idea you felt this way back then. You really loved me this much?”

Your heart dropped into your stomach as you immediately realized what was happening. The letter you’d written to him years ago—the one you’d completely forgotten about—was now in his hands, and he was reading it like a treasure.

You let out an exaggerated, pained groan. “Oh my god, noooooo.”

Gojo laughed softly, clearly taken aback. “What, you’re not proud of what you wrote?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I mean, I was a pretty perfect boyfriend, right?”

“Nooooo, stop,” you whined, dramatically covering your face with your hands. “Why do you always have to find my most embarrassing moments? Why are you like this?”

He grinned wickedly. “Oh, I’m definitely reading you some lines. You need to hear how much you loved me, sweetheart.”

“Noooo,” you protested again, lunging toward him to snatch the letter. “Kento—I swear, if you read a single line out loud, I’ll—“

But he was already reading aloud, his voice dropping into that playful tone he always used when teasing you.

“‘Satoru, my heart beats for you,’” he started, dramatically pausing for effect. “‘You are the sunshine in my life, and I will always cherish the way your smile makes me feel as if the world is whole again.’”

Your eyes went wide, and you leaped forward to grab the letter. “Satoru! STOP!”

“‘I love you more than words can express,’” he read, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. “‘And I cannot wait for the day I call you mine forever.’”

“OH. MY. GOD,” you shouted, now fully flustered. Your skin felt on fire as you tried to wrestle the letter from his hands. “Stop, I was so dramatic back then! You have no idea—”

But Gojo just sat back, enjoying the chaos he’d caused. He raised an eyebrow. “Was you? It’s still pretty cute now. Look, this one’s my favorite—‘When I’m with you, time stands still. I am yours, and you are mine—forever.’”

You gasped, flailing helplessly. “I WILL END YOU, GOJO SATORU.”

Gojo just laughed, that deep, comforting sound filling the room as he shook his head. “You’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

“SHUT UP!” you whined. “This is an absolute nightmare! I will literally kill the strongest sorcerer if I have to.”

“Oh?” Gojo’s grin turned devilish as he leaned forward, the mischievous glint in his eye more intense than ever. “Maybe I should let you make me suffer a little—since I’m so lucky to have you, right?”

You gave him a playful shove, and without thinking, your hand dipped down to his pants, feeling the subtle tension in his body at your touch.

“W-Wait—what are you—?”

“I said shut up,” you whispered, a teasing smirk spreading across your face as you leaned forward to kiss him, your hand sliding dangerously lower. Gojo’s breath hitched, his voice trembling as he muttered,

“UuUuUu... lemme repay you for your words...”

Geto Suguru leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of his desk as his cult member, a young woman, hesitantly approached with a piece of paper.

"Master Geto," she began, her voice laced with uncertainty. "We found something... in the library. Between the books. It seems to be an old letter."

Geto arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "A letter? What kind of letter?"

The woman hesitated, but handed it over to him, and he noticed the familiar handwriting immediately. It was yours.

His heart skipped a beat as he unfolded the letter. The words on the page were undeniably yours, but what struck him was how genuine it felt—this love letter was full of sincerity, overflowing with affection that made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.

He chuckled softly to himself, his fingers gently tracing over the elegant script. The letter was written eight years ago, just after he and you had started dating. He could almost hear your voice, dramatic and poetic, as if he was reading it straight from your lips.

"Well, well, well," he muttered under his breath, a sly smile forming on his face. "Seems like my wife was really into me back then."

His cult member gave him a confused look but said nothing as he smirked and folded the letter neatly, tucking it into his jacket pocket.

When you arrived home, having finished your errands for the day, you immediately noticed Geto lounging on the couch, a strange glint in his eyes. He was holding something behind his back, clearly up to no good.

"What’s that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you dropped your bag onto the nearby chair.

“Oh, nothing,” Geto said, his smile far too innocent. "Just something I found that I thought you might enjoy."

You crossed your arms, eyeing him suspiciously. "Is it a new cult ritual that involves me?"

He leaned forward, looking way too pleased with himself. “Better. It’s a blast from the past.”

Before you could react, he produced the letter from behind his back and waved it in front of your face. "Guess what I found in the library today?"

You froze. The moment you saw the familiar handwriting, your stomach dropped. No.

"Geto... no," you whispered, taking a step back as if the letter itself could bite. "Don't you dare."

“Oh, I dare,” he teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “It’s from you.”

You slowly turned your head to the side, trying to make a break for it. “Nope, I’m not doing this today. Not today, not ever.”

“You’re not going to want to miss this,” Geto said, clearly enjoying your discomfort. He unfolded the letter with all the drama of someone preparing to perform Shakespeare.

The words he read aloud were beautiful, so full of love and passion it almost made you cringe. You remembered writing it so vividly, a flood of emotions that you hadn’t even realized you still carried. And now, Geto was reading it out loud for all to hear.

"‘Suguru, my heart longs for you, and my soul finds peace in your presence,’” he began dramatically, putting on a voice as if he were a great actor. “‘Every moment with you is a blessing, every glance is an eternity...’”

“Geto, no!” You turned away, hands over your ears. "Please, don’t—"

He only chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. “‘I’m yours, Suguru, and you are my everything…’” He paused, a smug grin spreading across his face. “‘I will love you always, now and forever.’”

You stopped in your tracks, your face burning with embarrassment. “Oh my god. Oh my god. You didn’t just—”

“I did,” he said, savoring every moment. “And to think, you thought I’d forgotten.” He waved the letter in the air like it was some kind of victory flag.

You exhaled dramatically, throwing your hands up in the air as you began to walk away. “I refuse to listen to this. I’m not doing this. This is ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on,” Geto called after you, trying to suppress his laughter. "You were so in love with me back then, and you still are, huh?”

You spun around, narrowing your eyes at him. “Geto, if you keep teasing me, I’m not making you dinner tonight.”

He tilted his head, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “You wouldn’t deny me that. You love me too much.”

You glared at him dramatically. "You’re lucky I’m even married to you, sir."

“Lucky?” he raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s the other way around.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to look offended. "I don’t know... I might reconsider after this little stunt."

He took a few steps forward, finally dropping the letter back in his pocket. His expression softened. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I just... didn’t realize how sweet you were back then. You still are.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but secretly feeling your heart warm. “You know, I still don’t think you’re allowed to read my letters from eight years ago like that.”

“Why not?” he grinned. “It’s proof of how much you love me.”

You huffed, folding your arms tighter across your chest. “Ugh, you really are impossible.”

“Admit it,” he said, stepping closer to you. “You still love me that much.”

“Fine,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “Maybe I do...”

“Maybe?” He raised an eyebrow, leaning in close with that familiar cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes again, but this time, you couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. “Okay, fine. I definitely do.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He smirked, closing the distance and pulling you into his arms. “Now, let’s get you out of that mood. Dinner still stands, right?”

You groaned. “I swear, you’re impossible.”

“You love it,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “And I love you, too. Even more than this letter says.”

And despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelled with warmth and affection for the man who never failed to make you laugh, even when he was embarrassing you with old love letters.

Sukuna Ryomen, the fearsome King of Curses, sat in his grand chambers, his body draped across his throne, looking as if he could conquer empires with a single glance. His regal expression was unfazed as Uraume sorted through the countless scrolls piled around them. But then, a soft "Ah!" sounded from Uraume, and Sukuna’s sharp eyes flickered toward them.

“What?” Sukuna asked, his voice a low growl, barely masking his curiosity.

Uraume stood up straight, holding a scroll in their hands with an intrigued expression. “My Lord, I believe I’ve found something... interesting.” They unrolled the scroll, revealing the elegant, flowing handwriting.

Sukuna raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

Uraume cleared their throat and began reading aloud. “My dearest Sukuna, the one with the four arms, the eyes of a god...”

The words stopped Sukuna dead in his tracks. His eyes narrowed, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “This... is from her, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Uraume said, unable to hide the amusement in their voice. “It seems to be a love letter.”

Sukuna smirked. “Is it? Let me see.”

Uraume handed him the scroll, and Sukuna read on, his usually cold demeanor cracking ever so slightly as he made his way through the poetic declarations. His heart actually skipped a beat when he saw the lines about his "handsome four arms" and "piercing, yet captivating eyes."

"...When I look into your eyes, it's as though I see the entire universe. Your strength is unrivaled, your beauty unmatched."

Sukuna blinked, his mind struggling to comprehend what was happening. Was he... blushing? What kind of nonsense was this? He shook his head as if to rid himself of the absurdity.

But there was something in those words—something tender—that tugged at him. He looked over the letter again, a rare feeling bubbling in his chest.

"She really... thinks that of me?" Sukuna muttered under his breath.

"Indeed, my Lord," Uraume confirmed, their voice soft with a trace of teasing. "It seems she finds you quite... attractive."

Sukuna snorted, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint, pleased smile curling on his lips. He couldn't help it; there was something about how his sweet little human wife saw him—really saw him—that made his heart do strange things.

With a low, almost possessive cackle, Sukuna pushed himself off his throne. "I need to see her. Now."

You were strolling through the gardens, lost in thought, enjoying the quiet of the day. Your delicate fingers brushed the petals of the flowers as you walked, when suddenly, you felt a presence behind you.

Before you could turn around, the voice you knew so well boomed from behind you. “Well, well, little wife. I've made quite the discovery, haven’t I?”

You stiffened, your heart dropping. Oh no...

“W-What do you mean?” You turned around, trying to play it cool, but your wide eyes betrayed you.

Sukuna smirked as he approached you, holding the scroll in his hands. “A love letter? To me? You must really be under my spell, huh?”

“Nooooooo...” you groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Why—why are you like this?”

“Oh, but I must know,” Sukuna continued, his voice dripping with amusement. “Do you find my four arms attractive? Or maybe it’s my eyes? Hmm? The ‘piercing, captivating eyes’?”

You were about to burst into flames from embarrassment. “Stop it! I was young! I—I—I was just—just... poetic! And dramatic! And—!”

Sukuna chuckled deeply, that deep, rumbling sound that made your heart flutter despite the embarrassment. “Poetic, huh? Well, little wife, I must admit, your words have an effect on me. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

You could feel your face turning as red as a tomato as you half-heartedly tried to grab the scroll from his hands. “Please, just burn it! I’ll never recover from this. Ever!”

Sukuna took a step back, watching you struggle to keep it together. The sight was too adorable, too human, and for a moment, the terrifying King of Curses just couldn’t help but soften his expression, his gaze lingering on you with something like affection.

You continued your frantic flailing, but your eyes met his and—damn it, your heart was racing again.

“You really think I’m that attractive, huh?” Sukuna said, stepping closer, his voice teasing but somehow gentler than usual. “Tell me, do you still feel the same way, little wife?”

You flailed a little more dramatically. “I...! You’re ruining me!”

“You did write this, didn’t you?” he said, lowering the scroll and staring at you with that all-too-confident glint in his eyes. “So, tell me, do you still think I’m ‘unmatched in beauty’?”

The words you wrote—so carefully chosen, full of love—now seemed to weigh on you like a thousand pounds. You groaned in frustration. “I was being dramatic! A little poetic flair here and there... okay, maybe a lot of flair, but I was... young, okay?!”

Sukuna’s smile softened, and he placed the scroll in your hands. “You’re still the same, aren’t you?”

“Stop,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper. You wanted to vanish into the earth. You'd never survive this embarrassment. Never.

But Sukuna, in all his terrifying glory, knelt down to your level and gently cupped your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender.

“Don’t hide from me, little wife. You wrote this out of love. And for that... I’ll never make fun of you for it. Besides...” He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. “I like how much you love me. Even if it means I get to tease you for it.”

You closed your eyes, melting under his touch, all the while, your heart racing. “You’re impossible,” you muttered.

“I know,” he purred, grinning from ear to ear. “But that’s why you married me.”

You could only groan, giving in to the impossible man who had somehow wrapped you around his finger—and you’d never be happier about it.

Choso was sitting at the kitchen table, a tear-streaked face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking slightly as he stared down at the letter in his lap. His heart ached, not from pain, but from something else. Something softer. Something—embarrassing.

You had just come in from the garden, humming to yourself, when you caught sight of him. And you froze.

"Choso?" you asked cautiously, tilting your head. "What’s going on? Are you—are you okay?"

His voice, thick with emotion, broke through his trembling hands. "I... I found it... I found your letter."

You blinked, brows furrowing. "My letter? Which one?"

“The one you wrote to me… back when we were dating.”

Now that hit you like a ton of bricks. You swallowed hard, trying not to panic. Oh god. You had written a lot of things back then, too many of them cringey and so full of teenage drama. You could already feel the cringe creeping up your spine.

Your lips pulled into a nervous smile. "Choso, sweetheart, you’ve... you’ve gotta be kidding. You’ve been holding onto that thing for years?"

He looked up at you with those wide, pitiful eyes, his lower lip trembling. "It’s so... it’s so beautiful... but also so embarrassing..." He could barely finish his sentence before he put his hands back over his face, shoulders shaking again.

You blinked rapidly. "Wait, wait, hold on. You’re crying over a letter?"

His voice was muffled behind his hands. "It was... everything I needed to hear from you. I didn’t know back then... how much it meant..."

Your heart melted for him, but you had no idea how to react. Choso was dramatic, sure, but this?

“Choso, honey, please. It can’t be that bad.” You walked over, sitting down beside him, reaching out to gently pull his hands away from his face. “Show me. What did I even say? I’m sure it wasn’t that��”

He thrust the letter into your hands like it was a delicate artifact, almost afraid to let it out of his sight.

