#and yet they can also be SO STUPID ❤

[ovadzs]

you are in love ᥫ᭡.

✄you’re not in love with Oscar Piastri, and you’re getting pretty sick of everyone thinking you are. come on, you’re just best friends (since like, forever) and yes you maybe used to be head over heels but you’re not now, seriously! and definitely the rumours and the photos you post and the way you’re sort of kind of living together isn’t confusing at all! just friends, really.

✄mcs: oscar piastri x fashiondesigner! reader

✄trope: childhood best friends to… something?

✄cw: fluff, yearning (?) you’re both idiots, landos annoying (as usual) smau! so posts/messages etc! NOT PROOF READ.

✄word count: 10k

✄notes from me??: hi everyone !! exams are finally over, everyone cheer now. so strange to work towards something like that and then it be done, though. anyway,! in all honesty? i hate this fic. i honestly don’t think it’s very good, or logical, or fluid, and i actually can barely bring myself to post this. i’d really appreciate any feedback or anything! and PLEASE, any ideas of fics im DESPERATE. like genuinely !! have no ideas but so much motivation to write! also, this smau kicked my ass like genuinely i was tweaking on getting the photos in place and then they all DELETED? horrifying. never (definitely will do it) again. i hope you like this a LITTLE more than i do! ‪‪❤︎‬

You don’t believe in soulmates, not like that, anyway. But sometimes, the way life works out, seems to test your obstinance. You’d met Oscar Piastri when you could only waddle around, and now here you are, sketching him in the corner of your sketchbook affectionately.

Although you’re a designer, you are still an avid doodler. You had pages upon pages of stupid comics and sketches, mainly centered around him, and Lissie, and Lando. Funny, that was the universe shouting at you again. Out of all three of you, Oscar was the one who had always dreamed of Formula One, and yet you’d all been pulled into its orbit. You, stitching together the outfits on the drivers’ backs, and Lissie, flouncing around Lando, finally becoming a publicist of sorts.

You and Lissie had always been so close, that you knew it hadn’t mattered when she’d left to go pursue a career on the other side of the world. But when Oscar had left, you hadn’t been so sure. You truly thought that was it, that he’d go off and drive and you’d be in that same town, watching your fingers bleed from pinpricks from needles.

You had been in love with him, obviously. Who could blame you? He was quiet, thoughtful, and caring, and you knew him. Truly. Inside and out.

But once he left, you let it go. Let him go. That night, tears welling in your eyes. His rueful smile and messy hair, arms extended. You’d hugged him so hard, certain that was it. And when you’d whispered those stupid three words, and he still got on the plane, you decided maybe it was better, that it was over. Childhood love wasn't real, anyway. Your brain hadn’t even finished developing yet.

But still, it was weird to be back with him. As adults, professional and different. You didn’t laugh as much now, but it was louder when you did. He looked the same, but just, sort of bigger? And he still looked at you, just as he had then. But actually, he laughed more. It was nice to see him happier. He’d been so focused, determined, when you were younger. Desperate. And he’d made it.

You finish your sketch, unsatisfied with the shape of his nose, before Lando comes crashing in.

“Good morning, mate.” he says cheerfully, trying not to trip on his undone shoelaces.

You raise an eyebrow at him hesitantly. “You seem cheerful. What’s up?”

He just beams back. “What, am I not allowed to be happy?” he replies, and you roll your eyes at him.

“It’s Clara, isn’t it?” you ask suspiciously, and he nods enthusiastically.

“She’s coming with me to the gala thing. And you know, I explained to her that it will be pretty public, and people will assume things, or make comments, and I understood if she didn't want that, but she said yes anyway. Like, seriously. Like she was willing to go through it, cause she’d rather be with me publicly than secretly, like being with me is the only option anyway.” he boasts proudly, evidently cheesing, and you can’t help but grin back supportively.

You were glad Clara was coming. You hadn’t met her yet, but he was gushing about her so often that you were desperate to make up your own mind about her. She sounded brilliant, but Lando had sometimes made questionable choices before.

“That’s great, Lando. Genuinely. Do you know what she’s wearing? I could like, incorporate it into your suit, if you wanted. That would be cute.” you say pensively, scrunching your nose at him, and he bursts into laughter.

“I forget that's literally all you think about.” he responds, and you mock being offended.

“Yeah, kind of my job. Anyway, stand straight.” you fire back, walking over to him and pulling your green measuring tape against his torso.

“So, I was going to go for a 1960’s theme for your suit, to celebrate when McLaren was established, sort of? It would be subtle, but that sort of style. Although, I want to try and add a 70’s kind of flare on the bottom, but I can’t tell if that’ll look shit. The sketch looked cool, but you know-” you ramble, scribbling down numbers as you instruct him to raise various limbs.

“Actually, I don't know. But for the record, I would’ve fired you by now as my designer if you weren't good at it, no matter how much Oscar would protest. Funny, you know I actually sent Lissie one of your designs first, so you wouldn’t have needed your boyfriend or your sister to get here.” he murmurs, trying to sound sarcastic.

“Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t have accepted the job if I only got it through them anyway. And for the record, you know he isn’t my boyfriend. You can stop joking about it now.” you reply firmly, and he throws his arms up in innocence, making you curse.

“Lando, stay STILL.” you sigh, exasperated, and you hear a familiar chuckle from your studio doorway.

“Yeah, Lando. Stay still.” comes Oscar’s gentle voice, and you smile instinctively.

“Morning, Osc.” waves Lando, and you catch Oscar wave back in the corner of your eye. You nod at Lando, withdrawing back to your desk, and swiftly close your open sketchbook.

Oscar makes his way towards you, placing down a drink by your arm.

“Careful, it’s hot.” he mutters, before turning back to face Lando. You smile at him absentmindedly, focused on comparing your measurements with the design you’d been working on. You hear them chatter, the sound muffled, until Lando shouts out.

“You guys smell the same.” he practically shrieks, and you look up at him incredulously.

“Um, what?” asks Oscar blankly, and you copy his expression.

“You smell the same. Like, your clothes. Well, you smell like her.” he accuses, like he just figured out some deep, ugly secret.

You inhale deeply. “Yep, my bad. I’m staying at his place at the moment, but I hate using any other laundry detergent, hence the smell of the clothes.” you state simply, surprised by his grin.

“Oh, finally! Lissie and I have been waiting for this for forever. Does she know?” he asks excitedly, pulling out his phone.

Oscar coughs awkwardly. “She’s just staying until she finishes the work here.” he explains, gesturing to the piles of boxes and wiring exposed around the room, and Lando sulks.

“Moving in together would be an insane thing to just, like, do, Lando. We’re not even together. You’re such an idiot.” you hiss awkwardly, trying not to think about a strangely domestic life with the Australian to your right.

He laughs quietly in agreement. “You are such an idiot. I’ve been saying this for a while.” he adds, wisely, and you look up at him gratefully.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever. You’re still practically married, doing laundry together.” Lando mutters, dropping his voice to barely a whisper. But it’s still loud enough that you both hear it, even though neither of you even blink.

“Alright, Lando. I think we’re done for today. I’ll text you when to drop back round to try some stuff on, okay?” you mumble firmly, waving him away with a calculated flick of your wrist.

“Touched a nerve?” he jokes, but his eyes are uncomfortably serious. And he did touch a nerve. You grit your teeth and smile angrily at him, nodding your head to the door.

“Bye, mate.” chimes Oscar, raising an arm as Lando slowly ducks out the door.

There's an uncomfortable silence, but it's momentary, because you’re suddenly too concentrated on what Lando mentioned- he really does smell like you. He’s close now, his head peering over your hunched shoulder. And it shouldn’t matter, and you shouldn't even notice, but you do. And it's pretty simple why.

Textures, smells, sounds. Colours. The way patterns jumped at you. They made you part of who you were, part of how your mind worked. And you had your own specific smell, your own style, the colours you used in your work and the textures you liked best. And here he was, straying from his usual familiar scent, and into yours instead. And maybe it was weird, for you to obsess over it so much. But it was like a form of identification. It was how you’d found your jumper, when it was thrown among all the others at the school. Stupid, little things like that.

But the worst part was that it wasn’t offputting, like when something wasn't matching up to how you thought it should be. Instead, you didn’t mind it. And you knew full well, if it was anyone else, you would.

“Do you like it?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence, and you watch him lean further, admiring the detailed design in front of you.

“Its so obviously, like, you. But also so obviously him. That's brilliant, really. It will look amazing, I’m sure.” he replies earnestly, but you huff a little.

“You can be honest. No one's ever honest with my designs, but I need it now. This is a big deal.” you mumble, stressing the importance of the outfit, and he smiles gently.

“I am being honest. It’s seriously impressive. I don’t know how you managed to come up with a suit so unique? He’ll be better dressed than me, that's for sure. I’ll try not to take it personally that you requested him instead of me, by the way.” he responds, and you wince.

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t realise you found out about that. Frankly, I had this sort-of idea for a while, and like you said, it’s very him and…” you start, but you trail off slightly.

“... and he's more likely to have people talking about his outfit than me, right?” he chuckles, clearly unoffended, and you nod back quickly.

“You got it. Sorry though, seriously-”

“Will you be my date?” he bursts out, interrupting you mid sentence.

“Um, sorry?” you ask, startled, and he just blinks back at you.

“To the gala. Unless someone’s already asked you, like Lando, because that would make sense. You know, design and designer, good marketing. Or if you don’t want to go, that's fine. But if you do, and no one-” he explains, and you decide to return the favour and cut him off.

“That would be nice, yeah. I’d love to. And for the record, Lando asked Clara. I’m so excited to meet her, really. How is she?” you reply simply, and Oscar exhales, relieved.

“She’s brilliant. Truly, you’ll love her. You’re sort of alike, really. Bubbly. She reminded me of you, when I first met her.” he answers honestly, and you scowl at him.

“I’d rather not know that Lando's dating someone that reminded you of me. That’s gross. But hey, you think I’m bubbly?” you tease, and he looks away, trying to hide a grin.

“Not my finest adjective, I know. But don’t worry, she’s still very different from you. You’ll see what I mean.” he sighs, before asking a simple question.

“So, what are you going to wear?” he asks, and you freeze.

Shit. You’d agreed so quickly, forgetting that very very important factor.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that. Well, I can’t copy this, because I don't want to match with Lando. Wait, what are you wearing?” you fire back, eyebrows raised expectantly.

He quickly pulls out his phone, showing you a picture of his suit. It was fairly standard, but had some interesting shapes and creases you admired carefully.

“Okay, who are you wearing?” you rephrase, and he looks at you guiltily.

“Honestly? I don’t know. I’ll find out. I just got sent this photo by Anna this morning.” he explains quickly, and you nod sharply.

