#and that's like so much??! i have MANY thoughts

[missdynamighttt]

↳ ❝ FAT ASS LIKE HERS NEEDS A REAL MAN TO FUCK IT. ❞

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ synopsis: in which, you get tangled up with your boyfriend's arrogant, infuriating, and devastatingly hot rival, katsuki bakugou and ended up fucking... one too many times.

starring: pro hero! katsuki bakugou x enemy's girlfriend! reader ⍣ ೋ

disclaimers!: cheating on yo shindo, cheating with katsuki bakugo, body worship, implied mentions of anal sex, oral sex (f! receiving, face riding), manhandling, penetrative / p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

note: usage of "sweetheart", "pretty", "pretty girl", "sweets", fem reader, implied plus size! reader, mean! katsuki, katsuki calls reader fat but not really (specifically, reader's ass), (hopefully) promoting body positivity. really thought this song gave katsuki vibes and havent seen a fic based off of it yet. reminds me of that montoya guy watching his girl fuck someone on camera lmao😭. time to give back to my community, hope you guys enjoy💜

╰┈➤ [katsuki bakugo was an asshole.] everyone knew that. and when it came to shindo yo, he was even worse. the two had never gotten along—never would. 

which was exactly why, when katsuki walked into the bar and spotted you, nursing a drink, frustration etched across your face, he couldn’t help but smirk.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. probably your boyfriend getting a little too damn close to another "friend" again. just like always. this wasn’t the first time, and knowing him, it wouldn’t be the last.

this was the kind of moment he lived for, a rare opportunity to get under shindo’s skin. sure, maybe katsuki didn’t hate shindo that much, but you? you were a different story.

he sauntered over, leaning an arm against the counter, eyes never leaving you. "rough night?"

you glanced up, instantly recognizing the pro hero standing beside you. with a sigh, you swirled your drink in its glass. “you could say that.”

“lemme guess... your idiot boyfriend givin’ you trouble again?”

“…something like that.”

“don’t know why you put up with him, honestly," he chuckled, the sound low and knowing. he tipped his drink toward you, watching your reaction carefully. "you deserve better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”

your lips quirked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “and you think you can appreciate me?”

katsuki had no shame, never did. so he grinned, a flicker of something dangerous in his crimson gaze.

"want me to show you, sweetheart?"

one thing led to another and soon enough— you were in his bed, limbs tangled, gasping his name, making sure you see the stars in the sky as he fucked the frustration right out of you.

and after that night, fucking you became katsuki's favorite way to piss shindo off.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what this was. but did you care? not one damn bit. he had you in his bed more than your shitty boyfriend ever did. and yeah, maybe it started as a way to get under shindo’s skin, but somewhere along the way, it became something neither of you wanted to stop.

because katsuki? he was fucking obsessed with you.  

some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, hands splayed over your hips as he buried his face in your neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

“fuck, i missed you,” he groaned, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. his grip tighten, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. “shouldn’t let you leave my bed, y’know that?”

you chuckled, tilting your head back as his lips trailed lower. “you’re never satisfied, huh?”

“so what?” he nipped at your skin, making you squeak. “i like my woman soft. more of you for me to grab.”

and grab he did. he was clingy in the worst way—always needing to have a hand on you, whether it was squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, or just absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh while you laid in bed together.

katsuki just loved how you felt in his hands.

then there are the nights when he'd lie with his head on your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair, one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

his eyes were shut, his expression relaxed, but every so often, his brows furrowed as he grumbled about his day.

like now.

“dumbass intern nearly blew up my whole damn office,” he muttered, eyes closed. “and kirishima kept laughin’ like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.”

you hummed, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “i mean… you do blow things up all the time. bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

his eyes cracked open, leveling you with a glare. “tch. ain’t funny.”

you bit back a smile. “a little funny.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. he never really did when you played with his hair. it was his weakness, and he hated that you knew it.

your fingers trailed down to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge. he leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

“you’re really pretty, you know that?” you murmured.

his eyes flickered open again, red irises locking onto yours. there was something unreadable in his gaze—something so raw and vulnerable.

“oi,” he muttered, shifting slightly, ears turning pink. “quit it.”

you grinned. “quit what?”

“saying dumb shit like that.”

“but it’s true.”

katsuki scowled, but the way he pressed his cheek into your palm gave him away. he huffed, eyes slipping shut again.

“…whatever.”

and he loved it. the times he's spent with you, whether he was fucking you or just talking about each other's day, he loved all of it. not just because it was a middle finger to shindo, but because katsuki got to have you all to himself. 

honestly? it stopped being about shindo a long time ago. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rub it in the bastard’s face.

"she was beggin’ me to keep goin’ last night," katsuki bragged, arm slung lazily around your waist, knowing full well that shindō was fuming. his hand drifted lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass. “bet you don’t even know how to handle all this ass, huh? shame. guess that’s why she keeps crawlin’ back to me.”

shindo clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what katsuki was implying. he knew. knew there was truth in katsuki’s words. knew that every time he and you argued, you’d disappear for a while, only to return looking a little too satisfied. "you really think you're some upgrade?"  

"she does. especially when she’s whining my name into the sheets.”  

"shut the fuck up, bakugo."  

katsuki barked a laugh, shameless and sharp. he was pissed, good. that was the reaction he wanted. but he wasn’t done yet.

“she’s a greedy lil’ thing, too. always wantin’ more," he grinned, eyes flicking over to him before locking back at yours. "but look at her. how could i say no? she looks so fuckin’ perfect under me."

your face burns, heat creeping up your neck before he scoffs and turns back to grilling your ex, like you weren’t just standing there, completely flustered.

"did she ever tell you how much she loves it when i grab these—" his fingers trailed down your side, giving a firm squeeze and earning a small yelp from you. "—and i slam my dick into her? fuck her real nice and deep? moans so pretty for me, too. you ever heard it?"

and if shindo so much as opened his mouth, katsuki would throw in another dig.

"nah. probably not. bet she asked you if it was in yet.”  

"well, she's all yours," shindo said, fists clenching, clearly seconds away from punching him. and katsuki lived for it.  

"yeah, figured you’d say that," katsuki taunted. "she’s been stress eatin’ too much to deal with a weak-ass like you."  

and then, just because he was an absolute bastard, he'd go in for the kill.

"fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it."  

shindo looked about ready to swing, but you pulled katsuki away before things got too messy.  you could still feel the heat of shindo’s rage burning through the air. it thrilled you more than it should have. 

but behind closed doors? the same man who ran his mouth would spend hours pressed against you, whispering things he’d never admit to anyone else.

"c’mere," katsuki grumbled, tugging you onto the bed after another long day of antagonizing your ex. his arms wrapped around your waist, face immediately pressing into your soft stomach.

he worshipped you—every inch, every soft curve, but nothing captivated him more than your stomach.

he was obsessed, utterly entranced. he’d bury his face against it, his hands kneaded your sides, gripping, squeezing—memorizing, pressing lazy kisses to every dip and curve. he held your body with a reverence that bordered on possessive, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

"fuck, baby," he groaned, nuzzling into you like he wanted to disappear into your skin. “love your body so goddamn much. s’perfect.”

you chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. "thought you said i was stress-eating."  

"yeah, stress-eatin’ on my dick," he muttered, pressing kisses against your tummy. "he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“then why do you still do it, hmm?”

he looked up at you, red eyes dark with something almost desperate as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

"tch, you know why i do that. pisses him off. makes him realize he ain't shit. ‘cause he ain't."  

you shivered at the heat of his lips against your skin, biting back a smile as you run your fingers through his hair. so that’s what this was about. "you sure you’re not just obsessed with him at this point?”

he scoffed against your stomach, his grip on your waist tightening. “the hell i am. only thing i’m obsessed with is you.”

it was the side of him no one else got to see— the way he nuzzled into you, the way he pressed his lips to your skin over and over, like he couldn’t get enough. he'd grumble if you tried to move, holding you tighter to keep you in bed, murmuring "stay here. wanna hold ya."  

he loved how soft you were, how warm—how no matter how much he grabbed, squeezed, or traced his fingers over you, it was never enough. he needed you. it was like he was drunk on the feel of you, the scent of you. and truthfully, he was.

"love this shit,” he admitted lowly, voice thick with something almost vulnerable. he nuzzled into your tummy again, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "could live here."

you raised a brow, fighting back a grin as you looked down at him. “oh? you wanna live on my stomach now?”

“yes, baby,” he muttered almost desperately, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction while pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “soft. warm. smells like you.”

you laughed, dragging your fingers through his hair. “so what, you’re gonna quit being a hero and move in here?”

he let out a gruff chuckle, turning his head to rest his cheek against you. “tch. would if i could. wouldn’t need a bed, a couch, nothin’. just this perfect spot.”

“oh yeah?” you hummed, tilting your head. “should i start charging you rent?”

he huffed against your skin. “tch. smartass.”

you giggled, brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “i mean, if you’re gonna move in, might as well contribute. utilities, groceries… maybe even a tummy tax.”

his red eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. “the fuck is a tummy tax?”

you grinned. “unlimited kisses. daily.”

he snorts, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “already payin’ for that, pretty."

and you laughed, because for all his big talk, katsuki bakugo adored you. as long as he had you, nothing else mattered.

and despite the way he ran his mouth, he never let you feel insecure. if he ever caught you looking at yourself too long in the mirror, he’d grab you and pull you onto the bed, hovering over you with that intense, fiery gaze.  

"the fuck are you thinkin’ about?" he’d demand, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing, leaving marks. "you’re mine. this body? all mine. and i fuckin’ love every inch of you. don’t ever fuckin’ doubt how much i want you."

and god, did he prove it.

he didn't just tolerate your body—he adored it. and thats why you found yourself looking down at him lying comfortably on his back, eyes dark with anticipation. he was waiting—no, expecting—you to sit on his face.

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. "i can just lay down, 'suki..."

katsuki scoffs, sitting up slightly, his hands already reaching for your thighs, clearly impatient. "tch. and deny me a great view? cut the crap and get up here, sweets."

you shake your head again. "i just- what if i’m too heavy?"

he lets out a sharp, exasperated scoff. "for who? me? well that’s rude."

"it’s not..." you hesitate for half a second, but that’s all the time he gives you. 

he yanks you down onto his face with a low growl, his mouth immediately sealing over your cunt. "stop stallin’ and just give me what i want..."

you hesitate, subtly hovering just above him instead of lowering yourself onto his face, holding onto the headboard for support. his eyes flick up to yours, and the second he realizes what you're doing, his expression darkens.

"the fuck do you think you’re doin’?" his grip on your thighs tightens, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

“i don’t want to crush you—”

“are you fuckin’ serious?” his voice drips with pure offense, like you just insulted his entire existence. "you really think i can't handle you? think you're doin’ me a favor by holdin’ back?"

you try to protest, but he’s already yanking you down on his face, forcing you to sit properly. his growl vibrates against you as he buries his face between your thighs. the way he looked up at you—pissed off and starving—sent a shiver down your spine.

your face burned, heart pounding in your chest. "i just— i don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

katsuki let out a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your folds, lifting you by your hips to give him room to speak from time to time. 

"uncomfortable? sweetheart, the only thing makin’ me uncomfortable right now is you not sittin’ on my goddamn face like i told you to."

your lips parted in protest, but a startled moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and demanding. his grip on your thighs is punishing, locking you in place as he devours you with obscene hunger.

"katsuki—" you try to lift yourself, but his hands hold you firm.

"nah. shut up," he murmurs burying his tongue between your thighs without warning. a moan escapes you as he groans against your heat, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. 

"fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters between licks, voice muffled. "ain’t takin’ this disrespect. you ain't doin’ me no favors by holdin’ back. told ya before— i want you—every fuckin’ inch of you." 

your breath hitches, and katsuki smirks like he knows he’s got you. his crimson eyes flicked up at you, glinting with mischief as he devoured the fuck out of your pretty little cunt, tongue glazed with his spit and your slick. 

"so don't you ever pull that hoverin’ shit again,” he warns, his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds "or i swear to god, i'll make you sit here all fuckin' night—"

his words were cut off by the way he devoured you, lips and tongue working so hungrily that your legs nearly gave out then and there. his crimson eyes burned into you, daring you to try that shit again.

you whimper, thighs trembling, and he doubles down, tongue curling inside you before dragging back up to your clit, sucking just to hear you whine.

"fuck, baby," he groans against you, his voice thick with need. "taste so fuckin’ good."

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the soft strands, but it only spurs him on. his hands slide to your ass, forcing you to take everything he gave you. he’s lost in it, completely drowning in you, and he likes it. loves it. wants more. 

"you drive me fuckin’ insane," he murmured, sucking your clit into his mouth with a filthy slurp. "you’re too damn perfect, and it pisses me off."  

your fingers tightened around the headboard, thighs trembling around his head. “how is that my fault? you're the one who—"

katsuki let out a frustrated growl against your cunt, cutting you off before you could finish. without warning, he flattened his tongue and dragged a slow, deliberate lick through your folds, making you gasp.

"its your fucking fault," he went on like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to act so damn innocent.

his lips brush against your pussy as your legs threatened to close around his head, but his grip was firm, keeping you spread open for him. "prancin’ around, bein’ so goddamn pretty. takin’ up space in my head. gettin’ under my fuckin' skin and you expect me to act normal?"

you tried to answer, but he didn’t give you the chance. a sharp suck on your clit had your head tipping back, a needy whine escaping before you could stop it. his tongue slid through your folds again, swirling around your clit, and the sudden sensation made you choke on your words.

"katsuki—"

"nah. told you to shut up." he cut you off, voice muffled against your dripping cunt. "if you're gonna talk, you can fuckin’ moan."

your noises only spurred him on. your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as pleasure pooled in your stomach. his tongue worked you over with precision, switching between sucking and licking until your hips were rolling into his face, chasing more. 

"that's it," he muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth again, hard, and the moan that tore from your throat was anything but coherent, fucking you with his tongue. "you wanna run your mouth? do it like this." 

you could barely form a response, your mind going blank as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue relentless. the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, broken moan.

"fuckin' knew it," he groaned, his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. "knew you’d sound so fuckin' pretty when you just shut the fuck up while riding my face. could watch you like this all fuckin’ day."

you let out a shaky breath, barely able to focus as his tongue flicked over your clit again. katsuki pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, his lips slick and glistening with your arousal. his crimson eyes burned into you, half-lidded and desperate, but still sharp with command.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “touch yourself, pretty girl. play with those pretty tits for me.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated, already feeling overwhelmed by the way he was devouring you. but his grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh in warning.

“c’mon, sweets,” he rasped, his tongue flicking out to tease your clit before pulling back again. his eyes dragged up your body, the heat in them making you dizzy. “be a good girl and gimme a show, yeah?"

with trembling hands, you reached up, cupping your tits, teasing your own nipples the way you knew he liked. you kneaded them softly at first, rolling your thumbs over your nipples, but the second you pinched them, katsuki groaned, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing in existence.

“fuck yeah,” he muttered, running his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “just like that, baby. play with those tits— keep puttin’ on a show for me while i eat this pretty little pussy.”

his tongue worked you over with hungry, unrelenting strokes, the obscene slurps and groans vibrating against you as he devoured you like a man starved.

you tugged at your nipples, your head falling back as pleasure rippled through you. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your nipples as the combination of your own hands on your body and his mouth wrecking you from below had your head spinning.

“katsuki—” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. “i’m— i’m close.”

that was all it took. katsuki groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your cunt as his grip on your thighs tightened. his tongue worked even faster, flicking and circling your clit with devastating precision, like he needed you to fall apart for him or he'd die.

"yeah?" he rasped between licks, his voice thick and wrecked. "then fuckin’ give it to me, sweets. wanna feel you cum on my face."

he didn’t slow down, didn’t let up for even a second. his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to really sit on his face, and the pressure—his tongue, his mouth, the way he sucked on your clit—sent you careening straight into your orgasm.

your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. katsuki groaned against you like he felt it, like he was the one cumming, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop devouring you, even as you trembled above him.

he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your slick as he sucked in a breath, eyes dark with hunger. he gave your thighs one last squeeze before gripping your waist.

“get up."

you blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “what?”

“i said, get up,” he growled. "need to be inside you. now.”

you whined, shaking your head weakly. “katsuki, i just— i just came…”

“and?” he scoffed, sitting up slightly. “the fuck that got to do with me?”

before you could protest again, his strong arms moved, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. a surprised yelp left your lips, but katsuki was already on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, his body burning hot against yours with his lips on yours.

"don't care if you just came," he muttered against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before sucking it into his mouth. "wanna feel you squeeze the cum outta me this time."

your head spun as he hovered over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. his hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading—like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

"katsuki—"

"shut up," he growled, shoving your legs open with his knee. "you think i’m lettin’ you off that easy? nah. you got one, and now i’m gettin’ mine.”

you gasped as his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, his cock already hard and leaking against your folds. he positioned himself at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against you.

"look at you," he murmured, rubbing his throbbing tip through your slick folds. "all fuckin’ messy for me already."

you gasped, legs twitching from overstimulation. “i— i need a second—”

“the fuck you do,” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. you’re fine.”

and before you could say another word, he thrusted into you, stretching you open in one slow, deep stroke.

"don't care what the fuck you say," he rasps. "bein’ so fuckin’ sweet, it makes me wanna ruin you."

your hands scrambled against his shoulders, nails digging in as you let out a choked sob, overwhelmed, tears pricking at your eyes as he kept moving, his cock dragging against your already-sensitive walls. “k-katsuki—'s too much—”

he didn't stop. didn't even hesitate. he knew better. knew you. if it was really too much, if you truly couldn’t take it, you would’ve said the safe word. and since you hadn’t? that meant you loved this—loved how he was using you, pushing you past your limits, making you take every inch of him.

“yeah? then why’s this pussy still fuckin’ suckin’ me in, huh?” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you know what to say if you really wanted me to stop, sweets.”

you whimpered, blinking up at him, your face hot and damp with tears. your breath hitched when he rolled his hips deeper, making your back arch off the bed.

“you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your cheek, tasting the tears running down your face. his hands pinned your wrists down beside your head, locking you in place beneath him. “fuckin’ cryin’ and takin’ my dick so good anyway. knew you’d let me use this sweet little pussy however the fuck i wanted.”

your body shook with every thrust, overstimulated and overwhelmed, but the pleasure was so sharp and dizzying, that all you could do was moan through the tears. you sobbed, back arching, hands clutching at the sheets. it was too much, but it felt too good. 

 his thumb swiped at your tear-streaked cheek, his other hand pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling the way he stretched you open. 