"Here..." His voice wavered. "Read it... you’ll understand."

You glanced down at the letter and immediately felt your face burn. The handwriting was unmistakably yours—so full of emotions, so full of youth. You skimmed the first few lines, wincing a little.

"Okay, okay... uhh... Choso, I—" You made it a few sentences in before you felt the need to physically cringe. "Oh, no."

You cleared your throat. "Let’s see here... ‘My dearest Choso, your presence fills my heart with a warmth so pure, a fire so gentle. Your love is the light that guides me in the darkest of times. I am forever enchanted by your tenderness...’"

You froze, the back of your neck prickling with embarrassment. “Oh my god,” you whispered to yourself. “What... what was I even saying here?”

Choso, still looking like he was on the verge of another round of tears, nodded seriously. "Yeah, exactly. It’s... it’s beautiful, right? Your words… your love..."

You gave him a wide-eyed look. "Beautiful?! Choso, baby, this is... so cringey! This is—you—this is... I... nooooooo." You threw the letter down onto the table in sheer dramatic agony. “I literally cannot believe I wrote this to you. Why would I—why would I say that?!” You buried your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking as you dramatically flopped forward. “I’m a monster. I should never be allowed to write anything ever again. That is so... so embarrassing.”

Choso was still staring at you, eyes wide, clearly not understanding your level of discomfort. “But... I loved it. I love it. I loved the way you saw me then... you really felt that way about me?”

You groaned, covering your face in your hands, your voice muffled. “Yes, but god, I was so dramatic! So cheesy! Like, ugh! Look, ‘your presence fills my heart with warmth’?” You could feel yourself melting from the inside out. “Who even talks like that? It’s like I was writing for a novel.”

“But I... I liked it,” Choso said quietly, his voice filled with a sweetness that nearly undid you. “I liked how much you loved me. I didn’t even know it at the time, but... it meant everything to me.”

You blinked, glancing at him through your fingers. He looked so sincere—and that only made the cringe worse.

You sighed dramatically, still half-buried in your hands. “Choso, I swear, I’m literally going to die of secondhand embarrassment.”

He tilted his head, that same soft, patient look in his eyes as he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. “I don’t think you get it. I’m so happy that you loved me like that. It’s... perfect. It’s you, and it’s real. And even if it’s cheesy... it makes me feel like the luckiest man alive.”

You finally peeked out from your hands, looking at him with a mix of fondness and absolute horror. “You’re too sweet. I’m dying. You’re gonna make me melt into a puddle of shame.”

“I don’t mind if you melt... as long as I get to hold the pieces of you after.” Choso grinned, his soft, sad little smile turning into something mischievous.

“Okay, okay, stop! You can’t just say stuff like that after I’ve shown you my deep, emotional self-doubt!” You sat up, pushing at his chest playfully. “I’ll die if you keep making me feel things after the disaster of a letter I wrote!”

Choso chuckled softly, but you could see the tenderness in his gaze. “I don’t care if it’s dramatic. I love it. I love you, even more than I loved that letter.”

You slumped back in your chair, finally letting out a breath, though your heart was still pounding a little too fast. “You’re going to be the end of me, I swear.”

Choso’s grin softened into something more sincere, and he reached out to gently pull you close, his hands holding you tight, as if to shield you from any more cringe.

“Maybe it’s dramatic, but I’d rather you be dramatic than not love me at all.” His voice was quiet, full of something vulnerable. “And I’d never stop loving you, no matter how cheesy you get.”

You buried your face in his chest, trying not to think about the letter—or your poor, poor, dramatic younger self.

"You're impossible," you muttered, but there was no bite in it. You couldn’t stay mad at him—not when he was holding you like this, his warmth wrapping around you.

Choso just chuckled softly. "I’m not the one who wrote that letter, sweetheart. You were the impossible one."

Shiu Kong was going through some files in the home office, the flicker of a late afternoon sun casting a warm glow on the scattered paperwork.

He was getting a little frustrated, squinting at the documents, trying to locate the one he needed for a client’s case. His fingers flipped through stacks, his mind focused, until—whoops—he accidentally knocked over a pile of papers, and something unexpected fell out from the top.

It was an envelope. A familiar, old envelope with your handwriting on it.

His heart skipped a beat. "Wait... is this—?"

He gently picked it up, almost afraid to open it, yet unable to resist. He recognized the handwriting immediately—it was from a long time ago. Way before the two of you had gotten married. His mind raced as he slowly tore open the seal.

He started reading, and had to stop himself from audibly cackling.

The words were so you—so full of love and warmth, but also... a little bit of that cringey youthful romanticism that made him smile despite himself. You'd written it when you were still dating, back when he was just “Shiu” and not husband. And yet, every line, every word, made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

You had written about him like he was some sort of prince, some otherworldly figure—a knight in shining armor. "The way you make me feel... like no one else could ever compare... your strength and your heart both captivate me in ways I never thought possible..."

The more he read, the more he felt like he was floating. Was this really how you had felt back then? Was this really how you still felt now?

"Oh my god...," he muttered under his breath, practically glowing with pride.

Meanwhile, you were coming back from the kitchen, wiping your hands on a dish towel when you saw Shiu standing in the office doorway, a smirk on his face, that sparkle in his eye that meant trouble.

He looked at you, holding the letter out between his fingers like some kind of treasure.

“Shiu, what are you doing with that?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but your face was already red from the pure horror of it all.

He held the letter out toward you. “Well, well, little wife, seems you’ve written me a letter... a very romantic letter, if I may say so.”

Your stomach dropped. No. No no no nooooooo.

“Shiu,” you groaned, dramatically clutching your chest like you were about to faint. “Please... for the love of everything, don’t.”

He looked at you, eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? You don’t want me to read it aloud? Because I was about to tell you how much you loved me in your own words.” He dramatically cleared his throat. “‘The way you make me feel… like no one else could ever compare. Your strength and your heart captivate me in ways I never thought possible.’"

You froze, your face burning. “Shiu, stop it! God, I should never have written that!” You covered your face with both hands. “Now you’re gonna have this massive ego boost, and I’ll never hear the end of it.”

His grin was practically glowing. “Oh, I don’t know... I think I could get used to being praised like that.”

“No,” you said with a dramatic sigh, turning away from him, though you couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed and amused. “This is terrible. Why would I even say something like that? I was so young and so—ugh—dramatic.”

He stepped closer, putting a hand on your shoulder to turn you around. “Don’t you dare act like you weren’t swooning over me,” he teased, his voice soft and full of affection. “I mean, look at this—‘your strength and your heart.’ You thought I was some kind of god, huh?”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands again. “I didn’t think you were a god! Okay, maybe I did a little, but... please, just let it go!” You shook your head, your voice muffled through your fingers. “I was literally just trying to write something cute for you and... now you’re gonna be insufferable.”

He gave a playful chuckle and pulled you closer, wrapping his arms around you. “Insufferable? I think I’m quite tolerable when it comes to my adoring wife.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, a mischievous glint in your eye. “You’re so full of it, Shiu.”

His grin softened, and he kissed your forehead. “But you still love me, right? Even though I know just how much you adored me.”

You dramatically sighed again, but there was no real bite behind it. “Fine, fine. But don’t get too cocky, okay?”

Shiu's arms tightened around you, and he laughed softly. “You have no idea how much I love you, sweetheart. This letter just reminded me how lucky I am to have you.”

Your heart swelled, despite the embarrassment still gnawing at you. “I can’t believe you’re making me relive my past awkwardness, though. Honestly, I might just... pass out from secondhand embarrassment. Please, Shiu. Please just... pretend you didn’t read it.”

He leaned back, gazing at you with a teasing smile, clearly enjoying the torment. “Never. Now, every time I look at you, I’ll just think about how much you adored me... and I’ll never let you forget it.”

You buried your face in his chest, half-laughing and half-groaning in pure exasperation. “You’re such a brat, you know that?”

He kissed the top of your head, the fondness in his gaze turning soft. “And you love it, don’t lie.”

You sighed again, but this time, it was full of fond affection. “Yeah, yeah. I do.”

And despite your earlier regret, you couldn’t help but feel warm inside. The letter may have been cheesy, and Shiu’s ego may have just gained a massive boost, but in the end, all that really mattered was that you were both here, together, laughing at something so silly.

That was love. And maybe... just maybe... you wouldn't mind writing a few more dramatic letters in the future.

It had been a long day.

Hiromi was hunched over his desk, the soft click of his pen as he filled out legal papers filling the quiet apartment. His mind was far from the case at hand, though- it was lost in thoughts of his beautiful wife, who was cooking dinner in the next room.

His thoughts were interrupted by the rustling of paper. He frowned as his hand brushed against something odd—a few pieces of folded paper that had somehow slipped between the case files. Curious, he unfolded one of the papers, thinking it might be something related to the case. What he found, though, made his breath catch in his throat.

It was a letter.

Not just any letter — a love letter. His wife’s handwriting.

The paper was old, the edges slightly curled from time, but it was unmistakably the words of someone who had poured their heart out. And as his eyes skimmed over the words, his stomach dropped.

The letter was filled with descriptions of him.

“I love how your smile reaches your eyes…” “How are you always so handsome? I could never get over how perfect you look even after a long day…"

The more he read, the tighter his chest felt. He couldn’t help but chuckle at how you had described him — like the knight in shining armor, but in such an innocent, endearing way that it made his heart ache.

And then there was a drawing at the back. Of his profile. A very detailed, very beautiful drawing of his face, his features so carefully captured that it almost felt like a gift all on its own.

“God, you were so sweet back then,” he murmured, running a hand over his face.

He could hear you humming in the kitchen, unaware of the storm you had just caused in his mind. He couldn’t just leave it there. No. He was going to show you how much he loved you. After all, you thought he was handsome even then. Surely, you deserved a reminder that he thought the same about you — and that he had been crazy about you for years.

He stood up, the letter clutched tightly in his hand, and made his way into the kitchen, his heart racing. You looked up, your expression warm and inviting, a little confused when you saw him holding the letter.

“Hiromi?” you asked, arching an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step toward you, and then another, until he was close enough to feel the warmth of your body. Without saying a word, he kissed you. Slow at first, as though savoring the moment. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as his lips moved over yours with more urgency.

You blinked, surprised at the intensity of the kiss. Your hands instinctively rose to his shoulders, pressing into the solid muscle beneath his shirt. When he pulled away, his lips were still a breath away from yours, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Hiromi?” you asked again, slightly breathless now. “What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he held up the letter. “I found this,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “And I have to say… I’m feeling a little… inspired.”

You froze. Your eyes darted to the paper in his hand, your stomach doing a flip. You recognized the handwriting immediately.

“Oh God,” you muttered, cheeks flushing. “I was so dramatic back then…”

Hiromi smirked.

“I don’t know about ‘dramatic,’ but I’d say ‘adorable’ fits better.” His thumb ran over the edges of the letter, his gaze flickering between your face and the paper. “I think I need to show you how much I love you too. Since, you know, you think I’m handsome.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, his lips were on yours again, this time with an intensity that made your heart beat erratically in your chest. His hands slid down your sides, pulling you closer until there was no space between you two.

“Hiromi,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, but he wasn’t hearing you. He was too busy kissing you like it was the only thing that mattered.

“Is that what you thought back then?” His voice was low, almost a growl, as his lips trailed down your neck, making you shiver. “You think I’m handsome, huh?”

Your face was burning, your chest rising and falling in time with the heavy breaths escaping your lips.

“I—I mean, yeah… I did—do.”

He smiled against your skin, his hands sliding under your shirt to pull you even closer, the heat of his body making everything inside you melt.

“Then I guess I’ll have to thank you.” He didn’t give you a chance to respond before his lips were on yours again, this time, even more demanding.

You knew what was coming next, and frankly, you were already done resisting. You had already called him handsome so many times in that damn letter—seven years ago—and now he was going to show you exactly what he thought about that.

He pressed you back against the counter, the intensity of his kiss never wavering as his hands moved with practiced ease.

“You never stop flattering me, do you?” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear. “I will take that as a challenge.”

Your breath hitched as his hands worked their magic, making you forget about everything except him. You had written it years ago, but tonight, in this moment, you were about to feel every word you had written — and more.

And as his lips found yours again, the room seemed to shrink.

A/N: idk, i think this was funny, maybe it was a little ooc for some of em... alSO LOOK I WROTE FOR CHOSO!!! anyways... yeah! (also someone sent me a hilarious ask abt how the jjk men would react to reader throwing themselves out of a moving car during an argument and thats fucking hilarious im writing it rn)

Masterlist.

:)

[bluem1lls]

hi hi ! i saw your post about wanting some se-mi requests and i was wondering on how se-mi would react to having a s/o that tends to zone out / dissociates during the games whenever they're parted from se-mi / can't stay near her because it causes their separation anxiety </3 like it's a way for the reader to feel less anxious or stressed and the reader seems to lighten up whenever they're near se-mi or notices she's alive , sorry if that's alot ! 😭

✧₊⁺ we'll go home (together)

se-mi x fem!reader

✦ synopsis: as you try to survive the games with your girlfriend, you can't help but to dissociate when she's not nearby. lucky for you, she never wants to leave your side.

content: just a short fluff, reader usually zones out when she's not with se-mi

authors note: thank you for the request! it's rlly short because i'm writing this at my office bye i have dedication!!!!!! but i hope u like it!

✧₊⁺ first of all, your girlfriend would never leave you alone. like ever. i think she would die if that happened.