“I like the shape. Harsh where it should be soft, but it doesn't look uncomfortable. And the subtle blue is intriguing. I can work with that. I just need to find out who designed it, so I can ask about the fabric.” You ramble, unfocused on him, but he’s grinning.

“What, you’re going to match with me, instead?” he smiles, and you roll your eyes.

“Good marketing, obviously.”

“Oh, obviously.” he bemuses, and you shake your head, suppressing a laugh.

***

Other than Lando being a dickhead, the night went incredibly. Your designs had gone down insanely well. An endless stream of compliments flooded you, about Lando but also about your own attire. And as usual, Oscar was right. Clara was brilliant. You loved her, like, immediately. You’d both ran off, leaving the boys, and you’d spent most of the night flouncing around fancy guests and trying to act a lot more important than you were.

She was creative, funny, and absolutely bubbly. It was actually the perfect adjective.

You were leaning against the edge of the stairs, deep in conversation about your upcoming collection, when you felt a familiar hand rest on your shoulder.

“Hi, Osc.” you whispered, not even bothering to look up.

“How'd you know it was me? Could’ve been a different dashing young man, asking you to do something crazy like dance. To this song. Which he would somehow know you very much love.” he grins, and you turn to face him, pulling that reflexive scrunched face.

“I always know when it's you.” you mumble back, and it sounds way more serious than you’d intended. “But for the record, you know dancing is reserved for the kitchen only. Or if I feel like winning in Just Dance, like usual.” you respond, hoping your subtle rejection doesn't land too seriously. He rescinds his extended hand back into his pockets, shrugging casually.

“So, how long have you been together?” comes Clara’s gentle voice, watching you both carefully.

“Oh, no, we’re not-”

“Together? No, it’s-”

You quickly talk over each other, in a blatant panic, hands flapping, but Clara just laughs, sharp and clear.

“Wow, sorry. Must’ve severely misread Lando’s message, when he said I could finally meet his best friend's girlfriend tonight.” she giggles, and you want to laugh with her, but Lando’s stupid toothy grin gleams at you, emerging beside her.

“Must’ve been autocorrect. I meant best friend’s best friend. Or a friend that's a girl, you decide. Sorry for any confusion.” he smirks, sounding annoyingly sincere.

“It’s alright, Lando-we know you didn’t go to school. Grammar is hard.” you say calmly, smiling back at him. He flashes a scowl at you before taking Clara’s arm and whisking her away, much to your annoyance.

“She didn’t protest against dancing.” comes Oscar’s hurt voice, and you snap your neck up to face him, but he’s already laughing at you.

“I’m joking. Just came to check you’re alright. You disappeared.” he states matter of factly, and you just rest your head on his shoulder, giving yourself a moment of quiet.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m actually quite tired. And this dress is too tight.” you groan, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and uncomfortable.

“You made it.” he chuckles, and you whack him affectionately.

“Yeah, I know. Whatever.” you pause, listening to the music.

“So, imagine I’m a different bubbly, um, dashing, woman or whatever. Who happens to know that this is kind of the only song that isn’t house music that you listen to.” you beam, holding out your right hand, raising your eyebrows.

He laughs, and takes it, and you follow the pathway conveniently made from Lando and Clara towards the middle of the floor.

***

yourusername

yourusername too fancy for me lol, but the clothes seemed to suit it. (get it?)

oscarpiastri claranelson landonorris

View more comments

user8 blown me away, as usual

user12 so cute

user21 oscar has a gf?

↳ user42 you’re new here arent you

claranelson mclaren garage is going to get real sick of us soon

↳ landonorris didnt realise we were hard laucning in yourusernames comments

↳ claranelson oscar has this girl in the garage every weekend and they arent together so actually you just hard launched us

oscarpiastri you looked better than you danced

↳ yourusername well im a good dancer so thanks

↳ user36 please get a room, thanks guys!

user36 can we please talk about clara and lando for a sec??

↳ user59 lmfao wait are u the mf that dedicated a whole blog to proving they were together

↳ user36 i dont play about my niche pink haired influencers bro

↳ claranelson wait i remember this ahahh well done

You switch your phone off and flop onto your bed, sighing. It was so bizarre to you, staying here. Calling it your bed, like you owned it. Like it wasn’t in Oscar’s house. It had been generous of him to offer so quickly to let you stay, and he clearly didn’t care about how long your studio would take. Sure, you’d spent many hours in this house, but it felt so different now. Your mess, all over the carpet. Scraps of fabrics and sketches and clothes strewn around. You, bringing colour all over the plain walls. It was genuinely like you lived here. In this room, at least. You’d never even seen Oscar’s bedroom.

But he wasn’t here right now, probably training, and you’d always been curious.

Huffing, you trail to his door, pushing it open. It was pretty boring- as expected. He had an interesting simulator stuffed in a corner, but the room seemed so devoid of character. Almost like a hotel room. You’d been there for two weeks and you’d already made it seem lived in, while his was just so plain.

You scan the shelves for something interesting, and you pause when you see a long row of photos. Various frames and sizes jump out at you, the irregularity of it all making you uncomfortable. It’s cute though, an endless array of baby Oscar next to overly large karts, or his sisters grinning, or his mum and his dogs. Then you see yourself, face scrunched as usual, scowling at the camera. You were so tiny, pointing awkwardly at Oscar’s shirt, while he beamed. You remembered it well, that photo. It was the first garment you’d ever made, and you hated how obvious you thought the clumsy seams were, even though both him and his family had thought it was inspired. They’d always supported you, even when your own hadn’t. Hesitantly, you pick it up to study it, and you watch a large pile of polaroids fall out the back.

You inhale deeply, recognising them. Lissie and Hattie had been obsessed with polaroid cameras, constantly taking picture after picture. You’d kept a couple of Lissie’s, somewhere in a shoebox, but they were mainly of you and her, or relatives. Hattie had always been the one who took snapshots of you and Oscar.

There were so many. An endless stream of different poses. Back to back, in your embarrassingly shiny prom dress, and his slightly-too-small suit with a tie that matched your pink look. A couple more from that night, including some with Lissie and her boyfriend at the time. Then a cute one, of just you and your sister, grinning. Considering they’d been hidden behind the back of the picture frame, you figure he wouldn’t mind if you took that one. So you do. You stuff it silently into your pocket and continue wading through the polaroids, feeling that familiar sense of nostalgia.

They all blur, grins and scowls and arms over shoulders, and you try to not get too upset. It’s sickening, how sweetly you’re looking at him, in the more candid ones. How he didn’t know, you’ll always wonder. Sure, social cues are often wasted on him, but you were so obvious. The proof was in front of you.

You get to the last one, almost wishing you’d never picked them up in the first place. It was a bittersweet sensation, watching years flash by. Watching you grow up all over again.

But this one's the worst. Both of you, evidently no older than sixteen. Your left hand, gently holding his chin. A wide-eyed grin spread across his face. Your lips, barely pressed against his pink cheeks. It’s adorable and disgusting and you want to rip it up and frame it simultaneously. No context could save that, explain the look on your faces. No excuse could make that seem friendly, and you honestly think it's more intimate than if you’d actually properly kissed him. But you can't even remember the context. It must’ve been a joke, or something. Because you know full well the idea of that would’ve made you want to throw up- not from disgust but from pure panic.

And it’s making you feel a bit sick now, something you haven’t felt since he walked away, that brutal rejection. Well, it wasn’t truly a rejection. It was a conclusion, an understanding. But a painful one. It’s a sharp, clear memory.

“I love you.” you whispered, clinging onto his neck.

“I know. I love you too.” he whispered back, into your hair.

You paused. “You need to go, don’t you?”

“I do.” he replied quietly, but he didn’t pull away from the tight embrace.

And although your brain was screaming at you to rephrase, to tell him not to go, to say you were IN love with him, to not release your grip, you stepped back. You watched his resolve falter slightly, in time with your heartbeat, but you couldn’t leave it like this.

“Bye, Osc. Good luck, yeah?” you grinned, mustering up any joy you could find, like the world wasn't collapsing on you.

He laughed lightly, scanning your fake expression.

“Thank you. But this isn’t really bye, is it?” he murmured back, his tone wavering between genuinity and sarcasm. Back then, you’d thought he was just being nice, and he hadn’t meant it.

Now you realised he was right. And you’re so lost in thought, so unfocused, you don't notice you are still holding that photo. So unfocused, you don’t notice he’s leaning against the doorframe, watching, until he speaks.

“You’re not usually in here.” comments Oscar, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

You jump, and turn to face him, a somewhat guilty expression painting your face.

“Ah. Hi, Osc. Yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I was just-” you begin, but he chuckles at you, walking forwards.

“-Curious? Yeah, not unlike you. What did you find?” he asks, eyes crinkling.

“Um, I found these polaroids. Hattie’s, I assume?” you reply, shielding the one intertwined in your fingers.

“Uh-huh. I meant to give them to you, when I found them, but I forgot. You’re welcome to take any you want, obviously.”

“I already did. Took one, I mean. One of me and Lissie, you know?” you respond, breathing slowly. He’s not looking at you, instead he’s studying the array of photos beside you.

“I know the one. Are you planning on taking the one of us you’re trying to hide now, or what?” he jokes, still not looking up.

“I’m not hiding anything. I’m just holding it. Anyway, how did you know which one I’ve got?” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

“It’s my favourite.” he says casually, and you almost explode.

You blink awkwardly, unsure on how to reply.

“Oh! Well, obviously you can keep it then, I was just looking at it. I don’t remember taking it.” you babble, handing it to him, but he just shakes his head.

“Funny, I barely remember any of these, but that one. But no, you can keep it. Put it somewhere more visible, maybe?” he jokes, but he doesn't seem to be that light-hearted. He’s sort of awkward, and vulnerable, and you don’t really know what to do.

So you nod, seriously, but don’t stuff it into your pocket. Instead, you pull off your phonecase and slip it inside, making sure it's central before clipping it back on.

“Alright?” you question, and he smiles at you.

“Perfect.”

***

Social media went wild at that simple gesture. Who knew a photo could cause so much speculation? Well, Lando did. Someone had caught a picture of Clara in his wallet a while back, and that's how his rumours had started. But he wasn’t being particularly sympathetic, and neither was Lissie.

“Frankly, this is entirely your fault. You’re just prancing around with Oscar, practically attached at the hip, attending all his races. And then, suddenly, you show up with a polaroid of you two kissing in the back of your phone. I'd even think you were together. Or like some of the theories, that you used to be and broke up, or something. If you really wanted to lay low, you wouldn’t be doing all this.”critiques Lissie, pausing only to sip from her obnoxiously sweet coffee, and Lando nods along approvingly.