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice husky as he fucked into you harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch. “be good for me. just take it. let me use you, yeah?”

you could barely think, barely breathe, and yet you nodded. and that was all he needed before his grip on your hips tightened, his cock stretching you wide, and he really started fucking you.

his hips snapped forward, burying himself deeper inside you, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still fluttering. his hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“look at you,” he murmured, taking in the sight of you, tears spilling down your cheeks, the way your lips trembled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. cryin’ for me. takin’ me like a good fuckin’ girl, squeezin’ me so tight, shit—”

your body trembled beneath him, your sobs mixing with broken moans as he fucked into you relentlessly. your arms struggled against his grip, desperate to reach for him, but he only pressed you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. “please—kiss me—”

he should’ve been satisfied with how wrecked you already were, with the way your body clenched around him so tight—but fuck, hearing you beg for his kisses?

that only made him worse.

“tch. still so fuckin’ needy, even when i’m ruining you.” 

his grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to reach up. the second your hands touched him, you yanked him down, crashing your lips against his, desperate for the closeness, for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

katsuki groaned into the kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing your cries as he kissed you hard. his tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you just as much as his cock did. his thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t soften—if anything, he fucked you harder, like he wanted to ruin you completely.

“that what you needed, pretty girl?” he murmured against your lips, his breath heavy, your sobs melting into whimpers. “that why you’re cryin’? ‘cause you needed me to kiss you while i fuck you?”

you nodded frantically, another broken whimper slipping past your lips. “y-yeah—needed you—”

“yeah?” he smirked against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again—sloppier, deeper, making sure you’d never forget exactly who you belonged to.

his rhythm starts to stutter, hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, and you felt the way his body tensed, the way his grip on your hips turned bruising. he forced another helpless cry from you, and he groaned against your lips, drinking in every sound.

"fuck—fuck," katsuki whined, voice raw and desperate as he buried himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing against your own as he lost himself in you. "you feel so goddamn good—s'fuckin’ tight, baby—"

you knew that tone—knew the way his voice cracked when he felt needy, when he was so fucking close to cumming. you loved when he got like this, when all his control slipped away and he was nothing but whiny, desperate need.

"katsuki—" you gasped, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "i'm—i'm close, i'm so close, wanna cum together—"

his grip tightened, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he snapped his hips into you, his pace turning desperate chasing both of your highs. "fuck, yeah? c'mon, baby— wanna feel you cum, wanna fuckin' feel you all over my cock—"

his next thrust sent you over, body locking up as the heat coiled tight in your belly and snapped all at once. your moan shattered into a cry as your whole body trembled, clenching around him so hard its about to break him.

“oh, fuck—” katsuki choked, eyes rolling back as he lost it completely, slamming into you one last time before burying himself into your warm, wet pussy. his whole body shook, breath stuttering as he spilled inside you, groaning out your name like a prayer.

he kept thrusting—shallow, drawn-out rolls of his hips, like he never wanted to stop feeling you, even as he came down from his high. his forehead pressed against yours again, his breath heavy, his body spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths, your bodies still tangled, clinging to each other as you both came down from your highs. katsuki was still holding you, his grip tight but no longer desperate—just grounding. 

then, with a deep exhale, katsuki finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and gathering you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you securely, his large hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. you felt his eyes scan over you with something softer than before—something almost tender.

“you alright, sweets?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but the way your body trembled slightly didn’t escape him. he scoffs, sitting up just enough to lean over and press soft kisses to your damp forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“liar,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. only warmth. “you cried, y’know.”

you let out a breathy laugh, snuggling closer. “you were relentless.”

he clicked his tongue, one of his hands finding the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, the other resting on the small of your back, holding you close.

you melted into his chest, sighing against his skin. “you’re so warm…”

he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “duh. i’m literally made of explosions, dumbass.”

you lightly smacked his chest, making him chuckle. but his teasing quickly faded as he tilted your chin up, crimson eyes searching yours. his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your overstimulated tears.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, quieter now. “you okay?”

your heart squeezed at how gentle he was being. how, despite how rough he could be, how demanding, he never once forgot to take care of you afterward. you leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

“i’m perfect,” you smiled sleepily. “because of you.”

“tch. sappy little shit," katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. his ears definitely got redder.  “you sure, though? i didn’t—y’know… go too hard?”

you hummed, tilting your head to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. “i'm fine, katsuki. i promise." 

he just huffed, shifting to grab a towel from the nightstand. “yeah, well, you better be. was holdin’ back just for you.”

you snorted. “that was you holding back?”

katsuki shot you a look but didn’t argue. instead, he started cleaning you up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. he was quiet as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“…was it really okay?” his voice was quieter now, hesitant in a way he rarely was.

you cupped his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp line of his jaw. “yes. i’d tell you if it wasn’t, katsuki.”

his crimson eyes searched yours for a long moment before he finally exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. “good.”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips, lingering there as if he never wanted to pull away.

“cause next time, i’m makin’ you cry even harder.”

you groaned, shoving his face away as he laughed, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

katsuki didn’t say anything for a moment after—just stared at you, his expression completely unguarded. no sharp smirks, no cocky grins—just raw, unfiltered devotion.

he stared at you like you’d just hung the damn moon. like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.  

you reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, and he caught your wrist midair, holding it for just a second before bringing it to his lips. the kiss he pressed against your palm was barely there, but it sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“you’re lookin’ at me funny,” you murmured, voice drowsy.

katsuki huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look away. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled lazily back at him. “like i just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building or something."

his smirk was faint, more of a ghost of amusement than anything. he pressing lazy kisses along your wrist, trailing them down to the inside of your palm. “you didn’t save a bunch of kids. you’re just—you. and i dunno what the hell i’d do without that."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice, but before you could say anything, katsuki pulled you in even closer, pressing his face against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide.

“go to sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “say any dumb shit about it, and i’ll smother you.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you curled against him, feeling the way his arms locked around you just a little tighter. “mhm. goodnight, katsuki.”

and then you smiled—sleepy, content, completely at ease in his arms.

katsuki stiffened. just for a second. just enough for you to feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened like he was trying to keep himself together.

fuck.

that damn smile. that look on your face. like he was your whole world. like you trusted him. like you loved him.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose, like that would do anything to calm the way his heart was fucking pounding.

"goodnight." 

he was fucked. absolutely, completely, and hopelessly fucked.

because thats when katsuki bakugo realized he was in love with you. and he couldn't do anything about it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ tags: ˚⋆ @kalulakunundrum @ch3rryjampi3 @lotusstarr @aranikai @emmab3mma @yannvi @gabby-ha @twoplayergaymers @xanneeeyyyy @akiii143 @ceeriusly-dumb @beabamboo @butlereyepatchbunny @qyuin @ocharavitys @dragonscribble @jimabbenamara @g0dawnlita @sourgrapesthings @seraphiicallyy @aawwq @kaybug88

[dedalvs]

In one of your Google talks you said that "crafts" was one of the worst English words, due to the awkwardness of having to articulate "fts" at the end.

This morning I saw the word "twelfths" written out and thought "Well hey, that's gotta worse than 'crafts' right?" Any thoughts on "twelfths?" Lol

"Sixths" and "strengths" are probably worse in that regard, but I simply disdain "crafts" for no other reason than that it conjures up silly associations. There's nothing scientific about it.

Really, though, we should all take a moment to reflect on how odd English is. We can just throw consonants on the ends of stuff and pass it off as inflection. It becomes more obvious if you respell the language in a more regular fashion:

stilt => stilts

bask => basks

keiv => keivz

bild => bildz

limp => limpt

wurk => wurkt

bask => baskt

rig => rigd

rib => ribd

We look at languages like German and Russian and say those have too many consonants in a row? "Bask", "basks", "basked", "basket", and "baskets" are all different words, like, what?!?! We pack so much information into a space that is incredibly non-prominent acoustically. Consider that "shirt", "shirk", and "shirked" are all different words. You have to reliably be able to tell those apart in English! Thank goodness "shirp" isn't a verb!

[goldsbitch]

Home is where Dad's car is

One of Lando's twins dramatically announces she's running away from home. This turns his afternoon into a Monaco rescue mission.

this is inspired by a comment from @ynbutbetter on the Blink Once story and me completely misreading it

warning: none, domestic, light-hearted stand alone part of Norris Family Polaroids

Jumping back into work again has been a relief and burden at the same time. The ten-year-old twins are relentless and Y/N, with all the help she had due to Lando's comfortable financial situation, wanted to be part of both motherhood and career as much as she could.

She's received a lot of strange emails in her life. This one is about to rule them all.

From: Olivia Norris To: Mom & Dad CC: (no one, because traitors exist)

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Dear Mother and Father,

by the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr. Please do not be sad (I know this will be difficult).

I have thought long and hard about this decision—at least ten whole minutes—and I have realized that I can no longer stay. I love you both (most of the time but Dad you really made me sad this time) but I have to follow my own path now

Do not try to find me.

Tell Maya that she is now the oldest child. This is a great responsibility. I hope she is ready.

Stay strong in my absence. -Olivia

Speed dial - Lando - and then two times more, since the Husband of the Year can't seem to pick up his phone. A text pops up after Lando reclines the call.

We're streaming, is it urgent?

Y/N knows this automatic message all too damn well. No matter how many years him and Max F. managed to pile up, streaming video games time stayed like a sacred constant. It's great when the husband has a hobby. It's not so great when it ends up in him losing one of the kids in the meantime.

She texts him back. Headache. That's what being a mother of two kids and married to an overgrown child is on a typical Wednesday afternoon is.

//

Lando is having a great time. Snack in front of him, controller in hand, headset on—he's in his zone. He's been carrying Max Fewtrell through a game for the past hour, and despite his teammate's absolute lack of skill, it's been a solid session. A nice off season afternoon.

"Bro, you're literally throwing," Max groans through the headset as his in-game character spectacularly fails to complete a simple task.

Lando snickers, eyes glued to the screen. "Nah, mate, you're just bad. Hold on, I gotta—oh, for f—" His phone vibrates on the table, lighting up with Y/N’s name.

He glances at it, sees the call, and immediately ignores it. Another call. Decline.

Third time. Decline again.

He hits the automatic reply. Y/N's reply is instant. CHECK YOUR EMAIL NOW

Lando frowns. What could possibly be so urgent that it requires an email check? His brain cycles through possibilities:

-Y/N booked them another family trip he forgot about. -She ordered something expensive and wants to justify it. -The school sent one of those "Just letting you know" emails about how the twins "express themselves too boldly" (which, in Lando’s opinion, is code for being just like him).

Still, an email? Seems excessive. Whatever. He'll check it.

"Oi, Max, gimme a sec," Lando muttera and opens his inbox app. He scrolls past junk mail, a McLaren PR update, some random sponsorship inquiry—ah, there.

Subject: I Am Leaving. Do Not Try to Stop Me.

Lando snorts. Classic Olivia. Then he reads the first line.

By the time you read this, I will be gone. Away forevr.

…Okay. He keeps reading. His eyebrows start to furrow.

I love you both (most of the time, but Dad, you really made me sad this time), but I have to follow my own path now

His stomach drops.

Wait. What?

Do not try to find me.

Lando launches forward in his chair, suddenly wide awake. Is this for real? He just saw her few minutes ago in their bedroom. Well, might have been like an hour at this point.

Panic is setting rent free in his brain. "Oi, Max—stream's over," he blurts out, shutting the game down.

"Huh? What? We're in the middle of a match!" is the last he hears of him. Lando kills the stream without another word. Email...His daughter has reached the point of sending him emails now. Parenting, it never stops surprising him. His hands fly over his phone as he immediately calls Y/N. She picks up before the first ring even finishes.

"Lando," she says, already exasperated.

"Remember when I said the girls are too young for emails?" he starts, trying to wrap his head around this.

"Lando, they need one for school, this is not up for discussion. But don't get sidetracked - any clue where she is right now?"

He's already on his way to the kids bedroom, wishing they'd bought a smaller apartment. "I'm checking now," he blurts out, trying to keep as much of his anxiety locked in. It's fine, probably nothing.

"I though you brought them home directly after school?" his wife asks and Lando is grateful that there is not a single drop of blame directed towards him. Team players. It was part of their vows and one of the most important aspects of their relationship.

"I did, we just made a quick stop at the mall to get some sweets and then we were off. No spoiling!" he retortes before Y/N has a chance to go on her usual don't-buy-them-things-just-because-they-ask rant. The fact that his wife does not laugh or comment suggests she's had enough time to bury herself in doubts about Olivia already.

Finally, he's at the girl's door, which eerily half-open. A rare instance since the time the twins managed to win over the right to owning a key to their own bedroom few months ago.

He steps in, carefully, phone still at his ear. "Maya?" The objectively calmer and less hot-headed daughter is sitting on her bed, unbothered and uninterested.

"What?" she replies without looking away from her game. It makes Lando bit infuriated, but he knows he's hardly the one to say anything about this topic.

"Maya, where is your sister?" he asks, loudly enough so that Y/N can also hear him.

Not even a glance. "Dunno."

Lando stares at her. "What do you mean, dunno?"

"She said she was running away." Tap, tap, swipe. Maya shrugs. "So I let her."

"You LET HER?!"

Maya finally looks up, confused and surprised by the change of tone. "Yeah? She was being dramatic. Again."

Lando runs fingers through his hair. "Maya, you’re supposed to STOP her from doing stuff like this!"

Maya shrugs. "She was really committed. Packed a bag and everything."

Lando’s brain short-circuits. His ten-year-old daughter ran away. And he didn’t even notice. He hears Y/N sigh heavily over the phone. "I’ll start calling around. You start looking for our child."

Lando, still in mild shock: "Right. Yes. Good plan."

First, he searches the whole apartment, every cabinet, every spot he remembers the kids using during their plays of hide and seek. He's not sure whether he's more mad at Liv, for bolting, or at Maya for being so chill about it. After few minutes, it's obvious, Olivia is not home. He calls the concierge. Nothing. How could they possibly miss a child strolling around with packed bag?

He retraces their steps back. Pick up at the school—short ride over to the small mall—they stopped at a bakery, looked in few shop windows, Lando had them give their opinions on few bracelet designs (The plan is to get everyone in the family one with a different stone color. It's a surprise for Y/N and the girls know it. A family gift, so technically not spoiling anyone.)—then they got home and Lando started streaming. What exactly made Liv run away? Flash of guilt washes him over. Did he say something mean? Maybe he should have called off the stream today. Is he being a bad father? Well, he is, he figures. His child ran away and sent an email specifically mentioning his name. Oh, god. Suddenly, he's regretting being the one to shut down the idea of having their kid's location on at all times. At the time, he argued since they're in Monaco, there wasn't a big probability of anything bad happening to them. Everyone knows everyone. He forgot to count in the fact his kids might one day have a mind of their own. He just wanted to give them some form of freedom.

Lando grabs his phone and starts scrolling through his contacts, heart pounding. Okay. Where would Olivia go? Who enables her nonsense? Who has snacks?

Who would let her rant dramatically without asking too many questions? He dials the first name that makes sense.

Max Verstappen pick up immediately. "Nope, she's not here, Y/N already called. Nice one though, how can you lose a child that loud?" Lando groans, this being the second time he's been beaten by one his family members today. "I didn't lose her, she left."

"Ah, so you’ve been out-parented by a ten-year-old?" he comments, like it's no big deal at all.

"Thanks Max, helpful as always. Let me know if you see her."

"Of course." Lando hangs up immediately.

He hopes he's the first one to call Oscar.

"Hey, Lando. What's up?" he's welcomed with moderately disinterested tone.

"Have you seen Olivia?" Lando blurts out, fighting the passage of time.

"Um. No? Not lately? Should I have?"

He figures that if she's been sitting on his couch right now, Oscar would probably not even notice. "Nah...She sort of ran away few minutes ago. She can't be far, but like..."

"Yeah, that's not good."

Lando thinks about finding new friends. "Excellent observation. Well, let me know if she shows up at your doorstep."

"Will do. Check the school? Maybe she went back?"

If Lando knows one thing, it's that wherever his daughter, his carbon copy, is, it's not back at school.

"Thanks. Once she shows up, I’m grounding her forever."

"Might not be the best way to convince her to come home, mate."

Lando hangs up after the unsolicited advice. He's getting desperate, so he starts dialing random people who are in Monaco. Carlos - does not pick up. His usual contacts end up being either completely useless or actively making the situation worse.

At this point, he's calling anyone in Monaco who might have even the slightest clue where Olivia could be.

And then - a message. Text from Carlos. Mate, drop everything and come by.

Eyes still glued to the text, his brain short-circuiting over Carlos’ cryptic message, and then the phone rings again. Y/N. He barely has time to process before he picks up.

"Tell me you found her." No greeting, no buildup—just straight to business. Lando rubs a hand down his face. "No. But Carlos just texted me. Told me to come over."

A pause. Then, suspicion. "Why?" "I don’t know." Lando waves a hand at the message like she can see it. "He just said ‘it's important.’"

There’s a beat of silence. He can practically hear Y/N narrowing her eyes. "That’s weird," she mutters. "I just called the school again—nothing. Also checked a few cafés, just in case."

Lando starts pacing the living room, running through possibilities. "And?"

"Guess twice." He hears her sigh. "She's not at her friends' houses either. At this point, unless she's living in the canals like some kind of feral child, I have no idea where she'd go."

Lando groans, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm going to Carlos'."

Another pause. Then, firmly: "Okay. But if Carlos doesn't have her, we're calling the police. What if...." She does not dare to finish the thought and it's just then when Lando starts properly getting worried. Many crazy people are obsessed with him and in extension, his family. He does not dare to even imagine what could happen.

Lando exhales. "Yeah. Agreed." They hang up.

He stares at his phone for half a second longer, then grabs his keys and rushes for the door.

//

He's putting his shoes on when Maya's voice cut through the hallways, her tone all shy and contrasting her previous sassy responses. "Is she going to be alright?" Lando turns around to see the image of pure innocence, worried little ten-year-old, who looks a little too small for this world. A smile forms on his face, even though it does not match his current mood at all.

"Come here, honey," he gestures and waits for Maya to run over to his embrace. She hugs his legs and in return, he pats her head. "Of course. We will find her and it will all be fine."

"I'm sorry I let her go..." she apologizes and Lando is surprised that there are no tears in her eyes, given the sorrow expressed in her voice.

"I'm happy you're saying that," he replies, grateful to be spared of one parent lecture today. "Do you have any idea where she might be?" He searches for any hint of a clue in her face, but it's all blank as she shakes he head.

