#and for what? what did I do for you exactly? what am I still doing for you that you want me around after everything that’s happened?

[beloveds-embrace]

I’m loving Duchess with a backbone!!!!! Please can we see her finally put John and Simon in place?

The air in the drawing room is frigid, despite the crackling fire in the hearth.

You sit near it, posture perfect, gloved hands folded in your lap, but the warmth does not touch you. Not truly. It is there only in flickering light, in the faint scent of burning wood, not in the hollow of your chest or the chill in your bones.

Across from you, John and Simon stand as if waiting for something- perhaps waiting for you to acknowledge them. You do not, because you know they have already heard.

Johnny and Kyle had been shaken when they told them, voices uneasy, recounting the moment you stood before them, spine unbending, and reminded them exactly who you were. You had let them stammer through their weak protests, had let them fumble with excuses and empty justifications before you struck them down with the simple, inarguable truth:

You are the Duchess of this house. You will be respected within it.

And now, here they are. John, your dear husband, with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Simon, standing just behind him, silent as ever. They are lords in their own right, men of power and presence. You cannot pull rank on them the way you did with Johnny and Kyle, but you do not need to.

Your silence is its own weapon, and today it is what you’ll be wielding.

John exhales sharply, shifting his weight as if he cannot bear the way you refuse to look at him. “I heard you had words with Johnny and Kyle.”

Still, you say nothing.

Simon watches you closely, the scrutiny of his gaze burning at the edges of your vision, but you do not grant him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes.

John sighs, raking a hand through his hair. “We need to talk, Duchess.”

“Do we?” Your voice is cold, distant, detached.

His brows draw together. “Indeed, we do.”

You finally look at him then, your face unreadable. “…And why is that?”

A flicker of something passes through his face; frustration, perhaps, but there is something else beneath it. Something brittle. He does not like this version of you, you are unsurprised to note. A version of you that no longer leans desperately toward him, that no longer reaches for the warmth he once withheld. No longer begs for a single ounce of affection.

Good.

Simon does not speak. He only observes, fingers curling against his sleeves as if holding himself back. His silence is different from yours, though. Yours is deliberate, a wall carefully built, reinforced, fortified against the damage they have done. His is wary, calculating, as if he is still trying to find the best way to approach something he does not quite understand.

“Duchess.” Simon’s voice is low, and unhappy. It rankles you that he thinks he can speak to you like this; John’s lover he may be, you are the Duchess of this house, and yet he fails to show you even a sliver of respect for it.

You lift a brow, tilting your head just slightly, like one might when observing something of mild interest. “Yes?”

He hesitates. You can see it- the way he wants to tread carefully, the way he senses the ice beneath him is thin.

John, less patient, sighs again. “Are you just going to pretend we’re not here, then?”

You inhale slowly, exhaling just as carefully. “I am not pretending anything, my lord.” The title is precise, distant.

It is the first time in your marriage you have called him that.

John flinches- flinches- just slightly. His lips part, but for once, he does not have the words.

Simon exhales through his nose. “We were wrong.”

It is a confession, but it does not move you.

“Indeed.”

Another silence, heavier now, and John steps forward slightly. “We should have-“

You stand abruptly, and it makes them pause. Smoothing down the fabric of your gown, adjusting it with delicate fingers, before you finally, finally look at them both directly.

“You will not placate me with words.” You do not raise your voice, but it cuts through the space between you like a blade. “You can’t. Not after everything. I don’t care for your empty apologies, and I don’t care to stay here and be disrespected any longer.”

John swallows hard. “We-“

You shake your head. “No, my lord.”

A simple command. A final word.

You step past them, your presence colder than the winter winds outside. You do not look back, and care not for however they might react or whatever expressions they may have.

[plainclothesdisaster]

“What the hell am I looking at.”

Batman stands next to him, arms folded, appraising the same piece of plain notebook paper on the table. To the untrained eye it looks like someone has scrawled a handful of shitty doodles and notes on it. But to John Constantine’s eye? Well, he was thanking his very limited lucky stars that he didn’t have a personal encounter with whatever god or demon that had given that paper to Bats in the first place.

Batman frowns. “I don’t know. That’s what you’re here for.”

“And if I told you I don’t want to touch whatever this is with a ten foot pole?”

Batman points to a green sticky note stuck on the paper’s bottom corner.

Call the Hellblazer if you need a tutorial.

Well, fuck. So much for flying under the radar.

“So. You know what it is.” Bats says it as a statement not a question, which is, of course, accurate. John knew what it was before Batman even led him to the black table at the center of the Batcave, where the paper sat in the center like some delicate work of art. The whole cave smacked of ozone and ectoplasm from the second he walked in. It’s positively filled with potential energy on a cosmic scale, emanating from that single, annoyingly unassuming source.

“That,” John starts, resenting the no-smoking-in-the-Batcave rule now more than ever, “Is a summoning sigil. A very powerful summoning sigil. How in hell did you end up with it?”

Bats hands him yet another green sticky note. This one reads:

Use in cases of: Mind control, literal apocalypse (ONLY if my fault). That’s it. Nothing else. If you do I will know and I will permanently turn off the gravity in the Watchtower as payback.

Thought I’d save you the trouble of making my file yourself.

-D

P.S. No spoilers, John. :)

Bats re-folds his arms. “It was given to me by a coworker.”

It’s a contingency plan, John realizes. One of Batman’s trademark ideas that piss everyone off but he does anyway. Usually the League Members didn’t personally and willingly hand over their personal kryptonite, though. John certainly hadn’t. And there’s also the issue that most Leaguers kryptonite isn’t this powerful.

“Care to enlighten me which of your coworkers is on a first name basis with the Ancient of Time?”

“Hn.”

“Not ringing any bells? How about this then: which Leaguer is strong enough that their contingency plan is giving you the personal calling card of a god?”

“He knows you.”

And John is just so thrilled that two of his names showed up in the context of god-summoning. So neat for him. Not problematic in the slightest. What’s only slightly less problematic is that he doesn’t know who wrote the notes- none of the current Justice League members fit the bill. Not that he’s ever been good at keeping up with the cape parade, but he would have known if something this powerful stepped this close to his territory.

Unless…

“When you say coworker, what exactly do you mean?”

“Does it matter?”

“You don’t typically make contingency plans for non JL members.”

“He values his privacy.”

Not a member of the Justice League, then. Powerful enough to hide in plain sight and also have an Ancient on speed dial. Self aware enough to deliver this nuclear option of a contingency plan.

John knows who it is.

The only question left is why the fuck Batman has the Ancient of Space, King of all Ghosts, on his maintenance staff.

But he won’t ask that, because according to that cheeky little sticky note, Batman didn’t know. And John is not about to piss off an Ancient by spoiling his gig.

“Well Bats. If you end up needing to use it you just prick your finger, touch the circle, and say that bit of Latin there.” He waves his fingers at the scribbles, still unwilling to get any closer. “But I hope for all our sakes that you never need it.”

“And why’s that?”

John resists rolling his eyes. He doesn’t resist the urge to grab a cigarette and put it between his lips. He’s not planning on sticking around much longer anyways. “Because if you do, it means we’re fucked. Like, cosmically.”

Batman glares at the cigarette but decides not to comment.

“Look mate I don’t want to get involved in your hiring practices, but have you considered background checks?”

“I trust him.”

“I should hope so.”

John sighs. He can feel a headache coming on. Batman didn’t just hand out his trust willy-nilly, so the king in disguise must have done something to earn it. It’s not much solace, but he’ll take it.

DPxDC Mechanical Engineer Danny

Danny caught the attention of Batman while studying at Gotham University for his alternative energy projects. He’s hired right out of college to work on the Watchtower.

He shows absolutely no tell of his abilities till there’s a dire situation- Flash’s electric discharge messes with one of his projects in progress and the whole base would have lost air pressure if he hadn’t done a quick fix using telekinesis and ice.

Of course Batman notices.

Batman assumes the worst- he suspects Danny’s a rogue of some kind, someone who has infiltrated the Justice League with an ulterior motive. But he can’t just fire Danny now- he’s the only one who knows how the new Watchtower energy source works. Plus, he’s not letting Danny go anywhere until he’s figured out his true motives.

Cue Batman subtly testing Danny- tossing things at him to trigger inhuman fast reflexes, having him lift too-heavy machinery, setting up convenient opportunities to steal or snoop or otherwise be up to no good. Danny does take advantage but only once, to use a computer terminal with unlocked clearance. He didn’t plant any bugs that Barman could find, and he otherwise kept up his powerless civilian act perfectly.

Still, Batman’s not satisfied. He brings an infrasonic sound emitter to Danny’s lab one day, and that, of all things, is what gets Danny to break.

“I know what you’re doing,” Danny admits with a sigh, finally. “If you’re really that suspicious of me, I can leave, but I kinda like my job so I’d prefer not to. The benefits are insane compared to what’s standard.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. yeah. How about you turn off the freaking noise generator and we can talk?”

“Hm.” Batman obliges, and he takes the stool next to Danny at his gesture.

“Number one, I’m not a meta. Despite all the data and conclusions you’ve probably drawn otherwise. Number two, I’m on your side. I’m here to work on the base, that’s it. I follow your rules to the letter.”

“The-“

“The classified files I looked at? Yeah that was the one exception. You already know what I looked at, I’m sure, but maybe you haven’t figured out why. It goes back to point one- I may not be a meta, but I am something that organization, the GIW, cares about. I looked at your files on them to sus out your relations. Seeing as I don’t particularly love being the victim to twelve degrees of human rights violations if I can avoid it.”

“Hm.” The Ghost Intelligence Ward was one of many government agencies that the Justice League hadn’t worked closely with. But they also hadn’t been flagged for Justice League investigation. Danny’s comments made him doubt that call.

“Any other questions?”

“If you’re not a meta, what are you?”

“I’m an engineer. A pretty decent one. And I’d really, really like it to stay that way.”

Batman considers, and ultimately lets him stay. He likes Danny (everyone likes Danny), and it would be a massive pain in the ass to replace him. He really is a good engineer.

It’s only much later that his faith in Danny is repaid in spades.

Batman finds Danny on the Watchtower command bridge. Alarms are blaring, the station has been knocked out of orbit, out the window there’s shrapnel floating everywhere as a space battle rages around them.

On the station it’s chaos. Technicians run around, shouts from the med bay, sparks from the walls.

Batman and Danny stand at the main controls, watching the battle outside, stoic, unmoving.

Wonder Woman’s harried voice crackles through on coms: “We need backup.”

“There is no more backup.” Batman replies, while looking pointedly at Danny.

“What?”

Batman doesn’t move.

“What.”

“The impact from Darkseid’s initial attack should have sent this station on a terminal trajectory toward the planet.”

“Well. We aren’t currently plummeting to our deaths, so turns out it didn’t do that.”

“You did something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe Superman nudged us back on course in all the chaos.”

“I’ve been watching the trackers. No one else with the capability has come near the station.”

“Can’t you just be grateful we got lucky?”

Sounds of peril screech over the coms. Danny’s face scrunches.

“Luck had nothing to do with it. As it is now, we are going to lose this fight.”

“Isn’t there anyone else you can call?”

“I’m asking you. You can help, can’t you?”

The glare-off lasts a long moment more before Danny breaks.

“Fuck. Fuckity fuck.” Danny runs his hands through his hair. “Shit. You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking you to save this and countless other worlds from a genocide. I’m also asking you to save my friends.”

Danny looks at him, hard, weary, and with a kind of deep resolve that feels far too ancient to be on the face of a supposed twenty-something.

“Fine. Fine. Okay.” He steps back and transforms. If Batman is surprised when he shakes off his human appearance like an old coat, he doesn’t show it. But what’s undeniable is the being in Danny’s place has the unmistakable presence of power.

“No one else can know.” His voice echoes in a way that’s sonically impossible, both sounding closer and further away than he should be.

He pulls a gear-shaped medallion seemingly out of thin air and puts it over his head in one motion.

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming you.”

He vanishes. Outside, the shape of the battle changes instantly. The stars seem to glow brighter as the arms of the galaxy flash with the colors of the aurora. Then it’s like the void of space itself comes alive. It moves the spaceships back like they’re toys, plucking them from one side of the field to the other. It finds Darkseid at the heart of the chaos and massive arms of nothingness and darkness wrap around him. He’s screaming as it swallows him whole.

His armies scatter. The battle turns. The JL deal with the stragglers, but the air of relief is palpable.

Danny reappears next to Batman, once again donning his grease-stained coveralls. Arms folded.

“Happy?”

It took all of five minutes. Less, probably. Batman tamps down a thousand questions.

“Thank you.”

“I’m gonna need two weeks off minimum.” Danny snaps. “One to deal with the bureaucratic nightmare you’ve just caused me, and another to recover from the headache.”

Batman blanks. “Granted.”

Danny sighs. “And I’m not fixing the station until I’m back. It won’t fall out of the sky as is. Make up whatever excuse you want.”

“Done.” He considers. “I would prefer to tell them the truth. That you saved us.”

Danny glares. “I’m not supposed to save you. I made a pact not to use my power to influence the mortal realm.”

“A pact with who?”

Danny rolls his eyes. “The embodiment of Time. The concept of Justice. Among others.” He smirks at Batman’s confusion.

“And what, exactly, does that make you?”

He stands, framed by the space window, haloed by the stars. “I’ll give you three guesses.”

Batman frowns.

“Look. I like you guys. I like working on your base. I like supporting the work you do. But you can not go factoring me in to any of your plans or contingencies. This was a one time thing.

“So to answer your question again: I’m an engineer.”

[bonus-links]

rereading with the latest update to get caught up, and now I know its an option I am desperate for director's commentary on Ruins pt7, if you're willing, please

(Also I first started reading this before taking sign langauge classes, and while I am learning a different SL to ASL/whatever Slate is using, some things translate well. Which is to say I was very excited seeing Loft use thank you and other small signs, or recognising Slate's signs. Its very cool!)

OH AN OLDIE yeah sure!! i will do my best to remember wtf i was on about lol

first of all. this was posted in 2023. what do u mean it's 2025 and im only on ch2. explodes. ANYWAY.

I'm still proud of myself this this panel thing w the arrow lol where it's both coming towards the octorok and has already gone through it. this is something that didn't rlly end up making it into the final product but I don't think Slate actually makes a habit of just killing monsters willy nilly. I don't see him hunting down every monster in Hyrule after the calamity ends. He kills this octorok bc they antagonize the horses but also because. I needed an excuse for his bow to already be out HAHA

I have complicated feelings about the yiga and what their lore implies lol but for Slate's part, he has personal beef with them on account of how many times they're tried and nearly succeeded in killing him. I like to imagine the Yiga as both deeply goofy and also a serious threat at the same time lol, which i think sums up how Slate feels about them.

I did however want to take this opportunity to show his capacity to be a brutal fighter, the same way Loft is in the opening of ch1. Actually the idea for this scene even came about because in my own late-stage game I kept getting attacked by a blademaster literally every 2 feet in certain regions, and I was getting so frustrated by it I just started obliterating them with ancient arrows 💀 Slate using way more arrows than necessary was a nod to that. idk maybe this guy lived lol

this scene was also to spur comparisons between Slate and Loft's experiences. Loft is brutal with monsters, but he's never killed a human being. Realizing that the Yiga aren't monsters shocks him.

this is a failure of my own paneling bc I didn't have enough room on the page and refused to add another, but Loft is hallucinating this guardian being active. all the guardians are inactive since defeating the calamity. actually what I should have done was add a red targeting line that then disappeared in the next panel. MAN.

alright and probably what you actually wanted commentary on, first Champion sighting! The first time Slate actually sees Champion is at the end of ch1, so if you're wondering if Slate knows he's there in this scene, the answer is no. I think rather than following Slate around all along, Champion has spent most of his time just sort of. barely existing here at Fort Hateno, or sitting with the master sword. He's not exactly like the ghosts of the other champions, or King Rhoam. sorry buddy :-(

i do have a bonus comic the works re: ghost lore that I will hopefully finish. someday so I think that might answer some questions ppl have. and possibly introduce a few more. but on the whole I like to keep whatever's going on here a little ambiguous. like I said in this update's commentary, one part literal and one part metaphorical. maybe two parts metaphorical lol

I think that's all I got for this one!