✧₊⁺ but there's this one situation in mingle where you guys were running along with min-su as a group of three and in the rush, someone pushed her.

✧₊⁺ when you saw her on the ground you almost choke yourself. what if she dies? what if that hurted her head? what if she can't move to run with a group? what if-

✧₊⁺ as you start to hyperventilate you try and run to your gilfriend, failing as min-su pushes you into a room with another guy and closes the door.

✧₊⁺ "hey, i saw her. she got up and ran with another group. she's okay" he said, touching your shoulder.

✧₊⁺ you won't believe him until you see her.

✧₊⁺ you start to dissociate. you can see min-su talking but you can't hear him. your mind filled with thoughts. 'i hope she's okay. she better be okay'.

✧₊⁺ tears start falling from your eyes because what kind of girlfriend are you? leaving her there? it was an accident but-

✧₊⁺ the doors unlock. you run outside as you stare everywhere.

✧₊⁺ she's not here. she's not here. she died. min-su lied-

✧₊⁺ you feel soft arms wrapping you, she deposits a kiss to your temple.

"i'm here baby" she says as you hug her back, your tears going down your cheeks.

"i'm-m so so sorry i'm so sorry...i tried but-" i sobbed against her, her hand caressing my hair to try and calm me.

"sh sh, baby i know. i told min-su to pull you away. i'm here okay? i'm never leaving you"

you believe her. she better not.

✧₊⁺ you're just so used to her, you kinda forgot how it is when she's not there.

✧₊⁺ like the first time you two sleep together, she wakes up first, smiling as she sees you all comfy. she kisses your entire face. when she's done, she gets up, heading to talk with the guys until you wake up. she thinks you'll wake up and follow her, after all you know that when she's not with you, she's with her friends.

until she thinks it's been a little too much time. she starts to worry, going back to your bed.

she finds you there, staring at a blank point on the wall.

"baby?"

you lift your head, she's back!

your face lightens up, a soft smile appearing.

"i missed you" you say as she smirks, getting closer to you. your face in her hands, softly kissing your lips.

"good morning princess, what's wrong? i was waiting until you wake up but i got worried. it's been a while." she frowned.

"i thought you.. left or something" i mumble as her face scans my features. a hint of worry through her eyes.

"baby, what?-" she says, shocking her head no. "no princess i'd never leave you, wherever i go, you come with"

i nod as she kisses my lips again and again.

"i love you"

"i love you princess"

✧₊⁺ of course, when the fourth game comes and it's an individual one, you're shaking.

✧₊⁺ she's too, she just doesn't want you to see it, or it'll make you more nervous.

✧₊⁺ "it's okay baby, this is our last game and then we vote to leave okay? its the last time you're gonna be appart from me. i swear" she says, hugging me as i return it, squeezing her.

it's hard to focus when you're not with her, but you try to get past it. after all, if your girlfriend comes out and you don't, she'll be heartbroken. you don't want that.

✧₊⁺ finally, you made it through. as you're out of the room, you sit there waiting for her.

of course she comes a few minutes later with a smug smirk. she's so cocky.

as she sees you, her face lightens up.

and as you see her, you get up to run to her arms.

✧₊⁺ she kisses you with a soft chuckle.

"what did i said? together. i bet you did so good, my pretty girl" she says smiling.

✧₊⁺ you think you might melt right there and then. you nod, never leaving her arms.

"can we go home now?" you say as she nods.

"let's vote and go home".

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[nerdlvr]

let me suck your tits?

(MDNI)

suggestive , chenle x reader , intimate touching but not really sexual , boob sucking , boob kissing , soft sweet loving , they're cuddling in bed btw , soft chenle , kinda sub chenle , yes y/n calls chenle kitty i don't make the rules (yes i do) , some pet names , requested here

"missed you today."

you let out a soft hum as he kissed your cheek, his hands rubbing softly at your waist.

"did you now?"

his nose poked harshly against your cheek, his giggles soft against your cheek as you squirmed away.

"shut up, 'course i did pretty."

he turned to gently lay on top of you, your bodies sinking into the bed.

"kitty- you're heavy-" you poked at his sides, only a soft mhm leaving his lips as he started to kiss your face.

his lips were soft against your skin, slightly parted so his tongue could poke you.

you giggled under his touch, hands running up his back and into his hair to gently pull at the strands. he groaned softly at the feeling, lips trailing down your neck and towards your collarbones.

your breath hitched slightly as his hand reached under your shirt, cold fingertips teasing your skin. you reached down to cup his cheek, his eyes now drifting up to meet yours, "you look so pretty from down here."

you threw your head against your pillows, shaking chenle slightly as you giggled under him, cheeks flushing at the compliment, "you're an idiot."

you felt his breath against your skin as he let out a soft laugh, a little mhm following after as he continued to kiss your chest.

his hands continued to fidget under your shirt, softly pinching at your soft skin, warming his hands against your tummy.

"let me suck your tits?" you looked down at him to see his pouty lips, cheeks slightly flushed as he rutted his growing length against your leg.

"when have i ever said no?" his pout turned into a wide grin as he quickly reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your bare breasts.

your chest tightened as the cool air hit your nipples, chenle's fingertips following soon after to rub against the sensitive bud.

"i love you." his voice was low, but sweet, a soft smile playing against his lips as he began to plant kisses along the swell of your breasts.

"i love you to-"

"i was talking to your tits babe."

you smacked his shoulder softly, rolling your eyes as he laughed against your chest, long hair tickling your skin.

"just kidding, you know i love both of you- youu-" he planted a light kiss to your right breast, "and you-" a kiss to your left breast.

you let him have his moment, ignoring his little confessions of love towards your tits as he started to plant kisses along your nipples, tongue peeking out to get a taste of your skin.

"call me your baby-" he licked at your skin, tongue dragging around your nipple, his soft eyes looking up at you.

"you're my baby lele- such a sweet boy." you rubbed his hair, fingers threading through the blonde strands.

"thank you."

moments like this made you forget how much suffering chenle made you go through. the tickling, the chasing around the house, the burning of food. none of that mattered as he wrapped his lips around you nipples, eyes fluttering shut at the taste.

he moaned softly, his arms wrapping around your back to pull you closer, his face smushed against your supple breast.

you let out a sigh as he suckled softly, fingers running through his hair to soothe his breathing. he relaxed into your touch, his breath warm against your breast as he remained glued to your nipple.

"kitty you can't sleep like this-"

he hummed into your breast, tongue never leaving your skin, "remember that time i let you sleep with my soft dick in your mo-" you patted him lightly urging him to stop.

"okay i get it-" you leaned down to plant a kiss on his forehead, a small smile spreading on his lips, "you're really annoying you know that right?"

he chuckled at your comment, the soft sound of suckling being his response.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

Can you please do young hayden coming home to you after meeting some "fans" but lots of them just gave him hate (Since he got hate when he was acting in SW) and he just cries in your arms needing to be comforted and assured.

HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN stepped into the apartment quietly, clearly not wanting you to notice him. His steps were slow, feet barely lifting from the floor, just gliding against the wooden panels. Yet, what he didn't know was that you were curled on the couch, already glancing up at him from your book. Your eyes noticed the slouched set of his shoulders and the way his hands fidgeted at his sides, as if not knowing what to do to them filly.

He looked like a kicked puppy.

"Hayden?" you called gently, setting your book aside.

He didn't answer right away, and you already wanted to stand up from the soft cushion, but he was faster, getting on the couch you were on, using your chest as his personal space to lay down. His cheek squished against your chest, one hand wrapping around your waist and the other falling by his side

"Hey," you mumbled softly, hands coming up to his tousled curls "What happened?"

His lip trembled, and he tried to shake his head, but the moment your hand touched his hair, he broke. A sharp, shuddering breath escaped him as he pulled you into a desperate hug, burying his face in your cleavage.

"I--" His voice cracked. "Just a bad day."

You wrapped your arms tightly around him, one hand gently stroking the back of his head, twirling the curl around your finger. "What was bad, baby? Tell me."

He stayed quiet for a moment, breathing shaky. "The event," he mumbled "Some of them... they just wouldn't stop. Kept saying shit about me, about my acting, about the movies, straight to my fucking face. It was... loud. And mean. Really mean."

Your heart squeezed painfully. "Oh, Hayden."

"I tried to ignore it," he went on, voice muffled against your skin. "But it was just... I don't know. It felt like they weren't there to meet me. They were there to tear me apart. It was so fucking exhausting."

You pulled back just enough to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. You squished his cheeks in your palms, his eyes glassy and too full of doubt. "You listen to me now," you said firmly, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. "None of that shit matters. Not a word of it. They don't know you, Hay. They don't know how hard you work, how much you care, how... amazing you are."

His brows pulled together, and he let out a shaky laugh. "You have to say that. You're biased."

"I'm not biased," tone serious. "I'm honest. You're talented as hell, and anyone who says otherwise is just... I don't know, bitter or jealous or a miserable asshole. Take your pick."

A weak smile tugged at his lips. "You think I'm talented, huh?"

"I know you're talented," you corrected, leaning up to press a kiss to his forehead. "And I know you're also way too good to let a bunch of jerks get to you. They don't deserve you."

He exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as he leaned into your touch. "Why does it feel so heavy, though? Like... like they're right, and I'm just..." He trailed off, swallowing hard.

"Hey," you said softly, fingers sliding back into his hair. "They're not right. Not even close. You're incredible, Hayden. And if you ever doubt that, I'll remind you. Every damn day if I have to."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca

[clarkeyhill]

Contact | Arthur Hill

Angst.

You and Arthur had quite the argument before you went to meet the boys for drinks, over something stupid as normal; he'd forgot you'd ordered a new outfit. Not paying attention, he'd not complimented the way it hung around your curves or the way it outlined your physique.

"What's wrong?" Arthur ask, a brow raised

"Nothing, don't worry about it" you shrugged throwing your handbag over your shoulder

"Well there's something obviously, your face is saying it all" he cocks his head to the side

"You ready to go?" You raise a brow, making your way to the door

Arthur pushes himself off the counter "yeah, I guess" he sighs

The walk to the pub was quiet, your heels clicking against the pavement, as you interlinked your hands with Arthur's, his palms sweaty as your freshly manicured nails brush against his knuckles. The London air warm as the night settled in.

You arrive at the bar, Arthur holding the door open for you as he scanned your body on entrance, still no compliment paid, mind. Your hair cascaded over your shoulder as the warmth of the bar flooded your face. You spot George at the bar with Chris, Bach & Liv , you send them a subtle wave.

"Ah they're here!" Chris says walking over to greet you

"Missed me?" You say to them as you hug them one after the other

"Of course! How couldn't we miss the charm that is y/n" George adds

"So glad to have another girl here, sometimes the boys just don't get our language!" Liv laughs hugging you

You shake your head laughing, arthur greets the boys as you perch yourself against the bar.

"What're you having, love?" Arthur asks

"Just a vodka soda please" you say with a soft smile as the frustration still lingered from the lack of attention he had paid to the effort you'd made

He nodded as he ordered the round; you spot that the dance floor was looking empty, you tried not to but you couldn't help wanting to use the dress as a weapon. The way it accentuated your curves and figure had you in a chokehold, seeing yourself in another light.

"Care to dance?" You ask, holding a hand out to liv

"Oh god yes!" She says taking your hand

You both scurry to the floor, moving in rhythm with the music, the beats pulsated through you as you got lost in the moment. Eyes everywhere watched the pair of your frolick about to "Mr Saxobeat" by Alexandra Stan. You and Liv giggled as your faces became flushed, the heat of the bar became apparent as you made your way back to the boys who'd seated themselves in a booth. You place yourself next to Arthur as he slides your drink over.

You wrap a finger around the straw, taking a few sips as you catch your breath, you all engage in conversation as the night moved forward. You were talking to Liv about something when you felt a sudden grip on your thigh, you look down to notice Arthur has latched his hands around it. A firm but tight grip as you look up to him, a small smirk plastered on his face as he takes a sip of his pint. For a man who couldn't compliment you earlier, he was sure getting handsy.

You lower your hand, not making it obvious, you slide your hand onto his and lift it from your thigh; placing it onto the booth seat. Tapping it with a firm touch, letting him know your frustrations were still there. He shoots you a look, offended by your removal of his hand.

"Can we talk outside?" He whispers

"What for?" You ask

"You know exactly what for" he says, his voice still a whisper but a stern tone lingered

"Fine" you say, shuffling from the booth making your way to the smoking area of the bar

Arthur excuses the pair of you as the group nod, deep in conversation. You lean against a wall, arms crossed as you look at him walk towards you.

"What is actually wrong with you? You've acted off all night" he asks, placing a hand against the wall your were leaning on

"Nothing, I've said nothing" you say, brows furrowed

"So you taking my hand off your thigh was nothing then?" He raises a brow

"We're with friends, they don't need to see handsy" you admit

"Never stopped us before, why now?" He says with a softened face

"Notice anything?" You finally release some frustration as the words spill

He scans your body, looking for an answer to your question, his eyes dot around as his lips dry up

"If you're asking if I noticed how the dress hangs on your figure, the way it accentuates every curve you have, making you look absolutely insane; then yes" he admits, his eyes meeting yours

"So why didn't you say anything?" You ask

"Wanted to tell you how good you looked later on when we got home, somewhere where nobody can hear my internal thoughts spill out" he smirks, eyes darkening

Your heart thuds and all of a sudden you felt guilty, you stare into his eyes a lot longer than you should've; unable to respond to the absolutely outrageous comment he'd just made, your eyes glisten with the thought of what to come.