"She said she's going home. And then left."

Even though this does not help him at all, he nods understandingly, slowly letting go of Maya and reaching for his jacket. "And do you know why?" Guilt must be written all over his face. He had been too reckless, too focused on other things and neglecting his kids.

Maya's soft voice provides an answer, that opens up more questions. "She was upset about the bracelet. Said it was too much."

This stops his actions. "What?" Lando frowns, trying to wrap his head around whether his daughter entering some sort of preteen leftist phase. Aren't kids suppose to like things? Maya simply shrugs her shoulders, her face mimicking her father's. "You know how she is sometimes..."

Yes, he knows. Stubborn, hot-headed and in a world of her own. Once again, like a sarcastic mirror he has to look at everyday, to get reminded of his own mishaps. Maya, the somewhat more innocent, less conniving one, stares at him, as if he has all the answers. He just grabs his keys, reassures her once more and orders her to protect the house. It's an old trick that still seems to be working on her. It's clear though his kids are growing up faster and faster. More complex tactics will be needed. In order to prevent future runaway moments.

//

He's making sure to scan every street he passes by on the way to his ex-teammate's house. It would make sense for Olivia to be at his place, since out of all their family friends, Carlos lives the closest. And, Maya mentioned she's going home. So, unless she's on her way all the way back to visit grandma in England, this seems like the next best thing.

Lando is on edge and the elevator is being annoyingly slow. His daughter is missing, his brain is on fire, and he has exactly zero leads.

And yet—Carlos Sainz opens the door like Lando just showed up for a casual chat session.

"Finally," Carlos says, grabbing Lando by the sleeve and pulling him inside without a single question. "I need your help with something."

Lando blinks. "Carlos, what—"

Carlos does not wait. He marches toward the kitchen, muttering to himself while swiping through something on his phone.

"This is serious. I've been trying to decide this all morning," Carlos continues, completely unaware of Lando's rapidly declining mental state. "I need an outside perspective."

Lando follows, confused, frustrated, and five seconds away from yelling. "Carlos, I don't have time—"

Carlos spins around dramatically. "Should I grow a beard?"

Lando stares. "What?" Carlos gestures at his own face. "A beard. Do I grow one? Or will it look stupid?"

Lando rubs a hand down his face. "Carlos, I do not have time for this right now—" "But it's an important decision!" Carlos argues, like his life depends on it. "A beard changes a man, Lando. I need to know before I commit! I've been craving some change lately and this seems like a good step.“

Lando lets out a deep, slow breath. "Carlos." He almost makes it sound like a threat.  Carlos finally notices something is off. His brow furrows. "What's wrong with you?" "My child ran away,“ Lando deadpans and crosses his arms. 

Carlos blinks. "Oh."

There’s a pause. Then, his eyes widen. "Oh!"

"Yes!" Lando gestures wildly. "That’s why I’m here! I thought maybe she came to you—" Carlos gasps, like he’s just uncovered a great conspiracy.

"She’s on a boat."

"...What?" Carlos nods, suddenly deep in thought. "Sí. It makes sense." Lando shakes his head. "No. It does not."

Carlos, ignoring him entirely: "When I was a small child, I often ran away when I was unhappy with my parents. I would go to the sea. The sea is mysterious. The sea is freedom. And Olivia knows that, I remember telling her.“ Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. Why, pray tell, would his friends instruct his children to ran away from home. "Well, thank you for that. Carlos, the sea is also full of very real dangers." Carlos waves him off. "Oh wait no - it was Maya," he says, like that solves the problem. "So, never mind."

"You do realize the girls talk to each other, constantly sharing bad ideas, right?" Lando snaps, unable to comprehend how quickly his calm afternoon had turned so sour. "Please, refrain from giving them bad ideas from now on, thank you." "Ay, cabron, come on. She’s just probably sitting on a yacht somewhere. You know how many boats there are in Monaco?"

Lando does, unfortunately, know. Too many. Way too many.

Carlos is nodding to himself now, fully convinced. "Come on. We go to the harbor, check a few docks. Maybe yell her name a few times—"

"I am not yelling my daughter’s name across Monaco like a lunatic—"

Carlos grins. "I will do it."

Lando groans. "We are not going to the harbor." Carlos tilts his head. "You sure? Because I think—" Lando’s phone buzzes, saving him from this tragedy of a conversation. He glances at the screen. His manager. Since he does not have a time for a lecture on not missing meetings just because they're on Zoom–just like he is missing one right now–he hits decline and puts this on future Lando to deal with.

Then—a text.

Lando. We found your daughter.

He freezes. Carlos immediately notices. "What? What happened?" Lando, staring at his phone in disbelief, exhales sharply. "They found her." Carlos claps his hands together, triumphant. "On a boat!" Lando glares. "Not on a boat!" Carlos snaps his fingers, looking genuinely disappointed. "Damn. That would’ve been so good."

Lando ignores him, already texting Y/N. Because wherever Olivia is, she’s about to get the lecture of a lifetime.

And if Carlos mentions boats one more time, Lando is never speaking to him again. One intrusive thought enters his brain before he gets to dialing his manager. A beard–there is probably nothing worse Carlos could do to destroy his look so quickly and efficiently. Lando turns towards him. "I think a beard is an excellent idea. You should do it," he says, pretending to take this seriously. A small revenge for his best friend feeding his kids ideas about running away from home. A wide smile grows on the Spaniard's face and he squeezes Lando's shoulder. "Knew it. Thanks, mate!" Lando nods a little too enthusiastically.

//

Home is where the heart is. Some say home is where your story begins. Others say it’s not a place, but a person. For Olivia Norris apparently, for her, it's a place where they sell luxury cars, keep a an endless stock of hoodies with her father's name and probably walk around her on eggshells. Because while most kids would run away to a friend’s house or a secret fort in the woods, Lando's child—his stubborn, dramatic, terrifyingly smart child—ran away to the McLaren showroom.

And honestly? He would have never seen that coming.

He's used to people rushing to take selfies with him whenever he's on the main streets of Monaco, so it's not much of a surprise that when he parks in front of the McLaren showroom, he's circled by enthusiastic fans immediately. Honestly, right now, when he's searching for his runaway child, having visual proof of this afternoon is the last thing he needs. Sadly, he understands that making a scene and refusing would bring even more attention online. Five photos later, he finally gets to enter inside.

It's not like Lando goes around to roam around McLaren stores on his free days, unless PR obligations order him too. His presence would raise eyebrows and freeze employees even on a regular day, without his daughter taking a refuge there. It's obvious from the moment he steps in - all the staff members are on edge, holding their phones like weapons to use to call supervisors and doing a bad job at pretending everything is fine. He walks in and awkwardly waits for the frontman to approach him.

"Mr. Norris," he speaks, barely hiding his nervousness. "I believe you'd want to speak to the manager?" Lando just nods and gives him one angry smile. If there is one thing he's not in the mood for, it's speaking in corporate codes.

"Sure," he says and swiftly walks away.

The front desk employee looks like he’s preparing for battle. Lando watches as the poor guy takes a deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and puts on his best customer service smile before cautiously approaching. "Mr. Norris," the man greets, voice a little too high-pitched. Lando tilts his head. "Let me guess," he says, folding his arms. "You have a small, dramatic, ten-year-old hiding somewhere in here?" The employee lets out a nervous chuckle. "Well… we wouldn't say hiding, exactly."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She, uh…" The man glances at his coworkers for support, but they all pretend to be very busy. He clears his throat. "She told us she works here now. Said that Zak Brown himself approved it.“

Lando closes his eyes for a moment. Has this person never talked to a lying child before? 

Of course she did.

"And you… just let her?"

The employee start looking scared. "Um, well, we were not sure how to proceed. She was very convincing."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Where is she?"

The man gestures toward the back of the store, where the more exclusive merch is displayed. "She, uh… had us set up a 'desk.'" This is a new level, even for her. "She what?" The employee nods gravely. "Sir, she brought a clipboard." That actually stuns him into silence for a second. Then, before he can even process it, he hears it—

A tiny but authoritative voice from behind the display racks. "Excuse me, sir! Can I interest you in our new McLaren papaya collection?" Lando whips his head around. And there, seated behind a neatly arranged stack of McLaren hoodies, holding a clipboard and looking entirely unbothered…

Is Olivia.

His runaway daughter.

His child.

He watches her talking to a grown man, ignoring his minor confusion and doing what could be only described as skillfully pitching this specific line of merch. No shame or hesitance. Just as she almost has this man trying on a bright orange hoodie, Lando decides to step in and intervene. 

"This shade of papaya," she says smoothly, flipping a page on her clipboard for dramatic effect, "It is the best color, because it’s the brightest one. It will make you stand out like no one else."

The man, who clearly only came in for a casual browse, now looks deeply invested. He nods thoughtfully, holding the hoodie up to his chest. "You think it suits me?"

Olivia tilts her head, analyzing him like she’s Zak Brown finalizing a sponsorship deal. "Absolutely. You give off McLaren energy." The man looks genuinely touched. And that is when Lando decides enough is enough. "Olivia Norris," he calls out, voice firm, authoritative, and 100% Dad Mode. His daughter freezes mid-sale. Her eyes go wide. The poor customer looks between them, clearly confused. A second later, he’s got the star-struck face on, probably finally recognizing Lando, who steps forward, hands on his hips. Glances apologetically at the man and gives his full attention to his daughter. "What exactly do you think you're doing?"

Olivia plasters on a casual smile, like she wasn't just caught selling merch to a stranger in an attempt to start a new life.

"Uh, working?" she tries, tucking the clipboard against her chest like that makes it official.

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

She nods, fully committing. "Mhm. First day on the job. Big things happening for me." "Liv,“ he speaks a warning, the fact they’re out in public with interested witnesses working in her favor.  She holds up a finger, turning back to the man. "One second, sir, my old manager's here." Lando nearly chokes. "I'm your father." "Same thing," she shrugs. Lando blinks at her. Then, at the clipboard. Then, back at her. "Pack it up," he says, gesturing toward the exit. "Your shift is over." Olivia sighs dramatically. "Does this mean I don’t get paid?"

"Olivia."

"Fine," she huffs, setting the clipboard down like this is a tragic career-ending moment. Lando turns to the man, who still looks entirely too amused. "Sorry about that," he sighs. The man chuckles. "No worries. She’s good." He pauses, then holds up the hoodie. "I am gonna buy this, though." Lando groans. Of course she made a sale. As Olivia grins proudly, clearly aware she's the winner this afternoon, Lando grabs her by the shoulders and steers her toward the door, preparing for the conversation of a lifetime. He waves apologetically at the store employees, who are all trying very hard to pretend like they're not watching them.

They walk out from the store, calmly and collected. He's carrying the bag she must have packed and questions her planning skills, as the bag seems to be full of dresses and random selection of snacks. After all, even with the stunt he's just seen, ultimately. he is grateful that authorities didn't need to get involved in this. He guides Olivia to his car, opens the door and makes sure she’s locked in before he starts the car. 

He’s driving home smoothly, monitoring her face in all the mirrors available. Dark sunglasses she put on probably to prove a point hide her eyes, but the body language betrays her. She's upset and while he does share her emotion and has to fight his urge to start his lecture about safety, fans and most importantly, not running away from home, he decides to do the adult thing and sets his goal on figuring out the cause of this all. 

"So. Running away from home, huh?" he asks and tries to keep his tone as casual as possible. No reaction. Fine. "Your mom and I were really worried. Maya too, by the way," he tries to play it on the more emotional side. It's only when he mentions Maya, that Olivia shifts uncomfortably. Lando notices the slight movement immediately. A tiny shrug in her shoulders, like the weight of what she did is finally sinking in.

Good. She should feel a little guilty.

Still, she says nothing, arms crossed tightly over her chest, the ridiculous slightly oversized sunglasses making her look far too dramatic for a ten-year-old.

Lando sighs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel.

"She thought you might be gone forever, you know," he adds, throwing a quick glance at Olivia through the rearview mirror. "She even got promoted to ‘oldest child.’ Big responsibility."

That gets him something—a twitch at the corner of her mouth. He presses on. "And I don't know if you realize this," he continues, keeping his voice light yet firm, "but your ‘home’ today was a McLaren store. Not even the factory, Liv. A store."

Olivia adjusts her sunglasses like a celebrity avoiding paparazzi. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."

Lando raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

She shrugs. "Well. You always say that McLaren is your home. And if it's yours, why could it not be mine?“ 

Lando’s heart sinks and he’s not sure whether he's proud to know Olivia listens to what he says or if he's terrified of the strange, most likely unhealthy, relationship his kid is developing towards a global corporation. "I do say that, you're right. But there is a difference between a job and a home. It’s a...Different kind of home,"  he says it and wonders if anyone had ever told him that when he was young. 

Olivia seems to be deeply in her own thoughts. "I'm sure some of the employees would take me in."

Lando scoffs. "Oh, well, in that case—fantastic life decision."

A small huff. "Better than where I was gonna go."

Lando narrows his eyes. "And where exactly was that?"

Silence. If she says "a boat", Lando's going to convince Carlos to also shave his hair off. He waits, watching her in the mirror, not pushing—just letting the silence do the work. And after a few moments, Olivia finally caves, shifting in her seat.

Surprisingly, she ignores his question entirely. "You and Mom were gonna put braces on me so you could tell me and Maya apart."

Lando almost swerves into the wrong lane. "Wait, what?!" He glances at her, then back at the road. "Braces?"

Olivia nods solemnly. "I heard you. In the store. You said it will be easier," she says, sounding genuinely disturbed. Then, her childlike anger builds up. "But, I don’t even have all my adult teeth in! It sounds dangerous, dad! Also - why would you and mom need them too? Do you realize everyone is going to laugh at our family?"

Lando stares straight ahead, completely dumbfounded. For a second, his brain refuses to process this level of nonsense.

Braces. BRACES?!

Of all the things she could've misheard, this is what led to her dramatic escape?

"Olivia." He exhales, shaking his head. "I said bracelets. I was getting us bracelets. Matching ones, with different colors, so that other people won’t mix you and Maya up so much, I know how you hate it."

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Olivia slowly lowers her sunglasses. "...Bracelets?"

"Bracelets," Lando confirms, dead serious.

More silence.

Then—a quiet, barely-there mutter:

"...Oh."

Lando lets out the loudest, most exhausted sigh of his life. "Oh?" he repeats, glancing at her in disbelief. "OH?! You ran away because of a bracelet misunderstanding?!"

Olivia slouches further into her seat. "I was not going to let that happen to me."

Lando pinches the bridge of his nose. "Liv. If you just asked—"

"You said not to tell mom!“ she interrupts, as if this is somehow his fault.

Lando groans. "That's not the point!"

"I panicked!"

"You panicked? So instead of clarifying, you packed a bag full of dresses and snacks and started a career in retail?!"

Olivia crosses her arms again, defensive. "It was a solid plan."

Lando lets out a short, incredulous laugh. "Liv, it was the worst plan."

She pouts. "It worked for a while."

Lando tilts his head. "Did it?"

"...No."

"Exactly."

A long pause.

Then, softly: "Maya really thought I was leaving forever?"

Lando nods. "Yeah. She acted all chill about it, but I could tell she was worried."

Olivia twists the hem of her hoodie, suddenly looking much smaller than before. "...I didn't mean to scare her."

Lando softens.

"I know," he says, glancing at her in the mirror again. "And I know you like being independent, but Liv—" He sighs. "You don’t need to run away over stuff like this. Just talk to me, okay?"

She nods slowly, still fiddling with her hoodie. "...Okay."

"And maybe next time, instead of running away, just... go to your room dramatically like a normal ten-year-old?"

Olivia snorts. "No promises." Lando chuckles, shaking his head.

This kid.

They pull into the driveway, and Olivia takes off her sunglasses, letting out a deep breath.

"Hey, Dad?" Lando raises an eyebrow. "Yeah?" She smirks. "Did you bring my clipboard?" Lando laughs, unlocking the car. "You're grounded."

//

"So, you're telling me Liv ran away because of no reason?" Y/N asks for the third time, as she sits across from her husband and two suspiciously quiet children.

Lando's got his PR smile on, it's clear as a day. When and how he managed to teach both of the girls the same is the real mystery. Y/N cut her day at work short to rush home. Even with the news of Olivia being back at home, she found it hard to focus on anything else. She expected to walk into a battlefield, at least one of the girls crying and flustered Lando. But no—one would never have even guessed anything strange had happened that day. They're all sitting there, like some sort of picturesque scene from a school issued guidance book.

"Mom," Olivia speaks up slowly, accidentally looking at Y/N like she is stupid for repeating the question. "It was a bad decision on my part. I accept being grounded for a week. We will be able to explain everything in few weeks," Olivia says confidently at first, but still turns towards her father, as if for confirmation she said all the right words. It's hard to believe a single word she says. Still, he gives her a small, but proud, nod.

"We have a surprise for you and if we tell you everything, it will be ruined!" Maya's comment is cheerfully enthusiastic, like she's telling Y/N the best thing that has ever happened.

Without a clue on what to say, Y/N turns to Lando for any hint of answers. He looks at her like he's some divine angel. "It's a funny story, but we can't tell you now."

Y/N hands fly up at the weird logic of this all. "What?"

"Patience, love. It's a virtue," Lando says simply and it's clear none of them are going to spill anything about today.

Maya follows the lead with a comment dripping with excitement. "Yes, mom. Patience!"

Y/N exhales sharply, dragging a hand down her face. She stares at the three of them—her clearly rehearsed, suspiciously well-behaved family—then lets out a dry laugh.

"You know what?" she says, standing up. "Fine. But when this ‘surprise’ inevitably turns into another disaster, I am not the one handling it."

She grabs her bag and heads toward the kitchen, muttering under her breath.

Behind her, Lando leans closer to his kids and ruffles both their hair. "That went well. Good job, she's going to love the bracelets."

Olivia, smirking proudly, follow his lead. "Told you we could sell it. I have experience now."

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[solxamber]

Giving Them Chocolates on Valentine's Day with: Pomefiore

Go here for other dorms

Vil Schoenheit

The second you step into Pomefiore’s lounge, you realize Vil has been waiting for you.

He’s seated elegantly by the window, his posture perfect, a teacup balanced between his fingers. His gaze flickers up the moment you enter, sharp, knowing.

You hesitate. How does he already look so smug?

Still, you square your shoulders and walk up to him, holding out the chocolates. “These are for you,” you say, voice steady.

Vil sets his cup down with a soft clink, taking the heart-shaped box from your hands with the same effortless grace as everything else he does. He turns it in his fingers, inspecting it—not because he doubts it, but because he already knows exactly what this is.