[suiana]

thinking of a guilt ridden reader and a silly manipulative yandere who looks exactly like someone from reader's past.

maybe you did something bad to a friend, perhaps ended a relationship on bad terms with someone who never deserved to be treated badly. whatever it is, just the mere thought of that person causes you to physically curl up and pray for forgiveness.

so you spend the rest of your days like a dead man walking, the guilt of your actions clawing at the depths of your heart. it makes it hard to do anything, let alone think. because when you are left alone with your thoughts, all you can imagine is their expression when everything went wrong. oh how you'd give up anything just to change the past and your actions.

as if your guilt wasn't enough, he just had to skip into your life looking exactly like that person. like them.

at first, you thought of this as a curse. this... this stupid guy? looking exactly like them? then as you sort of warmed up to him, you still think it's a curse. because what gave him the audacity to come into your life, looking like them, and telling you how much he wants you? especially claiming that it was love at first sight and that you two were fated to be?

"i love you."

"can i be yours?"

"we'd be so good together."

you keep pushing him away. you know how this will end up, with you messing up just like last time. wouldn't it be better to just keep him at a distance? unfortunately for you he doesn't seem to think so. and it's like a curse. a demon from your past coming back to haunt you in the form of your greatest mistake.

if anything, your costant rejections only seem to keep him wanting... more?

"please, just one chance. that is all I'm asking for."

"no? you don't want to entertain me even the slightest bit?"

"how cruel, i never realised you were this heartless."

you eventually end up giving in. he just has that sort of effect you suppose. or maybe it's the guilt that's constantly eating you alive that's causing you to make this decision. after all, he looks so much like them and... you don't know what you'd do if he looked at you like that. not ever, not again. maybe this would be your way of making up for your wrong doings.

he couldn't be happier obviously. finally! the person he's been pining over finally accepted his confession! even if it took a long time, it all worked out. you're happy, his happy, everyone's happy!

until he found out you're not actually happy and you're just doing this because you feel guilty.

"what do you mean? am i just a replacement to you? a way to correct your mistakes?"

"hah! you're so- ugh, I don't even want to think about you anymore."

"save it, those are just excuses."

he's always been a manipulative person. he knows. and he knows that you know it too. yet he continues to manipulate you through it all. i mean, it's your fault for even treating him like a second option in the first place! what? he's the one that's been pestering you? no no, you could've just rejected him. it's not his fault, it's yours. you're not stopping him anyway so like, you're basically admitting you're in the wrong.

"yeah you should be sorry. how mean do you have to be to think of me just as someone you've hurt? I'm my own person too."

he says that but continues to use the fact that his familiarity elicits something in you. and he'll continue abusing it, continue taking advantage of your weakened state. why? because he can and because he wants to.

plus, it's amusing in it's own right to see you bending head over heels just to appease him. huh, guess the guilt runs deep, doesn't it?

oh it's whatever. he'll slowly condition you to start showing him the affection he so desperately craves anyway. he just needs to hold on a little longer. break you down a tiny bit more and then you'll be all his. he can feel it.

you two will be truly happy together. no other people, no guilt in your heart. just you and him, alone and content with one another.

that would simply be salvation, wouldn't it?

[imsofreakingtired]

I am so so so so sorry if this is too close to nsfw (in my head it's very fluff/comfort but I apologise if it makes you uncomfortable bc I'm not sure), but thinking about Sevika w/ a partner who's been pressured by their ex's into doing things like sexually and her just reassuring them that like no baby I wanna hold you what r you talking ab I've been here all of 15 seconds I'm not tryna fuck calm down

And her partner who is so so surprised wdym ??? You just wanna spoon me isn't this the part where you grope my chest and Sevika is like BABY NO

I don't know I'm using her to cope this is so self indulgent I just wanna hear your thoughts on it

i love this idea, thank you for the request anon...and shitt this one was so personally relatable to me 😔

things i wanna say to you

content warning(s): mentions of trauma from past relationships, angst, hurt/comfort

"there's things i wanna say to you, but i'll just let you live like if you hold me without hurting me you'll be the first who ever did."

~~~

“Your beauty…it’s a blessing.”

It’s a sentence that returns and returns to you. It’s a truth you hold in your hands, or wear on your shoulders like a mantle you can’t take off. You have heard it, in one form or another, from the lips of lover to lover. They whispered it to you in the heat of sex, like a special confession only for you, and then vanished like a vapor. 

Your body is like a hotel, you think—a pretty room that people pass through and love only in the moment. When was the last time you were held without the other person’s hands hungrily seeking your breasts? When was the last time you were kissed without their hands roaming your body like an impatient, starved animal? 

Once, you had worked up the courage to confront them. You told them, “hands off.” You don’t exactly remember how the conversation went. But you know that it ended in them laughing in your face, suggesting you work at Babette’s if you wanted compensation for your body. 

When they were gone, you stood in the silent room and wondered if they were right. You wondered if it was your fault. If your body was the only good thing, the only worthy thing about you. If you were nothing more than a pretty face and a blank canvas waiting to be ruined. If you were asking too much when you asked for even just a shadow of respect. 

You stopped speaking after that. 

~~~

Shortly after you began to work for Silco as his record scribe, you met his henchwoman, Sevika. Immediately you knew she was different. She didn’t look at you the way others did—in fact, she barely looked at you at all. When she spoke to you she looked down at you over her hooked nose, her handsome, perfect nose, in a way that made you feel both insignificant and the only woman in the entire world. She didn’t give you flattery about your appearance, spoke bluntly when you made mistakes. 

Still you caught her staring at you from time to time when she thought you were too immersed in work to notice. But her face betrayed nothing. Her brows were always drawn together as if everything in the world annoyed her. You assumed she was only scrutinizing the way you worked. You wondered if Silco had ordered her to monitor you, assess your performance. You worked harder as a result, feeling oddly gratified to be watched for a reason other than your appearance. 

So one could imagine your shock when Sevika strode up to your desk one morning and said, “get your coat. Walk with me.” 

From that day on, you were hers. 

~~~

The first night you moved into her apartment had been a hard day at work. You had been at the desk all day without a single break, trying frantically to keep up with the endless flow of Shimmer shipment records and orders. Sevika had been on her feet from dawn to dusk—you hadn’t seen her for two consecutive minutes even though you worked in the same building. 

The night had deepened, the sky outside dusted with faint stars. You were undressing for bed. If you were tired, how exhausted must Sevika be? You paused in front of the mirror before you slipped the nightshirt over your body. Maybe she would want to let off some steam. Maybe she expected it from you. Hesitantly, you put the nightshirt on. You didn’t want to, but you felt like you owed it to her. Like she deserved it.

Sevika came in, her mechanical arm detached and water glistening on her face from a quick wash. She smiled slightly when she saw you waiting on the bed. “There’s my girl. C’mere.”

She sank into the bed you now shared with her, and obediently you crawled over and folded yourself into her embrace. Her right arm curled around you protectively. Her warmth, her strength, the tautness of her muscles against your skin. It was heavenly. 

She sighed into your neck, and it made you shiver slightly. The question tiptoed to the end of your tongue: can we…can we maybe just stay like this? 

But you feared she would say no. You feared she would be mad. And leave you. 

You waited for her to make the next move, to start pulling the shirt over your head, or turn you around so she could grope between your legs. When several seconds passed and she did nothing, you realized that maybe she was waiting for you. 

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself away and began to take off your shirt. 

Sevika sat up, confused. “What are you doing?”

You freeze in your movements. Your shirt falls back down over your chest. “I—you don’t want to…?”

She shook her head, lips curling in a bemused smile. “Baby, relax. I’ve been here fifteen seconds.”

Slowly, you returned to her, and she pulled you close once more. Sevika felt the shudder of relief that went through your body. Though you didn’t see it, her face creased with concern. She had noticed the apprehension in your eyes, nearly bordering on fear. And she made a mental note to herself to find whatever fucker had hurt you and made you so scared. 

~~~

[lov3notts]

rewritten

theodore nott x reader

summary: part 3, can Theo fix things between you two? after so much heartbreak can you give him a second chance?

a/n:im sorry this took so long, I got hit with writers block and discouragement, hope you guys like it!!

Navigation; masterlist; request rules; part 1; part 2

Mattheo had seen Theo at his lowest before. After brutal duels, after fights with his father, after sleepless nights filled with too much firewhisky and not enough self-preservation. But this? This was different.

This wasn’t anger. Wasn’t recklessness.

This was nothingness.

Theo was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had the answers to all of his problems. His dorm was a disaster—papers scattered, books left open, untouched meals sitting cold on his desk. The only movement in the room came from the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Mattheo leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed."Mate."

No response.

"You look like shit."

Still nothing.

Mattheo sighed, running a hand through his hair before stepping further into the room. "Alright, fine. You wanna sit here and wallow, go ahead. But you do know this isn’t sustainable, right?"

Theo didn’t even blink.

"Skipping class, not eating, shutting everyone out—what’s the end goal here?"

Silence.

Mattheo clenched his jaw, patience wearing thin. He walked over and grabbed a book off Theo’s desk before chucking it at him. It hit his shoulder, but Theo barely reacted.

That pissed Mattheo off.

"Are you fucking serious right now?" he snapped. "What, you’re just gonna waste away in here? That’s your big plan?"

Finally, Theo shifted. Slowly, he looked up, his face pale and hollow. His voice, when he spoke, was rough. "What do you want me to do, Mattheo?"

"Oh, I don’t know—anything but this?" Mattheo gestured around the room. "You’ve made some stupid decisions before, but this? This is pathetic, even for you."

Theo let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Pathetic. Yeah. That sounds about right."

Mattheo exhaled sharply, dragging a chair closer and sitting across from him. "Listen, I get it. You fucked up. Big time. But wasting away in here isn’t gonna change that. You want her back? Fight for her. You want to move on? Then do it. But don’t just sit here acting like your life is over because she walked away."

Theo’s eyes darkened. "It is over."

Mattheo froze.

It wasn’t the words that shook him—it was the way Theo meant them.

"You don’t get it," Theo muttered, voice raw. "She wasn’t just some girl, Mattheo. She was everything. And I ruined it. I ruined her." His fingers dug into his knees, knuckles white. "So tell me, what exactly am I supposed to do now?"

For the first time, Mattheo didn’t have a quick response. Because fuck—he didn’t know.

He had never seen Theo like this before.

But he did know one thing.

"You need to talk to her," he said finally.

Theo scoffed, shaking his head. "She won’t listen."

Mattheo leaned forward. "Not if you keep sulking like a bloody ghost. But if you really love her? Then you have to at least try."

Theo swallowed hard, his walls cracking just a bit.

Mattheo sighed, standing up. "Look, I can’t force you to get your shit together. But I can ask for help." He glanced toward the door. "If you won’t go to her, maybe she’ll come to you."

Theo’s head snapped up. "Mattheo—"

"Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle," Mattheo said with a smirk, but there was no humor behind it. "Just sit tight, yeah?"

And with that, he walked out, leaving Theo alone with his demons.

The days after your fight with Theodore Nott were oddly quiet. Not because the world had stopped moving, but because a part of you had. No matter how much you tried to push forward, his words still echoed in your head.

“it was just a bet!”

Now, you were sitting in the Great Hall, trying to focus on your breakfast when a presence loomed over you.

"Can we talk?"

You glanced up and met Mattheo Riddle’s gaze. His usual smirk was absent, his dark eyes serious. That alone sent a chill down your spine. Mattheo never looked serious.

You hesitated. "Depends. What about?"

He exhaled sharply and took a seat across from you without invitation. "It’s Theo."

Your stomach twisted, but you masked it with indifference. "Not my problem."

Mattheo scoffed. "Yeah, well, that’s the thing. He’s not exactly making himself anyone’s problem anymore. He’s barely eating, hasn’t been to class in days, and I haven’t seen him leave his room since—" He stopped himself, but you knew what he was about to say.

Since you left him on his knees in the library.

You forced yourself to take a bite of toast, despite suddenly losing your appetite. "And what do you expect me to do about it?"

"You don’t have to do anything. But maybe… just talk to him?"

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head. "You do remember that he completely shattered my trust, right? That I was just some game to him?"

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I know, okay? I know he screwed up. And if you never want to see him again, I get it. But…" His voice lowered. "I don’t think he’s okay. I don’t think he will be if someone doesn’t pull him out of whatever the hell he’s drowning in."

That made your chest tighten. No matter how much Theo had hurt you, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t care. But did you care enough to reopen old wounds? To look at the person who betrayed you and risk getting hurt all over again?

Mattheo must have seen your hesitation because he leaned forward, his voice softer now. "I wouldn’t be here begging if I thought he could fix this himself. But he can’t. And like it or not, you’re the only one who can get through to him."

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea.

But deep down, you already knew what you were going to do.

You stood in front of his dormitory door, your hand hovering over the doorknob, the air thick with uncertainty. You’d come here, but now that you were standing here, the doubt crept back in. Was this the right choice? Could you really face him? Could you even talk to him without everything you felt rushing back—without everything he did rushing back?

You knocked softly, but there was no response. The quiet only made the pressure in your chest grow. Hesitant, you slowly turned the knob, and to your surprise, the door creaked open.

The room was dim, only a few rays of light slipping through the curtains. And there, in the middle of the room, was Theodore Nott. He was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling with an unreadable expression. His body was curled into itself, as if he were trying to shrink away from the world.

A pang of guilt surged through you. You wanted to turn away, to run, but you couldn’t.

Your feet moved before you could stop them, one step at a time, until you were standing beside his bed. You swallowed hard, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "Theo?"

His head snapped toward the sound of your voice, his eyes wide with shock. His expression froze as he stared at you—like he was afraid, as if seeing you might be some cruel trick. His eyes, so full of confusion and fear, shimmered with unshed tears.

"Y/N?… You came?" His voice was barely a whisper, like he didn’t believe you were really there.

A wave of emotion washed over you, but you pushed it down, trying to keep your voice steady. "Mattheo said you weren’t doing well.”

Theo didn’t say anything. He just stared at you, as if your words hadn’t even fully registered yet. His eyes searched your face, every line of his body tense, too afraid to even move, like any sudden movement would make you disappear. You could see how broken he looked, how much he wanted to believe this wasn’t just some dream.

He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself, as if trying to find the right words, or maybe wondering if words even mattered anymore.

You glanced past him into the room. It was a mess—books scattered, clothes thrown carelessly, a tray of untouched food on the desk. It smelled like stale air and something heartbreakingly lonely.

You hesitated before speaking. "This isn’t you, Theo."

"I don’t know who I am without you," he admitted, voice raw.

You turned to him sharply, something inside you cracking at the sheer honesty in his voice. "Theo…"

"No, let me say this."He exhaled shakily, running a trembling hand through his hair. "I know I don’t deserve to ask for anything from you. I don’t deserve to stand here and beg, but—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips together like he was trying to hold himself together.

And then, quietly, "I don’t know how to exist without you."

Your breath hitched. "You were the one who broke us, Theo. You made that choice."

"I know." His voice cracked. "And I hate myself for it. Every second of every day, I regret it. The bet, the lies, all of it—it was the biggest mistake of my life."

You swallowed, arms tightening around yourself. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because I was a coward." He let out a bitter laugh. "Because I had you—this brilliant, beautiful, impossible thing—and I was terrified that you were too good to be real. That I would love you and you would leave, so I ruined it before you could."

His confession left you breathless.

You had spent so long believing you were never enough for him. That you had been nothing but a game. But hearing this—hearing that he had been just as scared as you had—made your chest ache.

"I never wanted to hurt you," Theo whispered. "But I did. And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I need you to know that I loved you. That I still do."

You blinked, eyes burning. "Theo…"

"I would move mountains just to be with you again," he continued, voice shaking. "Even if it takes years. Even if you never look at me the same way again. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you were never just a bet to me."

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden, and Theo’s breath stuttered like the sight of your pain was physically hurting him.

He reached out instinctively but stopped himself, his hands hovering inches from yours. "Tell me there’s still a chance." His voice was barely a whisper. "Even if it’s not today. Even if it’s not soon. Just tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You stood there, heart hammering, torn between the pain of the past and the boy in front of you—broken, vulnerable, real.

This was the moment.

The moment where you could walk away, close the door, leave him to his regret.

Or you could stay.

You took a breath.

And then, finally, you spoke.

The first few days after you left his dorm were the hardest.

Theo had promised you he’d fix himself, that he’d become better—not for you, but for himself first. But promises were just words, and words had never been enough. Not when he had already shattered your trust once.

So, for the first time in weeks, he forced himself out of bed.

It wasn’t easy. The weight of his mistakes clung to him like a sickness, making even the smallest things feel impossible. Eating felt pointless. Attending class felt meaningless. But he did it anyway. One step at a time.

At breakfast, Mattheo raised an eyebrow when Theo sat down at their usual table, his plate only half-full.

"Didn’t think I’d see you out of that damn room anytime soon," Mattheo muttered, nudging his shoulder.

Theo didn’t respond right away, just picked at his food before finally saying, "I need to fix things."