“First off, we’re obviously children in that photo. Secondly, why should I have to pretend he’s not my best friend for the sake of the cameras?” you fire back, sulking, and Lando just laughs at you.

“You need to recheck what a child is. Also, calling him your best friend is such nonsense. It’s getting ridiculous now, truly. Look, it sucks. We all know it sucks. But if you keep going the way you’re going, it’s going to explode.” he preaches, trying to sound wise, but you just scowl at him.

“You know I rarely say this, but Lando’s right. Before, it was only the races that had events after. That you were dressing him for. Then it became every other one. Then he brought you TO these events, you’re at every single grand-prix, and you don’t even try to shut down anything anyone says.” adds Lissie, scrutiny painting her face.

“It’s not my place to do that. I’m allowed to be close to my best friend of like, twenty fucking years.” you reply obstinately, and they both sigh angrily at you.

“But are you really just friends?” comes a thoughtful whisper. And it’s not Lissie’s sharp voice, or Lando’s mocking tone. It’s gentler, lighter, and genuine. It’s got an apologetic melody.

“Morning, ‘Ra.” mumbles Lando, smiling widely as she presses a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Sorry to intrude, everyone.” grins Clara, sitting firmly down on a seat nearby, clearly unbothered if she actually is an intrusion.

“No, it’s all good. I’m trying to seek some moral support from these two, and they are hopeless. Too much unsolicited advice.” you explain, stuffing your hands aggressively into your pockets.

“If I may?” she asks, but she’s not really asking for permission. She’s asking for you to listen, so you do.

“Like I said, are you really just friends?”

You pause. Not long enough for it to be awkward, or for anyone to shout ‘I told you so’, but just long enough to wrap your head around how to phrase your answer.

“No, I wouldn’t say we’re just friends. He means more to me than that. But it’s the same sort of dependency I have on Lissie. He’s just like, part of my life. He’s part of me. But it’s not-” you begin, but she cuts in with another question.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need to hesitate on this one. “Of course. I always have.”

Now Lissie decides to interject. “That’s a lie. You found him properly annoying, until about five. You despised him, truly. ‘We are only friends because we have to be.’ You said it, so loudly, so confidently, that we all believed you. He didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Walking to school was painful.”

You laugh quietly, remembering the reprimanding you had received for being so mean.

“Yeah, and then I drew him a card to say sorry, and we were fine after that.” you finish, and the whole table smiles at the story.

“I’ve got this one!” calls Lando, winking at Clara slowly. “Are you IN love with him?”

You knew this was coming. It was obvious. Obvious enough that even Lando knew what to ask. So you use the same prepared answer you have stored in the back of your mind.

“No. No, I’m not. And before you say anything, yeah, I used to be. A long time ago. But genuinely, I’m not anymore. Which is why it's so infuriating that I can’t just go to his races. Or hang out with him. Without being hounded with accusations and speculation. It makes me want to leave him alone, even though that's not his fault, and I can’t let them win. I can’t let them take him away.” ‘again,’ you add mentally. But you just watch the sullen expressions stretch across their faces.

Clara speaks first, which you didn't expect.

“Does he know? Like, did you ever tell him? Maybe you should. Just, I don’t know, mention it one time? Tell him that you’re over it now, but it’s hard, with the media and all. He’s understanding. Maybe you can work something out?” she says optimistically, and you just smile hopefully back at her.

Lissie beams at you both. “That’s a good idea. You seemed confident in that, ‘No.’ So, you should be fine. I’m glad you’ve figured it out. Anyway, I’m gonna head out.”

Lando pauses. “I’ll meet you in a minute Clara, kay? I have some, uh, fashion questions.” he mutters, and Clara dutifully leaves, trailing behind Lissie.

He turns to face you, a strange expression on his face.

“You’re lying. You are. I can see it.” he accuses, but you don’t even flinch.

“Norris, stay in your lane. I came for sympathy, and your girlfriend provided much better advice than you ever have. I told the truth.” you reply back calmly, but your words are aggressive.

“You can’t convince me this is like, fucking, casual? Do you see the way you look at each other? This is nonsense, seriously. So stop being a coward, and at least admit it to me that you’re still in love with him. Because you’re lying to us all, and we can’t help you.” he whispers bitterly, and you try not to blink.

“You can’t help me anyway. It pisses me off that we can’t just be friends. But I’d rather it be like this, and that’s how it ends, than I push him away because I can't handle some instagram posts.” you fire back, trying to tell him so much with so few words.

“For fucks sake!” he recoils, exasperated. “You’re both truly idiots. Why haven’t you just considered, asking him out? It’s not unrequited, come on. It’s obvious.”

You never had a short temper. You were cool, and calm, things that rubbed off from the Australian. He’d withered his way into your very own personality. But he wasn’t here now, even in your head. All you saw was some privileged prick, asking you questions you’d been asking yourself for over ten years.

“You’re the only fucking idiot here. I told you, I’m over it. It’s done. I don’t want that with him, not like that, not anymore. Look at what’s real, what’s here, not what you want to see. It’s not going to happen.” you whisper-scream, all too aware of the other people in the cafe.

“You won’t even try?” he asks, seriously now.

“I did. I told him. That last night. And he left anyway. Because it was never going to be enough. I can’t go back there, can’t think of it like, ‘oh, if he knew. Oh, if I told him.’ Because I did. And like I said, this works, now. And I’d rather we spend less time together, because of some idiots on the internet, than because me loving him wasn’t enough again. Because he has other commitments. Whatever, I don’t know.” you mumble, truly quiet now. Pensive. Painful.

You feel him touch your arm. It’s alien, and weird. And you’d rather he just jokingly punched you instead, like usual. ‘You’re such a sap, mate.’ But this weird attempt at comfort made it so much worse, and so much realer.

“I’m sorry.” he says genuinely, but something isn’t right. There’s a level of determination on his face, a drive for success in his eyes, and it's something you’ve only seen before sessions.

“Lando, please drop it. I don’t want-” you begin, but he just smirks at you gleefully, and you hate how visibly the cogs are turning in his head.

“Goodbye.” he sings, and you watch him excitedly sling his arm around Clara as soon as he makes it through the door, whispering something in her ear.

***

You throw yourself into your work for the next week. It’s relentless, and exhausting, but a good distraction. You spend as little time at Oscar’s as possible, even occasionally falling asleep amongst piles of fabric and scraps. On the nights you do huddle in his guest bed, trying not to think of him down the corridor, he seems to tread extra carefully around you. Like he recognises your change in behaviour, but doesn't want to talk about it.

You’re being absent because of Lando, because you think he’s up to something. That’s at least what you tell yourself.

It’s definitely not because you’re overthinking all of it.

Your phone blinds you slightly, as you check the time. 02:33. ‘Brilliant,’, you think, knowing the exhaustion will truly settle in soon. But you just can’t sleep. It’s hot, and your brain is whirring faster than those stupid cars that haunt your life.

Begrudgingly you get up, and blunder your way to his kitchenette, cursing as you accidentally slam a cupboard door way too loudly. He emerges instantaneously, and guilt floods your face.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just thirsty.” you whisper, nodding to the glass in your hand. You can’t really see him, because the cooker hood’s light is so dim, but you hear him yawn.

“Don’t worry. I can’t sleep either, to be honest. I was just checking you’re okay.” he mumbles, and he steps towards you so you can see him.

He’s wearing odd socks and strange green shorts, which don’t go at all with the oversized top he’s wearing with an odd depiction of a croissant on it.

“Hi. Nice outfit.” you giggle, and he looks at himself, like he’d forgotten what he was wearing.

“You weren't meant to see me like this.” he groans dramatically. “Hi.”

You shrug, unsure of what else to do. “I’ve seen you a lot worse.”

That’s true, you have. You’d seen him with chickenpox, chasing you around on grassy fields as you ran for your life. You’d seen him with tear-strickened eyes after falling surprisingly hard off his bike. Mud, all over his face, as you tried to build a ‘bug hotel.’ When he’d got food poisoning at a sleepover one night, and you had to look after him. When he’d been the donkey in the school nativity. The list was somewhat endless.

He smiles at you, like he’s read your mind. “Very true.”

Silence hangs around you. You loved your silence- it was special. A silence that only worked in the peace you created together. The understanding, the thoughts you shared without saying a word. You always knew what he was thinking, and vice versa.

But this silence was different. You couldn’t hear him, hear him thinking. It was like a barrier had been put up, and you couldn’t see through it.

‘Can you hear me, Osc?’

‘Ask me, this time. Ask me what's wrong. Don’t assume it will work itself out.’

‘Ask me where I’ve been. Tell me what you think about me. Tell me what Lando did.’

“So, how’s the collection going?” he asks hesitantly, like you’re a colleague.

You purse your lips, and wonder what the actual fuck is going on.

“I’m almost done. Been working tirelessly, you know. That’s why I haven’t been around.” you reply honestly, chewing on your lip anxiously.

“Huh. Nice. I’m so proud of you, truly.” he responds awkwardly, like he has more to say, so you let him. You just stare expectantly.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at you.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just tired, you know? Like you are, I’m sure.” you mumble weakly, watching water fill your glass. You watch it reach the top, and then shimmy around the counter, back to your door.

“Goodnight, Oscar.” you whisper, slipping inside. But you linger, for a second, and that’s all he needs.

“Um, sorry, but like, can you come back?” he calls, and you turn around, placing down your glass and walking towards him.

He looks confused, and somewhat upset, and you want to laugh and joke and tell him to go to bed because it's fine, but you can’t. Because some indescribable emotion is drowning you, and you don’t know what to do. You feel suffocated, like you just want to hide from him, and also like you’re going to be sick. You’ve never wanted to run from him before, ever. You’ve only ever craved his tight hugs, and his soothing slow breaths.

“What is it, Piastri?” you whisper, your throat drying. He strides towards you, studying your paling face.

“Did I do something? What’s going on?” he asks firmly, searching your eyes for an answer but letting his gaze linger on your slightly shaky hands.

“No, you didn’t do anything.” you mutter, and you’re telling the truth. But you want to scream at him, shout until your throat burns. You want him to leave you alone, like before. You don’t want to see his stupid beautiful annoying mole-covered face ever again.

He exhales, relieved, and hugs you tightly, crushing you a bit.

“Good. I missed you.” he murmurs into your hair, and you shiver.

“It was a week.” you reply into his shoulder, but he just chuckles quietly.

“Yeah, but it's been a while since I haven’t seen you in a week. You’ve been so, like, constant recently. In the best way.” he stumbles over his words, but you get the point.

And you give yourself one more breath in his arms before you hurriedly pull away.

“Mhm. About that. I don’t think I can be around so much anymore. It’s just exhausting.” you stammer, and he looks bewildered.