Then, before you can even gather the nerve to confess—

“I accept,” he says simply.

You blink. “Wait—what?”

Vil raises a brow. “What? You thought you were being subtle?”

Your stomach drops.

“You’re many things, sweet potato,” he continues, setting the chocolates down beside him with care, “but subtle about your affections? Let’s not joke around.”

Oh. Oh, this smug—

Your face burns as you cross your arms. “Okay, well, maybe I was obvious, but you could’ve let me confess first.”

Vil smiles, perfectly composed, but unmistakably pleased. “If it makes you feel better, I accept that as well.”

Your breath catches.

He leans forward slightly, studying your face, and you swear you see a flicker of something soft beneath the confidence. “I like you too,” he says, quiet but firm. “That much should have been obvious.”

Your heart stumbles.

Before you can even fully process it, Vil smoothly rises from his seat, offering you his hand. “Now, come along. I’ll be taking you to dinner tonight.”

You blink at him, still slightly dazed. “You just decided that?”

Vil huffs, amused. “Of course. What, did you think I’d let my significant other spend Valentine’s eating alone?”

You narrow your eyes. “You say that like I wasn’t going to invite you first.”

He smirks. “Then we’re in agreement.”

Your heart is going through it, but you take his hand anyway, because honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Rook Hunt

You reach into your bag, expecting to pull out the chocolates you painstakingly prepared for Rook—only to find a second box already sitting inside.

Your brain short-circuits.

You definitely didn’t put that there.

You pick it up carefully, turning it over in your hands. The wrapping is elegant, the ribbon tied with impossibly perfect precision. There’s no note, no signature—but you don’t need one. It’s him. It has to be him.

Rook.

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. Of course. Of course he’d beat you to it.

But you’re not about to let him win that easily.

Finding Rook Hunt is usually a near-impossible task. Not today.

You spot him leaning against a railing, watching the scenery below, looking perfectly at ease—like he wasn’t out here committing mysterious, romantic mischief mere moments ago.

“Rook.” You approach, arms crossed, the chocolates he left you tucked under your arm.

He turns at the sound of your voice, grinning immediately. “Ah, trés bien! My beloved trickster arrives!”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hide the fondness creeping into your smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rook tilts his head innocently. “Whatever could you mean?”

You don’t humor him. Instead, you hold up the mystery chocolates, raising a brow. “You didn’t sign them.”

He sighs, dramatic as always. “Alas! It seems my affections are far too transparent.”

You huff a laugh, then finally pull out your own chocolates, thrusting them toward him. “Well, guess what? I had the same idea. Happy Valentine’s.”

For a second—just a second—you catch a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Then, his expression melts into something impossibly warm.

“Oh~” His voice lilts, delighted. He takes the chocolates from your hands with such reverence, as if you’d just handed him a priceless treasure.

“You honor me,” he murmurs, turning the box in his hands before meeting your gaze again. “And I assume, mon cœur, that this means…?”

You smile. “I accept your confession.”

For a moment, he’s silent.

Then—he beams.

And before you can react, he takes your hand, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

"Ah, mon amour,” he sighs, eyes glinting with pure joy. “How truly, devastatingly romantic! To think, we were of one heart even before our words were spoken.”

Your face burns. “I—Rook—”

But he’s already laughing, utterly overjoyed. “Come! Let us make this day truly one to remember. Allow me the honor of taking you on a proper outing—just the two of us.”

Your heart stumbles, but you don’t even try to fight the smile pulling at your lips.

“…Yeah. I’d like that.”

Rook grins.

And as he pulls you along—his hand firm in yours, his laughter bright—you realize you wouldn’t change this for the world.

Epel Felmier

Epel stares at the chocolates in your hands like he’s not entirely convinced this is real.

“You—” He swallows, his grip tightening slightly around the box. “Are ya givin’ this to me, or am I just holdin’ it for somebody else?”

You blink. “I’m giving them to you, Epel.”

His ears go a little pink. He glances down at the chocolates, then back at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes. “And—uh. Y’mean it like… friendly-like, or—?”

You exhale a laugh, realizing what he’s asking. “Romantic.”

Epel freezes.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything—but then his carefully practiced Pomefiore polish shatters completely.

“Holy hell,” he breathes, his accent coming through so thick that it almost makes you laugh. “Ya serious? Y’like me? Like—like fer real?”

You nod, amused and a little flustered yourself. “Yeah, Epel. For real.”

He lets out a sharp breath, like he’s been hit with a gust of wind, and then he grins.

Not his usual polite, practiced Pomefiore smile—but a real, genuine, bright-as-hell grin.

“Well, shoot,” he mutters, ducking his head for a second, clearly overwhelmed. But when he looks back up, his eyes are shining.

“I like ya too,” he admits, shy but firm. “Been likin’ ya for a while, actually.”

Your heart stumbles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His grip on the chocolates tightens slightly, like he’s grounding himself. Then, with a newfound confidence, he straightens up, chin lifted. “So, uh. You free later? I wanna take ya out proper. Y’know, for a real date.”

Your stomach flips. “You’re asking me out?”

Epel’s grin turns a little cocky now, his usual mischievous side creeping in. “Well, duh. What kinda guy would I be if I didn’t?”

You can’t help but laugh, warmth blooming in your chest. “Then yeah. I’d love to go out with you.”

Epel’s smile softens, and he nods once, firm and satisfied.

“Good,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess I better start plannin’ somethin’ nice, huh?”

And as you watch him glance down at your chocolates again, his fingers running over the edges like he still can’t believe this is real, you know for sure—this was worth it.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[winterspellsfrozenkit]

One thing I wish was understood a bit better about Twisted Wonderland.

Everyone in this game has trauma or personal struggles and it's NOT a competition of who has it worse. Honestly, sometimes I wish everyone's traumas were discussed more in depth in the game like we get with each person who Overblots, but we don't have time for it. With the Overblot boys, their trauma is shoved directly into the spotlight and we hear exactly how their situations make them feel. But the rest of the cast, ALL of them, have personal struggles and/or trauma. This is just a small list of some of the issues each non Overblot student has.

Ace masks the fear he feels in a lot of situations, and he's got an inferiority complex on some level. Notice how he bullied the player and Grim in our first interaction? That is a sign of someone who is looking to feel better by pushing someone else down because they don't feel good about themselves.

Deuce grew up with a single mother who had to work multiple jobs to make ends meet, which causes him to worry about her, and he was a delinquent in middle school, which made his mom, the one person he worries over, cry. He lives with those regrets, but he's still got those old habits and he agonizes over the fact he's not academically where he'd like to be and his behavior regresses when in heated situations.

Trey has severe trauma at being screamed at for FIVE HOURS over giving Riddle ONE slice of tart, so much that his vitals are severely affected at the thought of Mrs. Rosehearts and he's heavily conflict avoidant.

Cater has had to move all the time and as a defense mechanism, refuses to be honest or get close to people because he doesn't want to get attached only to be ripped away from them.

Ruggie lives in EXTREME poverty when not at school. He struggles to make ends meet and he has to work so hard in a system that is DESIGNED to keep him in poverty, because many beastmen still prefer segregation in the Sunset Savannah.

Jack has one of the healthier mindsets, but he still struggles with being open and honest about his feelings, which makes it hard to have friends, and he struggled with watching Leona, someone he's idolized, fall short of what he believed of Leona.

Jade and Floyd are implied to have grown up in some form of crime family and both seem to have handled the fact their lives could be in constant danger differently. Both like things being interesting, but Jade seems to prefer seclusion and control, while Floyd enjoys scaring people off and having as much fun as he can before he goes.

Kalim is someone who has had multiple assassination attempts on his life, even from his own family. He masks behind a smile, but he's afraid to trust people, and when he DOES TRY to talk about it, it gets brushed off because he has money. Also, he has to deal with the fact Jamil has been undermining his ability to progress by not treating him as if he's capable at all.

Epel has been teased and bullied on how he looked to the point where he started instigating fights to ensure he wouldn't be teased. He also has to fall in line with what Vil wants because he made the error of picking a fight with Vil and getting his butt HANDED to him. To further add, Vil is NOT NICE about it when Epel resists, with one example being Vil grabbing him by the ear and pulling hard as a form of punishment.

Rook has deal with the fact that for being someone who is super perceptive and can notice details, he didn't realize Vil's feelings around Neige, likely because he was blinded by his own admiration for both of them and that's a bitter pill to swallow.

Ortho has to deal with being basically created as a replacement for dead Ortho Shroud, trying to figure out if he's just really a robot made by Idia with really good AI or more than that, and dealing with the fact he loves his brother so much, but his brother doesn't take care of himself and it's disheartening to watch Idia's self-destruction.

Lilia has so much war trauma, losing his loved ones, having been exiled, and so much other crap. Even so, he forced himself to put the war and his trauma about it in the past, where it belonged for the sake of his two sons who both lost so much to war, which is something Baur/Baul could NOT do which was to Sebek's detriment.

Silver has had to live with the idea that his adoptive father would likely outlive him, then is faced with the fact that his father is basically abandoning everything about their life in Briar Valley before he learns that his biological parents were the enemies of the person he serves and cares about, Malleus, and the only father he's ever known.

Sebek has grown up with internalized racism/speciesism against humans thanks to his upbringing and he basically rejects half of his heritage with how he treats his father. He does not even realize how hurtful his comments are until he's faced with those remarks being directed at him by a younger version of his grandfather.

And this isn't everything each student has to face. This is just broad strokes. Yana Toboso wrote a story about flawed people who all have gone through really hard and difficult things because that's the point. As Toboso said in a 2023 interview:

“Happy endings in Disney works come from righteous actions and love, but I believe that the villains are characters who do not get saved during the story. That is why, through this game, I want to portray the message that even if you get beat up all the way to a bad ending, you can grow from it and live your life without feeling discouraged.

Acting lame, obstinate, without hesitation, being open and honest—it’s not as bad as it sounds. 

I would like to paint a positive picture of living honestly with yourself and not worrying about others.

In today’s society there are so many people who live in fear of failure and are always walking on eggshells, but nobody’s flawless. It is exhausting to try to live your life so that no one will hate you.”

Everyone, even people you don't know or do not like, have gone through things that shaped who they are. Sometimes, how we've adapted to handle the bad things that happen will force us to hit rock bottom. But you don't have to die when you hit rock bottom.

You can have terrible things happen to you and have maladaptive strategies to handle your experiences, but you aren't stuck that way forever. You can learn how to change your habits, learn to be okay with yourself, and work at being better than you were the day before.

Human growth is not linear. It's a bunch of taking steps forward and backsliding and learning and making mistakes over and over again and accepting failure, not as a testament to your character, but as part of the process of growth... and that's something all the students have to learn, not just the Overblot boys. Because all of them, every single one, are handling their own personal issues, even if it isn't shoved right in our faces.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[obeymeluv]

In Your Defense [PT 1 - Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw]

You decide to work at Sam's for Valentine's Day and your crush just happens to hear a customer hitting on you. If they get arrested, can you be their alibi? AKA: This person has a death wish and you find out your crush might be jealous?

Note: Each one is random and some will be longer than others. If I made everyone the same length this thing would be MASSIVE and I would probably die.

Not proofread because of the length. Trying to get everyone done today. It's my last day off for a few.

Whatever part Ortho is in will be platonic, obvs.

Happy V-day!

Riddle likes to think he's made great strides not being angry but hearing some utterly disgusting joke about 'how much do you cost?' sends him like nothing else ever has. This guy is tall and so unimpressive, so plain, so average that Riddle can't really recall him at all. Maybe that's just the absolute fury blurring his vision. He knows he's not breathing but his chest isn't burning near as much as his face; the heat is spreading quick and he can feel it in his cheeks and neck. Temples pounding, his vaguely aware of the growl bubbling in his chest as it threatens to slip past his clenched teeth.

Ace calls it his teapot snarl.

Before Riddle knows it, he's flown off the handle and he's going off on a rant. The whole shop is quiet, people physically backing away as he just methodically unravels everything about this cretin from outfit, posture, presence, delivery, unoriginality--everything. Honestly, he doesn't even remember everything he said. The redhead doesn't even tune back into the sound of his own voice until he ends the onslaught with, "You've just paid twenty thaumarks to embarrass yourself but that pales in comparison to the fact that you thought you had a chance with them. You should be ashamed!"

The man slinks away, sad little bag dragging off the counter.

Whispers and giggles diffuse throughout the shop. He ignores the looks that come his way, using the time to come back to himself. Riddle fixes his cute casual clothes, content with the fact you picked them out together. He catches sight of the matching rose clips on your outfit and in you hair and smiles softly. "A strawberry cookie and a cake pop, please." he clears his throat, fishing his wallet out of his pocket.

Sam had an assortment of sweets and he was going to capitalize on strawberry's popularity while he could. He saw you root through the display case, carefully considering the designs even though they were all supposed to taste the same (allegedly).

"Sure thing. Your total is 12 thaumarks. Thanks for stopping by Sam's Mystery Shop! Happy Valentine's Day!"

He hands you the thaumarks as you take the time to slide the I LOVE YOU cookie in his bag.

----

Deuce is an honors student! He is a good boy that's going to make his mother proud!

HE IS SO GOING TO PUNCH THIS MOTHERFUCKER IN THIS FACE!

His shoulders tense, fist clenching at his side. "Why, you think they're cheap? Something to be bought? What an insult!" his head snaps up as he stares down the slightly taller boy. Deuce's teal eyes turn a dark turquoise; the giddy glint of seeing you and chocolate eggs in one place turns to something sharp and steely. He hands the chocolate eggs to Ace, turning right back around to stare the creep down. Old habits die hard; he's grinding a fist into his hand.

"Aren't you the guy always complaining about limited time sales being unfair? Not my problem you missed the window." the guy scoffs, leaning back against the cashier counter. "Anyways," the guy tilts his head back and starts talking to you.

You look uncomfortable and angry that you can't handle this yourself. Professionalism and all.

"You may have caught the window but I'm about to show you the door." Deuce draws up on him with a quickness people have never seen. Not many people know about all the fights he used to get into. Gripping the guy's hair almost to the point of pulling it out, steering him like a panicked bull, Deuce all but chucks him out the front door of the shop. He turns around to walk back inside and buy his chocolate eggs but that spine-tingling feeling of someone fixing to take a cheap shot makes him pivot and nail the guy with a solid kick to the chest. The guy falls back on his butt, breath hitching.

Deuce scoffs and wipes his shoes on the step before going into the shop. The door is almost closed behind him when he hears a strained grunt. He's been in enough fights to know the guy is off the ground and making one last attempt to catch him from the back. More than done with this and just wanting his damn eggs and to say hi to you in all your festive lace, he shoulder checks the door like he's trying to shove Jack out of the lunch line (which he would NEVER, EVER DO).

The guy falls with a satisfying thud and Deuce tries his best to relax his face as he resumes his place in line. It's red from aggravation and the fact he's fishing for his thaumarks because he's forgotten what pocket he put it in. "Sorry about that," he tries to uncrumple the thaumarks a little before handing them to you. "And the face. My face. Not your face! Your face is fine! Like, you're not ugly! I just, uh--"

"Take the change, Deuce-y!" Ace is standing behind him, guiding his nervous body like a puppet. He makes Deuce grab the change and turns him around, shoving him away from the counter before he can make it any worse. "Now help me move this guy's body! He's out cold!"

---

Ace can only laugh when he hears that line. First of all, it's weak. Secondly, the dude must not have any faith in his game if the delivery depends on you being captive behind the counter. During work hours. With an obligation to be forward facing and listening to whatever he says.

"Why? You worried about your budget, buddy?" Ace laughs, hands laced together behind his head.

The guy snaps up, stick-straight. "N-No! I was just--" his face is blooming pink.

"People aren't products, bro. There's no discounts." Ace shakes his head.

"W-What I meant was, I want to take you on a date!" the guy turns back to you and flashes a big smile. All of Ace's pouty mutters fall on deaf ears. Not because he's being quiet, but because the guy is straight up ignoring him. He's not sure where the idea comes from--he'll blame it on an itchy hand--but he sneaks a couple of small candies in the guy's pocket. Sam's familiar top hat bobs into view, snaking around the shelves.

"DON'T FORGET TO PAY FOR THE STUFF IN YOUR POCKETS!" Ace felt confident in his sleight of hand tricks. It wouldn't be the first time he tricked NRC students. It's actually really easy to do. That works in his favor because if everyone can't get their story straight or agree on what they saw, he's a free man.

Sam materializes at the edge of the aisles and seems to stare into the boy's soul. "Young man, please step aside."

Ace looks like the cat that ate the canary as he moseys up to the counter and slaps the box of cherry cordials down. He buys a cherry sucker at the last second, not seeing it at first. "Thanks, Sweets!" Ace winks at you as he strolls out with the bag.

Sam nearly scares him out of his skin, leaning against the wood just outside the door. Ace finally feels the tug of shadows on his feet. "Speaking of sweets," Ace flinches and hides his ear with his blazer, groaning as Sam hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest sternly. "I understand your frustration, Little Imp. Young love is adorable in all it's wiles! But mark my words, Little Imp: if you lie about wrongdoings in my shop again, you will not come back. Clear?"

"Yes sir." Ace gulps.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Little Imp."

---

Trey isn't really surprised to hear what he just did. 'Boys will be boys', as the saying goes. Frankly, he's disappointed. He's heard smarter things come out of his little brother and sister.

He adjusts his glasses, mentally trying to relax the knot between his eyebrows.

Should he say something? Of course he wants to. It's you! He's been on the other side of the counter plenty of times and has had vivid daydreams of sticking a customer in a stand mixer. But, then again, he has a reputation to uphold and anything he does could reflect back on Riddle.

And send Riddle into a fit, giving him something else to handle.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he'd have the element of surprise. People--especially men--don't cook enough to know how much arm strength it takes to lift twenty pound bags of flour on the regular. Or the stamina it takes to walk said bags from Sam's shop to Heartslabyul. Even the small five-pound bag of sugar in his basket would suffice as a weapon; the sugar was packed enough to hit like a brick if he lobbed it.

Trey's running the options through his head, almost settling on just saying 'how much for you to stop?' when he sees the end of a sucker rolling between the guy's teeth. Too easy, Trey pushes his glasses up on his nose, hand hiding his smile and the quiet incantation for "Paint the Roses".

All of a sudden the guy is gagging and running for the door. You and everyone else are wondering what the hell just happened. He doesn't come back in. One brave soul suggested he had a really bad gag reflex and the sucker did him in. Only Trey knows it was a mix of sour milk and the pungent soy sauce tart nightmare he tricked Riddle into making once.