Mattheo huffed out a short laugh, though there was no malice behind it. "Yeah? And how do you plan on doing that?"

Theo didn’t have an answer yet. But he knew one thing—he couldn’t keep being this version of himself. The one who wallowed in his grief, who drowned in guilt without trying to swim to the surface.

So, he changed.

He stopped avoiding the world. Stopped shutting people out.

He went to class, even when his mind screamed at him to go back to bed. He studied harder than he ever had before, pouring himself into books instead of his own self-loathing. When his friends spoke to him, he actually listened instead of shutting them out.

He even picked up his journal again, spilling his thoughts onto paper in a desperate attempt to make sense of the chaos inside his head. He wrote letters—ones meant for you, ones that would never be sent. Some were apologies, some were confessions, but all of them were real.

But it wasn’t about getting you back.

It was about becoming someone who deserved you.

Someone you could trust again.

Weeks passed before he saw you again.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t fate. It was just life forcing their paths to cross like it always did.

You were sitting by the Black Lake, your nose buried in a book, completely lost in the words. He should’ve walked away. Should’ve kept his distance. But his feet betrayed him, halting a few steps away from you.

You must’ve felt his presence because you looked up, your eyes meeting his.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Theo braced himself for the worst—coldness, anger, maybe even indifference. But instead, you studied him, like if you were trying to figure out if the person standing before you was the same one who had broken your heart.

"You look… different," you said softly.

Theo swallowed. "I had to be."

your gaze didn’t waver. "Why?"

"Because the person I was before didn’t deserve you."

Something flickered in your expression, but you didn’t look away. You just nodded, your grip tightening around the book on your lap.

Not forgiveness. Not yet.

But something.

Weeks turned into months. Theo didn’t push, didn’t force his way back into your life. He just showed up.

Not in the obvious ways. He didn’t beg or plead. Didn’t bombard her with apologies. Instead, he proved himself in the quiet moments.

He helped first-years struggling with their potions when no one was watching. He started paying attention in class, excelling in subjects he used to neglect. He let people rely on him, let himself become someone trustworthy—not just to you, but to everyone around him.

And then, when the time was right, he left something for you.

A book.

Your favorite one, sitting on the library table where you used to study together. But inside, tucked between the pages, were letters.

Dozens of them. Some dated weeks ago, some written only days before.

You hesitated before picking it up, flipping through the pages. And then you saw the first note.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry One

Date: The Night You Left

I haven’t stopped thinking about the look in your eyes. The way you froze. The way your breath caught like I had knocked the air out of you.

I keep telling myself that if I had just shut up, if I had just walked away instead of letting my anger win, you’d still be here. But I didn’t. I let the worst version of myself take control, and now I have to live with the fact that the last thing you heard from me was a lie.

Because that’s what it was. A lie.

You were never a bet.

Not for a single second.

You were the first thing in my life that ever felt real. The first person who looked at me like I was worth something. The first person I ever truly, fully loved. And I threw that away. I let my pride, my temper, my own self-destruction take over, and I broke the one thing I never wanted to lose.

I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t even know if I can. But if I have to spend the rest of my life proving to you that what we had—what we have—is real, then I will.

Even if it’s too late.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 2

Date: One Week Without You

I see you everywhere.

In the empty chair across from me in the library. In the spaces between my fingers where yours used to fit. In the quiet moments where your voice used to live.

And I wonder—do you miss me at all? Do you hear my name in whispers? Do you reach for me in your sleep? Or am I just a scar you’re waiting to fade?

If you told me to wait for you, I would. I would wait for days, for months, for years—as long as it took for you to believe that I never meant those words. That you were never a game to me. That you were the only thing that ever made sense in my life.

But you haven’t told me anything.

So I wait anyway.

Because I can’t imagine a world where I ever stop hoping for you.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 3

Date: Two Weeks Without You

I should’ve told you how beautiful you looked in the mornings, when your hair was a mess and your voice was still laced with sleep.

I should’ve told you how your laugh could pull me out of my worst days, how it became the sound I searched for in crowded rooms.

I should’ve told you that loving you scared me. That it made me feel like I had something to lose for the first time in my life.

I should’ve told you that the night we had our first kiss, I went back to my dorm, sat on my bed, and smiled—just sat there, grinning like an idiot, because I knew, in that moment, that I was done for. That you had ruined me for anyone else.

I should’ve told you that I loved you more than I loved myself.

Maybe if I had, you’d still be here.

-theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 4

Date: three Weeks Without You

You probably don’t know that I still sit in the library, right where you left me. Not every night. Just the ones where I can’t breathe.

You probably don’t know that I reread our old notes, the ones we used to pass back and forth in class. I keep them in my bag like they’re sacred, like they’re proof that once, you laughed with me. That once, I wasn’t just a mistake to you.

You probably don’t know that every time I hear your name, my hands shake.

That I’ve started keeping a list of all the things I should’ve done differently.

That I miss you in a way that feels like it might kill me.

But the worst part?

You probably don’t care anymore.

And I deserve that.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 5

Date: The Day You Knocked on My Door

I thought I was dreaming.

I heard the knock, but I didn’t move. I figured it was Mattheo, coming to drag me out of this room again, to remind me that I’m still supposed to be alive, even when I feel like I’m not.

But then I heard your voice.

And suddenly, I was alive.

I was shocked to see you. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I ached to see you—but because I was afraid. Afraid that I had imagined it. Afraid that you were here just to tell me, to my face, that you were done for good.

But you weren’t.

You were there.

Standing in my doorway, looking at me like you didn’t recognize me anymore. Maybe you don’t. Maybe I really am just a shell of the person you once loved.

You didn’t say anything at first. And I didn’t either. I was too busy memorizing the way your hands twitched at your sides, the way your lips parted slightly like you wanted to speak but didn’t know where to start.

And then, finally—"Mattheo said I should talk to you."

Your voice was quieter than I remembered. Or maybe I had just forgotten what it was like to hear it so close.

I wanted to tell you everything. I wanted to fall to my knees again and beg, to tell you that I haven’t slept, that I haven’t breathed right since you walked away, that I would do anything to rewrite the past.

But instead, I just nodded.

Because I knew this wasn’t my moment to fall apart. This was your moment to decide if I was worth saving.

So I stood there.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Daring to believe that maybe—just maybe—you hadn’t given up on me yet.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Entry 6

Date: One Month Without You

I don’t just want your forgiveness.

I want your trust. Your laughter. Your sleepy morning voice. The way you roll your eyes at me but secretly smile when you think I’m not looking. The way you say my name like it’s something safe.

I want you.

And I know I have no right to ask for that.

But if there is even the smallest chance—if there is even the tiniest sliver of hope that you still look at me and see something worth saving—then I will not waste it.

I will prove it to you. With every breath, with every action, with every single moment I have left in this life.

Because I love you.

And I will spend a lifetime making it right.

—Theo

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

At first, your hands tremble. The pages feel heavier than they should, like they’re carrying all the weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, of him.

You tell yourself you’ll just read one. Just a glimpse. Just to know if he even cares.

But then one turns into two. Then three. Then all of them.

And suddenly, you can’t breathe.

Because this isn’t just guilt. This isn’t just some empty apology, some desperate attempt to win you back with words. This is raw. This is pain. This is love.

This is a boy breaking himself open, spilling every ugly, unspoken truth onto paper because he doesn’t know how else to reach you.

And God, you feel it.

You feel it in the way his handwriting shakes in some letters but steadies in others, like he’s fighting himself, like he’s trying to hold on and let go at the same time.

You feel it in the confessions he never said out loud—the ones about how he saw you in everything, how he would’ve moved mountains to take it all back, how he doesn’t just want you to forgive him, he wants you to trust him.

And when you read the last letter—the one about how he would spend a lifetime making it right—you realize something.

He never stopped fighting for you.

Not once.

Not even when he thought he had already lost.

And then, with your chest so tight it almost hurts, you look up.

He’s already watching you.

Theo looks like he’s barely breathing, like the moment is too fragile, like if he moves too fast, you might disappear. There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen in a long time—something that almost makes your throat close up.

Hope.

He doesn’t say anything. He’s waiting. Letting you decide what happens next.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize…

He means it.

Every word. Every promise.

The silence between you stretches, thick with everything unsaid. The letters are still clutched in your hands, his words lingering in your chest, pressing against the pieces of your heart that you swore were too broken to be put back together.

Theo swallows hard. His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. "Say something," he finally murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. "Do you really mean it?"

He doesn’t hesitate. "Every word."

"And you’re not just saying all of this because you miss me? Because you feel guilty?" Your voice is careful, guarded—because this has to be real. If you give him your heart again, there’s no surviving if he shatters it a second time.

Theo steps closer. Not too close, but enough that you can see the raw desperation in his eyes. "I’m saying this because losing you was the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Because I was an idiot, and I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for that." He pauses, his breath shaky. "But more than anything, I’m saying it because I love you. I never stopped. And I never will.*"

Your heart clenches painfully. "Theo…"

"You don’t have to say it back," he cuts in quickly. "You don’t have to promise me anything. Just—" He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. "Just tell me there’s a chance. Tell me I haven’t lost you forever."

You look at him then, really look at him. He’s not the same person he was that night in the library. He’s not the boy who let pride and recklessness ruin the best thing in his life. He’s different. He’s trying.

And that’s when you know.

You step forward, closing the distance between you. His breath catches as your hand brushes against his—light, hesitant, but enough to make his whole body go still.

"I’m still angry," you admit softly. "I’m still hurt."

Theo nods, his jaw tightening. "I know."

"But…" You take a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe you."

His eyes widen slightly, like he wasn’t expecting those words. "You—"

"I believe that you mean it," you clarify. "And if you’re really going to prove it—if you’re really going to fight for this—"

You pause, feeling the weight of this moment. Then, finally, you say the words that make his breath shudder.

"Then I’m willing to try."

For a second, Theo doesn’t move. He just stares at you, like he’s afraid he imagined it. But then—

"You won’t regret it," he swears, his voice cracking slightly. "I swear on everything, I won’t waste this chance."

And when he finally, finally takes your hand—holding it like it’s the most precious thing in the world— you let him.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

tag list: @simp-for-fantasy @nottinmyheart

[nilla03]

“ 𝐴 𝑃𝑅𝐼𝑆𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑇𝑂𝑈𝐶𝐻“ 𝑃𝑇 2

𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟��

𝑃𝑙𝑜𝑡：𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑔𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑙 𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒𝑠

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ： 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑠𝑒𝑥， 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑢𝑎𝑔𝑒， 𝑡𝑜𝑗𝑖 𝑗𝑒𝑟𝑘𝑖𝑛 𝐼𝑇

Your hands shake as you zip up your tiny pink skirt, adjusting it in the mirror before smoothing your hands over the fabric. It’s short—too short for a prison visit—but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when you know who you’re going to see.

Ever since you sent those pictures—posing all sweet and shy in the mirror, nothing but lace hugging your curves—you’ve been waiting for a response. A letter. A call. Something. But days passed, and there was nothing.

You swipe a glossy pink lip oil over your pout, pouting at your reflection. Your lashes are long, curled just the way he likes them. Your little off-the-shoulder top hugs your curves, the lacy fabric delicate against your skin. Even your nails—freshly done, soft pink French tips—are perfect.

It’s a little embarrassing how much time you spent getting ready. But Toji always notices.

His voice echoes in your head, teasing and dark. You can already hear him smirking, already see the way he’ll lean back in his chair, eyes dragging over your figure like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

With one last glance in the mirror, you grab your purse, slipping on your pink platform heels before heading out the door.

As you drive to the prison, anticipation coils in your belly. You know he’s been thinking about you. Know you got under his skin. But what you don’t know—what makes your breath quicken—is what Toji’s going to do about it.

You shouldn’t feel this nervous. It’s not like it’s your first time visiting Toji. But today… today is different

Your heart pounds as you sit in the cold prison visitation room, your manicured fingers anxiously tracing the hem of your tiny pink skirt. The guards had already given you side-eyes when you walked in, but you didn’t care. You knew exactly who you were here for—and exactly what you did to him.

Toji steps into the room, his towering frame making your breath hitch the moment he locks eyes with you. He looks hungry.

He drops into the chair across from you, forearms resting on the table, his gray jumpsuit stretching over thick muscles. His gaze flickers down—your soft thighs peeking beneath your skirt, your little off-the-shoulder top hugging every curve. And then, finally, he speaks.

“Got your lil gift.” His voice is low, a dark rasp that sends a shiver up your spine. “Those pictures you sent me.”

Your stomach flips. You can barely hold his stare.

“Oh?” His smirk deepens, licking his teeth as he leans in closer. “Where was all that attitude when you were spread out for me in those pictures ?”

You swallow hard, gripping the table, your face burning. “I—I just thought you’d like them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep. “Like them? Nah, baby, I loved them.” He tilts his head, eyes dark with something unreadable. “Made it real hard to focus in here, though. You know that?”

You shift in your seat, thighs pressing together under his heated stare. “I… I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

He exhales through his nose, his tongue clicking. “Yeah? Then why’d you leave me hanging, huh?” His fingers drum against the table. “No letter after? No call? Thought maybe my pretty little girl was feelin’ guilty for teasing me like that.”

You shake your head quickly. “N-No, I wasn’t—”

“Mm. Good.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “’Cause when I get out, you’re gonna be giving me a lot more than pictures, baby.”

Your breath stutters, and before you can say anything else, the guard signals that your time is up.

Toji leans back, smirking. “I’ll be callin’ you later. Pick up fast, yeah?”

Later that night, your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, still warm from the memory of his voice. You don’t even check the caller ID before answering.

“Y—you’re calling already?”

A deep chuckle rumbles through the speaker. “Of course I am, baby.” His voice is even darker now, thick with something dangerous. Something you might not be ready for.

“think you can just look all pretty for me and sleep all peaceful, huh?” His tone is almost mocking, but there’s a heat behind it that makes your thighs squeeze together.

Toji chuckles, and you hear a slow, deliberate exhale through the speaker. There's a rustling sound, and then a quiet, low groan that makes your skin prickle.

Your stomach flips. "Toji... what are you doing?"

"What's it sound like, baby?" His voice is thick, teasing, taunting. "Got my hand wrapped around my cock, thinkin' about how fuckin' sweet you looked today."

Toji exhales sharply, the phone picking up the faint sound of skin dragging over skin. "wearin' that little skirt, like you didn't want me to be thinkin' about this all day."

You press your thighs together, your voice barely above a whisper. "I-I wasn't—"

“Mm-mm.” He cuts you off, voice like gravel. “Nah, pretty girl. You got me all riled up. So now? You’re gonna keep me company while I take care of it.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, voice sending a thrill down your spine. “Be a good girl. You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your hands shake as you press your phone to your ear, barely able to breathe as Toji’s deep, raspy voice slides through the speaker.

“You didn’t really think I was just gonna let you get away with that, did you?”

You shift under your blankets, body already heating up. You know exactly what he means—those pictures you sent him. The ones where you wore nothing but the tiniest lace panties, posing so sweetly for him, biting your lip like you were waiting for his hands on you instead.

You hadn’t heard from him after sending them, and for a moment, you thought maybe you went too far. But now? The dark amusement in his tone tells you everything.

“I—” You swallow hard. “I didn’t know if you liked them…”

Toji chuckles, slow and deep, like he can hear the way your breath stutters. “Liked them?” He tsks. “Baby, I haven’t stopped thinkin’ about them since I got ‘em. You know how hard it is sittin’ in a cell, knowin’ my pretty girl is out there touchin’ herself instead of waitin’ for me?”

Your thighs squeeze together. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice drops lower, all rough edges and dark promise. “I know you, baby. Know you got needy after takin’ those pictures. Bet you played with that cute little pussy right after, huh?”

You let out the softest whimper, your face burning. You did.

“That’s what I thought.” His breathing is heavier now, a slow inhale like he’s savoring the sound of you unraveling. “You like teasin’ me, don’t you?”

“N-No,” you whisper, but it’s useless.

Toji chuckles, voice like sin. “Mm. You sure about that, pretty girl? Walked into that visitation room today wearin’ that little skirt, actin’ all shy after what you did. Like you wanted me to sit there and think about it all night.”

You shudder, fingers twisting in the sheets. You had worn it for him, just to see that dark gleam in his eyes, just to feel small under his hungry stare.

“Toji…” You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but the need in your voice is obvious.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice thick with something dangerous. “You need me?”

You nod before realizing he can’t see you. “Y-Yeah…”

“That’s my girl,” he hums. There’s a rustling sound on the other end, the faintest hitch in his breath. “Then keep me company, princess. Let me hear how sweet you sound when you touch yourself.”