“So I did do something. Come on, you can be honest.” he says, clearly exasperated at the back and forth.

“No,” you reply quickly. “It’s just, like the media side of it all. I make clothes. I’m not meant to be all on camera. And I want to be there for you, and spend as much time as possible with you, but I just can’t because of everything that comes with it. You can understand that, right?” you ask, and he nods.

“Of course I can. But, please don't push me away because of some instagram posts. Don’t disappear on me, we can make it work, yeah?” he responds, and you smile, although your heart is breaking a little bit.

Because that's exactly what you said to Lando, and here you are, letting it happen

And you know something Oscar doesn’t- you still meant what you said then. You weren’t pushing him away because of the media. You were pushing him away because if someone asked you now, if you were in love with him, that ‘no’ would be much shakier.

***

A month later

yourusername

yourusername hi everyone! Long time no see. Studio finally done, ive moved in and everything! Working on a lot recently, and im almost there. So excited to share my clothes with you guys- because im launching eightynine!! More info to come, love you

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user89 wait ive been waiting for this one hello

user12 oh my god. Oh my god oh my god

user8 so does this mean we can like, buy her designs?? Yay

user76 call me crazy but oscars number is 81 and her lucky number is 8…

↳ user36 wait ur onto something..

↳ user59 blind leading the blind

user42 why havent we seen you at a race in a while? Are you still friends with oscar?

↳ yourusername ofc, still friends with the mclaren boys, just busy

↳user21 oh my god ynosc divorce is confirmed im gonna sob

claranelson cannot wait to wear everything

↳ yourusername ur my top model

lissiematthews so proud of you, always. Love you

↳ yourusername best friend and sister we interlinked

landonorris can i model too

↳ yourusername umm maybe?? (not)

oscarpiastri well done.

↳ yourusername thank you,osc

↳ user42 user21, maybe theyre fine?

You smile slightly as you switch your phone off, and hate yourself for it. It had actually been quite nice, to get away from it all for a bit. You’d seen Lando for some more outfit stuff, but he hadn’t said anything about Oscar. Maybe it was because he realised you actually were keeping a distance. At first, it was awful. Horrific. Then slowly it got better, and you stopped seeing him every time you blinked.

And you realised it was indefinitely easier to have space, and breathing room, than to hide feelings and curse social media. There was nothing to question, nothing to confront. Just you, and drawings, and fabric. The true definition of home for you.

That’s when the door swings open, and you immediately become irritable.

“Hello, Lando. Unless Clara’s with you, why are you here?” you ask coldly, and he rolls his eyes.

“I knew you’d like her more than me!” he pouts, and you scowl.

“Not hard, is it?” you fire back, and he laughs sharply.

“Ouch. Anyway, glad you’re talking to Oscar again. He was getting mopey.” he coos, and you wave him away.

“Please don’t. You’ll give me a headache.” you bark, and he blinks, slightly surprised.

“Why’d you say yes if you don’t want to see him?” he asks, quietly. It’s serious, and you don’t like it.

“I do want to see him. I’ve been busy.” you reply back quickly.

“I’m sick of your bullshit. Look, Oscar means a lot to me. You’re messing with his head. And you're messing with mine. And clearly, your own. He came to me, fuckin’ like, distraught. Saying he felt so guilty, that you were so impacted by all the rumours and shit, and that you had to leave him alone. And I had to sit there and tell him you’d come around, and you’d work it out. That he should follow his gut. And he just looked like someone had died the whole time.” he explains quickly, and you pause awkwardly.

“Well, I did need space. It wasn’t his fault.” you respond, shrugging.

“What happens next time? When you get that close again, and then you get scared. Scared to admit you’re not over it? Scared of being rejected? Scared of finding out that maybe it’s fucking one sided? You’re both scared. You’re gonna keep hurting each other if you do this. So either cancel, or confess.” he stated loudly, his tone unnecessarily harsh.

“Lando, you keep overstepping. You need to get the fuck out of my business. I’m not a teenager anymore. I can deal with this. I did what I needed to do.”

“Here! Exactly that. Defensive shit. Because you love him just as much now as you did WHEN you were a teenager. Please, just say it.” he pleads, but you stare at him adamantly.

“You asked him, didn’t you? You asked him the same thing. And he said no, too. And you’re clinging to delusions and preying on vulnerability to make whatever the fuck you’ve got in your head a reality. We had our chance. We had our entire childhood. I told him, and maybe it was too late, but he left anyway. Why reopen that wound? It helps neither of us.” You respond aggressively, but he shakes his head.

“You said no, and you were lying. He’s doing the same.” rambled Lando, and you want him to just fall through a menacing crack in the floor.

“You’re a dickhead, you know that? He said no, ‘cause he doesn't love me. He never did. Not in the way I did. He said it back, in the same way he said it to his sisters. I heard it, I knew it. It was a rejection, and it was a kind one. And that’s all I needed- a rejection. I’m not going through that again for feelings I’m not even sure are there.” you admit, letting your words hang in the air.

Lando sighs. “He didn’t know.”

“What?”

“I asked him, if you two were ever together. A long time ago. He said no, that you’d never even entertained the notion. And once you told me about that night, at the airport, I asked about it. Like, in general. If he regretted anything. He said he would’ve liked to tell you something, but that he chickened out. He thought it would be best to leave it unspoken, leave it as a ‘what if?’” he explains.

“I don’t understa-”

“He thought you were letting him go. Saying goodbye. He didn’t know.”

***

Oscar was punctual. Not late, not early. On time. So as you accidentally arrive at your aforementioned dinner way earlier than you were meant to, you’re surprised to see Piastri sitting there already.

“You look nice.” you say thoughtfully, sitting down opposite him, and he smiles ruefully.

“Thanks.” he replies, scanning the menu.

“So, race weekend. Are you excited?” you ask awkwardly, like it’s not a stupid question. It’s like you’re on a pathetic first date, not someone you used to sit next to in Chemistry.

“Of course. Are you, coming, maybe?” he questions hopefully, and you purse your lips.

“Um, I don’t know. Probably not, with the launch soon. I’m sorry, if Lando was a dick to you, or something.” you mumble, and he grins appreciatively.

“No, he was fine. Just worried. I don’t think anyone other than Lissie has ever seen us argue- it’s not a common occurrence.” he jokes, but it’s sad.

“Hey, we didn't argue. I’m sorry, how abrupt I was. I was just overwhelmed.” you respond, but he just nods.

There’s silence again, and it's that offputting kind, that you’ve never really associated with him.

“This is so weird. What happened to us?” he asks quietly, and it’s so genuine and so full of hurt that you want to cry.

“We stopped being kids a while back, if that's what you mean.”

“You were living with me two months ago. And now we’re sitting here pretending we have things to talk about, like we don’t know everything about each other.” he mumbles, and you don’t know what to do, because he's right. And you feel like it's your fault.

“Nah, you don’t know everything.” you reply snarkily, and he looks up.

“I don’t? Everything from before I left, surely?” he suggests, but you shake your head.

“Nope, not quite. Do you remember my first ever sketchbook?” you mutter, trying to ignore the anxiousness in your chest.

“Yep, pink. Of course! You guarded that with your life.” he laughs, and you watch carefully as his cheeks flush.

“It was because you were in it. Sketches of you, of us, all over. Pages and pages of it. And when Lissie saw, she called me by your last name for weeks. So much, I used to scribble it down near the drawings, to see if I liked it. And she explained we’d have to be married, and I didn't understand that, so I just went with it.” you confess quietly, watching him try to suppress an evident smile.

“Well, what if I told you I had the exact same thing? Do you remember when my cousin came from Australia? The old one, with his girlfriend? He said he was going to marry her, and I asked him what that meant. And he said it was just making sure the person you loved the most was stuck with you, forever, basically. So I marched around declaring I’d marry you so we’d be friends forever.” he responds, his voice breaking slightly, and it's your turn to try not to laugh.

“Wow, we were hopeless.”

“We were.”

Then the silence is back, and it's warm, and familiar, and you feel that gravitational pull back into Oscar Piastri again. And for some reason, that emboldens you. Just enough to say something small. A few, insignificant words, that weren’t insignificant at all.

“You never said anything.”

“We were what, six? Of course I didn’t. I didn’t understand it.”

“Was that it, though? Did it really go away, just like that?”

“No. Did it go away for you?”

“No, but you knew that.”

You wait for another quick response, wait for him to prove Lando wrong. But his slow blinking, his confusion, makes your heart soar and your stomach churn.

“I didn’t know that. How was I meant to know that?”

“I told you, I said I love you. What else did you want me to say?” you ask, your heartbeat accelerating.

“Oh come on, that's not fair. You used to say, ‘thanks, love you’ practically every day. I bought you a croissant once, and you acted like I’d just proposed. I couldn’t ever tell what you felt about me, ever. I just assumed you said ‘I love you’, like because you did. Like family. We were that close.”

“Right, so shaky hands and tears in my eyes was no accurate indication. You’re an idiot.”

“Oh. Then. I am. That is fair, although, when I said it back, you just reminded me that I had to go.”

“Yeah, because YOU said it back so normally. I practically felt you shrug while you said it. I could hear the reflexiveness of the response, genuinely.” you mumble, and he laughs.

“That also makes you an idiot.”

***

Lando never leaves you on read. He always made an effort to not do that, because he hated being left on read himself. So watching him ignore a message he definitely should not have ignored is concerning.

You’re not concerned for very long though, because suddenly a cluster of limbs and pink hair crash into your studio, disturbing your calculated mess.

Lissie and Clara babble over eachother, flinging themselves at you, with a flurry of words that seem to be ‘congratulations’ and ‘condolences’ simultaneously.

“Guys, please relax. Me being in love with Oscar is not a new concept.” you joke, but you’re obviously overwhelmed. And it’s scary, admitting something you’ve been hiding for so long. Fighting for so long. But you were tired, and you were beat. And before you realised, you were crying. Just a little bit.

‘We were hopeless.’

You were. And you realised what you’d felt in that silence, every time. That warmth, that comfort, it was love. It was you both saying how much you loved eachother, because you couldn’t actually make a sound about it. And you really did feel like a fucking idiot. A true, silly, hopeless, idiot, teenager

But you didn’t have to be that again, did you?

You feel hugs and ‘it’s okay, let it out’ whispers, and you let yourself have this moment of vulnerability. You let yourself mourn what could’ve been, and you hoped he was doing the same.

“So, let’s talk about this, yeah? What do you want to do?” asks Lissie, and Clara nods enthusiastically. And you think about Lando and wonder how on earth he’s managed to make her fall in love with him. So you look at them both, and pause.

“What would you do?”

The question is heavy, and serious, and you watch them stiffen.