"Just this, please. Oh! And what Sam had on hold for me." Trey hands you the sugar, relishing in the brush of your hands.

"Candied violets and a bag of sugar. Twenty thaumarks, please."

"Thanks." Trey smiles at you, laying the sugar flat so his delicate, delectable candied violets don't get crushed.

"Thank you." you smile brightly, handing him the change.

----

Cater wants to gag. Normally Valentine's confessions are cute and IN THE RIGHT SETTING pickup lines are amazing. This? This is a tragedy. Mostly because there is ZERO chemistry and you look #uncomfortable.

He's big on consent since he's always looking for collabs and people to pose with on Magicam so maybe that's why this scene bothers him. Aside from the fact that you're out of this guy's league, obviously. Like, it's really an insult to your time.

'How much do you cost?' Really? You're #priceless.

His brows furrow, lips thinning as he wonders what to do. He plays with the idea of Split Card and creating a small crowd of copies to boo and jeer the guy but the store would be even more packed than it already is. Cater's green eyes twinkle as it hits him. Turning his phone longways, he zooms in on the guy and tells him to keep going because he's live on Magicam. "Don't worry! I've already got all the V-day tags on there! Everyone will see it!"

He's friends with practically everyone at NRC so this guy will be seen by everyone.

Something sick and unfriendly and satisfied swirls in him as the guy's face pales in real time. If he zooms in a little, he can get the beads of sweat in there. "I'll, uh--another time, okay?" the guy darts off and abandons his handful of candy at the register.

"Haul coming later! 'K, bye!" Cater sends a peace sign to the camera, smiling at his own face. He swipes the little chocolates into his basket nonchalantly. He's not even the biggest sweets person but those are his now!

"Gonna have a spicy Valentine's Day, huh?" you ring up the cups of spicy ramen.

"You know it!" he laughs.

"I get it. You have to balance out how sweet you are." you smirk up at him. "Twenty-four thaumarks, please."

#in love. #kiddingnotkidding. #sendhelp. #downbad.

----

Leona doesn't even know why he bothered to show up to Sam's. He could just send Ruggie to get whatever he wanted. The variety of jerky was somewhat tempting but he could just as easily take the bus and get a proper meal off campus. And yet, he stood there with a gloved hand in his pocket, tail swishing back and forth in mild agitation. His green eyes sweep over the winding line until they land on you at the front.

His cheeks warm a little and he scoffs at himself, pretending to pick through the hanging strips of sunflower seeds as the line moves. Every step gets him closer to this soft, powdery scent with just a hint of sweetness. He starts to blame it on all the chocolate and candy and sugary shit exploding out of every possible spot in the store but there's this unmistakable undertone of skin.

Your skin.

He's only caught the scent a million times while hiding from people in the Botanical Gardens. Or when he's forced to attend class, catching a hint of you in the halls.

Leona's not sure why he cares anything about you because you're not magical. You're not interesting.

You shouldn't be, but you are.

You're literally the only person he's ever met from another world. You have no context for the Sunset Savanna or the hierarchy of it. To you, everyone is impressive. He can be something to you.

Why does that matter? He doesn't even know. That's what he tells himself, anyways. You say you have no magic but Leona thinks you can read minds. The look you always give him isn't a pitying one, but a curious one that seeks to dissect him and force him to face everything he keeps shoved deep down inside himself.

Part of him is waiting for the day you pull the right thread and he comes undone in the way he knows he need but can't find the strength for. Somewhere in that knotted mess is his true feelings for you. The stuff he can't admit.

You stand admirably on your own two feet, roughing it out like Ruggie, but you're so far from the intimidating women of the Sunset Savanna. You're approachable and soft; you're built like prey but you have the quick thinking of a predator.

Something in your demeanor changes--your hands pause and flutter nervously--and he's on alert. He's careful to relax his grip lest he crush the box of protein bars for Jack. His ears sling forward and his eyes narrow as he catches that half-baked flirting attempt. Leona doesn't even bother to hide the sneer twisting his face.

Just the thought of you with that hopeful schmuck is nauseating.

Suddenly the scent of all the males around you is overwhelming. Disgusting.

"If you have to ask about the price, you can't afford it. Haven't ya ever heard that before?" Leona 'hmphs' triumphantly, one hand on his hip as he bends down slightly to stare the chump in the face. "Askin' about the price is tacky."

"Wh-what was my total again?"

All Leona had to do was stare at the back of the human's neck. Humans, much like prey animals, grew really squirmy when a predator stared at them too long. Or encroached on their space, much like he was doing. It was for the hell of it at this point.

Leona made a mental note of the guy's face as he scampered off like a terrified cub and looked forward to the day he could send a stray spelldrive disk in his direction.

"Hey Herbivore," Leona plunked the basket down unceremoniously.

"Hey Leona," you looked down at the random stuff in his basket, trying not to smile at what just happened. Something warm and--dare he say it?--proud welled up in his chest when he realized you were happy about him scaring the guy off.

The heart-shaped stickers he kept finding on everything when he got back to Savanaclaw helped, too.

----

Ruggie lived for the holiday specials at Sam's. He was a bit put out that he wasn't picked to staff the Valentine's shift but the in-store discounts were a small consolation. It'd be better if he could stack them with an employee discount but he'd take what he could get! His mouth started watering as soon as he entered, sniffing out deliciously fluffy donuts.

Hopefully people would be distracted with the lollypops and chocolates and leave his donuts alone!

He choked down the occasional nervous whine when people gravitated too close to the donut display, distracting himself with the decor and wondering what would be most profitable to flip. His eyes began to wander to the people in front of him; Ruggie tsk'd at how casual and unguarded they were. Ripe for the picking, he looked at their wallets and fistfuls of thaumarks just out in the open.

If he wasn't worried about being banned from Sam's and losing some gigs he'd--

"How much do you cost?"

EXCUSE ME?! Ruggie freezes, eyes going wide and ears twitching when he hears that. The dude said that and LIVED?

Oh, right. You're not a Savanna girl. The girls back home would beat him up and make him pay them to stop. Or just smack the shit out of him hard enough to put him in a coma. Maybe break his jaw so he can't drop anymore awful lines.

Women are to be respected! Not treated like something you can purchase!

Given that you weren't a Savanna girl and were bound by the rules of 'I'm currently on the clock', Ruggie took things into his own hands. You could just treat him later!

"Laugh with Me!" Ruggie hisses, backing into the closest display. It was a little bump to him but far more to the guy up front. He waved his arm around, skimming the bags of gummy candies while the guy at the register knocked down a whole tower of balloons on a stick. Bending over just enough to line the guy's head up with the counter, Ruggie lunges forward.

WOMP!

Oh it was so satisfying. The guy is hopelessly, helplessly stunned. He gathers his bearings and Ruggie slides his foot out; the guy loses his footing and slams into the counter again.

Only two times before he gives up? Kind of weak-willed, Ruggie thinks with a little smirk as he side-steps the disoriented guy and waits patiently to check out. Sam tends to him while you get the donuts he's been craving.

They'll taste even better because they smell like you. Happy Valentine's Day to him!

-----

Jack is usually very stoic but a lot of people mistake his stoic observation for irritation. He would blame it on his intimidating physique but he's not sorry and takes great pride in his appearance. He's a beastman--a Howl!--he's supposed to be intimidating! Intimidating appearance aside, Jack is also a very helpful soul.

A good boy, if you will.

The only reason he's in Sam's is on Ruggie's behalf. He was tasked with picking up a few things and was more than happy to help out his senior. They were from the same dorm, after all! Practically a pack! You have to help your pack!

He's not really bothered by the amount of people, more focused on keeping his tail out of people's way and making sure he doesn't knock anything over. All at once, the atmosphere changes a little. There's a hint of sour in the air and a noticeable hike in someone's pulse.

It's your pulse. You look...distressed? Why are you distressed? Where is the threat?

Whatever it was, he missed it and he's cursing himself.

His ears swing forward as he catches bits and pieces of conversations. Some people are complaining the guy is taking too long, other people are laughing at his crappy pickup line. Some people are wondering if it's going to work.

This was a weak display if he ever saw one. The guy didn't even look confident in himself! All of your body language has now firmed up into rejection but the guy's not getting the hint. He's trying the 'oh, c'mon!' thing his siblings do when they want to play.

You don't know it, but you've been feeding Jack when he trots by in wolf form. He likes to finish off his morning jogs in wolf form to really stretch his joints and obliques. It was supposed to be a one-off thing, him following the tantalizing aroma of food to your door. Your cooking is fantastic and while you don't know that you're a pack mate, you're a pack mate!

You're just a pack mate who feeds him and gives him occasional pets. And these to die for scratches that he'd kill to feel with his real skin instead of fur. Any touch would be fine, really. Not that you'd ever know.

Jack doesn't even know he's growling until people start moving out of his way. The growl crescendos as he walks towards the guy. Tail bristling, Jack opens his mouth to show off sharp canines. "Get lost! They're not interested in you! They're just trying to work!"

As expected, the guy tucks tail and runs. Jack snorts, licking his lips that have suddenly become dry. His ears don't know what to do, caught between catching all the murmurs behind him and wanting to press down in embarrassment.

It's quiet but he hears it. "Thank you, Jack."

"Don't mention it," he crosses his arms, looking everywhere but you as you scan his items. He was avoiding looking at you directly but he notices you slip a few extra beef sticks into his bag. He blushes.

Yeah, don't mention that either.

[hsjazebel]

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

———

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

[justfusco]

I had the most beautiful magnolia outside my childhood bedroom. Bigger than any magnolia tree I’ve ever seen and with so many white flowers in the spring. I could climb up the tree onto our roof and into my bedroom window. It must be a very old tree because magnolias grow slowly and aren’t terribly tall trees but this one was taller than the house. I love that tree. As an adult I thought a lot about how someone planted that tree when it was a sapling and they probably never lived in the house long enough to see the beautiful mature tree it became. The tree might even have outlived them but what a gift their decision to plant the tree was to me as a child. When I became an adult and my partner and I were building our house the first thing I did was plant a magnolia tree outside the bedroom window. It’s small and too young to produce flowers yet but in 30 years I hope it’ll be as tall as the house and even if I’m not there anymore I hope that somebody loves that tree as much as I loved the one growing outside my window. I hope it’s a legacy that outlives me and every spring when it flowers someone silently thanks the person who planted it just like I used to.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, there will be a tree outside your bedroom window. It is very important to romanticize this tree as much as possible.

[nanamisgirly]

imagine nerd!Choso, you both are in the same degree. he didn't really noticed you at first but, for some unknown reasons, he kept bumping into you— wether in the hallway or you'd be few rows in front of him during lectures. And just like that, he developed an obsession toward you. and might god forgive him, but he couldn't help jerking off his cock at the thought of his length disappearing between your lips, eyes flickering up at him with a teasing glint. he was kind of sad you didn't even know he existed :/

but how lucky! in one of your lesson, the teacher assigned a partnered project. and fortunately, the duo were made with a randomized system!! Choso did not think twice, with some quick manipulation on his computer, he paired himself…with you! almost too easy

on your side tho, you had never heard the name Choso before. So when you reached out to set up a time for the project, you didn't expect much of it. But now…sitting across from him…his wide figure looming over the table, inked arms straining against the ridiculous tightness of his shirt…that was another story. How hadn't you noticed such a pretty face?? sharp eyes lined with kohl, two messy buns with some rebellious strands framing his beautiful features, and perfect dark purple painted nails tapping against the table. ‘am i blind or sum?’ you wondered. 

nerd!Choso was originally awkward with social interaction but more so when it came to you. He clears his throat "I- uh," he started, voice trembling "f-for the work, would you like t-t- to…" his cheeks flushed an adorable pink as you stared at him, giving him time to formule his thoughts ‘such a cute boy’ you mused.

"we can do it at my home!" he suddenly blurted out, words rushed, as if the poor man hadn’t said it now, he never would have :( "i- i mean, t-the assignment! o-of course..." he was so embarrassed of himself, his hands nervously cupping his warm milk chocolate "if— if you want to.." his eyes darted anywhere but yours, unable to hold your gaze. not when you were looking so intently, like you were seeing right through him. because what if you had some superpowers, the kind to read his horny thoughts, the kind to know exactly how many times he fucked his fist to the image of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his aching cock. catastrophe!!!!

nerd!Choso was blushing furiously, messier, stuttering over his words more than usual when you were unconditionally giving your best to give the man a gooood ride. “p-p-please” he whined, voice breaking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear “tell me, my pretty shy boy…what are you begging for, hmm? use your words, pretty". 

choso's hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline, fingers digging into your skin. “y-you— mngh, it's— it's too good. i can't last— i— please,” he choked out, eyes glossy as you slammed your hips down harder. His happy trail rubbed against your clit with every grind. the friction giving you as much pleasure as him.

“preeetty boy," you cooed, trying to maintain your composure despite having his fat dick stretching you enough to see stars. “is this what you've been thinking about the whole year? me riding you? or even better,” your mouth went for his neck, licking softly, contrasting with the pulsing grip of your cunt, milking his cock. "touching yourself to the thought of my glossy lips wrapped around your pathetically big dick ?" your voice was so sensual "tell me, tell me and i'll give you what you want” that man was moaning, the sluttiest moans escaping his throat. in response, your walls clenched harder, trying to suck him in even deeper at this point. “i— i was— i mean, i- fuckfuckfuck" choso were sur he lost the ability to form a simple sentence, his head falling back as he felt his tip kissing your cervix. but he tried his best to continue "i— i was…pumping my— my cock at the- mngh, thought o-of you..t-takin' me…d-d-deep,” poor boy was losing his mind. You've never seen a man being that pussy drunk, so openly lost into you, that was addicting.

your fingers trailed over his inked pecs, moving along the curves of his tattoos making their way to his nipples, and you pinched. not too rough to hurt but enough to send jolts of pleasure through his body. “look at this good boy," you sighed, feeling choso throbbing inside you. "earned the right to cum inside me… would you like that?”. 

you loved teasing him. he was a total whimpering, fucked out mess beneath you. ‘so cute’

nerd!Choso was as sur as the sky is blue that you had superpowers, somehow. and you both sur as well scored a beautiful A on the assignment.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[bunni-v1]

May we get some crk thoughts, my liege? I too have a hyperfixation—

Shadow Milk Cookie Headcannons (SFW & NSFW)

🍓Thank you for the excuse to write this shit, I feel less insane being asked to do it lol. I still think this might taint my public image, so lets hope none of my future employers fuck with tumblr. Anyway only smc since he's who I'm obsessing over. I was gonna add pv, but I write wayyyy too much to include both of them on one post. Maybe I'll do him if someone asks nicely. I'll have a mix of both sfw and nsfw so beware lol.

MDNI (I'll find u)

TW: Shadow Milk Cookie; Obsessive behaviors; Stalking mentioned; Nsfw under the cut; unedited

Info: Shadow Milk Cookie x Reader; Sfw & Nsfw headcannons

Credit for Beast Bite Idea: @rollingeevee (go give them love I adore this AU)

-To start I'm gonna say, he's insane, like genuinely. He leans into a lot of yandere-esque behaviors, but I firmly believe he's not a full-on yandere, just really fucked up in the head (trauma and such, poor thing, wah wah wah.)

-Pre-Corruption Shadow Milk surely had a lot of admirers, but admiration is very different from genuine love and connection. He was, in a very literal sense, on a different level than all the cookies on earthbread. He's immortal, a god meant to care for all cookies, romantic relationships with cookies (other than the other heroes) just aren't an option in his mind. (For the sake of these, none of the beasts have had any romantic interaction with him, because I don't wanna deal with that can of worms rn.)

-All that to say, it's highly unlikely he has much experience in relationships. Maybe he's had flings, and some sexual encounters, but I doubt he would commit to someone he would inevitably lose to time. And, sure, he certainly could artificially extend their lifetime... but that's unethical and unfair to his partner. The burden of immortality is not one a regular cookie is baked to bear.

-So when he is inevitably corrupted and sealed away, romance isn't really a thought on his mind. He's very fixated on escaping that stupid tree and enacting his revenge. Which he does, at least in part, and with his freedom comes half of his powers and ensuing chaos.

-There are not many ways he could meet you if I'm quite honest, so I'll leave that up to personal interpretation. However you do meet him, though, you have to be intriguing. He gets bored of people easily, so you have to stand out -- be that in your demeanor or the way you speak or how you challenge him, it just has to be interesting. Once he's interested he's hooked.

-He's rather... mmm... obsessive? He likely stalks you for a while before he makes any moves. He wants to learn your patterns, the cookies you surround yourself with, the things you like, your job, your favorite foods, what flowers you like, and how do you feel about his chaos? He'll even manipulate things around you, just to see how you might react. (Is it fucked up? Yeah, lol! But isn't it equally endearing? He seems to think so.)

-You have frequent reoccurring dreams about him in this period of time. You've only seen him from a distance at this point, but you can't quite shake him from your thoughts. What's very important here is that you realize that your thoughts are not your own. Acknowledge that he's watching, and make sure that he's aware you're aware. Be that by purposefully doing something he could recognize as acknowledgment, or outright saying that you're aware he's messing with you. He values curiosity and intelligence in a person, if you can break yourself out of his cycle he's 100% sold on you.

-It doesn't take much longer after that for him to make his first official appearance. Bowing gracefully in front of you as he materializes from thin air, smiling like a man driven mad by infatuation.

-Believe it or not, he's really not all that creepy or pushy. He's very playful and charming, and while you have the knowledge he'd been watching you for a long time at this point, it's hard not to fall for him. He flirts with an ease that no other cookie really has, and he's so very funny never failing to get a smile out of you at his jokes.

-Now, this may go against what others characterize him as a lot, but I don't believe he's the type to steal you away and lock you up. Shadow Milk is a cookie who wants to be wanted, he doesn't want his feelings to be entirely one-sided, it would really hurt him to pour himself into someone who does not want to reciprocate his passions.

-He's unbelievably patient with you. Despite what the mental manipulation from earlier implies, he allows you to set the pace and make the moves, mostly nudging you gently in the direction he wants you to go now that he has your attention. Again, he wants you to choose him. He wants you to love him, so he will happily wait as long as it takes for you to realize and accept your longing for him.

-He gives you the flowers you like, and listens to you talk about your exceedingly boring days (with rapt attention, of course, he loves listening to you talk as much as he loves talking). If you ask, he'll take you anywhere you'd like to go on earthbread with a snap of his fingers, showing you sights you'd only dreamed of seeing. (Whether or not these are illusions are still up for debate).