Your breath catches. “W-What—”

“You heard me.” His voice is calm, dark. Commanding. “Made me sit in my fuckin’ cell, thinkin’ about you all damn day. Now you’re gonna be a good girl ‘n let me hear what’s mine.”

You whimper at the possessiveness in his tone, your fingers already trailing beneath the covers. “Toji, I—”

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, almost coaxing. “You owe me after all that teasing.”

Your breath is uneven as you slip your hand between your thighs, gasping softly at how wet you already are. Toji hears it immediately.

“There you go,” he praises, voice thick with approval. “Knew you wanted this.

You let out a shaky sigh, fingers moving slowly, teasing yourself the way you know he would if he were here. The thought makes your head spin—Toji’s big hands holding you down, his rough fingers spreading you open, making you feel small and helpless underneath him.

“Fuck,” he groans through the speaker, his breathing heavier now. “You touchin’ that pretty little clit for me, baby?”

You whimper, nodding before whispering, “Y-Yeah…”

“Mm. Bet you wish it was my fingers instead, huh?” His voice is getting rougher, raspier. “Bet you miss the way I stretch you out. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

Your back arches, a needy whine slipping past your lips. “Toji—”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he murmurs. “Take your time. Let me hear those pretty sounds.”

“Such a Messy Girl”

Your breath is unsteady, thighs trembling as your fingers tease slow circles over your clit. Toji’s voice is thick in your ear, rough and wrecked.

“There you go, baby,” he groans, the sound of skin dragging against skin sending shivers straight through you. “Knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

Your head tips back against the pillows, body heating up at the low, ragged sounds slipping through the speaker. He’s stroking himself to you, thinking about you, the same way you’re touching yourself for him.

“T-Toji,” you whimper, your other hand gripping the sheets.

“Mm, that’s my girl,” he rasps. “Say my name again, baby. Let me hear how pretty you sound when you come for me.”

Your fingers move faster, your body tightening as his voice keeps pushing you further.

“Bet you’d feel so fuckin’ good right now,” he grits out, his breath hitching slightly. “Bet that cute little pussy’s just drippin’ for me. You know how bad I wanna be there, huh?”

Toji groans, voice all dark and heavy. “Then go ahead, baby. Make a mess for me.”

Your back arches, a high-pitched moan slipping past your lips as pleasure crashes through you. Your body tenses, then melts, thighs shaking as you come hard, making a mess on your sheets, your skin burning with heat.

Toji’s breathing stutters, a rough grunt catching in his throat. Then—

“Fuck—” he growls, voice strained, and then you hear it. The low, deep groan of his release, the ragged way his breath catches as he spills over himself.

You shudder, body still sensitive, warmth blooming in your chest at the sound of him falling apart.

There’s a beat of silence, both of you catching your breath. Then, Toji lets out a low chuckle, voice thick with satisfaction.

“Damn, baby,” he murmurs. “Made a fuckin’ mess, didn’t you?”

You let out a shy little whimper, curling into the sheets. “I—”

“Mm.” He tuts, voice dripping with amusement. “Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

Your breath is still shaky, body warm and spent, when Toji hums through the receiver.

“Bet you got it all over your thighs, huh? All sticky, just for me.”

A tiny whimper slips past your lips, your face burning as you shift against the messy sheets. Your body is still tingling, oversensitive, your fingers curling into the fabric.

Toji hears it—of course he does. His low chuckle crackles through the speaker, rough and smug. “Aww, baby,” he coos, mock sympathy laced in his voice. “Got you that fucked out, huh?”

Before you can respond, the automated voice cuts in.

“This call will end in one minute.”

Your stomach sinks. “No…” you whisper, the thought of losing his voice too soon making your heart ache.

Toji exhales sharply, like he hates it too. Then, his tone softens. “Shh, baby. I know.”

You swallow, blinking up at the ceiling, feeling too small without him.

His voice dips low, gentle, something tender lingering beneath the roughness. “You listening?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it.

“Love you, baby,” he murmurs, and your breath catches. “Ain’t a damn thing gonna keep me from you.”

Your lashes flutter, warmth blooming in your chest. “Love you too, Toji…”

The call cuts off with a dull beep.

2𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑚 <3

@valariexo @sunasgf1 @ourfinalisation

[frostbitebakery]

Last Line Challenge

I got tagged by @meebles 💜 I’m sorry for posting and replying so irregularly, adulthood really isn’t good for my time management.

Anyway! How about some

LOUD.

“Next stop: Cam Mer Plaza.”

Obi-Wan grunts in protest when Depa accidentally jostles him. Needs must in some cases, and in this case the message she’s sending to Grey warrants the slight disturbance in her opinion. “I am proud of you and your ability to be not as… troublesome as some of your siblings.”

Gentle hands, black bloody gloves hidden away behind a chest plate, adjust Obi-Wan’s body against her side until his hair tickles her cheek and he’s safely tucked in once more. Depa stops counting the times Obi-Wan’s breathing is checked and looks at Commander Cody not meeting her eyes while he consciously stops his fussing.

Grey’s name pops up on her comm a second later.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me and I now have it on record,” he says, dry as a desert planet, as soon as she accepts the call.

“Hello, Grey,” she smiles, feeling the warmth of connection to her commander and her troops fill her chest.

“Hello, Depa,” he replies, equally as warm and the exhaustion is starting to unravel from her muscles.

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with sparkling wine,” Commander Cody states.

“Compound butter,” Quinlan and Commander Fox groan back in different levels of exasperation.

“You gotta understand,” Grey starts again and Depa’s attention snaps away from what she has thought were ancient methods on ice cream churning, “the first command batches are, genetically speaking, not that far off from the template. So they regrettably really are like this if left to their own devices.”

Depa had met Jango Fett face to face exactly once. With the Galaxy unraveling by the second, their fight had boiled down to a lot of rain and the heart stopping, heart breaking introduction of the clones, but she can very well remember the armor peaking out like neon colored evidence as Jango had explained his humble life in a state of the art cloning facility on a planet that did not exist.

“It explains a lot,” she allows.

“Sorry.”

The last line was the shine in her eyes while we explore Coruscant’s public transport 🥰

No-pressure-tagging: @chiliger @bluemaskedkarma @lttrsfrmlnrrgby @omaano @julijuli77 @snowywinterevenings and honestly whoever wants to! Show off your WIPs!

[imaginespazzi]

Alright so I slept on it, distracted myself and I have now cooled down considerably. Since I am no longer looking at the game through completely rage-filled glasses, I can vent coherent thoughts now.

LAYUPS

FUCKING LAYUPS

Listen losing games is always hard, but the sheer stupidity that lost us this game is hard to discern in words and really starts with layups. We make literally 3 more, and we would have won. The most simplest there is in basketball and we decided that we wanted to suck at it. And look you don't make every shot, of course you don't but HOW MANY FUCKING OPEN LAYUPS CAN A TEAM MISS?

Brief positive interlude, before I start yelling: KK ARNOLD I LOVE YOU. I am so proud of this girl. A true competitor from start to finish. Never fucking scared of the moment, always ready to do everything she can.

Aubrey Griffin is starting to look like herself again. She was so good last night and everything we're used to seeing. Just keep healing bbg, we're gonna need you real bad.

Sarah Strong, consistent queen as per always but she made that freshman mistake at the end and while it would be hypocritical not to acknowledge it, I really can't hold it against her because homegirl was the only starter locked in from start to finish and for some fucking reason we didn't go to her nearly enough in the second.

And now let's get to the venting

Jana El Alfy I cannot keep defending this. YOU ARE 6 FUCKING 5. Look I have had so much to say about her not getting the time she deserves but oh my fucking god, I don't know if I can defend this anymore. Missing easy ass layups, somehow letting people a feet shorter shoot over you like??? I cannot

Kaitlyn Chen girl what the fuck are you here for? Cardio. She pleasantly surprised for me exactly two games but nope, I was right the first time. There is absolutely no reason, other than a likely promise Geno made while recruiting her, for her to be starting over KK.

Ashlynn Shade, you are so lucky girlie that you play with Paige and Azzi and they also both had shitty as fuck nights that I will address in a second because girl, that's the only thing saving you from not being lashed out into oblivion on other social media sites right now. I have absolutely no idea she was ever in the game let alone how she was getting minutes over KK. Defense? Atrocious. Offense? MISSING WIDE OPEN LAYUPS AND THREES. No one pissed me off more this game than Ash because shit should've been easy for her and instead she missed every single chance she had.

Paige saw all those tweets manifesting her freshman year Tennessee performance by a bunch of people who don't know anything else about that game except for the magical shot at the end and voila, she performed exactly like that. Maybe worse. And don't worry friends, I'll be yelling at her coach in a second but the one thing I can't complain about today is that he didn't put the ball in her hands because he did and we saw it in the assists but she didn't play up to the mark at all. And for as much as her performance was a classic case of shots not falling, her shot selection was uncharacteristically bad last night.

Y'all know that look Paige talks about when it comes to Azzi? The soft one? I saw that look on her face immediately as soon as her first shot didn't go in. And I knew it especially when KC was wide open under the basket and Azzi somehow missed her, that she was most definitely in her head. But the worst thing is, that I actually think she almost got back in rhythm, almost got rid of that look, almost got out of her head, by the end of the 2nd with the sequence of FTs > deflection > 3 and then all of that went to shit because she picked up those two quick fouls. And then she never got back into it again, partially because of her own self, partially because this team still isn't doing enough to screen for her/run plays for her and partially because her coach was doing the most ridiculous subbing routine with her. Making her play the third with 3 fouls, then she finally hits a 3 at the end AND THAT'S WHEN HE BENCHES HER? Keeps her out of the game in first 5 minutes of the 4th, lets her lose any semblance of rhythm and then subs her in? I don't even know what to say.

Geno Auriemma WHEN I FUCKING CATCH YOU

This man had the audacity to sit in the press conference and blame every fucking thing on Paige when he, our hall of fucking fame coach, made the most costly mistake of this whole game with that dumb as fuck timeout. STUPID STUPID STUPID

And then of course the lineups and substitutions, ridiculous shit.

SIGH

The worst thing is, I don't think Tennessee beat us last night. We broke the press. We held them to 7-28 from 3. The boxscore has us beating them in so many places but at the end, we beat ourselves.

And it all comes down to the fact that maybe we just don't have the mentality.

Last night really drained a lot of optimism from me but these are my girls and the potential is infinite. I'm always gonna be rooting for them and little itty bitty hopeful part of me will always think we can win it all but I think, we're gonna need a lot of things to just miraculously go right.

[lunaswicked]

Sweet Talk

Paring: College!Jimmy Uso x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Two roommates— You and Jimmy—find yourselves caught in a whirlwind of tension, desire, and unspoken feelings. What begins as teasing and frustration between you evolves into a night of unexpected intimacy that blurs the lines between hate and attraction.

Tags: enemies to smutville😫, roommates, 18+, p in v, teasing, dirty talking, 9 incher jimmy uso, dickstressing, AND WHATEVER ELSE, ENJOY😋

You and Jimmy rarely saw eye to eye. It wasn’t that you outright despised each other, but the two of you had a way of constantly butting heads over the smallest things. Maybe it was because you were both stubborn, or maybe it was because neither of you ever backed down from an argument. Either way, there was always a tension between you—one that never seemed to fade no matter how much time passed.  

Both of you were college students, navigating your own paths, yet your lifestyles couldn’t have been more different. You poured yourself into your studies, determined to excel in every class, while Jimmy had an almost single-minded obsession with football—both playing it and watching it. If he wasn’t on the field, he was glued to the screen, yelling at players who couldn’t hear him or analyzing plays with the kind of intensity most people reserved for final exams.  

When he wasn’t fixated on football, he’d be locked in his room, spending hours on whatever video game he and his twin brother, Jey, were obsessed with that month. It was almost impossible to get a word in when he was deep in competition mode, his focus unwavering as he trash-talked through his headset. Sometimes, it felt like college itself was just a background noise in his life, something he did because he had to—not because he cared.  

But despite all of that, you knew Jimmy was smart. In fact, he was one of the smartest people you knew, even if he didn’t always act like it. He had a sharp mind, a quick wit, and an ability to break things down in a way that made even the most complicated subjects seem simple. The problem was, hardly anyone ever got to see that side of him. He didn’t apply himself the way he could have, and more often than not, he played the role of the carefree guy who only lived for football and video games.  

"I'm not going. I got lab tomorrow," you said into your phone, shifting against the pillows as you tucked yourself deeper into bed.  

Bianca groaned dramatically on the other end. "Girl, you always busy! Every time I call, it's the same thing—lab this, assignment that. And don’t even get me started on how you be stuck in that house with Jimmy all the damn time."  

You rolled your eyes, even though she couldn’t see you. "First of all, I am not stuck with Jimmy. We just happen to live in the same space. Not like I have a choice."  

"Uh-huh, sure. And yet, every time I ask you to come out, you got an excuse, and he's always somewhere in the background, being annoying," Bianca shot back. "One day, imma just pull up and kidnap you, no warning."  

You laughed, shaking your head. "And do what? Drag me out in my pajamas? Not happening."  

"Don’t test me. I’ll snatch you right up, bonnet and all," she teased. "Seriously, though. You need a break. When’s the last time you had fun? Like, actual fun. Not school, not arguing with Jimmy—fun."  

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. It had been a while since you let loose, but between school, deadlines, and dealing with Jimmy’s daily antics, going out just felt like another task on your already overflowing to-do list.  

"Exactly," Bianca said, as if she could hear your thoughts through the phone. "Look, just think about it. Even geniuses like you need a night off."  

You sighed, glancing toward your closed bedroom door, where you could still faintly hear Jimmy and Jey shouting at their game. "I’ll think about it."  

"That’s what you said last time," Bianca huffed. "I ain't falling for it again. You better show up, or I will come get you."  

You smiled, shaking your head. "We’ll see, B. We’ll see."  

She let out an exaggerated groan but didn’t push it further. "Fine, but don’t think I’m letting this go. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you better give me a yes."  

"Goodnight, Bianca," you said, smirking.  

"Mmhm, whatever. Goodnight, miss I got lab."  

You hung up, staring at the ceiling with a small smile. Maybe she had a point.

Your stomach let out an impatient grumble, loud enough to make you sigh in frustration. You hadn’t eaten in hours, and at this point, there was only one thing that could fix it—a slice of your favorite vanilla cake with extra whipped cream. The thought alone was enough to get you out of bed, pushing aside your tiredness as you made your way down the hall toward the kitchen.

The house was quieter than usual, with only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant noise of the TV from the living room. Normally, Jimmy would be in there, glued to whatever game had his attention for the night, but the lack of his usual shouting made you pause. Maybe he had finally gone to bed for once? That would be a miracle.

But as soon as you stepped into the kitchen, that hope vanished.

Standing by the open fridge, fork in hand, was Jimmy—mid-bite, chewing your cake like he didn’t have a single care in the world. Wearing a fitted black shirt with yellow shorts that showed too much thigh.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your brain needing an extra second to process the sheer disrespect of what you were witnessing.

"You gotta to be fucking wit' me," you said, your voice flat.

Jimmy turned his head slowly, fork still in his mouth, his expression completely unbothered. He raised an eyebrow as he chewed, finally swallowing before answering. "What?"

Your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stared him down. "That was my cake, Jimmy."

He had the nerve to glance down at the plate in his hand, then back up at you with a smirk. "You sure about that?"

You let out an exasperated breath, stepping closer. "Yes, I’m sure. I’ve been thinking about that cake all damn day. It was the last slice!"

Jimmy shrugged, taking another slow, deliberate bite, as if to rub it in. "Was the last slice. Past tense."

Your jaw dropped. "You are actually the worst person I know."

He chuckled, licking a bit of whipped cream off his fork. "Damn. All this over some cake?"

You threw up your hands. "Jimmy, I needed that cake."

"You needed it?" he repeated, clearly amused. "You make it sound like life or death."

"It is!" you shot back. "I’ve had a long day, and all I wanted was to sit down, enjoy my damn cake, and go to bed happy. But noooo, because somebody just had to be greedy."

Jimmy leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, looking entirely too entertained. "Sounds like a you problem. You shoulda got here faster or sum."

"Or you could’ve just not eaten something that wasn’t yours," you snapped.

He shrugged again. "You ain't put yo name on it."

Your eye twitched. "We don’t do that in this house, Jimmy. Because normal people have respect."

Jimmy let out an exaggerated sigh, rolling his eyes as he scooped up a piece of cake with his fork. Slowly, deliberately, he strolled toward you, a smug smirk playing on his lips.  

“Here,” he said, holding the fork out in front of you, the fluffy vanilla cake and whipped cream practically taunting you. “You wanna bite?”  