“I would go for it,” and “I’d let him go,” are their simultaneous answers, and you groan.

“Great, thanks. Super helpful.”

Lissie speaks first. “Look, I watched you go through this before. I know how deep this runs. It’s in your very nature. If you don’t do this, you’ll regret it. More than you already do.” she warns, and you know she’s right.

“You could get over it. For real this time, if you tried. It’s clearly taken so much from you already, and maybe if it was meant to be, it would’ve been by now. If you just left, focused on your clothes and stuff, idk. You’ll let yourself love someone else, and it will be okay,” advises Clara, and you pause at her words. Because somehow, she’s right too.

And you’re so torn, you don’t know what to do. Because you’re so disgustingly horribly obsessed with Oscar Piastri, and you have been for over a decade. You could conjure him perfectly in your mind, every freckle in place. Imagine his voice, his smell, immediately. Your heart almost explodes when you think too hard about him.

Your phone dings, a loud, ugly noise, and you sigh, assuming a range of messages from Lando.

You pack up your stuff, gesturing wildly to the girls beside you. “I’m going to see him, like now.” you reveal, biting your lip again.

“So, what are you going to do then? What are you going to tell him?” Clara asks carefully, and you smile. It’s small, and subtle, but it’s there. The only sign she needed to know you made the right choice, whatever that choice was.

“I’ll let you know how it goes.”

***

You arrive, slightly flushed, at his door, and he opens before you can knock.

“You came!” He announces, like he’s surprised.

“Uh, yeah. Obviously. What did you want to talk about?” You ask, even though you both know the answer.

“We made it a joke earlier, but is it? Is it a joke?” He replies sullenly, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s not a joke to me. I was like, head over heels, insanely in love with you. And I just don’t know how to cope with the idea of what we lost without even knowing we were losing it.” You admit honestly, and he sighs.

“You’re right. I feel the same way. And this might sound pathetic but I want to make up for it. I mean, it can’t feel much different to how we already are, sur-“ and you laugh. A horrible explosive outburst of giggles.

His face collapses, like you’ve just ripped out his heart and jumped on it.

“-I’m sorry, obviously that was back then. If you’re over it now, or whatever else, or the media and so on, that’s totally fine.” He mumbles sadly, clearly reeling from your cackles.

“Oh, Oscar, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, ridiculous. After all this. You’re not pathetic, not now. You were back then. So was I.”

“We were scared.”

“We didn’t have to be.” You mutter, and he smiles knowingly.

“No, we didn’t have to be. But we were.” He steps towards you, slowly, bringing his hands gently to your face.

He pauses, then says, “Look, you were my best friend. Still are.”

“I was scared to touch your face, in case you flinched.” He murmurs, brushing the hair from your eyes. “I could barely even hold eye contact sometimes. You’d look at me like I was saving you from drowning, when I was actually the one drowning. I used to forget how to breathe when you’d pull my blazer collar down. When our knees brushed in the car. When you’d press your arms against mine and scribble down numbers. I was so scared of you.”

You can feel him breathing on you now, as you study each other’s faces, daring the other person to find something new, something they haven’t seen before. But that’s an impossible task, because you know every mole, and he knows every smile line. You know exactly what his teeth look like, and he can imagine the small scar on your forehead even though he can’t see it.

And there it is again. That silence that screams words louder than your voice ever could. You can hear it in the silence. You are in love, it says. He is in love.

“Are you scared now?” You ask tentatively, and he grins.

“No.”

And that’s when it all comes crashing down, and you throw away any doubt you had about soulmates, because yours is right here. And he’s kissing you so gently, his lips so soft against yours, that you can’t help but sigh. It’s alien and familiar at the same time and you wrap your arms around him subconsciously, carefully playing with the back of his hair.

His cheeks are flushed when you both breathe, and you press your forehead against his.

“Hi.”

“Hi. Are you my girlfriend now?”

“That’s a rubbish way to ask. But yeah, I am.”

He beams, like he’s finally found something precious that he had spent eternity looking for.

“Okay. Nice. Cool. Okay.”

“Are you freaking out a bit right now, baby?” You tease, and he laughs.

“Yeah, a bit. Can you tell?”

“I can. Now, are you going to tell Lando or should I?”

***

yourusername

yourusername hi everyoneee! sorry, it’s been a while again. Anyway. Here’s some news! Took us a while to announce this, because we wanted some time to ourselves, but I’m sure this isn’t a massive surprise to anyone. oscarpiastri

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user46 DONT PLAY RN

user12 wowwow

user23 i KNEW IT

↳ user46 we all knew it??

landonorris lame Oscars post was better

↳ yourusername only saying that cause ur in it bruh

claranelson yay, so so happy for you

lissiematthews oscarpiastri adoptive brother to actual brother soon?

↳ yourusername bit early for that maybe

↳ oscarpiastri is it really too early?

You switch off your phone, and flip it over to admire the new Polaroid hidden in your phonecase. Identical to the other, truly, but older and newer at the same time. The love in your eyes is the same, but your face is matured, and the frame cleaner.

And you open your sketchbook and you doodle it, lingering on his features that you could draw blind.

[star-girl-05]

My Darling Blood Bag

Kol Mikaelson x Reader

~★~❤︎~✦~

“Darling, do you want me to drain you dry?”

“I’m never going to finish if you keep distracting me.” For the last ten minutes Kol has been kissing all over your neck. Continuously distracting you from your homework. 

“I can’t help myself darling, you’ve been focusing on that stupid piece of paper all evening. Im beginning to feel neglected”, he tilts your head towards him placing a deep kiss on your lips. Though before you can get too lost in the kiss you push him away.

“If I get a bad grade on this stupid piece of paper my mom will kill me” Kol dramatically sighs, turning your chair around so he can face you. 

“I’ll compel you an A”, now that was an enticing offer. You’ve been working on this assignment for the last hour and a half, and have barely made a dent in it. It’s also due tomorrow so that was just making you more anxious. So you could either continue to struggle trying to finish or you could pay attention to your charming boyfriend. The choice is obvious

Your assignment is long forgotten as Kol tosses you on the bed, a large smirk on his face. “Finally now you’re all mine” he nuzzles his head into your neck, placing soft kisses against your neck. The soft kisses turn harsher before he finally sinks his teeth into your skin. 

This was Kol's favourite activity… well second favourite. He’s constantly telling you that your blood is the sweetest thing he has ever tasted, and you have no complaints. You absolutely love the feel of Kol drinking your blood. The soft feel of his lips on your neck combined with the pain of his teeth sinking into your neck, it’s just so intimate. You never get enough of the feeling.  

“Noo, not yet” You whine when he pulls away, grabbing at his shirt trying to pull him back. 

He chuckles his hand wrapping around your throat to push you against the bed. “Darling, do you want me to drain you dry?” his teasing tone makes you pout. Kol was always playing with you, it’s something you both love and hate about him. “Aww don’t pout, my little blood bag” You roll your eyes at the nickname though instead of commenting you pull Kol in for a kiss, one he’s all too happy to accept.

[lunareclipse-writes]

It may seem like a stupid question, but what would be headcanons or not (go with your taste) of what it would be like to have a yautja courting you (I don't know how this will sound because English is not my language) and if you can, A little bit of tension

Like I know he's going to bring you an animal, but that's it???

I apologize again for any mistakes or if this text may have something uncomfortable or that you did not understand (I may have used some slang from where I live)

Not a stupid question at all! ❤

So you'll get different answers from each creator you ask because headcanons are what we think it would be like

Meaning you'll agree with some but not all based on your preferences because everyone is different in how they think

Some might headcanon they just bring you an animal, but I headcanon that even the animal they gift you is special - they make sure it reminds them of you, it has meaning

(Hope that helps, I'm not great at explaining things)

---

Yautja (Predator) courtship is a fascinating topic, especially if you like your romance primal, intense, and a little terrifying in the best way.

---

Yautja Courting Headcanons (with a romantic, protective twist)

---

1. The Trophy Offering – More Than Just a Kill

• Yes, they will bring you an animal... but not just any animal. It'll be:

• A creature they hunted specifically with you in mind—one they think suits your strength, cunning, or beauty.

• The more dangerous the prey, the more seriously they're taking you.

• Sometimes they’ll bring parts (like bones or teeth) and expect you to wear them—like a token of protection or status.

• If you accept the trophy and keep it displayed or worn, it's basically saying “I accept you.”

---

2. Blood-Marking Rituals

• He might press his blood-covered hand to your chest, forehead, or even your mouth after a hunt.

• To them, this is an incredibly intimate act—a claim, but also a sign of deep respect. They rarely touch anyone like this.

---

3. Silent Guarding

• He won’t always be visible, but he’s there—especially during your most vulnerable moments: sleeping, bathing, eating.

• You may notice tiny indicators of his presence: a fresh kill nearby, the subtle hum of cloaking tech failing, the way predators avoid you now.

• If another Yautja approaches, he’ll come out of hiding real fast—aggressive body language, challenging growls. You're his.

---

4. Showing You How to Kill

• Yautja don’t just love hunters—they respect those who can survive.

• He may teach you how to wield a blade or set traps, showing patience and pride when you succeed.

• If you manage to wound or kill something dangerous, he’ll be visibly aroused/impressed, even if he doesn’t say it.

---

5. Crafting Personal Gifts

• When not killing things, he might work on making something from his own materials—armor pieces, a necklace, a tool with clan markings and yours mixed in.

• He’s not verbal, so he uses craftsmanship to show he thinks about you.

---

6. Physical Intimacy as a Trust Test

• Yautja aren’t touchy-feely, but if he starts allowing physical closeness—like brushing your hair, touching your face, or standing close without armor—it’s HUGE.

• He may press his forehead to yours (Yautja equivalent of a kiss).

• If you initiate touch and he doesn’t pull away—or better yet, leans into it—he’s absolutely smitten.

---

7. Mimicry – Echoing Your Voice

• If he’s learned your language, he may repeat certain words or phrases you say to mimic your voice.

• It’s eerie but weirdly endearing—it’s his way of trying to “speak your soul.”

• If he ever mimics something soft like “mine” or your name, it means everything to him.

---

8. Jealousy & Challenge

• If another human flirts with you? Expect a tense, low growl and intimidating posture.

• He may subtly challenge them or scare them off—not to hurt, just to warn.

• This possessiveness is protective more than controlling—but it is intense.

---

9. Wound-Tending

• If you’re injured, he will lose his shit.

• He may carry you to safety, clean the wound with alien tech, and stay glued to your side while you recover—even growling at others who try to help.

• Afterward, he may mark the spot with blood or a carved rune, symbolizing your survival together.

---

10. Presenting You to the Clan

• The ultimate proof of his devotion: he brings you to meet his people.