"Don't look at me with those eyes" he adds, tone stern

"What eyes?" You ask, voice confused

"The fuck me eyes" his eyes fixated on yours

The tension could be cut with a knife, both if you holding back the urge, you place a soft kiss on his lips. Pushing yourself off the wall

"Let's go inside, before they think we're lost" you giggle taking Arthur's hand retuning back inside to the group

"We were just about to send out a search party!" George laughs as you both shake your heads, sitting yourselves back down

You take a sip of your drink once again as Arthur's hand returns its self back to your thigh. Tighter than the last time as you smile into your straw.

-

🫶🏻

@starrywyatt

Part 2?

[bluwavez]

His father always said that he thought with his heart, never his brain. The night of December 31st, 2024 was no different.

"Yeah, I'm walking fast as fuck because I'm pissed as fuck! Damn!" Noah snaps at his phone, looking at the screen like the commenter is stupid. Noah adjusted his airpods, shaking his head with a huff.

"I'm frustrated. Like, I'm mad frustrated right now. So frustrated I can't even speak Korean, like, someone is going to have to translate this--Don't translate this because the last thing I need right now is K-Sirens on my ass, holy shit." He keeps walking, not sure where he's going, but Busan's streets seem empty at this hour. It's nearly two in the morning, of course, they're empty.

It's a Wednesday.

Noah reads twenty of the same comments, asking the same question of what happened, nodding at his phone with pursed lips.

"I'll tell you what happened-Let me tell you, my shit got stolen. Again. Again!" He shouts the last word before taking a breath to try to collect himself. Arguably, he doesn't try hard. He's always found comfort in rage, treating yelling or raising his voice like a warm blanket. He's talking fast, words spewing out of him quicker than he thinks them— If he even thinks them. He swears he's on autopilot right now, shouting at his phone for thousands to see.

"Somebody Else, yes the song on Finn's album, is my beat. I made that fucking beat and I wasn't credited for it just like I made The Rizz–Wrote that shit too! Produced, composed, and wrote it. That was my fucking song through and through and I was never credited for it. He just took it and he did again! I'm so fucking mad like-" His eyes widen as he looks at the camera again, bewildered at these circumstances. Noah can't help but scoff and shrug his broad shoulders. He's still walking. The street lamps whizz above him at the speed he's going.

Noah scoffs, shaking his head and making his hair fall in his eyes. He stops walking abruptly to put a flat palm up to the camera to silently tell the viewers to shut up.

"Finn literally is not stupid. He is not dumb. He can play a dumb bitch boy for the camera all he wants, but he's not stupid and knew those songs were my songs," Noah rants, pointing to himself. Puffs of cold air are seen as he rants.

"Because I'm tired," Noah barks back, tossing a threatening finger at the camera, "I'm tired of his bullshit. He's a snake, and everyone loves him because he's 'cute' and 'precious'. Yeah, precious at stealing my work!"

Noah stops suddenly, eyes wide as he bends over to catch his breath. The night air cuts through his thin jacket, chilling him to the bone. But he doesn't stop, can't stop, because rage is fueling him more than any caffeine could. He straightens up again, pointing an accusing finger at the camera.

He doesn’t say anything with that, just pointing a finger at the camera with a scowl before walking again. His boots crunched against the frozen sidewalk.

He halts abruptly once more, raking a hand through his hair as he struggles to stay in control of his emotions.

Noah's face contorts in anger at the mention of his father, but he quickly composes himself. "My dad," he says with a sharp edge to his voice, "is not just some billionaire CEO. He's my dad, and I love him. So shut the fuck up." His words ring out, cutting through the streets with raw emotion, making him look over his shoulder before his head snaps back towards the camera.

He glances back at the camera, eyes flashing dangerously under the lamplight. "And F-Y-I, @LOOP4CHLOE," he goes on, pointing a preemptive finger at the screen, "I've never done coke in my life unlike some of your faves so keep my name out of your fuckin’ mouth."

His pace quickens again, driven by pure adrenaline and anger. His breath comes in short puffs, fogging up the camera lens momentarily as it struggles to keep focus.

Noah snorts a laugh at that one, an incredulous smile tugging at his lips. "Focus on my music? That's all I fucking do! Every beat you hear, every lyric you sing along - that's me! That's all me!" He punches his chest for emphasis.

Suddenly he stops again and looks straight into the camera, his gaze piercing the lens. "You know what?" he begins ominously, "Finn can have it all - fame, money, fans... whatever!"

He shrugs dramatically, kicking at a discarded soda can, sending it skittering across the icy pavement. "He can have all the awards too," he continues, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "I mean, he already has my Grammy... right?"

Another ding from his phone makes him pause mid-rant. He glances down at the screen, brows furrowing as he reads aloud.

Noah's shoulders slump as he reads the comment, his anger dissipating just a fraction. "Yeah," he says softly, his voice sounding small compared to the loud rant from before. "Me too."

But the moment of vulnerability doesn't last long. He huffs out an irritated laugh, shaking his head as he looks back at the camera.

"You know what though?" He says, a smirk creeping onto his face. "Even with my beats and my lyrics, Finn's still shit. His voice isn't worth shit, and he knows it. That's why he keeps stealing my stuff, 'cause he knows he can't make it on his own."

He snorts again, that bitter laugh bursting from him as he walks down the deserted streets of Busan. "Yeah," he agrees, almost sarcastically. "I deserve better. But life isn't fair now is it?"

His phone rings then, pulling him out of his rant. He glances at the caller ID and swipes the screen to reject the call without a second thought.

"Fuck off Finn," he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing at the screen before looking back up at the camera. "Anyway," he continues with a dramatic wave of his hand, "I'm done talking about that bitch."

He stops abruptly, turning to face the camera with an eerily calm expression on his face.

[atlasscrumpit]

Hannibal x Reader

(you're the only one who knows who the copy cat killer is)

You sat in a cold basement, but you didn't mind it. You kind of enjoyed the cold, even if you were locked in a serial killers basement.

The door opened and you looked up to see Hannibal entering with some food.

"I've prepared a lovely meal for you, my dear. You can eat the entire plate if you cooperate and tell me what I need to know." He said as you glared up at him.

"You're wasting your time, I don't know who the copy cat killer is." You said with a simple shrug. Hannibal's face remained the same as he set the plate and knelt in front of you.

"I wonder why you're protecting them. Maybe they're someone close to you?" He said reaching forward to brush a hand through your hair.

"I did my research. You've had a hard life, haven't you, my dear? Hasn't been very easy for you and your brother." He said as you narrowed your eyes.

"You don't know anything about me or my family." You replied. Hannibal cracked a smile.

"This person is killing innocent people, even children and tarnishing the Chesapeake Ripper. Are you okay to sit back while this person kills and ruins lives? I didn't take you for a monster, Y/N." He taunted as you glared at him.

"Says the serial killer." You growled making him chuckle softly.

Hannibal slowly leant in closer and held your face in his hand.

"You've been abused, haven't you?" He asked as your eyes widened.

"No... No, I haven't." You growled making him smile, his thumb rubbing against your cheek.

"My dear girl. You underestimate my ability to read you. I can tell you've been abused most of your life, so vulnerable and fragile. You don't need to worry, my fear. I'm not going to hurt you like they do. But, it makes me wonder if the person you're protecting is the one who hurts you." He said in a low voice as you looked into his eyes, trying to keep up your facade.

He smiled and tucked your hair behind your ear.

"You haven't had affection, have you? No one to keep you safe. You don't have anyone but your brother...which made me come to the conclusion that he's the one you're protecting." He said as you looked into his eyes, your jaw clenching.

He suddenly gripped your hair tightly, tilting your head back.

He looked at the bruising on your neck.

"So, are you protecting him because you love him or because you're scared of him?" He asked letting your hair go as you felt tears in your eyes.

"I told you...I don't know." You growled as he sighed. He stood up and took the food.

"Perhaps you'll be more compliant when you haven't eaten." He said as you watched him leave, bowing your head and crying softly.

--

Hannibal returned the morning of the next day, knowing you would be thirsty and hungry.

He entered the basement and saw you laying on the ground.

"You were right..." You whispered as he tilted his head.

"I'm right about a lot of things, my dear. Which one are you referring to?" He asked as you looked up at him with tired eyes.

"The killer is my brother." You whispered as he placed the food down once more.

He knelt and began to release your restraints.

"Good girl. You don't have to worry about anything else now." He said before gently picking your body up in his arms.

"Are you going to kill me?" You asked as he carried you out of the basement.

"I have to admit I've grown quite attached to having you around. No, I won't be killing you, but you will be remaining under my supervision." He said as you rested your head against his chest.

He brought you up to one of the guest room and laid you down.

You hadn't eaten for three days and your body was feeling it. You yelped when you felt a sharp sting in your arm.

"Shh, my dear. This is going to help you." He said before helping you to sit up.

"Stay put, my dear. I'll get you some food." He said, even though he knew you couldn't walk by yourself.

After a few minutes he returned with a bowl of thick looking soup.

"This will be enough for the moment until your body is stronger." He said before helping you sit up and lean against him.

He brought the soup up to your lips and began to feed you, you didn't care to protest, you were too hungry.

Once you finished the bowl of soup you leant against Hannibal, he enjoyed the warmth of your body against his. He gently placed his hand on your hip and pushed you to relax against him even more.

"Good girl. You've done very well, my dear. Now, you just need to rest and let me nurse you back to health." He whispered taking in your scent and sighing.

He couldn't let you go now.

[haleswallows]

coming at you live, with a news series.... Promises, Promises

Part 1: Cross My Heart (Hope to Die) Fandom: DC x DP Crossover Pairing: Dead Tired (Danny Fenton/Tim Drake) Rating: Teen

Teaser:

"Are you really doing the 'FBI, this is our case now' shtick? What are you, a cop?"

Phantom makes a retching sound. "Sorry, reflex. Any sort of implication I'm government adjacent, can't help it."

"You know being Justice League makes you government adjacent," Red Robin helpfully points out. He weighs a net-launcher in his hand. "If not affiliated with the UN, the League works with the organization often to be called an ally."

"Not me," Phantom says with cheer, pushing a narrow cylinder towards him. "That's essentially a light saber, by the way. Nah, they keep me pretty far from the UN shit. I'm not built for it. I'm there to hit things real hard and share tech."

A light saber? Hell yeah. Tim grabs it and wonders if he can keep it.

"Can I keep it?" he blurts out, because why not?

Shrugging, Phantom says, "Sure, I have like five more. This one is green, but I think I can change the color. Red would match your like —," he waves expansively at Red Robin, "Vibes and aesthetic. Very cool branding, by the way. The cape is dope."

Huh. Tim didn't expect the compliment. He chooses to ignore it, mostly because he just doesn't know what to say in response. 'Thanks, I like your cyber-gothic vibes too'?

"Green's fine, I always wanted to be a Jedi." A red light saber would infinitely more on brand, but Tim would never consider being a Sith. Wait, absolutes. Shit.

It fits perfectly next to his bo staff on his bandoleer. Which, sick and feels like a divine happenstance, as if Red Robin was meant to have the energy blade. He helps Phantom reload the bag, though the ghost keeps the thermos out before pushing the entire duffle back inside his chest.

God, that's even weirder up close. Tim examines Phantom's torso, mind spinning through possibilities on how it works.

"Alright," Phantom's voice breaks his concentration, Red Robin snapping to attention. A truly feral grin spreads across Phantom's face as he lifts into the air, hair swirling and catching the last dredges of sunlight. "Let's go ghost hunting."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

They're wrapping up in one of Tim's more 'civilian' passing safe-houses. Mostly because it was the closest, and Phantom said something about 'ley lines' and 'easier to open a portal'. Cool, whatever. Tim wanted to burn this safe-house soon anyway.

Tim, as always, gets himself into trouble. Chronic Thinking Too Much Disease, they really ought to make a cure for it. He reflects, paused in the middle of writing the report and watching Phantom eat Cheerios right out of the box. Phantom perches on the counter, looking like he belongs there, shoveling cereal into his mouth with the relic sitting innocently at his hip.

When the fuck did Tim get Cheerios?

There's no denying it. Tim likes working with Phantom. The guy is good in a fight, doesn't rely on his powers too much, and kept up with Tim. Not just physically, but intellectually. And he's shockingly earnest when he isn't being a trash-talking little shit.

So. Tim gets an idea.

"Hey," he says before he's even thoroughly thought it out, "we should date."

Phantom pauses, gloved hand suspended in the middle of shoving another handful of cereal into his mouth, wide eyed and gaping. Attractive.

"Huh?" he says eloquently.

"Not for real," Tim scrambles to explain. "I mean fake dating. Just hang around some, be a bit performative, nothing out of masks. We can say we're taking things slow and break up amicably. Nightwing keeps trying to set me up with a date. This will get him off my case."

"Oooooh." Phantom resumes inhaling cereal. Why a ghost needs to eat, Tim would like to know, but it's probably rude to ask. Slowly chewing, Phantom seriously thinks it over. "You know, the council has been bugging me, too. About dating. This could work out for both of us."

Council? Tim would like to know why a council is interested in Phantom dating. So he asks.

Phantom sighs explosively. Finally, he sets the Cheerios down. "OK, so like, this is need to know basis only. I haven't even disclosed it to the League. And like, Nightwing only knows because he's my friend and the Observants crashed one of our missions and outed me. Hard to lie about why a floating eyeball showed up to demand I actually show up to the next council meeting, instead of blowing them all off again to play heroes with my living friend."