Your arms folded over your chest, and you scoffed, giving him a sharp glare. “I’d rather die before I eat off of you,” you shot back, your voice dripping with defiance.  

Jimmy chuckled, tilting his head as he took another step closer. “Dramatic much?” he teased.  

You held your ground, eyes locked onto his, but the way he was staring at you—intense, playful, like he was daring you—sent a strange shiver down your spine. 

He took another step, closing the space between you, his free hand lazily slipping into the pocket of his shorts. He was close now, too close. You could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the sweet vanilla lingering on his breath.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, voice low, taunting. “Scared you’ll like it?”  

Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to scoff again, turning your head to the side. “Please, as if.”  

Jimmy let out a soft chuckle, lifting the fork slightly. “Then prove it.”  

You swallowed, glancing at the fork, then back at him. His eyes held something unreadable—dark amusement, challenge. You could feel your own stubbornness warring with the stupid, undeniable craving in your stomach.  

Your eyes flicked back to the cake, the whipped cream looking way too good to pass up.  

He smirked, sensing your hesitation. “C’mon, I ain't got all night,” he murmured, voice smooth, teasing.  

You clenched your jaw, irritation flaring, but your hunger was stronger than your pride. Damn it.  

With an exasperated sigh, you snatched his wrist, steadying his hand as you leaned in. You hesitated for half a second before finally parting your lips and taking the bite off the fork, your tongue barely brushing against the metal.  

Jimmy stilled.  

Your eyes flicked up to his as you pulled away, chewing slowly, the sweet vanilla and cream melting on your tongue.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke.  

His expression darkened just slightly, his smirk fading into something slower, heavier. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips as he stared at you, watching the way your lips closed around the fork before you finally pulled back.  

Something about the look in his eyes sent a heat crawling up your neck, your stomach twisting in a way that had nothing to do with the cake.  

You swallowed, shifting on your feet. “Happy now?” you muttered.  

Jimmy’s smirk returned, slow and knowing. He tilted his head, his voice dropping an octave.  

“Could’ve just said you wanted a taste,” he murmured.  

Your breath hitched, but you quickly covered it with an eye roll, shoving his wrist away as you stepped back.  

“Shut up, Jimmy.”  

He let out a low chuckle, his smirk never fading as he twirled the fork between his fingers. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark amusement mixed with something else—something heavier, something that made your pulse tick faster than it should have.  

"You act like you hate me," he murmured, stepping just a fraction closer, his body heat now palpable. "But here you go, eatin' off my fork."  

Your throat felt dry, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes. "I was starving, Jimmy. Don’t flatter yourself."  

He tilted his head slightly, eyes flickering between your lips and your gaze, his smirk deepening. "Mmm, nah. I think you just wanted to see what I taste like."  

Your breath caught, heart slamming against your ribs.  

"You are so full of yourself," you muttered, stepping back, but you barely moved an inch before he closed the gap again, this time with purpose.  

The air shifted—suffocating, electric. You could hear the faint drip of the kitchen sink, the hum of the refrigerator, but it all faded beneath the way Jimmy was watching you. Like he had all the time in the world to unravel you piece by piece.  

"You sure about that?" he murmured, voice low, velvety smooth.  

His free hand brushed against your hip—not fully touching, just ghosting over the fabric of your shorts, enough to send a shiver through you.  

You should have stepped away. Should have said something cutting, something to kill whatever this was. But your body wasn’t listening.  

Jimmy noticed.  

His smirk flickered into something darker, his fingers grazing up your waist, featherlight, testing, waiting for you to stop him.  

You didn’t.  

A slow, knowing hum left his lips. “Thought so,” he murmured, voice dropping even lower.  

Your breath came a little quicker, your skin tingling beneath his touch. Your body was betraying you, leaning into the heat of him.

His fingers finally landed on your chin, tilting it up slightly, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were unreadable—dangerous, teasing, but there was something else simmering beneath them. Something that sent your stomach twisting in the worst, best way.  

"You wanna taste somethin' sweet?" he murmured, his thumb barely brushing over your bottom lip. "I can give you more than just cake."  

Your breath hitched, fingers tightening at your sides.  

You just stood there. Frozen. Trapped under his gaze.  

Jimmy leaned in, slow enough for you to stop him, to push him away, but you didn’t. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, his presence consuming every inch of space between you.  

Every nerve was alight, your breath coming shallow and uneven as Jimmy inched closer, the space between you shrinking to nothing. The scent of vanilla and his cologne wrapped around you, thick and intoxicating.  

"You gonna stop me?" he murmured, his lips barely brushing against yours as he spoke, his voice low, teasing.  

You should’ve. But you didn’t move. You couldn’t.  

His thumb dragged over your bottom lip, slow, deliberate, like he was testing you, waiting for any sign of resistance. When he found none, his smirk deepened, and then—  

His lips brushed yours.  

Not a full kiss, just a whisper of contact, enough to send a sharp jolt straight through you. Your breath hitched, and Jimmy noticed.  

"You’re shaking," he murmured, his free hand sliding up your side, fingers grazing your ribs, your waist—barely there, but enough to make your skin erupt in goosebumps.  

"I’m n-" You swallowed hard, but the words died in your throat.  

He took advantage of your hesitation, closing the distance entirely. His lips pressed against yours, slow at first, testing, teasing. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer, his body heat seeping into you, his hand tracing up your spine like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.  

The moment you responded, the moment you gave in and let your lips move against his, it was over.  

Jimmy deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping over your bottom lip before slipping past, claiming your mouth like he had every right to. His grip turned possessive, his fingers digging into your waist as he pressed you back against the counter.  

You let out a soft gasp against his mouth, and he groaned in response, swallowing the sound like it belonged to him.  

"You taste better than that damn cake," he muttered against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip just hard enough to make your stomach flip.  

A shiver ran through you, and your fingers instinctively gripped the front of his shirt, holding onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright.  

"Jimmy, we cant—" you breathed, but it came out weak, needy, nothing like the warning you meant for it to be.  

"Shhh," he murmured, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower, grazing the sensitive spot just below your ear. "I got you, baby."  

The nickname sent a new wave of heat through you, your body arching into him before you could think twice about it. His hands slid lower, fingers pressing into your hips, gripping you like he had no intention of letting go.  

"You still wanna act like you hate me?" he whispered against your skin, his breath hot, his voice dripping with amusement and something deeper.  

You should’ve said yes. Should’ve pushed him away. Should’ve told him this was wrong.  

But the only thing that left your lips was a soft, breathless whimper.  

Jimmy chuckled, dark and knowing.  

"Yeah," he muttered, his teeth grazing your skin before he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper. "That’s what I thought."

You knew it was a bad idea, knew you were crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, but still, you couldn’t stop. The feel of his lips against yours, the way he held you close, the pressure of his body pressing against yours—everything felt too good to resist.

You’d always found ways to make excuses, to stay just out of reach. The random times you’d bug him when you needed something opened, pretending it was just too difficult for you to handle on your own. You'd act annoyed, making a big show of how "helpless" you were, even though it was never actually hard. It was just an excuse, a reason to get him close to you. He’d always tease you about it, calling you out on how dramatic you were, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes when he did, something you’d always ignored or tried to explain away. 

Then there were the times he’d bring girls over, just to sit around in the living room, loud and carefree, as if they didn’t matter to him. The jealousy it stirred inside you was a dangerous thing. You’d play it cool, roll your eyes and pretend you didn’t care. But you did. You cared so much that it burned. It wasn’t about them, not really. It was the way he’d be with them—too casual, too friendly, not even a hint of what he shared with you. He’d stay in the living room with them for hours, laughing, talking like you weren’t there, almost like he was flaunting it. 

Every time he brought a girl around, he’d still somehow find ways to be around you. He wouldn’t let you slip away completely, not with the way he’d casually touch your arm when passing by, or the way his eyes would seek you out in a room full of people. It was almost like he wanted you to be jealous, wanted to see that spark of emotion flash in your eyes when he paid attention to someone else. But he never made a move on them. Not really. You had to wonder if he was testing you, pushing your boundaries to see how far you'd go. Or maybe, in some twisted way, he was giving you the space to make a move of your own. 

Now, there was no going back. 

His lips pulled away just long enough for you to catch your breath, his forehead resting against yours as you both tried to steady your racing hearts. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, and his other hand had drifted to your lower back, pulling you closer into him. You could feel the heat of him through the thin fabric of your clothes. You could feel everything.  

“You know this is crazy, right?” you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were asking him or telling yourself. 

His eyes met yours again, dark and intense, and he gave a small, crooked grin. “Yeah,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your lip again. “Maybe it’s what we need, ma.”

That was the problem. It wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t just about you. It was about both of you. And maybe you both had always known this would happen. Maybe you both had been waiting for the other to make the first move.

His hand slid up beneath your oversized tee, fingers trailing against your bare skin, igniting a trail of heat in their wake. Your breath hitched, your body reacting to his touch before your mind could catch up. And god—he looked so damn good in those glasses. He rarely wore them, but when he did, it did something to you, something dangerous. It wasn’t just the way they framed his sharp features, or the way they made him look even more intense. It was the way they added to that quiet, confident arrogance of his—the way he knew exactly how they affected you.

Your lips parted, and without even thinking, you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to contain the rush of anticipation flooding through you. His eyes darkened at the sight, his pupils dilating with hunger. A low, guttural moan rumbled from his chest, deep and intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine.

Before you could process it, he moved—swift, effortless, like he’d done it a thousand times before. His strong hands gripped your thighs, lifting you with no effort at all. You gasped, your arms instinctively wrapping around his shoulders as he set you down onto the cool marble countertop. 

He didn’t hesitate. His lips crashed into yours again, hungrier this time, more demanding. His hands gripped your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him, and you could feel every hard line of his body pressing into you. Your fingers tangled into his hair, tugging just enough to earn another groan from him, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours.

“Fuck,” Jimmy mumbled against your lips, his voice thick with something between frustration and need. His hands roamed your sides, fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to ground himself. Your breaths mingled, heavy and uneven, as your hands moved instinctively to the hem of your shorts, pushing them down until they slipped off your legs and pooled onto the floor.

It had been over a year—too long since anyone had touched you like this. And yet, a single kiss from the one man you swore you couldn’t stand had you wetter than anyone ever had. It didn’t make sense. It was crazy. But you didn’t care.

Jimmy broke the kiss, his gaze trailing down your body until it settled on your yellow lace thong. The way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes darkened—it sent a rush of heat straight through you. You didn’t even have to look down to know how hard he was. His breathing was labored, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he undid his pants, never once breaking eye contact.

“You hate me for real, huh?” His voice was low, teasing, but thick with something deeper, something desperate.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you forced out a soft, defiant, “Mhm.” But it came out as a whimper, betraying the war raging inside you.

His smirk was slow, knowing. “Yeah?”

Before you could say anything else, his pants and boxers hit the floor, and your breath hitched.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, your fingers twitching against the countertop as anticipation curled low in your stomach.

And that’s when you felt it—the hard press of him against you, only the thin lace of your thong keeping you apart. A sharp gasp slipped past your lips, swallowed instantly by his mouth as he kissed you deeper, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you locked in place. Your fingers curled into his shoulders, nails digging in as a shudder ran through you.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured, his voice teasing but rough, his breath hot against your lips.  

Your eyes fluttered open, locking onto his, clouded with a mix of defiance and something dangerously close to surrender. “Ye—yeah,” you mumbled, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.  

His smirk was slow, knowing. His grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your hips. “Bet”  

Before you could say anything else, he stretched you—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch of his dick claiming you. Your mouth fell open, a soundless moan escaping as your body arched into him. His forehead rested against yours, both of you caught in the moment, breathing each other in.  

Your hands clutched at his back, nails dragging along his skin as he pulled you impossibly closer, filling you to the hilt. The heat, the tension, the months of unspoken rivalry and buried longing—it all exploded into something neither of you could stop now.  

And you didn’t want to.

Jimmy moved slowly, setting a rhythm that had your breath hitching with every deep, calculated stroke. You were used to men who rushed, who chased their own pleasure without thinking about yours. But Jimmy—he took his time, like he had something to prove. Like he wanted you to feel every inch of what he was doing to you.  

A shaky breath escaped your lips as your fingers curled against his shoulders. “J-Jimmy…”  

His grip tightened on your hips, his mouth ghosting over the shell of your ear. “What, baby?” His voice was thick, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it.  

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you arched into him. “I—” Your words faltered, another breathy whimper slipping free as he rocked into you again, slow and deep.  

He chuckled lowly, his lips trailing down your jaw, pressing lazy kisses along your skin. “You always talk back, always got somethin’ smart to say,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. His hands slid up your sides, fingertips brushing under your oversized tee. “But look at you now… all quiet for me.”  

Your nails dug into his back, frustration bubbling in your chest. “Shut up,” you muttered, your voice barely a whisper.  

Jimmy smirked against your skin, his grip tightening. “Nah, you love this shit,” he murmured. “Ain’t nobody ever taken their time with you, huh? Always quick, always rough… but that’s not what you need.”  

You bit your lip, refusing to admit how right he was.  

He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression dark, hungry. “When a man really wanna fuck a woman, he don’t rush it. He wanna feel that pussy. That’s the whole fuckin’ point, mama.”  

A shudder ran through you, your breath coming out in short, uneven gasps. He was ruining you, and he knew it.  

“Tell me you still hate me,” he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as he rolled his hips just right.  

You wanted to. You wanted to hold onto that last shred of defiance. But all that left your lips was a shaky, breathless moan.

His grip tightened as he leaned in, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Say it,” he murmured, voice thick with control. “Tell me you don’t hate me, baby.”  

Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body on fire. “I—I don’t hate you, Jimmy,” you panted, barely able to form the words as his dick hit every sweet spot in your body.  

He hummed in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, keeping you right where he wanted. “Mmh, I know,” he rasped, his dark gaze locked onto yours. “You just needed some dick, didn’t you?”  

Your heart pounded, fingers digging into his shoulders. You didn’t answer, couldn’t. But he wasn’t letting you off that easy. His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing your eyes to meet his. “Say it.”  

A soft whimper escaped your lips, your head nodding before you could stop yourself. His smirk deepened, his grip tightening as he watched you unravel beneath him.  

The tension coiled tighter, every inch of your body wound up and desperate for release. “Jimmy—Yes…” Your words trailed off into a shaky breath, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure built.  

He read you instantly, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Cum on this dick, baby. I got you.”  

And just like that, you shattered, a breathless moan slipping past your lips as your body gave in. He held you through it, his hands steady, his eyes never leaving yours.  

“Damn,” he murmured, pressing his forehead against yours as you caught your breath. Jimmy didn’t let up. His grip on you was firm as he pulled you down to your feet, spinning you around with ease. His hands guided you, pressing your front against the counter as his body crowded you from behind.  

“Arch that back for me,” he murmured, voice thick with command.  

You obeyed without hesitation, your fingers gripping the cool surface as he slid inside of you, teasing, taking his time. Your breath hitched, a desperate whimper escaping your lips.  

“Damn,” he groaned, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. “Knew you just needed me to take care of you.”  

Your head fell forward, your lips parting. “Please…”  

He smirked at the way the word rolled off your tongue. “Yeah, baby?”  

You couldn’t form the words. Your thoughts were a blur, tangled in the heat of the moment.  

He chuckled darkly, his fingers trailing down your spine. “Mmh, all that attitude, all that ‘I hate you’ talk—where it at now?”  

You bit your lip, trying to hold on to whatever fight you had left, but it was useless. His fingers slid lower, finding your clit with ease. A sharp gasp escaped you, your body trembling under his touch.  

“Thought so,” he muttered, his lips brushing against your shoulder. His fingers moved faster as he coaxed you closer to the edge. “And you ain’t done yet, baby. You gonna gimme another one before I let up.”  

A desperate whimper slipped from your lips. “Yeah?”  

He hummed in satisfaction, his fingers working fast but firm, knowing exactly how to unravel you. “Yeah,” he confirmed. “And you gon’ take it.”  

Your body tensed, heat pooling low in your stomach as the sensation built higher, stronger, consuming every part of you.  

“Jimmy—” Your voice broke, your grip on the counter tightening as a wave of pleasure crashed over you, leaving you breathless.  

A deep groan rumbled from his chest, his arms holding you close as he followed, his breath heavy, his hands still gripping you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.  

“fffuuuckk,” he muttered, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your shoulder. “Good girl.”  

Your knees felt weak, your breath shaky, but he held you steady, his lips ghosting over your skin as if savoring the moment.  

“You still hate me?” he murmured against your ear, his voice teasing, smug.  

You let out a breathless laugh, too dazed to even pretend anymore. “Shut up, Jimmy.”  