• This is a ceremony, and you will be expected to act with confidence (or at least bravery).

• If they accept you, you’ll be given a protective sigil—either worn, tattooed, or marked in blood—and you’re considered part of his future.

---

Masterlist

[hedwig221b]

Have you ever read “You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would” by alice9?

(https://archiveofourown.org/works/51306448) it’s an absolute favourite of mine and I wonder whether you know any fics similar to it?

Also recommended by @avabean24 ❤

It's been 84 years, and I didn't really get what recs you wanted, bc this wonderful fic has so many tropes. I focused on secret relationship, so here we go, I guess?

You would kill for this, just a little bit, you would by alice9

The Hales didn’t like him. He didn’t like them either. And for fifteen years he made it a point to have as little interaction with them as possible. It comes as a shock then, when Derek Hale turns up at his door one night, screaming baby in his arms, asking for help.

Operation Girl Scout Cookies by katsu_kiri

After a minute Derek looks back up, his lips puckering in thought, “so…we just…see each other in secret. Then in November after local elections we can see each other for real?” “We are seeing each other for real! It’s just us who know about it for the first few months,” Stiles corrects. “Okay.” Stiles holds his breath, eyes widening, “okay as in okay let’s secretly date?” “Yes,” Derek adds his tone a little less bitter as if he is just now warming up to the idea. “Awsome! Holy shit, dude we’re mates,” Stiles beams. Or the one where both Talia and John are running for mayor of Beacon Hills and their sons end up being mates. Enter a secret relationship, a dash of smut, and a way too involved Laura Hale.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Pry Him From My Cold Dead Fingers by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"So they’re coming for our Emissary because they lost theirs?” Derek asked, somewhat angrily. “It would appear. The McCall-Hale Pack’s reputation precedes itself.” “Don’t worry,” Scott said, “we won’t let them touch you.” Deaton turned to him, offering a private smile before inclining his head slightly. “Very comforting, Scott, thank you. But,” he looked between them, “I’m not the Emissary they’re coming after.” Derek frowned and shared a look with Scott, who looked as confused as he did. “What do you mean?” Scott asked. “What other Emissary is there?”

Operation Get Derek Laid by Kikileduc

There's pining, misunderstandings, confusion, a little jealousy… Stiles and Derek have a nice thing, no one knows, yet. The issue is, the pack wants their alpha to get lucky at the werewolf seminar, and well Stiles thinks Derek wants that too…

Mismatched Match by LadyDrace

Getting to date hot senior jock Derek Hale should be cause for shouting from the rooftops, frankly, but life is a little more complicated than that. Until it isn't.

You Look Like Bad News (i gotta have you) by standinginanicedress

Option A : violently tell Derek that they are under no circumstances ever to hook up again because it was stupid and dumb. Option B : tell Scott the truth, stand back and watch as Scott kills Derek with his bare hands so Stiles doesn't even have to face the music. Not an option at all, actually. Expunge this from the record. The real Option B : calmly explain to Derek that the situation is too fucked up and hey, maybe if Derek and Scott ever shake hands and make up, he and Stiles can hook up again because, man…it was great. Option C : forget everything, charge headfirst into danger like fuckin' Bravehart and have sex with Derek all over again. Option D : bury himself alive and wait for the worms to eat him.

Until Sunrise

"You told me I would have time,” Derek said, simmering with anger. “You promised to leave the choice to me.” “The court is starting to talk,” said Peter. “We do not have a stellar reputation as it is, and your ventures into the world of simple pleasures do not go unnoticed. You do not care, of course. But you are, pardon me, too loud for it to remain discreet.” “You think if I were to have a wife, I would stop fucking?” Peter cringed his nose. “No. It would make you a proper, civilized man. You are getting too old, nephew.” “Fine. But I’ll choose.” “No,” Peter smiled. “I shall choose.” Derek opened his mouth to argue, but Peter did not let him. “We both know you will continue to fuck whomever you want. None of us will be able to stop you. Let me have a pick of a proper spouse to placate the court. That’s all I ask.”

[masterlist link]

[littlelamy]

"really, with pogues?"

tw: mean!rafe, language also it's somewhat pope x reader

rafe stares at you like you just pissed on his shoes. “you’re really gonna go to pogues beach?” rafe spits, jaw clenching. “jesus christ, sweetheart. you’re such a dumb little bitch sometimes, you know that?”

you blink, chest tightening. the air turns to static between you both, thick with heat and tension and that patented rafe cameron cruelty that only shows up when you cross an invisible line he drew in his head.

“what the heck, rafe?” you snap, trying not to show the sting in your throat. “it’s a beach. i’m not joining a gang, i’m swimming and laying in the sun. what's the fucking big deal?”

but he’s not hearing it. not when his pride’s bruised and his ego’s swelling like a blister.

he scoffs, rubbing his face like he can't believe this is his life. “no, yeah, sure. run along. go laugh with those broke-ass trash cans. next time i’ll date someone who actually knows her worth.”

you step back like he hit you, blinking fast, a pit opening in your stomach, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of tears. “hm,” you mutter. “maybe you should.”

and then you leave in a hurry, while his voice doesn’t follow you.

later, when you’re lying on a towel under the sun, wrapped in sarah’s laughter and jj’s stupid jokes, you feel your chest loosen. john b tosses a frisbee, kie’s straddling a cooler with sunglasses too big for her face, and pope—sweet, pope—he’s grinning beside you, handing you water.

you begged rafe to teach you how to surf. every summer. every time he said “next time” or “i’m busy” or “what’s the point, you’ll just fall.” but now, pope’s holding the board steady in the water, hands at your hips, his fingers splayed against your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish.

“okay, now shift your weight, just like that,” he says, voice warm, and you giggle when you stumble. not embarrassed at all—free.

behind you, rafe’s standing under the shade of a stupid-ass tent with topper and kelce and a bunch of other kooks, beer in hand, mouth a bitter line. he hadn't planned to show up. said fuck it, let her play in the dirt with the pogues.

but he couldn’t help it. couldn’t help wanting to see if you'd really choose them.

and there you are, laughing—laughing really?—and it’s not for him.

you were clutching pope’s forearms, legs wobbling, but trusting him like you trusted rafe. the saltwater glistens on your skin, sun catching the droplets sliding down your thighs. God, you’re wearing that bikini—the black one. his favorite, the same one he calls "the boner builder.”

you throw your head back laughing as pope catches you around the waist when you almost fall.

rafe’s teeth grit so hard it makes his jaw ache.

“fuck is she doing?” he mutters.

topper taking a puff from his vape. “uh, surfing, dude?”

“no, not that,” rafe snaps, but his voice falters. “just..like that. with him.”

“looks pretty fucking into it,” kelce says, sipping beer, watching your ass bounce as you try again.

rafe throws his can into the sand hard enough it sprays. he can’t look away. can’t stand the sight, yet he still watches.

❤︎ tags below

@rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @rafedaddy01 @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @bevstofu @wintercrows @emluvsuxo @rafestoothbrush @cadhlabear @st8rkey

[2neaky]

❤︎ .𖥔˚𝚄𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙽𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚕𝚎𓍼ོ.𓍢ִ໋

𝓜𝓓𝓝𝓘 ☆ 𝓦𝓐𝓡𝓝𝓘𝓝𝓖𝓢 - reader is aroused from getting a tattoo (soft core) / Eren x Blackreader | mini drabble—working thru a writing slump so bear w. me on these shorter fics, enjoy <3

Over a hundred times per second, thousands of times per minute—the needle keeps hitting delicate skin.

Sometimes it breaks, leaving droplets of blood in its wake. Other times, it’s just strong enough to withstand the attack, leaving the skin raw and swollen.

‘It’s probably red,’ she thinks as her thighs clench around the chair.

There’s a moment of clarity; The needle has been lifted.

“You good?”

His voice almost makes her shiver.

Her closed eyes squeeze together.

“Mhm.”

She hears him moving around some tools behind her. “Use your words.”

“Yeah…”

Low, green eyes bore into the back of her head, watching closely.

From their first meeting, she could tell that Eren was an ‘all-about-the-details’ kind of man. Analytical, almost to a fault (noting the times he’s kept her in his chair longer than needed, just to perfect a tattoo). She doesn’t appreciate him any less for it.

Yet, she’s burning up under his stare. She almost wishes he would look away, as stupid as that sounds.

“Tell me when you need a break.”

She nods and turns her head to the side to rest against the headrest, eyes still closed.

“𓊆ྀི⋆˖ ⭑˚⊹𓊇ྀི.”

Soft mink lashes blink as she peels her eyes open to look at him—as best as she can from this angle, anyway.

“Tell me.”

He’s a soft-talker, quiet most times. But the added edge to his voice at times just gets her.

Usually, she laughs it off, making a joke about him. It makes it easier to ignore the way his tone fires her up.

She can’t laugh this time.

Her body inches up higher against the back of the chair, her wide hips do a meager half-drag against it.

Why did she wear jeans?

“Okay.”

The whine of her voice almost alarms him. His gaze lingers on her for seconds more as his mind replays the way her full lips twitched into a pout.

He saves an apology to continue his work.

The second the needle touches her skin, her spine tenses beneath his hand. It isn’t so much of a big movement that he has to take a pause. Just a tiny shift beneath the skin. Still, he notices it.

He also notices the restless sway of her right knee every time he lifts the needle. And how her hips keep anchoring down against the seat. Even how her breathing picks up.

During their first ever session, he wondered why she would never tap out for breaks. But, it’s too obvious that she enjoys more than she should. Even when she tries to hide it.

A breath of amusement leaves through his nose.

The needle trickles half an inch lower, closer towards one of her back dimples. He applies more force behind the gun.

Her eyes roll back shut. Her arms shield her face, keeping him from seeing her tug her bottom lip between her teeth.

A stifled whimper sneaks out.

“This is gonna be a long one,” he mutters.

He doesn’t lift the needle.

It’s getting harder and harder for her to keep still. She releases her bottom lip and it trembles.

Eren glances up at her and presses a little harder. The sting reaches deeper.

Her lips part as her face pulls together.

“I’m almost done, you could hold out.”

A tiny mewl slips from her. It’s soft and broken, so unlike her strong, brazen attitude.

Something in his chest drops; It free-falls down his stomach and to his dick. He lifts the gun with a sigh.

His breath fans against the raw skin of her back. She shivers as her hips twitch against the chair again.

“Good job.”