-It's very hard not to fall for him with all this considered, and he knows that of course. He was just waiting for you to confess, and you have to confess. He won't do it even if you make it clear you want him to. It's not something he'd ever admit to you -- or himself -- but he doesn't want to risk even the slightest bit of rejection. It would break him more than he's already been broken, so you'll have to do it for our poor little jester.

-When you do though? Oh, he's over the moon! Practically swooning as he scoops you up and spins you around in celebration. He's so overjoyed. He is wanted, there is someone in this world who loves him genuinely. There's no false platitudes or any worshipping done, just raw affection between the two of you. (Just the tiniest bit of manipulation at the start, but obviously you've dismissed and forgiven that at this point).

-Again, he doesn't immediately take you away from your life if you don't wish to be. He does heavily encourage you to come spend your days with him, though. He can take care of you, he's literally a god, you'll never ever want for anything so long as he can control it (which he can, duh).

-I feel it very important to emphasize that in a relationship with him, you are equal. Even if you literally cannot be equal in stature and power, you are equal in the relationship -- if anything you have more sway over him than he does over you. He's very, very in love with you, and he will do just about anything you ask of him so long as it doesn't interfere with obtaining his souljam.

-Having established that, let's get to the fun stuff.

-Shadow Milk Cookie is very physically and verbally affectionate. If you are around him it's likely he's touching you in some way. Whether that's him literally hanging off you like a baby monkey or just a hand on your arm, he likes to have a physical tether to you.

-Plenty of messy wet kisses all over your cute little face, he loves seeing you get all flustered and feeling your dough burn up from his barrage of affections.

-It's also very common for him to carry you around in various different styles. Over the shoulder, piggback, princess style, like a sack of potatoes... doesn't really matter. It's also a regular occurrence that you fall asleep as he floats around the spire of all knowledge. He doesn't need sleep, and he does not sleep often, but he likes holding you while you do so. It's proof of your trust in him, and he usually uses the time you are sleeping to be more genuinely affectionate. Soft words whispered in your ears bringing you sweet dreams as he runs his hands up and down your back, kissing the crown of your head with such love it would make a grown man blush.

-He calls you cute little nicknames, like shortcake or sweet thing. The most common, and his favorites, are doll/dolly and little star. (Little star is something he hums with such affection it makes you weak in the knees. You know he's feeling more adoring when he uses it.) Talks about how cute you are, how pretty you are, how desirable you are. How any cookie would be so lucky to have you -- too bad they could never compete with him!

-That being said, most of his affections are pretty surface-level stuff at the start of the relationship. At least, what you get to see. He has a hard time opening up to others, he's a very sensitive cookie deep down in his dough. It takes quite a while to get him out of his shell and start showing you who he is as himself.

-Who he is, is a very aching cookie. He lost so much, struggled with his own corruption, and still hasn't fully accepted it himself. He feels as though he has been betrayed and discarded by everything he once loved, it's no wonder he has a hard time showing you such ugly sides of himself.

-You warm him up, melt him slowly, and you get to see peaks of genuine love and adoration behind those heterochromatic eyes. He may never allow you to see all of him at once, but you do get to know him. If you continue to love him despite seeing the uglier side of things, there is a distinct shift in the way he showers you in affection.

-Initially, he's very showy with everything, his love is a spectacle for the two of you to watch. It's almost like he's put himself outside of the relationship rather than in it. After he opens up, it's quieter, more intimate. He's more involved in it, like it's less about showing you how much he loves you, and more about sharing that mutual feeling between the two of you.

-You didn't have much room to show him how much you cared for him, but now you do. He allows you to initiate physical affection and doesn't flinch away at the touch. He accepts your words of admiration for what they are, not questioning your intentions for any reason.

-Kisses are softer, more full of emotion. Less like he's drowning you and more like he's trying to swallow you up. Desperation to have you as close to him as possible can take him over quite frequently during make-out sessions, and they leave you breathless and fuzzy rather than burning and flustered.

-Now, you can't write Shadow Milk without acknowledging how fucking jealous he is all the time. Now, I believe it's less of a jealousy thing (though, that really is something that is frequent), and more of a possessive/protective thing.

-He doesn't get jealous of the average cookie, alright, not unless you show interest for whatever reason. They're not really a threat to him, and why would they be? He's secure enough to know that you wouldn't leave him for some random half-baked simpleton. HOWEVER, he DOES get jealous of the other beasts and especially Pure Vanilla Cookie.

-The other beasts aren't as powerful as him, but they're still powerful and cunning (some of them at least). Truly, on a level of divinity and ability to care for you, they are his closest competition. Even still, he only gets jealous if one of them seems to want to stake a claim on you, or you become too fascinated with one of them.

-If neither is the case, he highly encourages you to form relationships with them. They are cookies that, seemingly, he cares for. While they can be difficult to get along with, if you are someone Shadow Milk deems worth his time, you are someone they will also deem worth their time.

-Ah, I should also mention he gets... pouty about Black Sapphire and Candy Apple. He doesn't see either of them as a threat, so I couldn't say he's jealous... he just gets annoyed when you're being attentive to them when he's around. Black Sapphire is smart enough to set hard boundaries with you to start, for both of your sakes, but your relationship with him is very positive. You are Shadow Milk Cookies partner, after all, you're a very important Cookie and Black Sapphire has no reason to be unkind to you.

-Candy Apple Cookie on the other hand is the one who's jealous here. You find her positively adorable and her little crush on Shadow Milk is nothing but endearing in your eyes, but she very much is huffy about your relationship with him. Of course, she can't do anything to you, that would only turn against her in the end so she just pouts. You can win her over slowly, though, just by being sweet to her and comforting her when Shadow Milk rejects her once again.

-Your relationship with them seemingly pleases Shadow Milk, though you can't really tell if he's happy or not. Sometimes he seems pleased, other times he's pouty, so who really knows other than him.

-However, the cookie that really seriously gets under his skin the most is Pure Vanilla. He does everything in his power to keep the two of you as far away from one another as possible, but it's almost inevitable that you meet PV, especially when he becomes Truthless Recluse.

-Pure Vanilla is everything Shadow Milk is not. Kind, gentle, patient, soft-spoken, and of course truthful. He's very afraid you may meet PV and realize that you do not want to be with him anymore. You would rather have someone like Pure Vanilla Cookie to dote on you in a fashion that he cannot bring himself to do openly yet.

-Of course, you don't, but that doesn't stop the fear from seeping into his dough. The only way to ease him is by being patient and displaying your loyalty through and through. He won't really be calm until Pure Vanilla is take care of, but you can assure him that you won't be leaving him for his other half anytime soon.

-Circling back to his possessive and protective tendencies, Shadow Milk does see you as an object of his affection. He is fully aware you are your own cookie, you are not something he ever wishes to control entirely and remove autonomy from, but you are his. His to keep and love and protect.

-He's very obsessive about your well-being and happiness. If something hurts you (alive or not), it's gone, destroyed. He won't even make a show of it, it just disappears. If you are upset, he is there doing everything to make you feel better. Whatever you want, whatever you need! He's here for you, please rely on him (he needs you to rely on him).

-If you are out and about he keeps an eye on you, which you are aware of. It's rather obvious, so even if he doesn't tell you, you can feel him watching you. Ignoring it becomes easier with time, but if anything happens to you he wastes no time in popping up and taking care of whatever happens.

-This leads into my next headcanon (inspired by the ever-talented @rollingeevee go check them out!), he has a bite of sorts that he uses as a means of monitoring you. It's something he uses to pinpoint where you are at all times, even when he's not monitoring you actively. The bite acts as a connection between you and him, emotionally and physically tying the two of you together.

-You can feel what he feels through the bite, anger, sadness, joy, pretty much anything he feels you can feel. It also acts as a reminder to you that you should not stray too far from where he is, sending an uncomfortably heavy feeling through your dough. (This is a manifestation of his worry, and it only really happens when he notices you've gone somewhere a little too far from the safety of the spire).

-However, this goes both ways. He can also feel what you feel at the same intensity that you feel it. You can, likely less so, also tell where he is. There is a pull in the back of your mind from the magic telling you where to find him at all times, and it only lets go when you are in proximity of him. If you miss him, he feels the same heavy feeling in his dough reminding him that you would like him by your side.

-Now, finally, we have to address the topic of mortality. Shadow Milk is likely more aware than you ever will be of how mortal you really are. This is why he's so very protective and possessive of you, he doesn't want to lose you prematurely.

-However, if you are okay with it, he is completely fine with artificially extending your life span. In fact, he does it happily. He might even start doing it without asking if the topic hasn't been broached in a certain amount of time. He wants to spend as long as you'll allow him by your side, and if that means breaking a few rules of magic and cookie society then so be it. He's a god after all, he doesn't have to answer to anyone (other than the witches).

-Anyway, let's get to the shit you freaks are really here for. (Me, I'm freaks.)

-I don't really think sexual intimacy is something Shadow Milk desires all that much, but he more so likes it because it's... interesting? I'm sure he derives physical pleasure from sexual intercourse, but less so than the average cookie might. Most of his enjoyment comes from seeing you enjoy yourself.

-It goes without saying, but Shadow Milk Cookie is a freak. He's into pretty much anything under the sun (except maybe one thing...), and so long as you're down to try something he's happy to oblige you.

-He is a switch, but he leans dom most of the time, and you won't get him to sub early on in your relationship. That requires a bit too much trust for him, so he'll need time to be cool with giving you that kind of control over him. But he will bottom for you as your relationship progresses, and that's a whole different side to him.

-Lets start with him in a dominant role, though, since it's more common to get from him.

-Obviously, he's a tease, through and through. He loves to watch you squirm and react to the things he does. Tantalizingly light touches drawn over your dough, teeth grazing your soft body almost piercing but never quite getting deep enough, heated breath blown over your most sensitive spots but never relieving you with his mouth as you so desperately need.

-Truthfully he could spend another thousand years just tracing over you, committing each inch to memory until he's satisfied in knowing every inch of you. Unfortunately, (or fortunately), he's not nearly as patient in the bedroom as he is outside of it. Not with all of you on display for him, so trusting and open, ready for him to defile you. Oh, his sweet, sweet little dolly~

-Even with his impatience, his teasing does not stop. His hands continue to ghost over you, making sure you're still squirming even as he succumbs to his need to taste you.

-Oh, and tastes you he does. He doesn't have to subscribe to regular cookie physical limitations, so he somehow manages to swallow you whole. Jaw unhinging so he can get as much as he needs from you, tongue splitting itself to give you attention everywhere, and god is it long and dexterous. He can reach so very deep and it moves with such precision, it makes you cum embarrassingly fast.

-That is if he allows you to cum in the first place. He's a big fan of edging, which shouldn't be a surprise. He likes to get you so close, then deny you of your pleasure. Your whining and grumbling is the cutest thing on all of earthbread, don't you know? He can't help but edge you when you're so damn cute every time.

-Your pleasure is in his hands, and it requires such relinquishing of power and trust. In a weird way it makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside, especially when you thank him over and over once he finally allows you to come undone after hours of teasing.

-Speaking of, he is a big fan of being praised for the work he does on you. Your moans and pleas are reward enough, but if you mumble out about how good you feel, how much you love him, how amazing he is he'll become drunk on your praise. Chasing after it with fervor, meaning he's going down on you with so much more excitement somehow.

-He's into blood (jam?) play. He likes leaving physical reminders of your relationship all over your body (yes, even ur vag/dick if you let him). With how sharp his teeth are, it's impossible for you not to bleed when he does so, and he does really like the sight of your jam. It's so pretty and so different from his own, another reminder of how different you are, and how much you trust him. (He'll lick it up and purr at the taste.)

-Bruises are also littered about your dough, his grip on you is tight, like you might slip away from him. The treatment is rough and harsh, but it feels so nice to be manhandled by him. The bruises are just nice little reminders of who you belong to. (He gets all proud when other cookies worry about them, like he's done something worthy of praise).

-He likes watching, he's very much a voyeur. Occasionally requests that you pleasure yourself for him so he can watch you struggle to get off, and he'll only help you out when you're near tears begging him.

-He prefers coming across you by himself, without having to request it. Or just feeling waves of pleasure through your bite. He'll watch you quietly fuck yourself without letting you know he's there. (Though, you most certainly can feel his eyes on you, that's what makes it so fun right?) Sometimes he'll join you after, and other and times he'll leave you be, it's 50/50 either way and regardless you still end up happy.

-If anyone else walks in on you when you're alone, he's very unpleasant. Accident or not they'll learn to be more aware of their surroundings next time.

-That doesn't mean he's against being watched though. Actually, he finds the idea of someone else seeing how well he treats you enticing (especially if it's someone like Pure Vanilla hehe). If you are together and someone walks in (or spots you in public), he won't stop. Instead, he'll lock eyes with them and smile big and wide, showing off his favorite little dolly for them.

-He's just so proud of you, and you're so very pretty beneath him, the whole world should get to see how you fall apart for him. He'll even make you look at them just to see how you fluster.

-If the offender tries to do anything other than watch, though, well... I really hope they didn't want to live for much longer. He's very much not a sharer, at all. The idea of anyone even thinking they could touch you and make you feel good both makes him laugh and want to tear them apart at once.

-He's very much into roleplaying and can get really into it. To the point, it loses the sexiness and is just the two of you playing around, which can be a bummer but is usually really fun. He likes things that lean into power dynamics but explicitly avoids god/king and worshipper/subject. A little too close to home for him, and would honestly be too boring and basic for him.

-He loves it when you dress up for him in pretty little outfits, be it lingerie or something more cutesy, he adores it regardless. Going out of your way to pretty up for him is a huge turn-on. He also loves it when you let him dress you up how he likes. Regardless of what you're wearing, it's not coming off the whole night. It will get ruined and he won't apologize for it. Besides, he can just replace it, right?

-Sex is more fun for him, but he can be intimate when he wants to be. Usually, when you're in control, he is at his most gentle. Yes, he's a brat when he bottoms and he'll fight you tooth and nail, but once you get him to submit he's the softest and sweetest you've ever seen him.

-He looks at you like you're the god, wide eyes taking in everything you do with such admiration it might make you crumble on the spot.

-He's much quieter, treating it less like a spectacle. Moans soft and squeaky, like he's not used to using his voice in such a way. He clings to you like a vice at each little movement, almost afraid you might disappear if he lets you go.

-Oh, and he praises you so much. 'So good', 'Thank you', 'You're perfect', and 'I love you' all tumble from him with such genuine gratitude.

-Being allowed to let his guard down and have you take control is cathartic for him, which is why it's so uncommon to have it happen. It's why he fights you for control so hard because this is an intimacy he isn't used to. It is hard for him to allow you to see him so weak, but you never use it against him. You're so very sweet and loving, and it makes him melt like butter in your grasp.

-If you have the bite I mentioned earlier, it only makes things so much more intense. Both of you can feel the raw emotion connecting the two of you, making the pleasure heighten further.

-In fact, when he gives you the bite it's the first time he allows you to top him. To connect you to him makes him very vulnerable, so he would naturally have to be in a vulnerable state already when he does so.

-It's unlike any of his other bites, it's far more painful when he initially bites down, but when his magic flows through it your body feels light and airy. The pleasurable feeling wrapping itself around your spine, and you feel what he's feeling. All that adoration pours into your being at once, and it's overwhelming to really feel how much he loves you.

[joe-willow]

Why are people even writting with ai this is, this is like one of the most stupid thing ever. first of all, this isn't writting at all, this is just lazyness, and moreover disrespect to the art, whether We're writting à fanfiction or à book.

My philosophy teacher made me realize à lot of things about books/writting in general. My second thing is that writting is a Journey, yeah, even if you're writting some bl, romance or whatever, you will put your LIFE into that shit because it UOUR story it comes from your mind and you want it to be real to ksjmsbmsvl come to life to express yourself your idea you you your thing hour vision idk, and even if in the end you hate what you made you put in this increible efforts to make your textile sense and who knows, maybe someone will like it, or not, whatever, you made it you went through it. You did it you're done it you should be proud so I agree, people using ai to writte thing are WEAK. And for writting fanfics ?????? This is even worse. Yall using ai for this don't even know what are fanfics that's crazy

And lastly, unpopular opinion apparently, considering my classmates opinion on using ai, using ai for homework is STUPID. Like why would you do this. I understand that you can hate working for school/teachers and homework but like. Why. This is stupid. Just use your mind, you can come up with insane things yk. Just take some time I swear

And yeah some of you will tell me "oh but I had no time" YEAH FR ME TOO how many times do you think i gave homworks late ? Or not a all ? A LIT OF TIMES. yall need to assume that you didn't do your work and if you didn't have the tume, like, its ok ?????? I mean bro No need to use ai try something even if you only have one 1h left for an essay ig that giving your teacher something made by YOU even if It's hella rushes is better than using ai that will write the most boring shit ever + no sources + you just dont want to think + like oh my god yeah thinking is gonna hurt you + being able to think is literally what defines a human being

anyway, all this to say that ai SUCKS and isn't. And will never. Be a tool. Or a from of art. My ART TEACHER told me one day that I should try to use ai for my works as a tool. Do you understand to what we've cone to. What the hell is wrong with her. Does she consider art as something commercial or that must be done ? Art is you. It's none of the others business. ART IS YOU and I do not mean that you are art. And I don't think we can consider everything we create as art. You're not art. It's you will of creating something that expresses you, in any kind of way possible of what this could mean that will define your creations as art. Art is expressing. ai comes up with the most fifting things for your words, that's all. Ai can't do art. What it does is not art it's not a tool it's pure shit

If I went further, I'd say that no one is an artist (yeah even the people we consider as artists) and that at the same time evryone could possibly be an artist. Artist is not a job its not supposed to bring you money I'm losing my words and I'm really going off topic i already was off topic so much oh my god. Also random thought but art has no tools

Im maybe exaggerating a little bit. But ai sucks anyway. That's all.

no way ppl are using ai to write ao3. what happened to being a tortured writer. what happened to blood on the page. what happened to the ao3 curse. people used to get run over, have their houses burned down, break their entire spines and they still put in the work to finish a chapter. fuck you, using ai. y’all are weak

[miaoua3]

Be My Sin.

Pairing: priest!joshua x stripper!f!reader

Genre: smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral sex (f! receiving), religious trauma/inner conflict, slight angst from joshua’s side (thoughts about regret, religion and such), stripper x priest, virgin! joshua

Warnings: mentions of r@pe and p€dophilia as the reason why joshua’s faith in god is wavering, and once again, smut (MDNI)

Description: after years of being a priest, joshua starts questioning his faith in god after receiving some upsetting news. what was supposed to be a walk to clear his mind ends up being a walk straight to his most delicious sin-you.