His chuckle was low, knowing. “ight.”

The night unfolded in a blur of tension and connection, each moment between you and Jimmy pulling you deeper into something unplanned. You moved through the apartment together. His dick was inside of you in the living room, slow and intense, his hands exploring with a mix of desire and tenderness. Every room, every new position felt deliberate.

It wasn’t just about the heat between you—it was the quiet tenderness in his touches, the way he’d pull you close, his hand brushing through your hair. With each passing moment, it became clear: this wasn’t a fleeting thing. Whatever had sparked between you two, it was something deeper than you’d expected. And as the night ended, you couldn’t help but wonder where it would lead.

[dopaminepig]

Not for me to accept the apology in the first place so don’t put too much stock in my opinion, but the thing thats disappointing me about RTVS’ apology, particularly Mike’s, is that like as much as I do genuinely appreciate them saying “we’re sorry, we shouldn’t have reacted badly”, I kind of wish there was a direct acknowledgement that the problem here wasn’t just attitude, it was racism. Like, I do appreciate Mike’s apology, but saying “one of my comments made people uncomfortable” and was “hurtful from the position of me being a white guy” is a very circuitous way to address that when you got annoyed you immediately said something racially charged. Regardless of the the situation, if in response to an Indigenous person’s criticisms someone said something along the lines of ‘do you really have your tribe’s best interests at heart’, I would say “woah, that’s a fucking weird and racially charged thing to say.” Immediately jumping to saying “your tribe” about anything here belies a very callous understanding of Indigenous issues, which is exactly the problem being raised in the first place. And that’s what I was hoping would be acknowledged in the formal apology, you know? I think (I hope) they ultimately mean well, and I’m not going to stop watching altogether because I have hope this did spur internal discussion that can lead to a more understanding viewpoint, but at the same time I am still personally disappointed.

[bluem1lls]

i need part 2 of se-mi with comphet reader 😭

✧₊⁺ speak now (or don't, and love forever in silence)

groom bff! se-mi x comphet! reader

synopsis: after years of waiting, he finally propose. wasn't this everything you wished for?

but you couldn't bring yourself to be happy.

was it maybe because when you thought about it, all you could picture was her face?

content: some angst, but finally fluff!!!!

authors note: im so sorry for the looooong ass late updates, im so so busy but im ab to go on break so everyone cheered!!! im back i promise:( im so excited for this part 2 i actually love it and i hope u do too!!!!

part one. part two (you're here!)

famous actress finally engaged with the famous choi su-bong, more known as 'thanos', old rapper surging back!

we all saw on Instagram the romantic proposal he prepped for her, and of course like every girl would, she said yes!

we are so happy for the married couple!

"fucking bullshit" se-mi threw her phone away with rage after reading the most liked post from the magazine's instagram.

her hands went to her face as she groaned, biting back her lip to keep the tears away.

poor dumb girl. she actually thought you were coming back to her...

"the way he proposed was so romantic, i'm glad he did it that way, it was what you always wanted ever since you were a kid" my best friend jun-hee took my hands between hers with a comforting smile. i smiled softly as i sighed.

"y-yeah. it was.." i whispered. she stares into my eyes, squeezing my hands. her expression fell, now filled with pity. she knew me more than anyone.

"you do know that you're supposed to be happy about getting married right?" she says with a lifted eyebrow as i pressed my lips.

"i am." i said, trying to convince myself.

"honey-" she murmurs as i cut her.

"i have to be." i said, turning to face myself in the mirror. streightening my skirt as i faked my best smile.

and it was true. everything was exactly how i always wanted it.

so.. why didn't it felt like it?

i heard a knock that snapped me out of my thoughts. we both turned as the door opened. "excuse me, just wanted to let you know the invitations have been sent" a girl said with a smile as i nodded, thanking her.

once she left, jun-hee stared at me. "did you sent one for.." my best friend said, stopping herself as i shuddered.

"yeah. of course. they're best friends." refering to my husband and se-mi. i put a smile to pretend i didn't cared. or at least i tried, although it didn't even reached my eyes.

if your own best friend stares at you with pity, you start to consider maybe you're not doing as well as you thought.

but i couldn't back up. not now. not ever.

"this belongs in the trash" se-mi says with a sarcastic smirk, grabbing the invitation only to crumble it with anger as min-su stops her.

"we can't just.. not go" he says to her as she stares at him, incredulous.

"do you want me to go to that fucking wedding? for what?" she spits with anger and disbelief, her voice getting louder as he sighs. he got used to seeing his best friend angered ever since the news came out.

"listen, i get it, okay? but it's our best friend's wedding. we can't just miss it" min-su says in a soft tone, trying to make her understand.

"i refuse to watch her get married." her cold voice snaps. "fuck this." she says with a groan, frustration all over her face.

"you need to move on! you know those two! yeah they hate eachother, but they're not breaking up sem. they're getting married, and probably everything that goes after that. are you just gonna avoid thanos until you die?" he says snapping as she furrows her brow, a small pout on her pierced lips without her even noticing it.

"there's nothing to move on, there was never anything between me and her right?" she says with a sigh. "i'm still not going. i fucking hate weddings" she says under her breath, going to her room to avoid the conversation. and something about that doesn't feel true, because she loves to think about you on a wedding dress. but not if it's not with.. she shakes her head to remove the thought, slamming the door. min-su sighs, his hands on his face, exhausted.

"oh god" jun-hee says with tears on her face, her eyes twinkle in awe as i laugh, a little teary.

the dress looks.. perfect. just like in my childhood dream. my perfect dream wedding.

"it was made for you" she says as i chuckle, giving a little spin for her.

i should be so happy...

"yeah.. i think we're done" i say to the girl from the store, who's standing on my side, staring at me with a soft smile. "this is it. this is the one."

i slowly head back to the changing room to remove the dress. i place back my clothes while my assistant goes to pay. i stare at myself in the mirror.

why am i not happy? why doesn't it feel like i'm getting married?

i sigh as i leave the store with my two companions.

"let's grab some coffee, it's right around the corner and im dying for some caffeine." jun-hee says as i nod.

i feel my phone buzzing on my pockets.

oh god, of course. he's always fucking forgetting about the wedding or where i am. god why am i marrying this-

my breath hitches as i grab my phone, reading the text.

this can't be happening.

not now.

oh god.

sem: a wedding?

sem: really?

of course it's her.

of course she texts me out of nowhere a fucking random tuesday at 3 pm.

of course she makes my heart beat on my chest like no one ever did. just for a fucking text.

i scoff in disbelief as my manicured nails type with anger.

me: for real?

me: this is what you're texting me?

me: after not hearing about you for fucking YEARS??????

i see the little bubble that indicates she's typing back. the fact that she hasn't left the chat since she texted me makes me bite my lip.

sem: i've seen the photos

sem: you know

sem: you dont look like someone whos excited to get married

i roll my eyes as i let out a shaky breath, she hit a nerve.

me: what do you know? you havent talked to me in years, maybe things changed.

sem: everything did.

sem: except this.

sem: why do you keep lying to yourself?

i place my phone back in my pocket with shaky hands, leaving her on seen. i place my head on my hands as i groan.

why did she had appear out of nowhere?

i was fine without.. knowing about her.

without thinking about her. without her smile. without knowing if she's seeing someone..

i was okay without her. yeah. i was perfect.

god i really need that coffee.

as i get home i watch my... fiance laying on the couch.

"did you even tried the cake samples i left?" i said with frustration as i leave my purse.

"uh, nam-gyu did, he said the black tea one was really good" he said without too much care as i stared at him disbelief.

"am i getting married to nam-gyu? because i needed MY husband to try them!" i say, standing in front of him, my hands on my hips as he rolled his eyes.

"who the fuck cares about the cake baby? no one does" he says, his arms sneaking around my waist to bring me closer to him.

"i care! i am going to be the wife in this fucking wedding and i care about the cake!" i shout angry. "and don't touch me" i let myself loose of his grip as he groans in built frustration.

"seriously? this again?" he says with a sigh, letting go.

"after the wedding" i say to him as my heart sinks. liar.

"about time" he rolls his eyes, his focus on the phone once again.

i stare at him blinking in disbelief.

this is my life?

am i gonna marry.. this idiot?

i go upstairs as i remove my outside clothes, placing on my pjs. i slowly let myself sink in bed as i grab my phone, my hands trembling as i bite my lip.

was this a good idea? no.

clearly not.

but god, i couldn't stop thinking about her.

me: are you coming?

me: to the wedding

me: i sent you an invitation

it takes her two minutes to reply.

sem: no.

oh. i chew on my bottom lip thinking about what to reply, until she texts back a few minutes later.

sem: why?

do i? do i wanna get marry, knowing she's there, staring at me?

the question is.. will i get married, knowing she's there, sitting on the crowd, watching me?

me: i want you there

the texting bubbles appear and disappear for over 10 minutes, making me extremely anxious as i wait for her reply.

sem: okay

okay what? okay that i want her there although i shouldn't? okay that-

sem: i'll see you there.

sem: consider this as my confirmation to the wedding.

i throw my phone away with shaky hands. my head sinks on my pillow, muffling my scream.

god, what have i done?

finally, today is the day.

today, i'm getting married.

the happiest day in my life. that's what everyone is saying.

so why i've been crying non stop until falling asleep?

i stared at myself, sat in front of my mirror. my makeup perfectly done, my hair loose in soft waves, the dress made just for me. it had to be like this, because this was what everyone expected from me.

i sighed as i stood up, leaving the room to go wait on the door for my entrance. i could hear the bells ringing, the wedding music. my dad appears, walking slowly until he was standing besides with a smile.

"i'm proud of you" he said, staring at front as i did too, my eyes teary. but it wasn't happiness, it was...

"everything is like it's supposed to be" i said, streightening myself. my head turned to stare at him. "am i finally the perfect daughter?" i asked my dad, my voice trembling with emotion.

he gave me a confused stare, a hint of what it looked like sadness, creeping into his stare. "it's not the wedding, it's clearly not the husband" he said as we both softly chuckled. "it's you.. you're my daughter. and i don't need you to be perfect, you being you it's all i want. your happiness. honey, nothing else matters after that." he said as i holded my tears. i bit the inside of my cheek, my heart pounding on my chest.

it's too late now, isn't it?

i could feel him interlock our arms as the doors opened. we moved one step at a time as we slowly entered the ceremony. to my wedding.

i shudder at the sight of everyone in the room, but i knew my eyes were only scanning to look for one person.

and when i found her, and my heart stopped.

she was watching me with a soft gaze, eyes almost twinkling as she roamed through my form, slowly taking my face, my body in the dress, and lastly, going up to meet my eyes. all i needed to make my heart flutter. i felt frozen in place, i could see everyone staring at me, wondering why i wasn't moving. my dad pulled my arm to get me out of my trance, but nothing worked.

i was there, stucked right where she left me.

on the last time i saw her. the last time my heart beated for her.

"if we get out of here and.. you decide that you're done being his perfect wife, and maybe you want to be happy.. with me.. i'll be waiting. i promise"

she was just as beautiful as i remembered her. of course i've seen pictures of her, but nothing like seeing her in person again.

our stare never breaking.

her eyes screamed 'please, love me'

and mine replied 'i do. but i shouldn't'

"are you okay?" my dad said, breaking the staring contest as i took reality of my surroundings. i shakily let out a small breath as i nodded with a fake smile. i kept walking to the altar, where i saw my... future husband.

right.

as i took my place, he took my hands in between his.

i trembled, and i swear i wanted to hear whatever the priest was saying. i really did.

but all my focus was on her.

was everyone blind for not noticing? or was everyone trying to pretend they couldn't tell how i stared at my husband's best friend?

when our eyes met again, i averted my gaze, trying really hard to pay attention to the priest talking on the altar to me and my future husband.

but god, i could not focus when she was here.

until i heard the priest coming to the end of his speech.

"if anyone has just cause to object to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace"

silence spreaded on the ceremony.

the quietness in the room making me shiver.

until it wasn't quiet anymore.

because everyone gasped.

and my eyes shut close.

and the quietness was replaced with whispers, with judging stares.

it wasn't quiet anymore, because she stood up.

my heart felt like it stopped in place. i could see my fiance's eyes widen, staring at se-mi like she was mad, insane.

but i knew she wasn't.

she was just in love, like i was.

and god, not from my husband.

her tall figure stood in the public, standing up as her mouth agaped like a fish. she tried to find any words to say, but she couldn't.

min-su and nam-gyu besides her, staring like if she grew a second head, completely shocked.

my eyes widen as i saw her take a sit again.

her mind was conflicted. i could tell. does she oppose? does she love quietly? what was more important? her best friend or her feelings? she shifted uncomfortably on her chair.

what was done was done, right?

fuck it. she thought, standing up once again.

everyone stared, their eyes open like never before.

"i-i oppose" she says in a weak, trembling voice. her eyes find mine, her stare pleads me to not let this keep going.

it begs me to go with her.

her hand moves to try and reach me as i watch her trembling hand and her pleading expression.

"i love you." she says with tears on her eyes.

and of course i knew this couldn't happen. of course i knew this was madness. i was about to get married. my life was buildt for this specific moment.

but my heart responded first with a sigh. not tears, not a scream, not a mad reply.

a sigh of relief.

i stare at the people sitting shocked in their seats. their gazes gravitating from her, to me and choi su-bong.

and suddenly, it's not like before. i'm not frozen in place, i'm not scared. i don't feel ashamed, i don't feel a thing.

except relief and love.

my last sign? when i stare at my parents, and they dont look at me ashamed. they're not embarrassed. they nod at me with tears in their eyes, intertwining their hands.

i get off the altar as i laugh.

a laugh of happiness. i chuckle loud and the feeling takes my entire body as i walk to her slowly. our stare never breaking as i stand in front of her, in my beautiful white dress. i reach to take her hand, the contact leaves a warm feeling on my heart.

"can we go?" are the only words that leave my lips with a shaky breath.

she stares at me, letting out an airy soft chuckle in disbelief, not believing this is happening.

"fuck, yes." is all she mutters as she moves in between the people, intertwining our hands like she never plans to release me as we run to the exit, our hearts jump in our chest.

and this is insane. i know it when we get into her rusty old car while the people gather outside to stare at us. but it doesn't matter.

it doesn't matter when my dress ruffles through the window, it doesn't matter when i buckle my seat belt with a happy smile and it certainly doesn't matter when she actually starts driving and we laugh, like a whole hearted laugh.

"you left your husband. in the altar. you left him" she says chuckling, filled with emotions. shock, disbelief, happiness.

"i- i did. and i don't regret it. god i don't regret leaving him for his.. best friend" i laugh as i stare at her. i take a deep breath as i speak "stop the car" she stops so abruptly, the car brakes.

"are you regr-" i unbuckle my seat belt as i turn aside. i cup her face in between my hands, my eyes roaming across her entire features.

this is the woman i love. it feels so good to finally say it out loud.

and i kiss her.

and is everything i always wanted to feel. it's what i expected from every single one of my ex-boyfriends. is filled with hunger, desire, passion and love.

and my heart feels warm and i know now exactly what love was supposed to feel like.

the kiss lowers to something softer, one of her hands goes to my cheek, caressing it with her thumb as my hand moves to the nape of her neck, pulling her closer. her other hand roams through my body to grip my waist.

"this feels like a dream" she mumbles in between kisses.

"i know, i know" i replied as i kissed her again and again, love-drunk. "but it's not. i'm yours se-mi. i'm completely yours" i whispered against her lips as she nodded excited. her nose softly caressing mine, an intimate gesture.

"can i start the car and get the fuck out of here, please? because i never want to look back" she says breaking the kiss. i nod happily.

"please, start the fucking car" i chuckle as i go back to my seat, connecting to the bluetooth of her car, i look at the playlist on my phone until i find the one.

"i am not the kind of girl

who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion

but you are not the kind of boy

who should be marrying the wrong girl"

she smacks me softly as she listens to the lyrics, rolling her eyes as i snort.

and as my eyes find hers, i know i finally am where i belong.

known actress leaves husband on the altar!

we saw our famous girl, that we all know and love, leaving rapper ''thanos' on the altar.

the last thing we heard from him to the press was: i hope she's happy now.

and she looks like it! because she's been sharing photos on social media with her new girl non stop!

let's wish a happy relationship to the recently out of the closet actress!