Pulling a face, Phantom waves an arm in an arc over his head. A crown appears, spinning and shooting off beams of light like an Aurora Borealis.

Tim doesn't gape, because Red Robin doesn't gape. But, you know, that's unexpected.

"I'm the Ghost King. It's a whole thing, no I am not taking questions on it at this time. Well, technically, I'm the Prince of the Infinite Realms because I'm too young to take the throne. So, there's a council and a regent. Whatever, not important!"

Phantom claps, getting himself back on track. "What that means is there's a council and Observants that are really interested in my personal shit. Including who I date. But like, I'm enjoying my brat girl summer and being single right now, not that they care."

Tim blinks. Then blinks again, slotting the new information in place alongside everything he knows about Phantom. That's... something.

"That sounds annoying," Tim says, instead of one of the approximately 23 questions in his head that are quickly spawning more by the second. "Fake dating would solve both of our problems."

Because Tim is a professional, they make a contract.

Phantom watches with great interest as Tim bustles around the apartment, setting up shop at the kitchen table. He doesn't think he's ever actually sat at this table. Mostly, he's used this apartment to sleep, a crash-out spot that has a nicer bed and isn't as sparse as the other Bat-affiliated safe houses.

As soon as Tim sits, stretching out his wrists, Phantom kicks off from the counter to hover around Tim's shoulders. The box of Cheerios balances precariously on the ghost's stomach. Tim eyes it briefly. Then sets to it.

"So, uh," Phantom starts, arms folded behind his head. "How casual is 'casual'?" Under the weight of Tim's judging eyebrows, Phantom defends himself. "I'm just asking! Like, how far are we both willing to go to sell it? Are we exclusive? Facebook official?"

"Facebook official," Tim echoes, typing. "Christ, is anyone Facebook official? Do ghosts have Facebook?"

"I don't know, I could get one. If, like, you think it'd help." Absurd, this entire thing is absurd. But they're here and committed to the bit. Or committing to the bit. There's 'selling it', and then there's…. whatever Phantom is saying. Facebook, what year is it?

"Red Robin doesn't have a Facebook, and I refuse to make one." Tim barely manages to keep from sounding snide.

"I won't mog on you referring to yourself in the person, even though I'm really tempted." How gracious. "Alright, so just. Seeing each other, feeling it out, not seeing other people."

[kelserlyspace]

Hermione shifted in her seat, pretending to tend to her cauldron as her gaze flickered to the table across the room. Malfoy leaned casually over his table, his silver hair catching the dim light of the room. He had already finished his potion. Of course, he had. Now he sat there relaxing, hands clasped together as he watched his friends. Suddenly his eyes glanced at her way.

Her fingers almost let go of the stirring rod. She quickly looked away. She wasn’t staring. Absolutely not. She was merely...observing the competition. Yes, that was it. Studying how he managed to excel so effortlessly. It had nothing to do with the way his hands moved with precision or the soft furrow of concentration that melted into triumph as his potion turned the perfect shade of turquoise. Nothing at all.

"Granger," his voice cut through the air like a blade, low and teasing. Hermione froze, her eyes snapping to her cauldron in an instant. When she dared to glance up, he was watching her. One brow arched, that insufferable smirk deepening.

"Something fascinating over here?" he drawled, tilting his head.

Her cheeks burned, but she straightened her back, summoning all the Gryffindor courage she could muster. "Just wondering how you managed to finish so quickly. Cutting corners, Malfoy?"

He leaned forward, his pale fingers drumming lazily against the desk. "Oh, Granger, you wound me. Perhaps you're just...distracted."

Her heart stuttered, but she refused to let it show. "By what? Your oversized ego?"

Malfoy chuckled, low and warm. Hermione hated the way it sent a thrill down her spine.

"Keep telling yourself that," he said, returning to his gaze to his parchment with a smile. "Though, if you'd like some pointers, I suppose I could spare a moment."

Hermione scowled, pretending to look down at her notes in concentration. But she couldn't stop the tiny smile tugging at her lips.

She might just consider it.

---

A/N: Academic Rivals trope will always be one of my favorites. Also the photo reference I used for this fanart is supposed to be student/teacher but I wanted to write a drabble with them same age in a Potions class & they're trying to outdo each other.

Hey I'm in IG too 😁

[broidobe]

𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰

requested by @rocketqueen1989x and maybe @xo-myloves

☾after decades of friendship with guns n' roses, y/n shares a night of reminiscing with the band, only to discover that axl has been harboring deep romantic feelings for her all along and finally confesses once they're alone☽

☾warnings: alcohol use, smoking, friends to lovers dynamic☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

it felt like a dream, the six of you gathered again like it was 1987 all over. laughter echoed in the cozy living room as empty beer bottles and snack bowls sat forgotten on the coffee table. slash leaned back in his chair, his hair spilling like a curtain around his face as he chuckled at duff’s latest exaggerated story. izzy sat cross-legged on the couch, a cigarette between his fingers, nodding along to steven’s animated hand gestures.

"remember when axl got locked out of the bus in his underwear?" duff smirked, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

"oh, come on, that was one time," axl grumbled, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. you caught his eye from your seat beside him, and he shot you a small smile that made your chest warm.

"you were banging on the door, screaming at us to let you in," steven added, barely able to contain his giggles.

"and didn’t y/n open the door for him?" izzy chimed in, flicking ash into the ashtray.

"yep, she’s always been the responsible one," slash said, raising his drink in mock salute.

"responsible? i don’t know about that," you teased, nudging axl’s knee with yours. "i just didn’t want to hear him yelling all night."

the room erupted into laughter, and axl shook his head, his lips quirking into a smile he tried to hide.

the night went on like that, story after story, memory after memory. the chaos of the hell house, the adrenaline of backstage moments, the unpolished camaraderie of the early days. you felt a wave of nostalgia so strong it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

eventually, the guys began to peel off one by one. steven was the first to leave, mumbling something about an early morning, followed by slash and izzy, who had carpooled. duff lingered a bit longer but finally stood with a stretch, ruffling your hair affectionately before heading out.

and then it was just you and axl.

the silence that settled wasn’t awkward, but it felt heavier, charged with something you couldn’t quite name. axl leaned back, his emerald eyes fixed on you in a way that made your heart skip.

"you okay?" you asked softly, tilting your head.

"yeah," he said, his voice quieter now, more serious. "just... thinking about how lucky i am to have you in my life."

"oh, stop," you said with a laugh, brushing it off. "you guys have always been my family."

"i mean it," he insisted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "y/n, you’ve been there through everything. even when we didn’t deserve it."

his words caught you off guard, and you swallowed hard, unsure of what to say.

"axl—"

"let me finish," he cut you off gently. "i’ve been thinking about this for a long time. years, actually. and i’ve been too much of a coward to say it, but... i don’t want to just be your friend."

your breath hitched as the weight of his words sank in.

"what?" you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"i’m in love with you," he said, his gaze unwavering, as if willing you to believe him. "i have been for so long, y/n. i just... i didn’t know how to tell you. and now, seeing you here, laughing with everyone like old times, i couldn’t hold it in anymore."

your heart felt like it might burst from your chest. you searched his face, looking for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but all you found was sincerity.

"axl," you began, your voice trembling, "i don’t even know what to say."

"say you’ll give me a chance," he said, his tone soft, almost pleading. "that’s all i’m asking."

a thousand memories flashed through your mind—of the wild, chaotic nights, the quiet moments of comfort, the way his smile always seemed to light up the darkest days. and now, the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw honesty you’d rarely seen from him.

"okay," you said finally, your lips curving into a small smile. "i’ll give you a chance."

his expression shifted from apprehension to pure relief, and he reached out, his hand finding yours. his thumb brushed over your knuckles, a simple yet intimate gesture that sent shivers down your spine.

"you won’t regret it," he promised, his voice barely above a whisper.

[sdmnpact]