[ichigo-plasma]

Cat Cafes, Collars, and Cream

Milgram ❤︎ Haruka Sakurai x Reader

Synopsis: You take your boyfriend Sakurai Haruka to a cat cafe for a date but didn’t think he’d get this jealous of the attention you give to the cats… he wishes you’d treat him like that… maybe he’ll need to show you that’s how he wants to be treated…

On The Menu: delicious smut, leash pulling on people ;), collars, ambiguous consent, Haruka being really cute and needy, yandere Haruka(but he’s literally jealous of cats getting your attention), also i believe Haruka lies about it his age because he doesn’t want to admit he’s way older so he is an adult here!

Guide: smut starts only after the pink hearts ❤︎ ❤︎ to skip smut you can stop reading there!~

A/N: also this takes place in an AU where Milgram didn’t happen/happen yet/already ended. But there are mentions of some of Haruka’s crimes!~

Taking Haruka to a cat café seemed like a sweet idea at first. Your adorable boyfriend and adorable cats in the same room? What could be cuter? Watching him interact with the fluffy little creatures sounded like the perfect way to spend a date!

But the second you stepped inside, Haruka tensed, his grip tightening on your sleeve.

“Y-Y/N…” Haruka whined softly, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes darted around anxiously, scanning the room like he was looking for threats. Enemies. That’s what they were. His competition.

And then, his worst fear came true.

The moment you saw a round, fluffy cat lounging by the window, your eyes lit up. “Oh my gosh, Haru-kun, look at this one! It’s so cute!”

You crouched down to pet it, completely entranced.

Haruka’s stomach twisted. His hands curled into fists at his sides. That should be him. You were supposed to be running your fingers through his hair, calling him cute, cooing over him. Not some filthy animal!

His breath hitched as his mind wandered, his thoughts spiraling into dangerous territory. You should be patting his head, cuddling him, whispering sweet things to him—not wasting your affection on some stupid cat. If only he just… if he maybe just—

No. No, he had to be good. Had to be patient. You loved him. You just needed a reminder.

“Awwww who’s a good boy!” You said to the cute cat taking all of your pets.

Good boy Haruka thought… that is what you call him…

“C-Can’t we—c-can’t we just go home?” His voice came out shaky, desperate. “Y/N, p-please?”

You glanced up at him, oblivious to the storm raging inside his mind. “Just a little longer, okay? Here, this one is super fluffy come pet it!~”

You reached out, grabbing his trembling hand and guiding it toward the cat’s soft fur. His breath hitched at the contact—not with the cat, with you. Your touch sent warmth spreading through him, and for a moment, he could almost forget the suffocating jealousy clawing at his chest like cat scratches.

His fingers barely brushed against the cat before he pulled back, his lip trembling. “It’s… i-it’s soft…” he admitted in a mumble.

You giggled. “See? Not so bad, right?”

His stomach twisted again. He didn’t want to see you smile at them. He wanted you to smile at him. Only him.

The second you got home after the cat cafe date and stepped through the front door, Haruka was on you.

You barely had time to take off your shoes before he pressed you against the wall, his arms locking around your waist, a knee between your legs, his entire body trembling against yours. His head buried itself in your chest, his breath hot and shaky against your skin. His fingers laced through yours, pinning them above your head so you couldn’t move.

“W-Why d-do you— why d-do you do this to me, Y/N?” His voice was muffled against you, his grip tightening. “I-It’s not fair… You’re s-supposed to be m-mine… mine…!”

You sighed, in disbelief your boyfriend really got jealous of some fluffy cats you knew he was a bit childish and were used to his tantrums… but this one was different... “Haru—”

“No— N-No, d-don’t t-talk back—!” His voice cracked, desperate. “Y-You spent all d-day p-petting th-those— those things! A-And I was just— I was just s-sitting there—suffering at the cafe table!”

His breath hitched as he buried his face deeper into your chest as tears form in his eyes, inhaling your scent like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “Y-You’re s-so cruel… y-you’re so cruel… b-but it’s okay… i-it’s okay…” His voice grew softer, a smirk forming on his lips brushing against your neck. “B-Because I know y-you love Haruka the most… right?”

You felt his hands tremble as they trailed down your arms, his lips pressing soft, shaky kisses along your neck. “S-Say it… Say you l-love me… s-say you b-belong to me…”

Your heart pounded nervous if you didn’t comply… he might go back to those cats at the cafe and do something extreme... “I love you, Haru,” you whispered. “More than anything.”

He shuddered.

“I-I love you too, Y/N” His voice cracked, his eyes glistening with tears. “I-I love you s-so much, i-it hurts… I-I w-want— I w-want to give you m-more love— s-so much more—”

His large, shaky hands grabbed yours as he pressed himself closer, his lips brushing against your ear.

“…L-Let’s go to bed, Y/N. L-Let Haruka s-show you how much he l-loves you.”

His smile was soft, sweet, and yet… something about it was utterly terrifying. You felt like you had no choice but to comply to your boyfriend… out of fear he might do what he did to the previous small animals he admitted he did things to when you first started dating… afraid he might see you as a small animal to dispose of next…

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Once you two made it to your shared bedroom, Haruka shoved you on the bed, as you fell on it Haruka’s plush rabbit slouched to the side… as if embarrassed to watch.

Haruka's shaking hands reached up to grasp a collar that lay on the bedside table, a red leather band with a heart-shaped charm dangling from it reading “If Lost, Return To Y/N”. You initially got it as a gag gift to tease him for how possessive he was with you… but he was way more into the idea of wearing it than you expected… His face was red and bashful as he held it out towards you.

"P-Put it on me, Y/N... please, put the collar on Haruka..." he whimpered, his voice trembling with need and desperation. "I want to b-be your good boy, your obedient pet... I want to show you how much I love you, h-how much I need you to care for me..."

You were hesitant at first but afraid he might do something extreme if you didn’t comply… So you took the collar from his outstretched hand, Haruka turned his back to you, presenting the nape of his slender neck. He shivered as he felt the cool leather brush against his flesh, a soft gasp escaping his lips.

With trembling fingers from fear, you fastened the collar around his neck, the click of the buckle seeming to echo loudly in the atmosphere of the bedroom. Haruka let out a shuddering sigh, his eyes fluttering closed as he savored the feeling of being claimed, of being yours, having all of your attention on himself… instead of those fluffy creatures from earlier.

Once the collar was secure he turned around and he took a step closer to you, backing you up against your shared bed until your legs hit the mattress.

His hands reached for the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head in one swift motion. He tossed it carelessly to the floor, revealing his slender torso, the pale skin marred by the bandages and scars of his troubled past. A blush stained his cheeks as he stood before you, his chest heaving with each ragged breath. Only pants and wearing his necklace he always wore around his neck.

He then pulled down your bottoms, throwing the outer garment off to the side and placing your panties on the nearby bedside table… to take care of later…

Then, Haruka's fingers then went to the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning them with shaking hands. He shimmied out of his pants and underwear in one go, kicking them off to the side. Now completely bare, he stood before you, his slim, pale body on full display. His most intimate parts were exposed - his dick, already hard and throbbing with desperate need, jutted out in front of you. It was a testament to his overwhelming desire for you and your attention.

He pushed you down onto the bed, crawling over you with a hunger in his eyes. His hands roamed your body, touching you everywhere, claiming every inch of your skin as his own. He couldn't keep his hands off you, his touch almost frantic in its intensity.

Haruka settled himself between your legs, his hips pressing against yours. He could feel the heat radiating off your core, drawing him in like a magnet. With a low, needy whimper, he reached down and guided his hard, aching cock to your entrance. He rubbed the tip teasingly along your slit, coating himself in your slick arousal.

"Y/N... I n-need to be inside you... I need to f-feel you around me, squeezing me, drenching me in your love..." he panted, his voice strained with desire.

With a sharp thrust of his hips, he pushed forward, the head of his cock popping inside your tight, wet heat. He let out a strangled moan at the sensation, his eyes rolling back slightly. And slowly, inch by inch, he pushed more of himself inside you, stretching you around his thick, throbbing length.

Once he was fully sheathed inside you, he paused, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He looked down at you, his gaze intense and possessive, obsessive in its love. "Y-You feel... you feel so good, Y/N... so perfect, like you were m-made just for me...”

He began to move, withdrawing until just the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in, burying himself to the hilt. He set a relentless, almost punishing pace, driven by his all-consuming need to remind you he needed your attention most, more than anyone or anything else ever could…

Haruka leaned down to capture your lips in a messy, desperate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to tangle with yours. All the while, he never stopped moving his hips, driving into you with force.

As you began to tighten and clench around Haruka's throbbing cock, he let out a guttural moan, his eyes squeezing shut from the exquisite sensation. He could feel your velvet walls fluttering around his sensitive flesh, gripping him like a vice.

"Ah! Y/N, are you... are you close? Are you going to come for me?" Haruka gasped out, his voice strained with exertion and emotion. When you nodded, he slowed his frantic thrusts to a stop, leaving just the tip of his erection nestled inside you.

Haruka reached for a leash you hadn’t noticed on the bedside table. He held it out to you, his eyes filled with a desperate, pleading look.

"P-Please Y/N... attach the leash to my collar..." he begged, his lower lip trembling. "I want to feel you holding me, guiding me, keeping me by your side... I want to be your loyal pet, your good boy who always stays close to you..."

He rolled his hips slightly, grinding his pelvis against yours, his half-hard cock twitching inside your heat. "I need you to pull it, Y/N... pull the leash and show me that you need me too... that I'm yours and I have to obey your every command..."

His other hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. His touch was soft, but there was an undercurrent of possessiveness, of desperation. "Please... please show me that I'm important to you... that I'm the only one you want to be with... forever and ever..."

Haruka's voice broke on the last word, tears welling up in his eyes. He needed this, needed you to reaffirm your claim on him, to prove that he belonged to you completely.

Your cheeks flushed a deep, embarrassed red as you reached out to take the leash from Haruka's shaking hand.

With a shy, nervous smile, you attached the leach to his collar and gave it a gentle tug, just as Haruka had asked. The moment the leather tightened around his neck, a shockwave of ecstasy ripped through his slender body. He let out a choked, desperate moan, his eyes rolling back and his mouth falling open in a silent scream of pleasure.

"Ahhh! Y/N! Yes, yes... I'm your loyal pet, your good boy..." Haruka blurted out, his words slurring together as he lost himself in the overwhelming sensation of finally feeling owned, claimed, loved.

Spurred on by the tug of the leash, Haruka began to move again, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He thrust into you with a frenzied, almost animalistic desperation, the bed creaking beneath the force of his thrusts. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin, punctuated by Haruka's high, breathy moans and whimpers.

As his thrusts grew faster and harder, Haruka's hand found yours on the leash, clasping it tightly. "W-When you come... pull my collar, Y/N... pull it hard and I'll come with you, I promise..." he gasped out, his voice strained and desperate. "I want to f-feel you come first... I want to make you feel good... I want us to come together...!"