[stylestarkey]

the debutante’s dilemma (03)

pairing   rafe cameron X carrera!reader

summary   spending every summer in the outer banks with your cousin kiara carrera were always a given—a break from the chaos of new york city. but this year is different. your mom, now an organiser for the annual debutante ball, is determined to introduce you to society. and you have a dilemma: finding the perfect escort.

warnings   swearing.

navigation   masterlist 02 03 04

you didn’t understand why kie got so weird every time you mentioned the camerons. it wasn’t just irritation—it was something deeper, something she refused to say out loud. it was like she wanted to protect you from them but wouldn’t explain why.

but when sarah texted you to confirm your plans for tuesday, you said yes without hesitation. if kie wasn’t going to tell you what her deal was, you’d find out for yourself. besides, sarah had been nothing but kind to you—warm, funny, easy to talk to.

and then there was rafe.

when your mom told you he’d be your escort, you weren’t sure how to feel. your first impression of him at the golf course had been… interesting. he was arrogant, sure, but he wasn’t completely unbearable. and when you found out he and sarah were siblings, you figured, why not?

every summer in the outer banks had always been just you and kie. would it really hurt to make some new friends?

sarah steps down from the fitting platform, running her fingers through her hair as the tailor finishes pinning the last few adjustments. “your turn,” she says, plopping into a nearby chair.

you step up hesitantly, standing still as the woman wraps a measuring tape around your arms. sarah hums, flipping through a rack of dresses, eyes scanning the fabrics.

“so, hold on—topper is your boyfriend?” you ask, raising a brow.

“mm-hmm,” she hums, distracted. then she glances at you with a sly grin. 

“he told me you rejected rafe at the golf course. i died laughing.”

you scoff. “i didn’t reject him. i just… didn’t care about who he was.”

sarah smirks, shaking her head. “wait—don’t tell me. did he introduce himself like, hey, i’m rafe cameron. you should know who i am?”

your jaw drops. “that is exactly what he said!”

sarah throws her head back, laughing. “god, he’s such an idiot.” she leans against the wall, arms crossed, still grinning. “honestly, i have no idea how rose convinced him to do this. i mean, it’s rafe.” kie had said the same thing, like the thought of rafe agreeing was ridiculous. she shakes her head. “but then rose showed him a picture of you, and suddenly he was interested. said he already met you.”

you roll your eyes. “great. let’s just hope he can dance.”

after the fitting, the two of you step out into the humid morning air, walking toward a nearby brunch spot. the sun beats down, and the ocean breeze barely cuts through the heat. sarah walks beside you, her sunglasses perched on her head, twirling her phone between her fingers.

“so, you’re related to kie, right?” she asks casually. “judging by your last name.”

“yeah,” you nod. “our moms are sisters.”

“that’s cool. how is she?”

you hesitate for a second too long. “she’s… good. how do you know her?”

sarah hums, her fingers brushing through her hair. “we were best friends in middle school,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge to it. “then she moved to public.”

you don’t ask for more details.

but it doesn’t sit right with you—how weird kie got at the mention of sarah, and how normal sarah seemed about it.

one of them wasn’t telling the whole story.

your mom insisted on driving you to the country club, even though you told her you could take the bus. she was way too excited about this whole debutante thing, and honestly, you didn’t mind. it was nice seeing her like that.

the performing arts room was in a separate building connected to the main country club. as you stepped inside, the scent of polished wood and faint perfume filled the air. chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow, while a mirrored wall reflected the room’s high ceilings and wooden floors. a grand piano sat untouched in the corner, and a stage stretched along one side of the room. girls stood in groups, chatting with their partners, laughter filling the space.

you scanned the room, expecting to spot sarah, but instead, you caught sight of rafe. arms crossed, expression unreadable, walking straight toward you. he didn’t look particularly amused.

“pissed i beat you in mini golf?” you teased, tilting your head. a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you shifted your weight onto one foot, watching his reaction.

he scoffed, shaking his head. “oh please, you really want to play one-on-one right now? that was an imessage game, and you’re late.”

your eyes flicked to the clock on the wall. “it’s 3:05.”

“rose said rehearsals start at 3,” he shot back, his tone flat, like he’d been waiting to call you out on it.

you rolled your eyes. “whatever, rafe. your sister isn’t even here yet.”

“she’s coming with topper,” he muttered.

before you could respond, sarah’s voice cut through the conversation.

“we’re here!” she grinned, stepping into the room with topper right behind her. topper clapped a hand on rafe’s shoulder, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. “wow, you’re here early, bro. that’s new.”

rafe shoved his hand off with an eye roll, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a laugh.

after a while, the dance coach gathered everyone. warm-ups came first, stretching and a few simple steps before getting everyone into position. the dance was formal and old-fashioned—like something straight out of a victorian ball. stiff posture, careful footwork, calculated movements. you expected dancing with rafe to be awkward, but to your surprise, he was actually good. confident, sure-footed. not what you expected at all.

surprisingly, you got along with the other girls too. their wealth and privilege were obvious in the way they talked—casual mentions of summering in europe, custom-designed dresses, and family connections that opened every door. but you brushed it off. starting drama wasn’t worth it. besides, for the most part, they were nice enough.

after almost two hours, rehearsal wrapped up. you and sarah said your goodbyes, ignoring rafe and topper’s exaggerated gagging noises as you hugged. stepping outside, you pulled out your phone, ready to call an uber.

rafe stood next to you, hands in his pockets, his stance casual as he looked out at the street, the sun casting shadows across his face.

“i forgot to thank you for agreeing to be my escort. i was stressing.” you glanced at him, tucking your phone away.

he raised a brow, his expression unreadable. “it was either you or ruthie, and topper is doing it. so don’t thank me.”

you frowned. “what’s wrong with ruthie?”

he let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “she’s just a complete bitch. i’m surprised she even has a partner—probably had to pay him or something.”

you shot him a pointed look. “don’t be mean.”

he shrugged like he didn’t care. “wanna grab something to eat?”

your stomach twisted slightly at the thought. you were kind of hungry, but you sighed, pretending to be reluctant. “rehearsal made me pretty tired.”

rafe turned to you with a deadpan expression. “from learning twenty seconds of a three-minute dance?”

you scoffed, shoving your hands into your back pockets. “this is some bridgerton shit. like i’m rehearsing to perform in front of the british family.”

he smirked. “and you’re the one who said ‘i hope you can dance.’”

“oh, shut up.” you lightly smacked his arm, shaking your head.

his smirk widened. “plus, coach said the more time you spend with your partner, the more comfortable you get. just come, i’ll drive you home after.”

you hesitated, biting your lip. an uber would cost you, and with your mom out, there wasn’t food at home anyway.

“fine, but you’re paying for me.”

he scoffed, pulling his keys from his pocket. “so i’m driving and paying? what am i, your boyfriend?”

you shot him a teasing grin. “you wish.”

he rolled his eyes, nodding toward the parking lot. “c’mon.”

navigation masterlist 02 03 04

note how are we feeling!! lmk your thoughts :) - H <3

comment to be in the taglist — @chaengist @starkeysfile @sexualparkour @dontknow3m @vivian-555 @amterasuu

[itsrlymine]

"i manifested this" "i manifested that" until they realize they "manifest" literally everything 😭 pls.

mfs need to stop acting like theyre diverging from their reality to get their desire when they quite literally created everything in their reality. if they can "manifest" an entire world and sustain it then why should manifesting anything be hard???

"omg i got so lucky this one time" YOU did that bruh. give yourself some credit

bruh pls don't even get me starteddddddd. lmao i found myself doing the same thing before and it's just like babe..... you've been manifesting this whole time and always will be like??? exactly what i feel too bc we don't leave or end up going anywhere in order to get what we want. it's here now bc we are. literally give yourself credit!!!!!!!! i sometimes don't even like when people thank me for helping them bc babes. i am you and you are me!!! you brought yourself to this information and i just happened. to be the "vessel" but it's still you at the end of the day. you did it fr! you are always doing it!

[moonyswolfie]

Study Session

A/N: So I just finished a torturously long exam session and this fic is a result of all the stress and mental breakdowns I've accumulated like Pokemons during this time. I actually wrote this piece between two of my biggest and most difficult exams, hence the N.E.W.T.s coming in to play. I hope you enjoy and if you relate, I'm so sorry! Remember that you are strong and no amount of academic stress can bring you down!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Masterlist

The table you were sat at in the Library was so crowded with textbooks and parchments that you could not see the wood any longer. Notes and cheat sheets, explanatory scrolls of parchments, quills and bottles of ink covered the entire surface. Hell, Lily even brought a dictionary. Merlin knew what use would a muggle dictionary have when it came to magical terms, but you learned a long time ago to never question her genius.

It was N.E.W.T.s season and to say that all 5 of you were stressed would be an understatement. James thought that once you passed your O.W.L.s, the N.E.W.T.s would not be as scary as everyone made them out to be. It was an exam session, a very long and tiresome and perhaps crucial exam session, but it wasn't Voldemort, right?

Wrong. The stress was growing by the hour and despite having two more weeks at your disposal to revise and memorise all you needed to, it didn't feel like enough.

But then again, was it ever enough? 

You've been preparing for the N.E.W.T.s since the beginning of the school year, forcing yourself to attend every class and take a ginormous amount of notes that you knew would probably end up useless or lost somewhere at the bottom of your book bag. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to pause. Failure was not an option.

So far you tackled Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of them easy and rather entertaining subjects, if you were to say so yourself. Right now however, you were stuck on the same Potions chapter for the past four hours and were just about ready to scream, cry, Avada Kedavra yourself or better yet, all of the above.

"Hey, Sirius?" 

He hums and looks up, noticing your twitching eye and the exasperation rolling off you in waves. 

"Y/N, are you okay?" 

The concern was palpable and it caught the attention of your boyfriend in an instant, yet Remus knew better than to pester you with questions right now. He was adamant about rest and health being your first priority, but considering his own overcrowded study schedule, he would be a hypocrite to point it out at the moment. He did, however, push a goblet of water in your direction, which you eagerly accepted and gulped down in seconds. You weren't exactly allowed food or beverages in the Library, but what Pince didn't know would not hurt her.

You thanked Remus and handed the goblet back, before turning to Sirius and taking a deep breath to regain your composure. 

"I have been rereading this chapter for the majority of our time here and I still don't understand the origins or the side effects of Amortentia when used for a longer period of time. No one really bothered to detail on them in any of our textbooks and I am not sure anyone ever subjected themselves to testing it out and then writing a memoir about it. However, Slughorn oh so graciously announced us that it might be included in the advanced exam topics. Do you happen to have anything on this? I know he mentioned some in class, but I didn't catch all of them."

"I think I do..."

He shuffles some parchments and knocks down some books, thus earning himself a stern look from Madame Pince, but ultimately finds the notes and hands them over.

"There you go, love."

You smile and thank him, humming while you scan the information. For such a chaotic human being, he had the neatest handwriting you've ever seen.

It doesn't take long for you to find the part about side effects, however there was nothing you didn't already write down yourself. Thankfully though, Sirius was the type of person to absently write down everything he heard so you found other helpful pieces of information. This was why you asked him for the notes in the first place, instead of Remus or James. Remus, much like yourself, only wrote the parts he was less certain of, whereas James didn't write anything at all. And Lily, Merlin bless her, she was a growing disaster when it came to writing information down. There was, contrary to her claims, no method to her madness.

You rolled up the parchment once you were done writing, yet kept it close, just in case you needed it again later. Sirius was studying for Transfiguration, so he wouldn't miss the notes anytime soon. Lily turned to you, ready to ask a question regarding a Charms lesson she was too sick to attend, but stopped and frowned, browsing the page spread out on the table in front of you.

"Y/N, why are your notes bilingual?" 

You turned and followed her gaze to the margins, specifically to the terminology you borrowed from Sirius...

You unscrolled his notes again and placed them next to yours, looking from one to the other with a bemused smile. Next to the name of the potion, you drew a little arrow and wrote amour et obsession, which would have been inconspicuous, had you not added une potion délicate and l'amour impossible devient possible.

There were a few more next to the ingredients list and some corrections made regarding the mode of preparation. As you scanned the two sets of notes, you noticed that his were entirely in French, while you half translated, half copied your added bits.

You didn't know what was funnier, that you mindlessly wrote the information in Frenchglish, or that you didn't notice it was in another language to begin with. 

English was your mother tongue, yet like every other pureblooded offspring, you were forced to attend a variety of language lessons to determine which ones you would be more skilled in. Romantic languages proved to be your forte, so you stuck with French, Italian and Latin. It wasn't easy in the beginning, seeing as they are all mere variations of the latter, therefore making them ridiculously easy to mix up and combine in the oddest of sentences, but you persevered and were now fluent in all four. 

Regardless, slip ups like the one you were tiredly staring at now were not unheard of. You were certain it was a testament to how tired you truly were. Perhaps Remus was right, you should rest more.

But then again, this was not a simple exam session. It was the one that would determine your entire future. You could sleep when you're dead.

"You write your notes in French?"

Sirius' head shot up immediatey, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes?"

By now everyone's attention was on your exchange, which deepened his frown. James looked like he missed everything until that very moment, Remus was watching his best friend with a raised brow and Lily was silently shaking her head, smiling. She didn't know how she ended up with the lot of you, but she knew she loved you dearly.

"French is my first language" Sirius added, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

Sadly, it did nothing to clear up the confusion. When neither of you said anything, he added "doesn't everyone take notes in their first language?"

Despite Remus being the only other person in your group who wasn't a native English speaker, therefore making him the best candidate to answer his friend, you all shook your heads, your faces betraying different levels of amusement and fondness. It was a rather endearing situation.

"I don't take notes in Welsh, if that's what you're asking. I don't think I can even translate half the things correctly. Besides, the spells are in Latin, so imagine how that would look on a piece of parchment."

You chuckled at the mental image of magical notes looking more like pages taken from that muggle author's book, Tolkien. Lily followed and you both received a glare and a pointed "shhh" from Madame Pince. Honestly, it was a wonder she wasn't kicking you out at this point.

"Wait a second" James turned towards his best friend "ALL of your notes are in French?"

Sirius nods. Poor baby looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"But don't you..." you frown, unsure how to formulate your question "I see you writing constantly. If the Professor speaks, you write. How..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and shaking your head "my brain hurts. You look as if you write down everything that is said in class, so I assumed that you do?”

You peek an eye up only to be met with Sirius chuckling silently.

“I do write mostly everything that is said in class, but first I summarize it and I guess it’s easier to summarize it in French. I find it easier if I reformulate the information because it shows I understood the concept, but to avoid learning something mechanically and forgetting it when I flip the page, I use my own words. The only issue is that sometimes I forget the word I need in English or there isn’t even a word in English for said thing to begin with. Thus French. And no one really asked me for my notes before you so I didn’t see any reason to put any effort in translating them. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway.” he adds with an amused smirk, remembering Lily’s previous comment about your notes

You mask your chuckle with a cough and glance at your notes again.

“That is actually a great idea, Pads, I might have to start doing it myself.”

“NO!”

The lot of you was startled by James’ whisper-shout. You gave him a bewildered look, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Are you alright, big brother?”

“Don’t you dare. I know you and your disturbingly brilliant mind. If you start implementing this method, you’re going to write your notes in Latin” he squints, an accusatory look in his eyes “and where am I going to get my last minute notes from then?”

That was it, you couldn’t hold it in any longer if you tried. You burst out laughing, prompting an exaggerated “SHHH” to be directed your way.

“This is your last warning, if you cannot keep quiet, I suggest you move your little study session to your Common Room.”

Madame Pince was stern, yet you couldn’t fault her this time. You were loud and you certainly disturbed a few of your peers seated at nearby tables.

“Sorry” you whisper with a sheepish look.

You returned your attention to the table just in time to catch Lily placing a sweet kiss on James’ cheek, mumbling “don’t worry, my love, I won’t leave you noteless” which seemed to lift his spirits immediately. As grossed out as you were by their affection sometimes (what are sisters for after all?), you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. You were really happy he found his better half, even if it happened to be one of your best friends.

But after all, you did return the favour, did you not?

Remus’ hand found yours under the table and he squeezed it affectionately. You squeezed right back and smiled up at him, mouthing “I love you” and delighting in the beautiful smile that took over his face for the rest of the day.

[darkintothedawn]

stiles sneakin into ur window at night bc he refuses to use the front door and wake everyone up

DRAIN PIPE || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Stiles is climbing into your window and causing a mess, it's late and you're tired and you just don't want to deal with it. The morning is better, with all traces of annoyance gone, until Stiles' dad is screaming for him outside and you're instead confessing to your mother that you were the one who called him over.

Memo— I'm sorry if this isn't exactly what you wanted, I genuinely couldn't figure out how to start this to begin with for a while. Thank you for the request of course and if you did want something different or if someone wants something similar you can always send another ask! I do hope you like this, anon.

Word Count — 3741

Warnings — Fluff. Mild annoyance. Puppy dog Stiles.