˗ˏˋJealousyˎˊ˗

Wroetoshaw x Reader smut

**18+ MDNI**

~~~

You were laying on the couch at your boyfriend's flat watching videos on your laptop. He was in the kitchen making dinner for you two. A usual routine you guys follow, one cooks the other cleans afterwards. You two have built a cozy little life for yourselves. You find joy just being in each other's company, even if it means staying home most nights just cuddling on the couch. Sometimes you wish for a change of scenery and Harry makes sure to fill that desire by taking you to do fun activities in the city. You aren't usually an active person but sometimes you can't help but get a little jealous when Harry is out hiking, playing golf, or filming in some random country. He doesn't really take you out on those types of activities but you don't complain.

"Whatcha watching baby?" He asked as he came over and sat down, moving the pillow you were resting on so he can act as your headrest. You quickly get comfortable on his thigh as you readjusted yourself. You were just binging Joe Weller content, from his own videos to his features on the sidemen channel. You were quite enamored with him lately because of how much time he was spending with the boys. Something about his love for nature and his wild stories made you feel some type of way, creating a want, to learn more about him. You couldn't help but feel slightly attracted to him since he is so fit and adventurous.

**You're POV**

"Just some youtube videos..." I trailed off. Clicking on a different video. "Was that Joe Weller?" He asked partially joking partially serious. "Oh yeah." I awkwardly laughed. "Why are you acting weird?" He said tensing up. "I'm not, I'm fine."

"Seriously y/n! What is it!?"

"Okay, fine, I was watching him because he's interesting and does a ton of cool stuff! Is that wrong?" I said getting a bit defensive. "Well of course not unless you fancy him...." There was a long pause as silence filled the room. "Oh my God, you do fancy him!" He said getting up, leaving my head to plop on to the couch. "I mean, don't you fancy girls online!?"

To be fair, I've seen his Instagram feed and there are a couple onlyfans models he follows. I don't get upset about it because I know he loves me so I don't know why he's getting upset over this. "Well yeah, they're hot but I'm not subscribing to them and watching all their videos!" He semi shouted. There was a different look in his eye. A look of intense jealousy. "Listen Harry, it's just a couple of videos. It's not like I'm touching myself to them!" That line drove him over the edge. I could see the anger form in his eyes, like someone lit a fire.

"I'm sorry, what!?" He said getting a bit louder. " You want him to fuck you? Is that it!?" He said standing over me. "No, I want you to do it!" I said. Harry never and I mean NEVER gets angry like this. It was kind of hot. He was a bit taken back by my words but then I noticed another look in his eyes. Pure lust.

He grabbed my waist fiercely bringing me closer to him. I felt his hot breath on my face as he leaned down to my ear and with a deep musky voice said, "what'd you say?" It was over for me. I could just melt right now.

"I want you to fuck me." I said blatantly, running my fingers down his back putting my arms around his waist bringing it closer to mine. I felt him grow in his pants and I chuckled to myself. He wants it so bad. He pressed his lips against mine and I quickly melted into the kiss. He kissed me so sloppily and so rough like he was starving for more. I reach for his hair and ran my fingers though his blonde locks tugging at them slightly making him moan. I know pulling on his hair makes him go crazy. His hand explored my body feeling all my delicate areas making me shiver at his touch. He reached for my pants, unbuttoning them with one hand while the other hand held my waist. He unzipped them then threw me onto the couch with slight force but also in a way that still felt gentle.

He pulled off my pants and my underwear making sure to run his fingers slowly down my thighs and legs. I felt myself pulsating as he slowly caressed my inner thigh making me go wild. I looked down at him between my legs. His bright blue eyes and messy hair making him look so attractive. He brought his face closer to my throbbing heat holding onto my legs. He slowly kissed my inner thigh getting closer and closer to my heat with each kiss making my legs quiver. I gasped as I felt his wet tongue swirl on my lips. He looked up at me and I felt a smirk on his lips as he slipped his tongue inside. I gasped as I felt him enter. "Damn, you're soaking already?" he chuckled, the vibrations of his voice running through me like a jackhammer. He swirled his tongue inside my vulva knowing which spots make me feel good. My legs shaking as he kept exploring my walls.

I felt myself about to release when he stopped. "Wait darling-" He said quickly dropping his pants and boxers revealing his fully erect member. I smiled at the sight of him as he slowly slipped himself inside me making eye contact. He rocked his hips back and forth increasing his speed each time. He quickly grabbed my waist and spun us around so that he's sitting on the couch and I'm on his lap straddling him. His grip on my waist getting tighter and he bounced me up and down continuing to increase his speed making me feel electric. I grabbed onto his hair pulling harder than last time causing him to release a moan. Between my own soft moans I muttered, "I love your moans." only adding fuel to his desire to make me reach climax, increasing his pace even more.

With one hand, he cupped my face and kissed me roughly as I finally reached climax. I let out a loud moan as I released all over him, feeling him release into me seconds later. Nothing but our heavy breathing filling the room. We sat like that for a couple of seconds, catching our breaths. We looked at each other and smiled as I got off of him about to stand before he pulled me back on his lap. I rested my back on his chest, making our sticky, sweaty skin mold us together. He wrapped his arounds around my waist, kissing the back of my head, breathing heavy on my neck. "I love you, princess."

---

A/N

woo, steamy stuff... sorry about the pov change, this was suppose to be fluff but it turned into smut somehow, causing me to accidently changed the pov. I hope you enjoyed it!

[demigodsanswer]

I’m going to thrice you, again, prompt idea: in Princess AU- the conversation on the beach in Greece if the *right* brother had been there.

I am addicted to alt-versions of my own fic universes. Guess we'll call this one "Found You First" They're younger, so they aren't as good at flirting yet.

~

She hadn't seen Percy in a little over a year. The last time they'd crossed paths, he was holding up Yale's Mock Trial National's first place trophy, while Annabeth fumed about Harvard's meager fifth place, even if she had come out with her own attorney award.

It was hard to hold onto that grudge now, though. When they were on opposite sides of a Mock rivalry (mock as in "trial," the rivalry was very real), he really was handsome, tan with dark hair and very pretty green eyes.

Percy bowed his head towards her, and then held out his hand. It was the first time he'd ever bowed to her. "Lovely to see you again, Princess," he said.

Annabeth took his hand, expecting him to shake it, but he simply kissed it. Annabeth's stomach did a little flip flop, and she was glad she'd agreed to this trip after all.

~

"Riley Winter was obviously the worst one!" Annabeth said. It took all of four minutes alone on the beach for them to start arguing about Mock Trial witnesses.

"Mickey Keenan was way more annoying than him! He was an incompetent cop who obviously entrapped someone," Percy said. "I was so happy when they killed him off for nationals."

"Too bad you lost to Miami that year," Annabeth said.

"Too bad you didn't have the chance to win," Percy said back. Annabeth kicked sand at him.

"Are you in law school?" Annabeth asked.

"Oh, absolutely not. Not cut out for the LSAT, let alone the Bar. I'm doing a masters at Yale," he said, as if that was somehow less impressive than law school.

"Oh? In what?" Annabeth asked.

"Classics. I'm thinking about applying for a Ph.D., but I'm not sure. I'm a bit burnt out at the moment," he said, slumping back in his beach chair for dramatic effect.

Annabeth nodded sympathetically. "Classics is cool, though."

"I'm excited to be in Greece and actually see some of the things I write about," Percy said.

"My dad and I are getting a private tour of the Parthenon this week, if you want to join us," Annabeth offered. "Maybe you could teach us something."

Percy was smiling, really smiling, and excited boyish grin. "Really? Would that be okay?"

Annabeth smiled back. "Sure," she said. She needed to get married, and people were starting to worry she had no real interest in men. Taking Percy, a man she was absolutely interested in, on a trip to the Parthenon might help her in a few different ways.

Percy looked like he was about to say something, but then paused. "Your shoulders are pink," he said. "Want me to get them?"

Annabeth nodded. A nice excuse for some contact.

As Percy rubbed the sunscreen onto her shoulders, chest, and back (both politely trying to ignore how incredibly intimate it was), she asked: "Are you single?" Annabeth couldn't remember seeing any women on his Instagram lately, but maybe he kept those things private.

"I am," Percy said. "I did get out of a relationship a few months ago, though. I'm mostly over it."

"Was it mutual?" She asked.

Percy shrugged. "Hard to say."

"So you got your heart broken?" She deduced.

Percy almost laughed. "A little bit."

"What was her name?"

"Frank," Percy said without hesitation, before looking up and meeting her eyes, assessing her for fear, confusion, or disgust.

Annabeth just nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about that. It sounds like he meant a lot to you."

Percy nodded, a sad look in his eyes. "Yeah," and then he squirted more sunscreen in the other hand, and started on her other shoulder. "I'm not here to use you as a beard, though. I am bisexual, if you ... believe in that sort of thing."

"Be a bit of a raging hypocrisy if I didn't," Annabeth said. Percy's eyes snapped to her face, and she just shrugged and nodded. "I had my own devastating gay break up our senior year. I thought I was going to have to go to the hospital," Annabeth said with a laugh.

"Can I guess who it was?" Percy said, finishing with the sunscreen and sitting back in the sand in front of her. Annabeth stretched a leg out, and Percy started reapply sunscreen to that as well.

"Sure," Annabeth said.

"Tristan McLean's daughter?" He said.

Annabeth laughed. "God, were we that conspicuous?"

"Probably not to straight people," Percy said, "I'm sure to them, you guys looked like very good friends."

~

Before long, it was clear that Annabeth simply could not be in the sun for long without roasting, so Percy suggested they go to the shaded bar up by the resort itself, but still close to the sand. Annabeth had accepted his offer graciously.

Percy covertly texted his cousin while Annabeth used the restroom.

Percy

from your pov, how soon is too soon to kiss the crown princess of a sovereign country

Thals

Well if it's you kissing me, any time would be too soon. if it's the swedish girl. idk go for it if she seems into it

Percy waited a full fifteen minutes after she came back to up the touchy flirting, and Annabeth leaned into it, touching his thigh under the bar and tossing her hair over her (lightly pink) shoulders. Two glasses of wine each later, and their faces were tantalizingly close together.

Annabeth kissed him first in the end, closing the distance between them with a sure and steady kiss that was sophisticated and contained, but did linger.

"So, I guess our rivalry ends here?" Percy suggested.

Annabeth smiled. "Guess so."

~

Thankfully, when her father found her, she was no longer kissing Percy. They'd gone on from their first kiss to their second to their third in record time, before deciding to go somewhere more private.

But it was on their walk to this more private place that they found her dad.

Percy sobered up and remembered his manners right away. Her father hadn't been there for his and hers initial introduction, but Percy carried out the expected protocol flawlessly. Annabeth could have swooned.

"Nice to meet you son. Ambritt, would you like to get dinner?" Her father asked her.

"Oh, sure," Annabeth said, "Percy and I were about to find something to eat ourselves," she said, hoping that didn't read an innuendo, even though it certainly was.

"Ah, well, Percy, you're welcome to join us," her dad offered.

Percy nodded. "I'd be honored, your majesty."

"Oh, please don't bother with all of that, unless you'd like me to start calling you Don Percy," her dad said.

Percy laughed. "Certainly not. But I should change before we go anywhere."

"Me too," Annabeth said.

"Alright, you two head up. I'll make arrangements with Hugo. Do you eat fish?" Her dad asked Percy.

"Sure do," Percy said, before looking at Annabeth, his glance telling her that was also innuendo.

They stepped into the elevator together.

"I forgot your real name was Ambritt," Percy said.

"Sure is. What's 'Percy' in Spanish?" Annabeth asked.

"Perseo, but that's actually one of my middle names. My first name is Pedro," he told her.

"Oh, you are not a Pedro," Annabeth said, taking his hand as the door opened to her floor.

"I agree," he said as she unlocked her hotel room door. "Should I leave you to get ready?"

"In five," she reached between his legs, and her eyes went a bit wide as she realized the size of it, even soft, "maybe ten minutes."

[morningstargirl666]

Rules: you will be given a word. Then you share one sentence/excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

I was tagged by the lovely @galvanizedfriend The word was 🐺CLAWS🐺

My excerpts are mostly long, okay, and it's because the TBBW rewrite is HUGE. These don't even scratch the surface of it lmao---they're still snippets. (Also I've lost track of what i have and haven't shared at this point, so russian roulette it is I guess?)

C.

Caroline knew Sam was dangerous.

He wasn’t like Klaus or Damon, or any of the other Original vampires; he hid it well, behind kind smiles and carefree laughter that she couldn’t help but see herself in. But that sharp, dangerous edge was always there, taunting anyone who dared dig a little deeper. There was the fact he was a hybrid of course, his bite toxic to any vampire unfortunate to cross it. But it was more than that—there was a Klaus-like familiarity to anytime she glimpsed his rage, burning behind his eyes with the force of a thousand suns, simmering just below the surface. It was like staring up at a sky full of dark, thunderous clouds approaching on the horizon and smelling the spark of ozone in the air; feeling the ache in your joints and knowing without reason or logic that—beyond a doubt—a storm was brewing.

So, Caroline knew. But there was a reason they said seeing was believing. And when she saw his gaze latch onto Elena’s bloody neck, eyes bleeding wolf gold, she felt the full force of her terror.

“ELENA, RUN!” Stefan roared, pushing Elena behind him, just before Sam lunged forward, lip pulled back in a savage snarl.

Stefan rose to meet him, and the two collided, Stefan barely bracing his arm against Sam’s neck in time to stop his fangs from descending on his neck. The two crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, claws and fangs bared, Sam blurring with the speed he lurched for Elena again, only stopped by Stefan’s arms wrapped around his middle, yanking him back a hair’s breadth from Elena’s face. Caroline grabbed her friend’s arm and pulled her to her feet, pushing her towards the door as the two forces wrestled on the floor, Tyler immediately leaping to Stefan’s aid to hold Sam back.

“Elena, go!” she yelled, shoving her again towards the door when Elena planted her feet, refusing to move.

“But Stefan—”

“RUN!” Caroline roared, her panic snapping her resolve. There was a crash behind her, and she turned, just in time to see Sam hurl Tyler across the room, into the coffee table that smashed under the weight of the impact, the cracking sound of wood splintering piercing the air. Then Sam whirled on Stefan still on the floor, slashing his claws across the vampire’s face and making him roll back. As Stefan cried out, shielding his face with his arm, Sam pounced forward, fangs poised to sink his teeth into the vampire’s skin.

Caroline’s eyes widened with horror.

“STEFAN!”

In a blur, Elijah was suddenly there, throwing Sam off Stefan by the nape of his neck, fingers curled around his collar. Sam snarled, a fierce growl rumbling out of his throat, lashing out and struggling against Elijah’s hold but the Original vampire was strong, stronger than Sam, quickly manoeuvring the hybrid into a chokehold from behind, arm pressed against his windpipe. He even managed to brace his hands against Sam’s head, poised to snap his neck. But in that moment, Elijah made one grave miscalculation: he may have been stronger, but Sam was hungrier.

Driven feral from the bloodlust, he struggled wildly against Elijah’s hold and sank his fangs into the man’s hand. 

Elijah screamed.

Not giving him enough chance to recover, Sam jerked his elbow back into Elijah’s nose and flashed out of his hold and spun, slamming into Elijah and lunging for his neck. His fangs sank into the Original’s jugular with such savage force it brought the man to his knees, ravaging his skin and tearing apart his throat. Within the span of a few seconds, he had grabbed Elijah’s head and yanked his neck to the side, breaking it with a resounding CRACK before the man could even react. His limp body dropped to the floor, hitting the lavishly decorated rug with a thud, head at an awkward angle and vacant eyes staring towards them, the ravaged skin of his neck a mutilated mess from Sam’s venom-laced bite.