Note: THIS IS FOR MY POOKS EAT UP HOE (also keep in mind that a lot of thoughts on religion may or may not reflect my own thoughts about it lol). another note: i really said porn WITH plot lmao this one is looong boys, buckle up.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it must’ve been two hours already since the bartender slid a whiskey neat across the counter and towards joshua. and for the past two hours, joshua has just been staring at the glass and how the low light of the bar has been reflecting in the dark liquor, thinking if he should give into the temptation and break his promise that he made to god, or if he should just get up and leave.

in the 12 years of his life as a priest, joshua has never been more confused, angry and scared like he has been since he heard the news this morning.

joshua takes ahold of the glass and spins it around, and just….thinks.

should he or should he not?

at this point, the whiskey has gone warm, probably not even in the drinkable state anymore, but he wouldn’t care about it.

as long as it makes him forget this whole day today, he’s willing to down even poison.

being betrayed by a friend always hurt him the most. it’s sad, really, feeling pity and disappointment towards the people you once felt nothing but love and affection for.

but this…this is much more than just betrayal.

this is his friend going against everything they have been taught while on their path to become priests.

his friend since childhood, who inspired him to do better and devote his life to spirituality, who guided him towards being a better person.

he was charged with sexual assault of a young girl.

she is only 7 years old.

a bile starts rising up joshua’s throat the more he thinks about it, how he trusted him and saw him as some form of a hero. and so, before he can even think about it, in hopes that it will stop him from indecency that is puking in the bar, joshua picks up the glass and downs the whiskey in one, breaking his sobriety of almost 15 years.

the liquor burns his throat, the aftertaste on his tongue not all that pleasant, it actually makes him scrunch his face in disgust.

joshua then raises a hand and orders another one.

and another one.

and another one.

he stops counting how many he orders after that.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua is stumbling over his feet as he drunkenly walks on the side walk, observing the pretty city lights and cars as they pass him by. he isn’t sure where he’s headed, letting his absent mind take him wherever it wants.

after the bartender called the last call, he thought that a walk would help him clear his mind. so, after paying for all his drinks, he just…started walking. and he hasn’t stopped for an hour now.

he stumbles as he tries to stop and look at the window of a shop that sells mostly technology, a bunch of tv’s on display behind the window.

he stops to look at whatever ads are being shown on the screen, vision blurry and hazy due to the insane amount of alcohol that is in his blood right now.

his eyebrows immediately scrunch in pain at the pictures that are being shown to him, his hand unconsciously coming up to rub his chest right where his heart is over his black shirt.

bunch of children just running around in slow motion, happy smiles and missing teeth the only things joshua’s mind can focus on.

this is what children should look like, happy and carefree. how could anyone even think about doing things so atrocious and vile to them, like he did? how can anyone harm the ones who least deserve it, who are nothing but pure and innocent?

there’s nothing joshua loved more than when children would come up to him after the sermons and talk to him, seeing children being so curious and mildly confused about the complex that is a religion. it always made him so happy to explain them the things they would ask about in the most simplistic way possible, sometimes even struggling to find the right words to explain things as to not make them even more confused.

seeing the good in people, especially in the young ones, always made his heart swell up with hope and love towards them.

now he isn’t even sure if there’s any hope left in his heart, only rage and hurt floating on the surface of it.

he watches the tv’s for another minute or so, overcome by the thoughts of the terrible day that he it has been today, from the moment he got the news this morning, him struggling to get through the morning sermon, turning away people that wanted to go to the confessionals to him and get the heavy stuff off their hearts, all the way to him downing the alcohol as if it were water.

finally turning away from the window of the shop, joshua attempts to start walking again, stumbling only minimally, only to come to a stop yet again as a wave of nausea hits him.

his hand shots out automatically to grab onto the street light, closing his eyes as he tries to focus on not spilling out his guts right on the middle of the sidewalk.

he’s taking deep breaths in and out when he hears some loud voices from across the street, drunken laughter mixed with it. he opens his eyes to look at what it might be.

a tall old building stares back at him, the bottom part littered with glaring neon signs, one in particular catching his attention. a silhouette of a woman in a martini glass, one leg kicked up to show off her high heel, hands thrown in the air as to signify that she’s having a good time.

huh. a strip club.

normal and sober joshua would never admit this out loud-or while alive for that matter, considering his profession- but he was always a bit curious about strip clubs. naturally, he has met his fair share of sex workers, he even helped a few of them get from troublesome situations where they were being threatened or abused, always ready to help anyone in need regardless of their background and/or profession.

he has never been in one though, as he had no reason to go.

his bloody eyes watch as a white convertible rolls up to the club, parks and turns the lights off. and then, like some sort of angel, steps out what he can only describe as the most beautiful woman he has ever laid his eyes on, all short skirts and tops, hair swishing around as she turns her head while she locks the doors of her car, before she proceeds to walk up the stairs and inside the building, disappearing as easily as she appeared.

joshua swallows harshly, unsure if his throat is dry due to the hot summer night that he finds himself in or because of the woman that just made him realise that heaven was more than just a place that he will officially never see.

before he can rationalise his thoughts, his legs start moving all on their own, walking across the street (and almost getting hit by a car that he didn’t see in the process) and through the door of the strip club.

he never had a reason to go inside a place like this, right?

well, one reason was just found.

he struggles as he walks through that type of curtain that is made out of beedy tussles, almost choking himself with one as he tries to get it out of his face.

the scene in front of him makes him freeze in his place, gulping heavily due to unfamiliarity of it all.

in the centre laid a stage in a shape of a martini glass, just like in the front. on both sides of the stage there were many leather chairs, the kind that you can just hear squeaking under your ass simply by looking at it. a part of the stage was covered by red curtains, the type that you can just tell are heavy and velvety to the touch. above that, on the wall, hung another neon sign.

angel’s heaven.

how ironic.

joshua walks to the left, where a bar with a few busy bartenders can be seen, patiently waiting on his turn to order.

before you ask- only water for him from now on.

he wants to remember everything he’s about to see.

as he waits, he can feel the people judgementally looking at him because of the uniform that he has yet to give a fuck about, the roman collar poking at his neck even after years of wearing it, the black shirt and pants making him look at least a bit presentable.

when his turn finally comes, he orders himself a water, drowning it in one go before he shyly asks for another glass.

as he pushes through the mass of people, he finally comes to where the leather chairs are. he decides to stay standing as it gives him a much better view of the stage.

just as he was turning his head left and right to look around, joshua notices the lights dimming around him and shining brighter on the stage, making it the main point of the room.

suddenly, some sexy jazz music starts playing, the kind where you find yourself imitating the sound of the trumpets. the red curtains get pulled to the sides harshly, revealing 4 figures behind it.

only then is the setup shown to the audience, the neon sign outside making much more sense now that joshua can see two gigantic martini glasses with a stepping stool on sides of it. in between them there are two tall poles.

joshua watches as two women on the ends carefully yet sexily climb the stepping stools so they can get into the martini glasses, making the liquid inside it splash on the sides. while they are trying their best to make it as sexy as possible to get into gigantic glasses, another two women present themselves to the public, wearing lacy and ever so sexily red lingerie.

men around him start to whistle and cheer, the one closest to the stage already throwing dollar bills at them, but joshua can only focus on one of the women that is on one of the poles, swaying her body, hips and hair to the jazzy rhythm.

you. the woman from earlier.

the reason for his sin.

he watches carefully as you wrap one leg around the pole, spinning gently and artistically, your hair swishing behind you. he gulps when you stop spinning, only to get down on your knees and let yourself to sort of dive into the floor, your chest touching the floor, your position giving the audience a beautiful view of your ass cladded in the red lacy panties.

joshua isn't sure if the other woman next to you is doing the same moves as you because his eyes, mind and desires are solely focused on you, but by the cheers of the men, he can only guess that she is.

he continues to watch with a weird feeling climbing up his stomach as you pull yourself back up, staying on your knees as you tilt your head back and play with your hair, your tits moving up and down as you intentionally inhale and exhale extra hard, slowly bouncing on your knees.

you then get back up to your feet-still as sexily as possible-your smile blinding the men in the chairs, and joshua too. you turn around to give men an even better view of your ass as you sway it to the music.

joshua has to remind himself to breathe again, air trapped inside his throat, only noticing it due to getting a bit lightheaded.

but that just might be the alcohol.

or you.

the cheers continue as you and your partner spin on the poles, throwing money and words like ''yeah baby, spin that ass! take that bra off!'', making joshua only mildly uneasy and annoyed, maybe even a bit jealous.

the show continues for half an hour, closer to 40 minutes, and joshua watches you and only you the entire time. at the end, you and the other stripper do the last spins before you slowly come to the stop, slowly stepping on your feet as the music cuts off.

the cheerful screams suddenly turn into those of slight disappointment as the two women (who joshua hasn't even looked at once) step out of the big martini glasses, to join you and your partner for the final bow. while you wait, you scan the crowd for the potential customers for one-on-one sessions, smiling and waving a bit to the ends who scream for you, when you suddenly notice in the far back, watching you with mouth agape, the most beautiful face you have ever seen illuminated under the neon lights of the club, his cheeks noticeably rosy even from a distance.

and then you notice his attire.

huh. a priest.

how ironic.

as you smile at him, both with certain gentleness and sinisterness, joshua's heart drops to his feet.

oh how much fun are you going to have with him.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

joshua never walked faster in his life, tripping tipsily over his legs as he reaches the bar he ordered his water from.

the second he’s in front of a bartender, he’s slamming his hand against the bar to balance himself up, and with desperate eyes asking the bartender “how do i get into the vip? are there private sessions with the dancers? private rooms maybe? how much would something like that cost? actually never mind, i’d pay however much it costs-“.

the bartender just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for joshua to realise that his rambling is a bit distasteful as well as embarrassing.

as it registers in his brain just how judgementally the bartender is looking at him, making him blush a little in embarrassment, shyly whispering “I apologise”.

seeing that he’s finished with the rambling, the bartender explains “there is vip section but that is for groups of 4 or more, so i’m guessing you are not interested in that.”

joshua just nods along, waiting for him to get to the part that he wants to hear about.

the bartender then continues “we also have private rooms for one-on-one sessions. you can pick the dancer, but if they’re busy with another customer or with the vip section, you can either wait for them to be done or request another dancer.-“

having heard enough, joshua interrupts him “is the pretty dancer-the-the one on the right pole-is she free? nobody booked her already, right?"

the bartender yet again gives joshua an are you serious right now? look, prompting joshua to look down bashfully, mumbling yet another "i apologise", scratching the back of his neck due to the awkwardness that has ensued.

seeing that he can speak freely again, the bartender continues "yes she is free, would you like me to book you a session with her?"

joshua nods enthusiastically, eyes shining brightly both due to the alcohol and excitement.

after paying for a double session, joshua follows the instructions given by the bartender and walks straight ahead until he reaches a hallway, where he turns right and enters the third door on the left side.

the room is isolated from top to bottom in some sort of leather material, probably as a way to sound proof the room of...everything and anything that might go on in it. in the centre of the room, there is a black, circular table with a pole going right through it. right in front of it stood a noticeably low black leather chair, intended for the customers, joshua assumes.

with unsure steps, joshua walks over to the chair before he takes a seat, looking around and observing the very weird room.

suddenly, the door that he has just walked through open, revealing your beautiful self wrapped in a silky white robe. joshua's breath catches in his throat upon seeing the sight in front of him, how beautiful you look so up close, how you radiate absolute confidence and effortless sexiness.

you look down at the chair only to see joshua in it, a smirk immediately appearing on your face.

"well aren't you a fast one, father. or should i say...", you pause for a moment to take a few more steps and grab the chair, leaning across the chair until your lips are right by his ear, the smirk spreading by every passing second.

"...daddy?", you finish, barely containing your cackling.

joshua just makes a face of disgust, if you were to look up the definition of the word "ew", you'd see his face right next to it instead of a complicated sentence.

expressing as much, joshua ushers out "ew, no, don't call me that, that's just- yeah no.", finishing his rant with a full body shiver.

cackling at his reaction, you proceed to walk over to the table. before sitting down on it, you quickly take off your robe and throw it somewhere to the side, beyond caring about it this far in your career.

joshua gulps as he sees you sitting on the table right in front of him, your red heel grazing his pants as you go to cross it. he tries really reaaally hard not to look at your exposed skin and how the lingerie clings to your skin. force of habit maybe? or maybe he's clinging onto the little hope he had left in himsef.

chuckling at his behaviour, how skittish he was, wiggling around his chair and looking away, all while redness greeted his cute cheeks, you start questioning him.

"so, father, what brings you here?", you tilt your head as you look at him, waiting for an answer.

joshua finally looks back at you, making it very evident that he's focusing on your face only. gulping yet again, he answers "just...thought i'd come and see what a-a place like thi-this would look like-", but before he can finish the sentence, you interrupt him.

"that's not what i meant."

joshua looks startled and confused, looking at you questioningly.

smiling a little at him, you stand up before him and come closer, your legs parting his own. joshua's eyes bulge out of its sockets so much that they look like they're about to fall out any second. his eyes follow the silhouette of your body-starting at the legs, and how glowy and shiny they looked under the blue light of the room. next were the hips that were right in front of his face. joshua had to swallow harshly as he eyed the red underwear hugging your lower body-the lacy material, how see-through it was. unintentionally he paid extra attention to your tummy and how cute it looked to him-somehow it made you look more human.

finally, his eyes skim over your tits, just briefly however, before he finally comes to look you in the eyes again.

you smile at his flustered expression, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear. using the free space between his legs, you place on of your knees there, his half hard crotch already pressing against it. grabbing the chair right by where joshua's head is, ever so slowly you lean in until your noses are almost touching.

with your eyes locked now, you whisper in the little space between you two.

"what are you doing here, in my room?"

it takes joshua a bit to find his words due to being absolutely and incandescently in awe of you. his eyes are flying all over your face, taking in your beauty. if somebody were to watch the scene unfold from the sidelines, they would think that joshua might be in love.

with earnestness swimming in his eyes, he looks you directly in the eyes as he stutters out "because you are the most beautiful woman i have ever seen in my life. i just...i had to."

his response evidently stunts you, because the gentle smile from your lips slowly fades away, something between amazement and dumbstruck appearing in your eyes instead.

nobody has ever said something so...nice to me.

and you look. you look and you search in his eyes. for doubt. for earnestness. for honesty.

placing a hand on his cheek, you whisper ever so quietly.

"i'm going to kiss you now."

not giving him the time to overthink it, you lean in and gently kiss his lips. joshua, in return, starts feeling like he's having a heart attack, but doesn't pull away.

only a fool would pull away from the most beautiful women's kiss.

once you let your kiss naturally fall apart, joshua just blinks at you, his whole face red and his eyes as big as saucers.

you place the other hand on his other cheek as well, leaning your forehead against his. rubbing his cheeks to calm him down, you whisper "touch me, don't be shy" before you kiss his pouty lips again.

the man in question responds to your kisses but makes it evident that he's a bit unsure, a bit scared, and that he's letting you take control and lead the pace of the kiss.

after a minute or so of your kissing, of your tongue invading his mouth, of gently biting his lower lip to tease him and so that you can hear that little noise of surprise leaving his mouth, joshua finally places his hands on the back of your thighs-gently, of course. instead of grabbing them and using his hold to pull you onto his lap like you want him to, he just...hold them there, kind of like he's supporting them in case they might give out beneath you.

not liking this, you bite his lip again, this time a bit harder, sort of as a warning, before you pull away to look him in the eyes as you say one word only. one word that will unravel the true beast within him.

"harder."

just like a light switch, something changes in his eyes, before he grabs the back of your thighs harshly and leaning back in to kiss you like a starved man would.

his kiss is bruising, and it hurts you so good-the way his lips perfectly wrap around your own, the way his tongue dances and battles for dominance against your own, the way his hand squeeze and release your thighs periodically.

everything he does hurts you so good and deliciously.

sensing that you leaning down like this might be a bit uncomfortable for you, he uses his hold on your legs to pull you towards him, making you straddle him.

getting his cue, you oblige happily, sitting yourself on his lap, maybe but just maybe wiggling a bit on his lap to tease him, which seems to go exactly according to your plan. his hands immediately grab onto your bare ass, squeezing so hard, like he's trying to ground himself, to anchor himself, all while moaning directly in your mouth.

being naturally moved by his hands on your body, you unconsciously start rocking your hips back and forth, making joshua squeeze your ass cheeks even harder, to an almost bruising degree.

suddenly, a thought strikes you like a lighting making you part your lips with the man beneath you.

joshua just looks at you, somewhat scared, somewhat questioningly. but before he can start puking out all of his questions, you tilt your head to the side as you ask him.

"i never asked for your name, and i imagine you wouldn't like me calling you father the entire time, so. what is it?"

joshua just blinks for a few seconds before he answers "joshua, my name is joshua."

you smile at his words before you grab the back of his hair, making the man drop his mouth open as he moans at your action.

smirking directly against his lips, you compliment him "good boy", before you are kissing him to the degree of insanity.

using the newfound knowledge that pulling his hair does it for him, you use the hold on his hair to push and pull his head in directions that you want him to so you can kiss him under all the possible degrees there are. tilting his head to the left, you let your tongue battle against his own. he tries to put up a fight, but inevitably loses the moment you pull his hair even more.

somewhere between the minutes of being lost in your kisses, joshua starts rocking his own hips upwards, right into your barely covered crotch. just as he realises what he's doing and is about to pull away and apologise, you moan needily in his mouth, pressing your hips stronger against his own.

finally having had enough of his gentlemen-ess, you grab one of his hands from your ass only to push it in your own underwear.

joshua gasps at the action, blushing like crazy. looking you directly in the eyes, you just respond to his visible doubt.

"stop being a gentlemen and fuck me already."

....well.

still holding back a bit, joshua starts off slowly, rubbing his fingers over....something. considering that he has never done any of this, joshua is proud of himself for even being in this position in general. he always thought that...sex will always remain an unexplored territory, considering that he's a priest and all.

having sensed that joshua has never fingered a woman ever, you pull back, using his knees to balance your hands on.

looking him directly in the eyes, you order him with all seriousness.

"take my panties off."

joshua looks at you like a deer caught in the headlights for a second, before he looks down at your underwear just as confused, wondering how he's supposed to take them off while you are still sitting on his lap.

rolling eyes a bit at this, you help the poor man by adding "rip them off."

cue more startled looking at you.

gently taking the sides of your underwear, joshua exhales before he harshly pulls on the red fabric. it ends up ripping much easier than he thought it would.

huh. maybe he was stronger than he previously thought. or maybe the underwear was just that flimsy.

having been freed of the panties, you come to crowd his personal space again, taking his hand in yours again, making sure to keep the eye contact with him.