Your room is dimly lit by the glow of your phone screen, the only source of light as you lay sprawled out on your bed. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that only settles in when everyone else is asleep, leaving you alone with the soft hum of your thoughts—and Stiles blowing up your phone.

Stiles: You up? Stiles: Wait, ofc you are. You literally just opened this. Stiles: Soooooo Stiles: What if I was dying? And you ignored me? How would you feel? You: I’d be mildly inconvenienced but ultimately fine. Stiles: Rude. Disrespectful. Hurtful, even. You: You’re not dying. Stiles: Not physically, but emotionally? Spiritually? Maybe even mentally? You: Sounds like a you problem. Stiles: Wow. Ok. Ice cold. Where’s the love?

You shake your head, biting back a smile as you toss your phone onto your chest. It’s always like this with Stiles—constant, clingy, and so unapologetically him. And you don’t mind, not really. If anything, his ridiculous messages have become a staple of your nights, filling the silence with his chaotic energy even from a distance.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, about to hit send on another sarcastic reply, when your phone buzzes again.

Stiles: What if I was outside your window right now?

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You: I’d tell you to stop being creepy and go to bed.

The typing bubble pops up, then disappears. A pause. Then—

Stiles: Bold of you to assume I’d listen.

Before you can respond, there’s a soft thud outside your window.

Your heart stutters.

Another sound—this time a muffled curse, followed by the unmistakable scrape of sneakers against the siding of your house.

You freeze. No. No way.

Slowly, you sit up, eyes locked on the window. A shadow moves outside, just beyond the glass.

You don’t even think. You launch yourself toward the curtain, yanking it back, and—

Yep.

There he is.

Stiles Stilinski, clinging to the edge of your windowsill like some kind of sleep-deprived raccoon, his hoodie askew and his expression caught somewhere between triumph and regret.

"Hey," he whisper-yells, flashing you a lopsided grin. "Fancy meeting you here."

You stare at him, unimpressed. "Are you serious?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

You push the window up just enough to glare at him properly. "Do I even want to ask how you got up here?"

"Uh—" He looks down for the first time, then back at you, his grin faltering. "So, funny story… Turns out your drainpipe is not, in fact, built for weight-bearing activities. Who knew?"

You follow his gaze to the slightly bent metal, your jaw tightening. "You're the reason it looks like that?"

"Technically, gravity is to blame, but sure, pin this on me."

You press a hand to your forehead, exhaling through your nose. "You have got to stop doing this."

"And yet," he says, shifting his grip and hoisting himself higher, "Here I am."

"Yeah, and I’m starting to question why I keep letting this happen."

"You don't let it happen," he corrects, grunting as he swings a leg over the sill. "I make it happen."

Before you can protest, he somehow manages to wriggle through the window with all the grace of a drunken deer, knocking into the curtain and nearly toppling your bedside lamp. He lands on your floor with a soft oof, sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling like he’s just run a marathon.

"That was exhausting," he groans. "You should really consider moving to a ground-floor bedroom."

"You should really consider knocking on the front door," you retort, crossing your arms.

Stiles scoffs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Okay, yeah, and then what? I wake your parents up? They already think I’m a bad influence—if I show up at your front door in the middle of the night, they’d never let me stay over again."

You blink at him. "Stiles. They wouldn’t let you stay over now."

He pauses, then clicks his tongue. "That’s fair."

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "So, let me get this straight—you climbed up the side of my house, almost fell to your death, broke my drainpipe, and risked getting caught all so you could not wake my parents?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds kinda dumb."

"It is dumb."

He grins. "Yeah, but, like… dumb in a charming way, right?"

You roll your eyes, nudging his foot with yours. "No, dumb in a dumb way."

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've just mortally wounded him. "You wound me. Really. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this betrayal."

"Yeah, well, actions have consequences."

Stiles flops back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I see how it is. You don’t appreciate me. I’m just some guy, risking life and limb to see you, and for what? Disrespect?"

"For a concussion, probably," you mutter.

He watches you from the floor, his expression softer now, less exaggerated dramatics, more something real. "You’re not actually mad, though. Right?" He stands up when he talks, almost as if he's ready to spring out the window if you are.

You hesitate, then sigh, flopping down onto your bed. "No. But I should be."

"Yeah," he agrees, grinning. "You should be. But you’re not. Because deep, deep down, you love that I do this."

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. "Love is a strong word."

He smirks. "You tolerate that I do this?"

You huff, shaking your head. "That’s more accurate."

And honestly? It is. Because at the end of the day, this is just… Stiles. Sneaking in through your window like a delinquent, making himself at home on your floor, filling your nights with his restless energy.

And despite how much you should be annoyed, how much you should tell him to stop—

You know you’d miss it if he ever did.

You shake your head, still lying on your bed as Stiles lingers in the middle of your room, looking awkward in a way that’s almost endearing—hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s suddenly unsure what to do now that he’s actually here.

You watch him for a second, then sigh. "Okay, so—why are you here?"

He shifts on his feet, glancing around your room like the answer might be hiding in your bookshelf or taped to your walls. "I dunno," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Just… couldn’t sleep, I guess. And I was thinking about stuff. And you."

Your eyebrows lift. "Me?"

"Yeah, you." He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but the way he won’t quite meet your eyes says otherwise. "And I figured, you know, since I was already thinking about you, and since you were obviously awake, and since your window is right there—"

"—you decided to break in."

"Not break in. More like… strategically enter."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah," he says, grinning a little. "But you like me anyway."

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you just pull your covers to the side, turning over onto your other shoulder. "Close the window."

There's a pause.

You don’t look at him, don’t clarify, don’t explain—because if he doesn’t get the hint, that’s his problem.

For a second, there’s nothing but silence. Then, finally, the soft creak of the window shutting, the lock clicking into place.

And a few moments later, the dip of your mattress as Stiles climbs in beside you.

Stiles hesitates for only a second before he takes what you’ve silently offered, slipping under the covers and settling in behind you. His movements are careful, almost tentative, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind and shove him off the bed.

You don’t.

Mostly because you’re exhausted—mentally, emotionally, and from the sheer effort it’s going to take to pretend your drainpipe isn’t hanging on for dear life outside your window. You don’t have the energy to kick him out, and honestly, even if you did, you probably wouldn’t.

He shifts slightly, adjusting until he’s pressed fully against your back, his arm draping naturally over your waist. He’s warm—unfairly so—and for a moment, you hate how easy it is to relax against him, how comfortable this feels despite the absolute nuisance he’s been tonight.

"You’re still mad," he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

"Not mad exactly," you say, your voice muffled against your pillow. "Just… annoyed."

"Right. Annoyed. Got it." His fingers tap lightly against your hip, thoughtful. "So, like… mild annoyance? Or are we talking long-term consequences? Should I be preparing for some kind of slow-burn revenge arc?"

You snort. "You wish I had the patience for a slow-burn revenge arc."

"True," he concedes, squeezing your waist lightly. "You’re more of an ‘immediate consequences’ type. Which, honestly? Fair."

You hum in agreement, staring at the wall. You should turn around. Should look him in the eye and make sure he knows you’re actually a little pissed this time, that he can’t just pull some reckless stunt and expect to charm his way out of it.

But the problem is… if you do turn around, he’s going to be looking at you like that—all soft-eyed and stupidly endearing, like a kicked puppy who just wants to be forgiven. Because he is one.

And you will forgive him, way too quickly, because you always do.

So, instead, you stay facing away, letting him be the big spoon, letting him hold you without having to see the expression that’s no doubt on his face. He can deal with you being slightly annoyed for once. He deserves to sit with it.

Besides, you’ll be the one stuck explaining to your parents why the drainpipe looks like it lost a fight with a raccoon.

For now, though, you let your eyes slip shut, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing behind you, the warmth of him pressed close, the way his fingers trace mindless patterns against your side.

He’s here. He’s safe.

And maybe you’ll be less annoyed in the morning.

The morning light filters softly through your curtains, painting everything in hazy gold. The world is still quiet, wrapped in that early morning stillness where reality hasn’t quite settled in yet.

You’re warm. Comfortable. And you don’t fully register why until your sleep-fogged brain starts to catch up with your body.

Your face is pressed against something solid and warm, rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. Your arms are curled around a familiar frame, fingers tucked into the fabric of a hoodie, holding on just as tightly as the arms wrapped around you.

Stiles.

He’s awake. You can feel it in the way his body is just a little too still, like he’s trying way too hard not to move. His breathing is slow—too slow—like he’s deliberately keeping it shallow so he doesn’t disturb you.

You peek your eyes open, blinking up at him. Sure enough, his gaze is already on you, wide and soft, like he’s been staring at you for a while now. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something tender about it—something careful, like he doesn’t want to do anything that might ruin this moment.

You yawn, stretching slightly but not moving away. Instead, you nuzzle just a little further into his chest before tilting your head up, pressing a lazy, barely-awake kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Breathe,” you murmur against his skin.

You feel him suck in a sharp inhale, his arms tightening around you instinctively.

Then, a breathless laugh. “I—yeah. Okay. Noted.”

You shift, resting your chin against his chest so you can look at him properly. “I’m not annoyed anymore.”

His lips twitch, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against your back. “I figured. You are currently cuddling me like I’m your emotional support human.”

You don’t even try to deny it. There’s no point—you both know the truth. It was you who moved into his arms sometime during the night, who sought him out in your sleep, curled up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Stiles knows it. You know it. It always happens. And neither of you are in any rush to change it.

So instead, you just sigh, pressing your face back into his hoodie, letting yourself relax completely into him.

His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you like he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.

And honestly?

You’re perfectly okay with that.

The warmth of him, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace the curve of your spine—it’s grounding in a way you don’t fully want to acknowledge yet. You should probably say something snarky, tease him for the way he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go, but you don’t.

Instead, you shift, stretching lazily, letting your nose brush against the hollow of his throat as you settle back in. Stiles tenses for half a second, his breath hitching, and you feel the way his fingers tighten at your waist like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

It makes you smirk against his hoodie.

"You okay there?" you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

He exhales a little too forcefully. "Yeah. Totally fine. Just—" He clears his throat. "You, uh. You can't just do that."

"Do what?" You tilt your head, blinking up at him with innocent eyes.

Stiles levels you with a look. "You know what."

You just hum, clearly unbothered, shifting again so that your leg slots between his. It’s barely anything—just a sleepy, natural movement—but it's enough to have Stiles groaning under his breath, pressing his head back into your pillow like he's gathering some kind of strength.

"You’re doing this on purpose," he mutters, eyes squeezing shut.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, voice light, but the smile you’re biting back gives you away.

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You are a menace."

"And yet, you’re still here."

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice quieter now, something softer threading through it. "I am."

You finally glance up at him properly, and it’s a mistake. Because he’s already looking at you, already watching you with that look—the one that’s way too fond, way too open, way too everything. His eyes flicker over your face, lingering for half a second too long on your mouth before meeting your gaze again, and it sends a quiet thrill through you.

For once, he doesn’t fill the silence with words. He just watches you, his hand at your waist stilling, fingers pressing just a little firmer into your side. You swallow.

"You’re staring," you murmur, voice quieter now.

"Yeah," he says simply. "Guess I am."

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him, or maybe it’s both of you at the same time—but it doesn’t really matter, because one second you’re just laying there, hovering in that space between hesitation and action, and the next—

His lips are on yours.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. When you don’t—when you press into it, letting your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie—he exhales against your mouth, something loosening in him, and suddenly, you’re kissing Stiles.

And it’s good.

Better than you would have expected, if you’d ever let yourself think about lazy, sleepy, morning kisses with Stiles before (which, for the record, you totally haven’t). His lips are warm and a little chapped, moving against yours in a way that’s way too easy, way too natural, like this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. Like this isn’t the first time he’s thought about doing it.

You sigh against him, tilting your head slightly, and he makes a quiet, almost desperate noise before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hand slides up, fingers tracing along your ribcage, settling just beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of it sends a shiver through you.

He notices. Smirks against your mouth.

"Cold?" he murmurs.

You huff, nudging his nose with yours. "Shut up."

"Not a chance," he says, grinning, before kissing you again.

This time, there’s nothing tentative about it. His hand slips higher, his body pressing closer, and it’s dizzying—the slow drag of his lips, the heat of him against you, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs it, like he’s making up for lost time.

And maybe—just maybe—you feel the same way.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly, and he groans against your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. His hoodie rides up between you, fabric bunching as your hands roam, and suddenly, it’s all warmth and pressure and Stiles.

It’s almost too much. It’s not enough.

And then—

There’s a loud bang from outside.

You both freeze.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Stiles?"

Your stomach drops.

Stiles curses under his breath, forehead pressing against your shoulder. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

A second later, another call.

"Stiles Stilinski, are you up there?"

Your eyes widen. "Is that—"

"My dad," Stiles groans, rolling onto his back and dragging his hands down his face. "That’s my dad."

Your stomach twists. "He knows you're here?"

"I don’t know!" Stiles hisses, already scrambling to sit up. "But considering he’s currently yelling my name outside your house, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that, yeah, he knows."

You swear under your breath, sitting up with him. "How the hell does he know?"

"I—" Stiles pauses, then closes his eyes in defeat. "Oh my god."

You stare at him. "What?"

"My jeep is parked in your driveway."

There’s a beat of silence as you both process that. Then—

"Oh my god."

"Yeah," Stiles groans, rubbing his temples. "I am so unbelievably screwed."

You don’t even hesitate. You shove him. "Get out."

"I’m trying!" He flails, nearly toppling off the bed as he tries to untangle himself from the covers. "Do you have a back door? A fire escape? A trapdoor?"

"Oh, yeah, let me just pull the secret lever in my suburban bedroom," you deadpan. "Obviously not, Stiles."

He glares at you, shoving his feet into his sneakers. "Your sarcasm is not helping right now."

"Neither is your existence in my room at seven in the morning."

"Okay, ow," he mutters, making a beeline for the window.

Before he can climb out, there's a knock on your bedroom door.

Your heart stops.

"Sweetheart?" your mom calls. "Are you awake?"

You and Stiles lock eyes, frozen in panic.

He exhales sharply. "I’m never sneaking in here again."

You shove him toward the window. "Yeah, that’s what you said last time."

He hesitates for half a second, glancing back at you, and in the middle of all the chaos, the sheer insanity of the situation, his expression softens. "Hey," he murmurs.

You blink. "What?"

He grins, lopsided and infuriating, but somehow still—sweet. "Worth it."

Your chest tightens, but before you can respond, the knock comes again, more insistent.

You take a breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Yeah, Mom, I’m up."

The door cracks open, and she peeks in, her gaze flicking between you and Stiles, who is now standing awkwardly by the window, caught in the act.

Her eyebrows lift. "Stiles?"

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. "I, uh… I called him over. I missed him."

She glances between the two of you again, then sighs. "Next time, maybe tell me beforehand, okay?"

You swallow. "Okay."

And miraculously, somehow—she buys it.

Stiles is still frozen by the window, one leg halfway up like he’s debating whether to fully commit to the escape or just surrender to the inevitable. He looks at you, then at your mom, then back at you.

“So… do I keep going? Or…?” He gestures vaguely toward the open window. “I mean, I can, but—"

Your mom sighs, already turning to head downstairs. “Oh, for god’s sake, Stiles, just come have breakfast.”

He blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “And tell your father to come in, because his yelling isn’t doing anyone any good this early in the morning.”

Stiles stares after her as she disappears down the hall, then slowly turns back to you. “… I’m sorry, what just happened?”

You groan, falling back onto the bed and dragging the blanket over your face. “I don’t know. Just—go downstairs before she changes her mind.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, then hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey.”

You peek out from under the blanket, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

His expression softens, a flicker of guilt passing over his face. “Thanks. For, y’know, taking the blame.”

You roll your eyes but nudge his foot with yours. “It’s the least I could do.”

He grins at that, rocking back on his heels before reaching for your hand. His fingers thread through yours easily, like it’s something he’s been doing forever, and your chest tightens at the casual intimacy of it.

You try not to let it show, but he catches it anyway. Because of course he does.

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, and your breath stutters just slightly. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, more serious.

“I promise I’ll never put you in a situation like this again.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He winces. “Okay, yeah, that was definitely a lie.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder. “Come on, Stilinski. Let’s go face the music.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as he follows you toward the door. “If my dad tries to give me the talk at the breakfast table, I am walking into oncoming traffic.”

You grin, bumping his hip with yours as you head downstairs. “Relax. My mom likes you.”

“That’s what worries me,” he mutters, but his fingers are still laced with yours, and somehow, even with the looming awkwardness of breakfast with both your parents, it doesn’t feel so bad.