Somewhere to the left, Caroline heard Rebekah's heartbroken wail, but she couldn't move. Couldn’t speak. As they all looked on in horror, Sam stilled over Elijah’s body, straightening his spine and standing tall. He tilted his head in that distinctly canine-like way and sniffed the air, chasing a scent. And then he was slowly turning around, golden eyes landing on Jeremy a few feet away, still standing with Matt. Elijah’s blood was still smeared all over his face, dripping down his chin, and when his black, yellow-rimmed eyes landed on the humans, his lips pulled back over his bloody double fangs. There was no trace of Sam in the animal’s eyes; only the wolf within.

Jeremy took a frightened step backwards and that was all it took for the prey drive to kick in.

“NO! JEREMY!” Elena screamed as Sam pounced, claws extended, and Caroline couldn’t stop her running to her brother, couldn’t save Jeremy, he was too fucking far away—

—And then Kol crashed into Sam’s side, sending them both to the floor.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 39]

L.

“Love is a vampire’s greatest weakness,” he ground out, calling after him before he could disappear, determined to get in the last word.

Sam stopped in his tracks, slightly turning his head back towards Klaus. Then he smiled, and with one sentence, shattered a belief Klaus had closely courted for centuries. 

“Good thing you’re not a vampire then, isn’t it?”

And with that parting remark, Sam turned and left the room, leaving Klaus wide-eyed, forced to contemplate over what he had said. In the dancing flames of the hearth, the sketches Klaus had thrown into the fire continued to burn, flames licking at their edges and crawling across the lines of charcoal and pencil, leaving nothing but ash behind. He looked down at the last sketch of Caroline he’d drawn: the first moment she stepped into his studio, eyes wide with awe as she craned her head to look up at the paintings hung around on the walls. Fingers reverently skimming over her face, he gently tugged the paper from the pad but didn’t throw it into the flames like the others, placing his sketchbook aside on the mantel almost with half a mind. Then, careful not to damage the soft lines of Caroline’s features, he folded the sketch tentatively in two and slipped it into his back pocket.

He told himself he would burn it later. He didn’t.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 21]

A.

As he had done a thousand times, Klaus snuck past the soldiers guarding Aurora’s chambers, using the empty servants’ corridors to gain entry after Aurora’s handmaiden had been dismissed for the night. He didn’t bother knocking in his haste, barging into the chambers with little foresight.

Aurora leapt to her feet beside her dresser, whirling around and gasping in fright. Only when she recognised him did she relax, pulling nervously at the edges of her night garments. 

“Nik?” she breathed in surprise, eyes darting to the doors of her chambers, where soldiers were no doubt stationed outside. “What are you doing, the guards will hear you—”

Klaus didn’t stop as he strode across the room towards her.

“Word’s been sent to Elijah that Mikael was spotted across the border. He’s coming.” He grasped her shoulders, leaning down to kiss her brow, before jumping into action again, moving towards her wardrobe. “We have to leave. Tonight.”

Aurora blinked, struggling to follow. “What?”

Klaus began to pull out her favourite dresses and attire, dumping the clothing into a pile on top of her bed, pointing to her books set aside and other treasured items, like her mother’s jewelled comb, as he did so. “Grab whatever you need, if we have a headstart we might have a chance—”

Aurora watched him, eyes darting back and forth as Klaus flashed around the room, collecting her things. Her eyes grew panicked and she shook her head, voice rising as she spoke. “Nik, I don’t understand—”

Noticing her panic, Klaus stopped in the middle of the room, expression softening when his eyes landed on her. Abandoning his mad dash to gather her belongings, he strode over to her, slowing to a gentle stop in front of her. 

“Aurora,” he began, picking up her hands with his own and offering a soft smile that hid his nerves. “Run away with me.” When her mouth parted in surprise, he squeezed her hands tighter, rushing to explain. “You’re always talking about how you wish to see the world—I can show it to you. Let me show it to you.”

Overwhelmed, Aurora struggled to speak. “Nik—I—”

“I love you,” he declared, leaning down to catch her eye. “These last few months I have been reminded of what it is like to live, not just survive. You reminded me.” The smile cut across his cheeks, wider than ever, dimples and all. He ducked down and kissed her knuckles. “Please,” he continued when she still didn’t answer, eyes wide, fixed on his face. “Come with me.”

“Run away with you? Leave my brother? My home?” Aurora asked aloud, her voice shaking. “Tristan—”

Klaus shook his head, grasping her hands tighter, imploring her to listen to him. “Tristan does not love you. He loves the idea of you he has created for himself, the fragile little bird he keeps in a golden cage. The world is bigger than this castle. Let me show you.”

He smiled again, tentative around the edges.

She only looked up at him with a look he couldn’t begin to read.

“How? As we hide? Fleeing your brute of a father? Always on the run, living like dogs?” she demanded. She wrenched her hands from his and scoffed, taking a step back from him, the laugh cruel. “I think not.”

Despite his intention to keep the hurt from his expression, the pain of her rejection was written all over his face. 

“Your… Your brother has turned you from me,” he said, trying to rationalise her actions. Tristan had become more paranoid as of late, ever since he was turned, tightening his hold on Aurora as a result. Almost as if, everything he was before when he was human, had been heightened.

“No,” she immediately refuted, shaking her head. “I turn from you because I do not love you.” 

Klaus froze, as did she, realising what she had just said. Her expression flickered, eyes growing distant as she struggled to comprehend her own emotions, her voice growing more confident with each word. 

“I—I thought I did. But it’s as if I see you clearly for the first time and I–I—” Her gaze shot to his, finally, and seeing the disgust in her eyes, Klaus wished she had never looked at him at all. “I find you a cruel, wretched thing, pathetic, really. And unworthy of anyone’s love, let alone mine.”

He swallowed around the ball building in his throat, voice coming out as little more than a croak. His hands, bereft without hers to hold, fell to his sides. “You don’t mean that.”

“You say you are not a monster, yet you killed your own mother. Because why? She did not love you like she loved your siblings?”

Hurt twisted into rage in an instant and his glare seared into her skin. “That is not the reason I killed her, and you know it,” he ground out.

“How?” she scoffed, the sound slightly hysterical as she stared at him like she didn’t even recognise the man before her. “How could I know such a thing? How do I know anything you have told me is true when you lie to your own siblings? Your own family?” Her face hardened, posture straightening with purpose. “I wonder what they would say if they knew Mikael’s rage was justified.”

Suddenly all Klaus could hear was his heart pounding in his ears. “You swore to never speak of what I did.”

“I owe you nothing,” she sneered. “We are not alike. And I could never love you.”

Every word hit him like a physical blow and Klaus felt something inside him shatter, his entire expression splintering apart.

“Aurora, please—”

He stepped forward, reaching for her, wanting to fix this, to tell her it wasn’t true, that she was just scared, that he would protect her from Mikael, from Tristan, because he loved her and she loved—

“Do not touch me,” she hissed, jerking away from his hand, stepping backwards as she grasped her own arms in a white-knuckled grip. He froze, eyes wide and broken. She refused to look at him.

“Go,” she ordered. When he didn’t move, she raised her voice, screeching the words out. “GO! GET OUT!”

She shoved him away and he stumbled backwards, blinking back to life. He ducked when she threw an empty chalice at him, growing increasingly frenzied in her attempts to get him out. It was only then he finally recognised the look in her eyes— Fear.

She was afraid of him.

“GET OUT!”

His heart in his throat, Klaus backed away, escaping out the room the same way he’d arrived as he dodged the projectiles she threw his way. Her screeched cries followed him and in his haste to get away, he didn’t check the corridor was clear when he emerged out of the passageway and into the light. 

“HEY! You there! Halt!” a guard called out, followed by the loud, clattering steps of armoured footsteps. There was the hiss of blades being drawn and Klaus stopped in his tracks. “Identify yourself!”

At his sides, his hands curled into balled up fists.

“That’s Lord Niklaus,” another voice whispered—another guard. He sounded young.

There was a pause, before the first one spoke again, his voice more respectful but no less suspicious. “What business do you have in this wing of the castle, m’lord?”

Unbeknownst to the men, black veins crawled across Klaus’ cheeks as his eyes bled red, flickering to life. 

“Lady Aurora’s chambers are not far. You don’t think—”

The boy had not yet finished his train of thought before Klaus whirled around, grabbing his sword arm and ripping the limb right from his shoulder. He screamed, blood spurting everywhere. Klaus had already moved onto the other guard as the younger one staggered back, swatting away his sword to grab the man’s neck, shoving him into the wall and grabbing his head, fingers clenching around his helmet. It dented under his supernatural grip and the guard screamed as his skull was caved in, deep throated wails of it, before it suddenly stopped, the man’s gaze turning unseeing as he took his last breath, a resounding crack echoing through the corridor as the helmet pierced the skull, right to the brain. Klaus let him fall, body landing a mangled heap on the floor. Blood dripped from under the helmet and down his brow, a steady stream of red staining the frenchman’s skin.

The helmet itself glinted in the candlelight and Klaus could see his own face staring up at him from the reflection in the golden metal. There was blood on his face, wet specs of it sprayed all over his skin like a macabre painting of freckled watercolour.

“We are not alike. And I could never love you.”

He didn’t wipe it away.

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 5]

W.

“What do you want this time, daywalker?” the man spat, lip curling over elaborate blue-toned tattoos that covered half of his face, firelight bouncing off one side of his completely shaven scalp. 

“I want information,” Klaus declared with a bright smile, as if he was offering the noblest of deeds to a dear friend. He pulled his leather coin bag from his belt, shaking it at eye level, the golden coins clinking noisily within. “I’m willing to pay you handsomely for it and then, you will never see hair nor hide from me and my family ever again.” 

The witch eyed him suspiciously, glancing between his grin and the bag of coins. After a long, deliberating moment, the witch opened the door wider and reached for the payment. Klaus moved the bag out of reach, expression flatlining into something dangerous. 

“... Unless, of course,” he warned, “You are foolish enough to ever side with my enemies in the near future.”

The witch glared at him, meeting the Original’s challenge with bravery and reaching over the threshold, away from safety, to grab the bag of coins.

“I have no intention to quarrel with the likes of you,” he said, snatching the payment out of Klaus’ hand. “What is it you wish to know?” he asked, eyeing Klaus one more time before turning around.

Klaus moved to follow but stopped, unable to, magic keeping him out without an invite into the home. Mouth curled into a sneer, Klaus raised his gaze from the infuriating doorway to the witch inside, who was walking back to his work table where the carcasses of several animals sat. He grabbed a huge meat cleaver where it hung off a hook attached to the rafters, carrying it over to the table and continuing his work, beginning to gut a brown, pink-nosed weasel.

The smell of blood wafted into the air as flesh was sliced apart and Klaus turned his head away, not squeamish by a long shot but definitely hungry, staring instead at the numerous dried out herbs and charmed objects hanging from the ceiling, the air thick with magic. Along the shelves, ceramic jars stood in stacked rows, packed with all sorts of things; frogs legs and pigs hearts, moonstones and mandrake roots, even hare’s eyes—they stared back at him, magically blinking, very much somehow alive, watching his every movement with unnerving intensity. 

“You are familiar with the wolves in this area, are you not?” Klaus asked, trying to ignore the shiver that crawled up his spine.

He remembered the hut his mother used for spells and blessings throughout his childhood, the heavy atmosphere of magic that thickened the air like an ever-present fog and the uneasiness it gave him whenever he stepped inside. Kol and Finn always loved it, said it felt like mother was embracing them. For Klaus, it was suffocating.

“I was,” the witch drawled, glancing up at Klaus as he pulled out the weasel’s intestines, “Before your family slaughtered what was left of them.”

“What was left of them,” Klaus echoed. His eyes narrowed. “Such a specific choice of words.”

Once Klaus and Kol had reunited with their siblings the morning after the wolf pack’s attack, they had sought those responsible. Unprotected by the might of the full moon, the wolves that had not perished under The Black Wolf’s claws met a terrible end, bled dry by his family’s fangs. But how would the witch know about the Black Wolf that had interfered, even when his family did not?

“Ask your question, demon,” the witch said with a sigh, impatient, wanting him to get to the point.

“A black wolf, larger than your average werewolf. Powerful, too,” Klaus described, intently watching the witch for his reaction. “What do you know of it?”

The witch paused. Calmly, he set his cleaver down, discarding the weasel’s pelt and throwing it onto a pile on the floor, wiping his bloody hands in the fabric of his apron. His eyes found Klaus, a grimace on his face.

“The Dolpha pack that rules the northern territories… they call him der Schatten.”

“The Shadow,” Klaus breathed, translating the name.

The witch nodded, hesitantly continuing his story. “He is a ghost, a story wolf-folk tell their children at night before they sleep. A protector that stalks the land, searching for the prince that was taken by der Zerstörer. They say he walks in his shadow, hunting him forevermore.”

“Der Zerstörer?” Klaus repeated, stumbling over the unfamiliar word, the language of the Franks far more familiar to him than his Germanic.

“The Destroyer.”

Klaus felt himself freeze; felt as his muscles tensed at the mere utterance of the feared moniker Mikael had begun to answer to.

“And what is this… ghost?” Klaus asked, teeth gritted as he forced the question out. At his sides, his hands clenched around the wood of the doorframe. “What gives him power?”

“You say his pelt was black, yes? And powerful, very powerful?”

“Yes.”

“My guess is he is a Bloodborne,” the witch said with a shrug, grabbing the organs of the weasel he had just gutted and throwing them into a huge cauldron that bubbled and boiled over the fire-fueled stove. “They are a powerful breed of werewolf, descended from the oldest bloodlines of their kind. At the turn of a blood moon, their power is… unmatched.”

Klaus remembered how Mikael used to cower during the nights of the blood moon when he was but a child, refusing to allow any member of their clan to leave the caves even when the moon had waned and the sun had set twice more. Superstition, he had believed it to be then. Now, more aware of magical practices and the power of celestial events, he knew the true monsters to fear on such a night were the witches, not the werewolves.

But perhaps he was wrong.

“One Bloodborne pack was well-known in the Scandinavian regions for their pelts, black as the night, made of the thickest shadows,” the witch continued, providing Klaus with more food for thought. “They inspired many myths of the great Fenrir in the times of Old, no doubt, before the Great Purge came. Perhaps he is a descendent of them.”

“Can he be killed?” Klaus asked, that ever-present worry that the Black Wolf—despite its peaceful actions so far—was a threat to his family loud in his mind.

“Any werewolf can be killed,” the witch said with a cruel laugh, turning around to shoot Klaus a serious look. “Just make sure you aim for the neck." He grinned. "A wolf cannot bite without a head.”

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 7]

S.

Sam had transformed, his wolf chained by the ankles to the walls of the pen, with even a god damn collar circling his neck, locking him to a chain bolted to the floor. They’d attempted to give him a make-shift muzzle; straps of leather wrapped endlessly around his snout, clamping his jaws together so tightly Klaus could see the straps digging painfully into his flesh from where he was standing, rubbing it raw. Patches of blood decorated his pelt, a macabre splash of colour against the shades of brown and cream. The wolf was unconscious—thankfully—motionless against the floor, Kiera kneeled right beside him trying to tear the chains away, straining in her attempt.

“Don’t just stand there! Help me!” she called over to him, eyes panicked. Finally, the chain she was pulling at gave way, the metal links loudly snapping in half under strength. Even as she threw it away, she started coughing, the vervain still hanging in the air clogging her throat. “If he wakes with these around him—”