"okay, welcome to 'how to finger a woman 101' class. it's not hard math, you just have to know that every woman is different and likes different things, as well as that there are things all women like."

joshua furrows his eyebrows, if this were a cartoon, a question mark would start flying around his head just about now.

instead of explaining what all those things could be, you just bring his hand back to your pussy. you make his fingers spread you open, showing him where the magic happens.

hoarsely, you say against his lips "now i'll teach you what i like."

joshua, ever the good boy, just nods his head, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he exhales shakily.

taking over his fingers and keeping yourself open for him, you nod downwards, to your glossy and wet pussy.

"see the little bundle of top?", joshua looks down and nods when he notices the bundle in question, gulping at the sight beneath him, fingers and mouth itching to get them on you.

"rub it. gently."

joshua's eyes search for permission in your own for a second, only starting once you nod.

he uses his point and middle finger to gently and slowly rub circles on your clit, watching out for your reactions. you exhale slowly, eyes automatically closing the longer he goes on,

"put more pressure. and a bit faster."

as if he were your servant, joshua obliges immediately.

your moans are all the validation he needs, enjoying how it rings in the shell of his ear, how pretty they sound. like a tune that he himself is making.

gradually and mindlessly, joshua applies even more pressure and starts going faster, getting lost in your pretty noises and lust-filled air. he doesn't even know when he starts, but suddenly he notices that his lips are on your neck, licking, kissing and sucking on the skin there.

your moans get louder, which is exactly what joshua wanted. you're getting so lost in the pleasure that you feel the need to grab onto something, or else you fear you might fly away. you search for something to hold on, only finding his hair in return.

pulling on it harshly makes joshua moan loudly against the skin of your neck, his fingers rubbing your clit even harsher, even faster.

"don't stop."

you pull his head even closer, moaning away in his ear, curses and his name mixed with it the faster you approach your end. joshua, in return, doesn't stop what he's doing, just like you tell him. his lips bite your neck harshly, some sort of animalistic urge to mark you, to make you his taking over his mind.

legs squeezing around his, spasming and shaking as you're reaching your orgasm, you almost scream in his ear "fuck! don't sto-ah, i'm cumming, i'm cumm-"

you never get to finish that sentence as your finish interrupts you. throwing your head back, you pull on joshua's hair so harshly he fears he might lose the hair you are pulling on like a maniac.

riding through your orgasm, joshua finally starts slowing down when he notices you running away from his touch. figuring you have came, he finally stops, eyes immediately looking for your approval and review.

forehead coated in sweat, skin glistening, eyes still shut in pleasure-joshua thinks this might be the most beautiful sight he has ever witnessed.

opening your eyes, you smile at his cute expression, with red cheeks and sparkly eyes.

ready to give him a response, you pull his face towards your own, kissing him passionately, relaxing in his hold the moment his arms wrap themselves around your waist.

parting your lips, your hand gently grabs his cheek, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

looking him directly in the eyes, so he know you mean every word you're about to say, you praise him.

"good boy."

your words setting him off, he immediately goes back in to kiss you, to eat you alive. grabbing your thighs, joshua then stands up while holding you, making you gasp in his mouth.

he lays you not-so gently on the table in front of him (not that you are complainig, you are loving this rough and wild joshua), his mouth biting your lower lip harshly. your nails imbed themselves in his back, pulling on his shirt, trying to pull it off him.

being sick of his own shirt, joshua pulls away to quickly take it off, revealing a surprisingly ripped and muscular build of his.

your breath catches in your throat, mouth salivating to get your hands on him.

grabbing the front of his pants, you pull him harshly towards you. taken aback by this move, joshua falls over you, luckily reflexes coming in handy and using his hands to catch himself and not squish you beneath his weight.

you immediately grab his face and pull him back for a wild kiss, his tongue responding enthusiastically to your own entering his mouth. and his hands? oh they have a mind of their own. grabbing your thighs and hiking them up against his hips, before they shamelessly grab your tits, squeezing them over the red material of your bra.

wanting- no, needing to feel them bare, joshua pulls away for a second in favour of ripping your bra from your body, snapping the front of before he pushes it aside.

his mouth immediately wrap themselves around your right nipple, sucking on them like an animal.

you arch your back at the contact, hands grabbing onto his hair harshly as you moan loudly.

letting the boy have his fun for about a minute, enjoying the way he's sucking on your tit, how he lets himself go and bite the skin of it, marking it with the imprint of his teeth. you let him have his fun for about two minutes before you are pulling his hair harshly until his face is in front of your own.

exhaling against his lips, you utter.

"fuck me. now."

normally joshua would kill to do as you say. normally. but the urge to get his lips on your sweet little pussy wins over that.

without answering you, he lowers himself until he is face to face with your lower body, eyes trained to focus on you.

his breath that leaves his mouth grazes the skin of your pussy, goosebumps appearing on your skin as it does.

eyes filled with desire, he says the words that will come to haunt your dreams for years to come.

"teach me how you want it. how you like it."

and then his mouth is on you, starving as ever. his lips-it's like he's trying to make out with your pussy, not afraid of getting messy, his spit dripping down. sucking on the clit, his eyes focus on your face for a reaction. your back arch the longer he keeps sucking and kissing you down there.

hands grabbing onto his hair, you pull onto his hair, almost as if you are trying to get more of him, to get him deeper inside of you.

getting your cue, he lets his tongue prod and explore your entrance for a bit, before he let it fully enter your hole, swirling it around, gathering your taste on it so he can taste you as he swallows.

seeing by your moans that you like it, he replaces his tongue with one finger, slowly pushing it inside of you.

throwing your head back at the feeling of fullness, you moan at the way he pushes the finger in and out of you, slowly twisting it each time. while he fingers you, joshua focuses his lips back again on sucking on your clit, using his tongue to flick it before he wraps his lips around it and suck it.

distinctly joshua registers you moaning "more", which he immediately responds with pushing another finger inside of you.

he keeps on going in a relentless pace, fingers pushing inside of you faster than they pull outside of you. while his fingers are working you, his mouth focuses more on his own pleasure, drinking your juices as if they were honey.

you let him eat you out for a few minutes, let him work out another orgasm out of you. but not only that-you let yourself enjoy, actually enjoy being with a man. a man who, presumingly, has never touched a woman this way before yet does a better job in satisfying you than all those fuck ass, try-hard man in power who only care about themselves.

a man who makes you feel like a woman.

feeling yourself reaching the finish faster than before, you forcefully pull his head, ignoring his hissing in pain, until his mouth are kissing your lips this time.

although his mouth aren't on you anymore, his fingers certainly are, still pushing inside of you at the relentless pace. you basically have to moan out "you had your fun, now fuck me", because joshua certainly wasn't stopping.

seeing as he was almost in a trance, eyes glossy and hazy, you take the situation in your own hands. literally.

grabbing the hem of his pants, you feel his front up in order to find the zipper, feeling up joshua's bulge in the process. finally feeling it, you pull it down to your best abilities, considering that joshua is distracting you with his kisses.

you pull harshly on his pants, just wanting them off of his sexy ass (that you felt up in the process of getting rid of his pants-nice and juicy, you must admit). with his pants you also pull down his black underwear, his dick jumping out freely.

you push joshua's chest a bit so you can actually look down and see his dick.

to say that you are very pleasantly surprised is an understatement. his cock is so...beautiful. with a pinkish tip, it slightly curves to the right. although not the thickest one you have seen, he's still definitely up there, with his size as well.

you take him and you pump him a few times, smiling widely the way joshua's pretty moans fly out of his mouth involuntarily.

guiding his cock to where you need him the most, you hear joshua exhale shakily. in excitement or fear, is the only question.

you put your hand on his cheek, making him focus back on you. looking at him with gentle eyes, you try to reassure him a bit.

"it's okay, if you don't want to, you can still walk away, baby. it'd be a shame, considering i don't see a face this pretty in here that often, never mind between my legs."

joshua weighs his options for a few seconds, but deep deep down, in his soul, he knows what the right answer it.

he has sinned plenty already today, what's one more?

and with that thought, he grabs the base of his cock and starts pushing inside.

after a minute or so, you both moan in unison as he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against your own. joshua has to take a moment to recollect himself and pray to god that he doesn't cum right there right that second with how much you are squeezing him.

your long nails claw at his naked back, sure to leave scratches for tomorrow to be seen. the way he fills you up, the way he makes you feel full and good. it's a little too much for you, it makes you want him even more, and you want him now.

pushing your heels against his ass, you signal to him to start moving which he does.

he starts off slow, taking his time, like he wants to remember it all, to remember you. he rocks his hips against your own so deliciously, you can't help but let the moans escape you.

gradually, he fastens his pace until he catches a rhythm that suits you both, skin slapping the only sound in the room besides your panting and moans.

he masters the moves pretty quickly, his moves rolling more so than hammering, just like how you like it.

his tip keeps on hitting your sweet spot over and over again, the tension in your tummy starting to slowly build again because of it after a few minutes of him going at it.

joshua notices how you start to squeeze more tightly around his cock, how you are trying to milk him dry-and succeeding, by the looks of it.

naturally, he starts going faster, until he's just chasing his high. his hips slam against your asscheeks, leaving the skin red and tender to each following contact of his hips.

the entire time he's fucking you, joshua is either attempting to kiss you, tongue invading your mouth and all, or he's just keeping them there, touching your own as he's moaning and groaning.

his sounds make you go insane, from him moaning while saying "pussy so good" to groaning out a "god, fuck" every now and then.

it all messes with your head.

it all makes you want him to cum. now.

you hug his shoulders and brace your heels against his back, trying everything to keep him as close as possible. your mouth end up right by his ear, moaning one thing over and over again.

"cum for me."

joshua chases both your and his high, holding back from giving you what you want until you cum first.

your pleasure first, then his.

he wants you to milk him dry as he's cumming, not a second earlier or later.

he keeps on fucking you, repeatedly hitting your spot until you scream "i'm cumming!" right into his ear. you squeeze around him so tightly that it triggers his own orgasm, spilling inside of you, coating your walls white in his cum.

he groans as he finishes inside of you, riding out both your orgasms, his hands clawing at your thighs, pulling you closer until his balls are right against your ass.

once he feels that he's overstimulating both himself and you, he stops, but he makes no move to pull out, letting himself fall on top of you instead.

for a minute or so, you two just breathe as you hold each other, his face buried in your neck with his eyes closed, blissfully basking in the glory of the post-orgasm.

once you regain your breath, you post a question that only a fool would say no to.

"wanna go again?"

[otome-dissection]

Dude I can't Luka's expressions in wiege fuck me up so bad all the parallels between Luka now and himself as a child get me so fucking bad like:

The wiege MV (for the mostpart) is about going back to the beginning. It's about the in-betweens we didn't get to see. It's about the journey and it's about all the small moments that built all the characters (most importantly Hyuba and, imo, Mizi) up into what they came to be. For better or for worse, Hyuna and Mizi both grew up so far from what they used to be, went through the whole spectrum of experiences that humans in their position could possibly have, and its shown by the wide range of scenes/experiences/flashbacks they have just how much they've lived.

Meanwhile Luka, who is, objectively, on top of everything, far above what Hyuna, Mizi, and everyone else could've been or ever was, is by far the most stagnant as a person. Where we see Hyuna and Mizi go through all the motions of loving and losing and loving again (and losing again), Luka has always been stuck on Hyuna, and the second he sees her everything he's built up to is all thrown to the wind without a second thought, without any fanfare, because nothing for him as changed.

Internally, Luka's still sitting against that tree in the garden and watching someone else grab his hand, Luka's still watching Hyuna count with his fingers and making him laugh for the first time ever, still clinging to her arm, still crossing the grass field to reach her.

Even years later, even as an adult, he's still looking at her like she's his salvation. When he sees her again on the stage he looks at her like he's just found his way back home after far too many years away from it, and when that gun is pointed at his head to stop him he looks at it like he's wondering why he's not allowed back inside.

And then when he looks at Hyuna more and remembers the moments with her that he's been clinging onto more he forgets about it entirely. And then you know what happens from there. I'm sickkkk

The fact that a lullaby. A Fucking Lullaby, and presumably a song that most if not all kids of Anakt know and learned when they were still young (see: that scene of the main 4 singing it) was the song choice for this video. The fact that seeing Hyuna, just seeing her again like that is what brings that lullaby back, a melody from the beginning of it all that should be so far beneath Luka by now, but isn't. I can't bro.

Luka, live with love. Or whatever. Augh I don't even know

[ohmygoly]

I dont typically like getting political on tumblr because I know the crowd of people who typically follow the fandoms I'm in. I know the crowd of people who usually pay attention to such fandom cultures in the first place, and I truly don't want to make myself such an enemy in anyone's eyes. But also, I don't want people irrationally scared that the new Hitler is coming to make their lives awful and oppress them in every way imaginable. Because to act like America is about to become Nazi Germany is to prove how out of touch you are with what other countries are doing and also just extra anxiety on your part that doesn't need to exist. I want your life to be less stressful, I really don't want anyone afraid for their life when it's unnecessary. Besides this "checklist" I want to comment on, remember that many changes aren't probably gonna feel very personal to you and while you might notice some slight differences, the day to day will probably be the same as it is through every presidential transition. Some things are cheaper/more expensive maybe, maybe your office or school has some slight alterations, but thats usually about it.

I don't hate anyone. I have met and become friends with more people I disagree with on a lot of important points than I do people I agree with on said issues. The scenarios in which I have met these people have allowed me to see how friendly, creative, and talented they are. It has also allowed me to see just how precarious and overdramatized interactions and relationships with them can be. This does not even include the internet or social media.

"Powerful and Continuing Nationalism" Americans value America first. A healthy country wants to succeed, and to want something to succeed you have to love it first. If you would prefer every other country over the one you live in, then don't live in it. But there is no logic in wanting a country to have influence and do better and actually progress whilst also despising its existence as a country. Plus, most of the "America first" sentiments don't pair with a "hurt other countries" sentiment. More like a "they can and should handle their own problems" one. If you can respect any amount of individual freedom, responsibility, or self pride, then you should be able to respect it on the national scale.

"Disdain For Human Rights" Its not that anyone in power at the moment disdains human rights. In fact, they know that within the government, every human has the right to pretty much everything. Anyone can run for office, vote, start a business, not be discriminated against as a potential employee or customer, and overall do pretty much whatever they like. What they don't want is those rights to be taken away because someone is offended or inconvenienced. Most republicans don't even actually mind trans people, they just dont want children permanently altered or women's safety threatened. If you have the right to sleep with whoever you want, dress however you want, and call yourself whatever you want then why shouldnt others have the right to live, be safe in their own spaces, consent to who gets to see their body, to their speech and opinions (offensive or not)? Those things can live side by side. In fact, the best you can do when it comes to human rights is not over manage speech. They should, however, manage some actions that can have harmful/permanent effects.

"Identification of Enemies as a Unifying Cause" This is clearly about illegal immigrants and trans people. Again, no one thinks trans people are the enemy. More so the ideology since overall it blatantly refuses the truth of sex, any self responsibility (you choose how you present yourself to people and how you manage your own thoughts and feelings), or any concern for others' feelings and safety that isn't a trans person. It would be like saying because someone hates depression they hate all depressed people. No. You as a person can still be good and deserving of all your human rights, but the ideas themselves aren't helpful to any society. Illegal immigrants aren't being threatened with mass genocide or really much violence at all. Rather, if they havent committed other crimes within the country that would deserve actual punishment they are simply facing return back to the country they came from. It is immoral to allow illegal immigrants in the country, not only for the safety of the citizens that the politicians swore to protect but also because it is exploitative. It's also dangerous to make it here, so why would you want to encourage people to risk their lives to come to a place where they can't enjoy all the rights of being a citizen?

"Rampant Sexism" As a woman, I can say with absolute certainty that I do not see one ounce of blatant sexism from the politicians coming into power and I certainly do not feel politically oppressed in any way. There are many other cultures where sexism is even worse, if you can even call anything in America actual sexism, but I'm sure it would be considered racist to make such a claim. Its not as if middle eastern women are fighting for their lives and education and equality or anything. Us Americans have it so bad because sometimes a man says something weird and gross. The most sexist thing I've ever come across on a societal scale within my life is the prioritization of men who say they're women over actual women. But we definitely don't see the new people in office supporting that sentiment.

"Controlled Mass Media" This is the only one I will give even the slightest ounce of credit, simply because I know the government would prefer Meta over other companies and they did ban tiktok/almost ban tiktok? In any case, if you can still get news from pretty much every political ideology, access any other social media website, shop at the "Banned Books" section of a book store, and access literally any other form of media that has existed throughout our history then your media is most likely not very controlled. The thing with social media specifically is that it is still so new so we will obviously need to figure out how to navigate that within our physical world but that isn't a sign of a fascist country, thats simply a sign that we are facing a rapid change in technology and don't know how to handle it yet. Its a great thing we have a constitution and hella rebellious citizens who will make finding the best, least oppressive solutions easier here than probably anywhere else on the planet!

"Obsession with National Security" The only reason there's a surge in national security is because there has also been a surge in threats against the security of this nation. Through many foreign nations and within our own borders. This country cannot be successful and cannot help any other country in the world if we are falling apart while we are doing it.

"Religion and Government Intertwined" There is a difference between politicians being religious and it actually being intertwined with our government. Most government policies made are based on our constitution and how we can best respect the rights given to us through it. The religion of any of the politicians is not going to become mandatory or oppressive to anyone not of that religion, because that is not the goal. Anyone can come up with the sentiment that they need to fix the way the government runs and protect the rights of their citizens. Yes, religion might influence some of their opinions on things and a few of their changes, but if you elect someone you have to accept that they have ideas about things. Thats just how it works. Overall, religion will not become permanently intertwined with the government or forced upon citizens.

"Labor Power Suppressed" Last I checked, you can get any job you want. Literally, you can quit any job you don't like, and just go find a new one. Not to mention they want to improve businesses and they know that the labor class is very vital to that.

"Rampant Cronyism and Corruption" Corruption is a vague word and a lot of the people in the new administration don't even agree on everything. The main thing they agree on is that they want to see America succeed and that they will respect the elected president's right to see that mandate through, as an elected official. How terrible of a president to hire people that don't hate him and won't sabotage the policy goals he was elected to see through.

Looking more like a checklist these days. I want off this ride. 😭