She choked, and it sounded like a sob before she could quell it. Kiera didn’t cry. In over eight hundred years, Klaus had rarely seen her shed more than one tear—at least, not when there were witnesses. 

Something in Klaus’ expression hardened, and he didn’t need her to finish her train of thought, already rushing to her side. He knelt down, grabbing onto the next chain just as she reached for it herself.

“On three?” he asked her. She nodded. Klaus gritted his teeth as he wrapped his hands around the cold iron, changing his grip. “One…two…three!”

They both pulled on the metal with all their strength, straining from the effort, and this time, with Tyler’s power added to hers—both wolf and vampire—the chain snapped much quicker, breaking from the combined force. Klaus moved to rip the makeshift muzzle away as Kiera moved onto the next chain, desperate to get the wolf out of the restraints.

“Knife,” Klaus ordered, holding a hand out expectantly when he failed to tear the leather wrapped around the wolf’s snout with his bare hands. Kiera quickly paused in her attempts to break the chain, lifting up her foot and planting it on the floor, pulling a wicked-looking knife from her ankle, sharper than those she used to throw. She slammed it onto Tyler’s palm, and Klaus curled the boy’s fingers around the handle, immediately using it to cut away the tight straps of leather, careful not to cut the wolf’s flesh. Underneath the leather, the skin was read and raw, weeping. Klaus clenched his jaw. Kiera refused to look, resuming her attempts to break the last of the chains.

Working together, they managed to free the wolf; Kiera worked the chains, pulling the bolts from the floor and tearing the links from the collar, while Klaus cut away the muzzle, discarding the scraps of leather and wire one by one. Throughout it all, the wolf barely stirred, eyelids fluttering open once or twice, only to fall shut once more.

“Need help with the collar?” Klaus asked, when the muzzle was gone, the wolf’s jaw free. He sincerely hoped that wouldn’t bite him in the arse later. Literally.

The metal collar was a heavy thing, weighing a dozen tonnes. With the added weight, Klaus could barely move the wolf’s head—probably by design.

“Grab the other side,” Kiera ordered, already moving onto it, Klaus following. She grabbed the leather clasps around the neck first, unbuckling them, before nodding at Klaus, indicating for him to pull out the bolt that attached the two halves of the collar on the other side. At her nod, he ripped it out with a snarl, and she caught the part that fell to the floor while Klaus caught the top, careful to make sure both pieces didn’t fall on the wolf’s paws and injure him further.

“How is he?” Klaus asked, watching Kiera as she put her piece of the collar down, reaching for the wolf’s head immediately. She ran her fingers through his fur, brushing back his ears. They twitched at her touch, and on the ground, his paws tensed, claws digging into the wood.

“Sssh,” Kiera hushed softly, and although the wolf’s eyes didn’t open, he must have recognised her voice, because the beast’s entire body sagged. She pulled his huge head into his lap, her lip thinning into a grim line as her eyes landed on his swollen snout.

“He’ll heal, once we’re out of this air,” she murmured, scanning the rest of his body worriedly. “I’m more worried about what this implies. Shouldn’t he have shifted back by now?”

Klaus rolled Tyler’s jaw, shaking his head as he too looked the wolf up and down. “It’s the Heel. It locks them in this form—”

“I know it locks them in this form, Klaus,” Kiera snapped, looking right at him. “I’ve seen what hunters do with their heads, let alone their hides.”

Not all hunters killed vampires and werewolves alike just because of some divine calling to rid the world of all evil, or because they decided they alone could protect those they loved from the monsters lurking in the dark. Some merely used that as an excuse.

Some, hunted the supernatural world for sport.

Those hunters were the kind of men and women that didn’t care whose lives they took, taking fangs from vampires and claws from werewolves as trophies, mounting the wolf heads on their walls and decorating their floors with their hides. Heel locked a werewolf in their canine forms even after a death, making it possible to skin the corpse and take the pelt. On the black market, the rarest werewolf pelts were worth a small fortune—a white pelt, for example, had sold at auction three years ago in Seoul for over 2 billion won.

Klaus dared not imagine how much his pelt would be worth.

“All this time… and they thought we were the monsters,” Kiera continued, gently brushing her fingers through the fur at wolf’s neck. “We need to make them pay,” she whispered. 

Klaus gritted his teeth, shooting her a warning look even though he longed to agree with her. “We will, but not now,” he hissed. “We had a plan.”

“They used Heel on him, Klaus,” she snarled, eyes shooting to glare at him, veins crawling along her cheeks. The monster was hungry. “They need to burn.”

[TBBW Rewrite, Chapter 42]

The word is 🦇BITE🦇

Tagging @stars-and-darkness @marxandangels @bellemorte180 @ks-caster @iturnlemonadeintolemons and @stardust414 because i'm sure you could adapt this for art wips

[nobodybetterlookatme]

How's it going with your coworker??!!

I'm still so fucking soft and that's really all I've got for today lmao

[lizziesangel]

RAFE CAMERON ⟢ paired up together

quarterback!extroverted jock x shy!introverted!FEM!reader ⟢ MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: soft!rafe cameron

your mom and dad always had a vision for you, one that didn’t exactly include self-defense classes. when you were younger, they signed you up for piano lessons, art workshops, and just about anything that didn’t involve sweat or the possibility of a sprained ankle. they didn’t want you to feel weak, of course, but they thought strength came from different things—discipline, refinement, skill.

“you don’t need to learn to throw punches,” your mom would say. “you need discipline. structure. music.”

so you’re not exactly the strongest person in the world, but you’re not weak either. you’ve got your limits, sure, but you also like to think you can handle yourself if you absolutely had to. you’re just hoping today isn’t one of those days.

as you walk with your best friend to PE, the two of you are mid-gossip, laughing at something she said about the latest drama in your grade.

“and then she had the nerve to say my dress was last season, when hers looked like it came out of her grandma’s attic,” lana says, flipping her hair dramatically.

you snort. “maybe she was going for vintage?”

“vintage?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “there’s a difference between vintage and… tragic.”

the conversation carries you all the way to the gym, where your PE teacher, coach davis, claps his hands together and gets everyone’s attention.

“alright, listen up!” he booms, his voice echoing off the walls. “today, we’re starting a self-defense unit. and before anyone complains, let me just say—you’re gonna thank me later. trust me.”

there’s a murmur of interest and maybe a little dread from the class. you glance around and spot the football team—rafe cameron and topper thornton in the corner—leaning against the wall like they’re above it all. rafe’s tossing a football between his hands absentmindedly, while topper’s saying something that makes him smirk.

“of course they’re here,” lana mutters, following your gaze, looking at each football player.

“at least we’re not getting paired with them,” you whisper back, half-joking.

lana shakes her head, “i feel like you just jinxed us.”

you look at her, “no, you just jinxed us by saying that i jinxed us.”

she looks at you with a confused face, “you’re not even making sense, like at all.”

“whatever, they're football players, it would be weird if we were paired with them,” you raised your shoulders.

coach davis goes on to explain the basics of the class, ending with the bombshell: “you’re gonna be partnered up for these drills. i’ll call out the pairs.”

your friend groans dramatically. “if it’s not them then i’m gonna get stuck with someone who doesn’t even know how to hold a fist properly.”

“maybe it’ll be me,” you say, grinning.

“please,” she shoots back. “you’re not hopeless. you’re just… delicate.”

before you can defend yourself, coach starts calling out pairs. when he says your best friend’s name, followed by topper’s, her jaw drops.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispers, shooting you a look. “like i said, you jinxed us.”

“at least he’s strong?” you offer, barely holding back a laugh.

“and annoying.” she sighs, but there’s a faint pink tinge to her cheeks as she walks over to topper.

then coach calls your name.

“you’re with rafe cameron.”

your stomach drops. you glance up to find rafe already looking at you, his eyebrows slightly raised, the smirk replaced by something unreadable.

“great,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your water bottle and making your way over.

the self-defense gym class is not exactly your idea of a good time. the thought of being paired up with anyone, let alone someone like rafe cameron—quarterback, golden boy, cute jock extraordinaire—makes you want to melt into the floor. but when coach calls your name, followed by his, there’s no escaping it.

you shuffle over to him, clutching your water bottle, avoiding his eyes. rafe, on the other hand, stands there looking like he’s just been told he won the lottery, but he’s trying way too hard to play it cool.

“guess we’re partners,” he says, a little too brightly, flashing that easy grin of his. it’s the kind of smile that probably works on everyone else, but you just nod and mumble, “yeah, okay.”

the first drill is basic—a wrist grab escape.

“so,” he starts, dropping the football to the ground and kicking it aside, “here’s the plan. i’ll go easy on you, obviously. i mean, i’m not gonna, like, actually grab you or anything. just… enough so you can practice the moves. sound good?”

you blink at him, unsure what to say. he’s talking fast, like he’s trying to fill the silence before it even has a chance to settle.

“and if you’re not sure about something, just tell me,” he continues, his hands gesturing animatedly. “i’ve, uh, done some of this stuff before. kind of, you know… for football and stuff.” he scratches the back of his neck, like that explains everything.

“okay,” you say softly, nodding.

he hesitates for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to say more, but when you don’t, he shifts awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“cool. yeah. uh… so, you wanna start with the wrist grab thing?” he asks, his voice a little higher than usual.

“sure,” you reply, your tone neutral.

he stares at you for a second longer, then clears his throat and rubs his hands together. “alright. this’ll be easy. just… pretend I’m the bad guy or something.”

you glance up at him briefly, your lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. “okay, bad guy.”

his laugh is sudden, almost startled, like he didn’t expect you to say that. he recovers quickly, though, his grin softening into something less forced.

“alright, let’s do this,” he says, stepping a little closer. you try not to focus on how tall he is, how he seems to take up all the space around you.

the first few exercises are awkward, to say the least. rafe has to grab your wrist in what’s supposed to be a firm hold, and you’d have to fumble your way through the escape technique. it’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to get the drill going.

the two of you are both way too aware of each other. the awkwardness of it all makes the air feel heavier, and there’s this strange, bubbling tension that neither of you knows how to shake. rafe’s grip on your wrist is a little too firm at first, and you instinctively yank it out of his hold too quickly, which makes you both pause and look at each other for a second.

there’s a beat of silence, and then rafe’s face cracks into a grin. “uh… yeah, you’re definitely supposed to slowly pull away,” he says, his voice a little too bright for the situation.

you blink at him, your face flushing. “sorry, I—uh—I panicked.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s fine. we’re just trying this out.”

you can’t help but feel embarrassed, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. you didn’t think self-defense could be this awkward, but the whole thing is kind of ridiculous. the movements feel so stiff and uncoordinated, and you can tell rafe is trying way too hard to hide his laughter.

“okay,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at him. “let’s try again.”

this time, rafe tries to go easy on you, adjusting his stance, but as soon as he grabs your wrist again, there’s a moment of hesitation, and both of you burst into suppressed giggles. it’s just too silly—the way you’re both standing there, pretending to fight, looking like absolute amateurs.

you can’t stop the laughter from slipping out, and the sound is so unexpected that it catches you off guard. your face burns, and you quickly cover it with your hand, hoping no one notices how flustered you are.

“okay, okay,” rafe says between laughs, still holding your wrist but clearly fighting to keep himself together. his heart is racing, not from the physical exertion of the exercises, but from the way he can’t seem to focus on anything except how adorable you look when you laugh. “we’re, uh, doing great, right?”

you can’t even meet his eyes. your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “yeah, definitely.”

but rafe’s heart is thundering in his chest, too loud for him to ignore. he’s never been this nervous during a drill, not even when he’s throwing a football in front of a crowd. everything about this is making his insides do flip-flops, and he can’t understand why.

the two of you keep going through the exercises, but the laughter doesn’t stop. each time rafe grabs your wrist, or you try to make an escape, there’s this shared, silent understanding between the two of you. it’s ridiculous. it’s awkward. and it’s perfect.

he notices the way your hands shake slightly, how your eyes keep darting away from his, and it just makes him want to laugh even more. it’s so real, so raw, in a way he’s never felt before. he doesn’t know why, but he can’t seem to stop thinking about you.

“you’re doing fine,” he says softly after a while, his voice unusually gentle. “really. don’t worry about it.”

you nod, barely able to form words as you keep your gaze firmly on the floor. he wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in his throat. it’s strange—this is strange. something about the way you make him feel like he’s in way over his head, and it’s making his heart race faster than he can keep up with.

coach davis started droning on about the next exercise, something about how to escape a bear hug or tackle or whatever, but you’re not really listening. you’re too busy trying to get the next move right, shifting your weight awkwardly, wondering if your face is as hot as it feels.

what you are aware of, though, is the way rafe is looking at you. his gaze is soft, but it doesn’t feel casual—it’s more intense than it should be, like he's lost in a thought you’re not a part of. every time you glance at him, he’s still staring, his lips slightly parted like he’s about to say something but can’t quite figure out what.

you don’t notice how long he’s been staring, how he’s not paying attention to coach davis at all, but lana does.

she’s standing a few feet away with topper, listening half-heartedly to the coach’s explanation while she watches you both from the corner of her eye. when she sees rafe’s gaze fixed on you, her eyebrow raises, the corners of her lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“no way,” she mutters to topper, who’s clearly more interested in trying not to sweat than anything happening in the class.

lana shifts closer to you, nudging your shoulder gently. “okay, seriously, are you two going to pretend like nothing is happening here?” she whispers, her voice laced with amusement.

you barely hear her, focused on the way rafe shifts his weight, trying to act casual, but you don’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“what are you talking about?” you ask, still trying to concentrate on what coach davis is saying.

“girl,” she says, almost too loudly, making you blush even harder, “you’ve got mr. quarterback staring at you like you’re the only thing in this gym. i swear, you’re not even paying attention, and he’s over here practically drooling.”

you blink at her, confused, your face going even hotter. you glance over at rafe quickly, thinking you’re imagining it, but—no. he’s still looking at you, and the moment your eyes meet, his expression shifts from uncertainty to something else, something you can’t quite figure out.

and then, like a punch to the gut, you finally pull your gaze from him, letting your eyes fall to the floor like you’re trying to escape from the intensity of the moment.

lana catches the look, then smirks, nudging you again. “i’m not crazy. he’s definitely into you. like, definitely. look at him—he’s not even pretending to pay attention anymore.”

you try to focus on something else—anything else—but you feel the weight of his gaze still on you, like he’s looking right through you. it makes your chest tighten, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him again.

“stop,” you whisper harshly, though you don’t even know why you’re saying it.

lana just giggles, her eyes lighting up like she’s holding onto some great secret. “i’m just saying, girl. you’re killing him right now.”

meanwhile, rafe, clueless about what’s going on between the two of you, is still struggling to keep his composure. his heart is racing even faster now, and all he can think about is how you’re just standing there, not noticing what he’s feeling—he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed by that. all he knows is that he can’t seem to look away from you.

rafe exhales slowly, trying to ground himself, even though it feels impossible.