He was panting now, sweat dripping down his neck, his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes were glazed over, staring at you with a fevered intensity as he chased your shared release. He needed it, craved it, like he needed air to breathe. He needed all of your attention.

As you felt your climax approaching, you tightened your grip on the leash and pulled it sharply, just as Haruka had begged you to. The leather dug into the soft skin of his neck as you came undone, your inner walls clenching and fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock.

"H-Haruka! I... I'm coming!" you cried out, your voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom. The sensation of your release triggered his own, and with a final, erratic thrust, Haruka buried himself as deep inside you as possible.

"Y/N! I'm coming too! I'm coming with you!" he shouted, his voice cracking. His hot, thick seed spilled into you, painting your insides with his release. He shuddered and jerked above you, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over his body.

In the aftermath of your shared climax, Haruka collapsed against your breasts, his chest heaving and slick with sweat. He nuzzled into your soft mounds, seeking comfort and affection like a needy kitten. His hands roamed over your curves, still desperate to touch and caress every inch of you.

"W-Was I good, Y/N? Was I a good boy for you?" Haruka asked, his voice small and hopeful. He gazed up at you with wide, vulnerable eyes, craving your validation and approval. "Tell me... tell me you like me more than those stupid, annoying fluffy cats at the cafe... Please..."

He sounded so earnest, so desperate for your assurance. His lower lip trembled slightly, and he pressed himself closer to you, if that was even possible. The collar was still tight around his neck, a symbol of your claim on him, your attention all for him.

You wrapped your arms around his shaking form, holding him close and protective, like a precious baby kitten. "Yes, Haruka... you were an incredibly good boy," you murmured, petting his hair soothingly like an owner and their cat. "I like you so much more than those silly cats... I promise, I'll never take you to that place again. You're mine, and I'll keep you safe and by my side, always..."

Haruka let out a shuddering sigh of relief and happiness at your words, his body relaxing completely. He nestled even further into your breasts, his eyes fluttering closed.

He let out a soft, satisfied yawn, his breath evening out as he allowed himself to be cradled in your embrace. His arms wrapped around your waist, clinging to you like a lifeline, like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

Within minutes, Haruka's body went limp and heavy in your arms as he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. A small, smile played on his lips, and he looked utterly at peace, like a beautiful, little kitten finally at rest.

You held him close, your fingers combing tenderly through his soft, blue hair. All of your attention devoted to him.

A/N: Hiii~! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ I’m totally obsessed with subby yandere boys who are super neeeeedy and whiny but still have that little dominant side when they’re pushed to their limit~! Haruka from Milgram is literally perrrrrrfect for that, but no one really writes for him (or anyone from Milgram… sobs). Alsooo, I 1000% believe he’s lying about his age and is actually way older but too embarrassed to admit it, so in my eyes, he’s an adult! (*≧ω≦)ゞ Also firrrrrst fic! I write a looooooot but always keep it for myself but Milgram lacks smut so herrrre. Next fic will have Mikoto Kayano, Orekoto, and Haruka together.

[boyardee-znuts]

‪‪❤︎‬ a birthday trend for a kpop idol gives you an idea on how to spoil [REDACTED] for his birthday ‪‪❤︎‬ [REDACTED] x fem reader ‪❤︎‬ wc: 5.1k ‪‪❤︎‬ content warning(s): nsfw, yandere, being observed (somewhat) without your knowledge, reader has a pretty prominent chest, more submissive leaning [REDACTED], one (1) kpop reference but not relevant to plot ❤︎‬ [REDACTED] is from 14 days with you being developed by cutiesigh ❤︎‬ mdni banner by cafekitsune

14 days with you is an 18+ game and is not suitable for minors. minors do not interact with the game and/or any fanfiction material posted here.

you’ve learned not to question some of [REDACTED]’s odd habits. 

sure, their quirks like installing cameras in your apartment and hacking into your devices so they could watch you at all points of the day was far from normal, but you’ve learned that [REDACTED] would never lay a hand on you or do anything that would make you unhappy.

you’re no psychology expert. there’s probably some explanation about why something so fucked up could become something so normal, but you’ve decided to cross that bridge when you get there.

at least, those are your thoughts as you lay back on your bed, absentmindedly scrolling through twitter. your eyes gloss over the camera at the top of your phone, and you can’t help but wonder if [REDACTED] is watching you from somewhere else. it’s kinda cute, to think that they’d be observing you with such rapt attention when you’re not doing anything special.

‘happy birthday, johnny!’ a tweet catches your attention. it’s not someone you follow, but it’s the picture of a pretty girl with a revealing top and what looks like a kpop star’s photocard shoved into the hem of her bra. you don’t pay it any mind until a similar tweet pops up from someone else, with a girl’s chest and a different idol’s photocard tucked up snugly against the swell of her breasts.

must be one of those newfangled internet trends. you kept up with them enough to be able to understand general internet lingo and memes, but it wasn’t like you were jumping at every opportunity to do it yourself. 

you’re about to scroll away and go back to wasting your afternoon away by filling your mind with brainrot and nonsensical memes when an idea pops into your head.

you might not feel strongly enough about a kpop idol to post pictures of their photocard in your boobs, but you do have a rather dedicated boyfriend that might appreciate it more than words could describe.

you like that thought. you grin to no one in particular as you swing your legs off of your bed and make your way to your wallet. [REDACTED] is no kpop idol and doesn’t have photocards of them, but you do have a polaroid picture you managed to wrangle out of them during one of your dates. 

you strip yourself out of your top and dig through your wardrobe to find a cute bra. it’s a small white lingerie number with little wing patterns sewn lovingly into the lace edges. [REDACTED] got it for you, mumbling about how it fit your “angel” nickname they gave you. you believe them, but you’re also pretty sure they got it for you because it also looks like wedding night lingerie. 

but it’s perfect for the occasion. you make sure your chest is pushed up perfectly within the lingerie bra, using your elbows to squeeze in from the sides to accentuate the curve of your breasts. you carefully wedge the polaroid of [REDACTED] up against your nipple, barely covering yourself up. you’re revealing so much of your chest, leaving very little to the imagination yet still hiding just enough to leave any viewer hanging.

satisfied with your set up, you angle your phone so that the camera can get a good, clear view of your chest and the picture of [REDACTED] snugly against your breasts. 

“hi, [REDACTED]. thought i’d do something special for you,” you whisper softly. you really hope they’re watching you, otherwise you’d feel stupid doing this for no reason. “it’s your birthday soon, isn’t it? why don’t you come over, and i’ll give you a real birthday treat. consider this a teaser.”

you blow an exaggerated kiss at the camera before you set your phone down and get comfortable again on your bed.

now, you wait.

…

…

…

[REDACTED] makes it to your apartment in eight minutes. you were keeping count. normally they make it over in ten, which means they were most definitely rushing to get to you. and their red cheeks and shortness of breath as they practically knock down your bedroom door only seems to be proof of that.

you bat your eyelashes and look at them as if you were unaware of your ministrations just now. “you made it here so quickly! i wasn’t expecting that.”

[REDACTED] doesn’t even respond. they stare straight at your face as if your words went into one ear and out the other. their widened, blue eyes snake down the curve of your nose and cheeks, down to your neck, before they settle on your exposed chest and the polaroid of themself still nestled against your breasts.

“oh, c’mon, sweetheart.” you pout dramatically. “i know you’re expecting a good time, and i’m more than happy to give it to you, but can’t you at least give me a greeting before we go at it like animals?”

[REDACTED] takes a step back to shove their forehead against their hands and take a moment to calm their wild mind. their eyes flutter shut for a split second as they suck in a deep breath. “sorry. i… i suppose i got distracted. y’looked really good… couldn’t help but run here as soon as y’flashed me with- with that.”

you bite back a pleased laugh at how flustered they sound. looks like they eagerly downed the bait that you set out for them. “i’m messing with you. i’m glad you liked it enough to come see me in person. i was worried that i was doing all this for nothing.”

“i wouldn’t miss out on you for the world,” they breathe. now with the formalities out of the way, they turn to you. there’s a dark shadow that falls on their eyes, staring at your form as if they’re scared to blink. like you’d disappear if they were to tear their eyes away from you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen [REDACTED] this shamelessly desperate. they stay a step away from you, not wanting to encroach on your little safe zone on your bed without permission.

you sit up and pat the spot right next to you, at the edge of the mattress. “loosen up! sit. i promised you a birthday treat, so i am here to deliver. i want to make this all about you, so don’t look so scared.”

[REDACTED] bites at their bottom lip, fiddling with the ends of their black hoodie. but they comply, shuffling from your doorway to your mattress, and they plop down unceremoniously next to you. the mattress creaks in protest with [REDACTED]’s added weight, but once they’re seated, you remove the polaroid in between your chest and set it safely aside somewhere else. done with that, you lean over to press a quick kiss to their cheek. 

you can see their pale face visibly color as you kiss up and down their cheeks. your lips trail over the outline of their jaw before moving towards their neck. you press a lingering kiss over their adam’s apple, and then you tug impatiently at the neckline of their black hoodie to try and reveal more of [REDACTED]’s skin to your wandering lips.

“mmgh- angel-,” they groan as you trace the outline of their sensitive collarbones. your kisses are getting more languid, messy, your spit lingering on their exposed skin. “kissing me there like that… y’know i’m sensitive right there…”

“i know,” you murmur into their body. you shift slightly, practically clinging onto the lanky hacker. “that’s why i’m kissing you here.”

you make exaggerated kissing noises, your teeth tracing against the delicate skin. [REDACTED] has their head fully thrown back, leaning backwards onto their arms. for someone so practiced in the art of acting and play-pretend, subtlety flew out the window when it came to you and your awful teasing. with their throat and collarbones bared fully to you, [REDACTED] couldn’t make it any more obvious that they wanted you to bite them—to mark them.

normally it’d be them gnawing and sucking all over your neck to mark you as theirs, but tonight, you want to smother [REDACTED] in all the love you have. your fingers trickle down their stomach before settling at their crotch, cupping the growing tent in their tight black ripped jeans. their breathing hitches in the back of their throat when your hand ghosts over their visible erection, and you let the sharp ends of your teeth just barely dig into the soft flesh of [REDACTED]’s neck.

“fuck-,” they keen pathetically. “you’re going to fucking kill me, angel.”

“and you’d like it,” you mumble into the side of their neck. “do you want me to keep going?”

they shudder noticeably against your body. they breathe out, “yes. fuck- yes. keep going.”

god, their needy voice makes your heart skip a beat. you fumble around for the zipper before slowly dragging it down, and [REDACTED] helps you as you sneak your hand into their boxers and maneuver their half-hard dick out. you want to grip at their cock and just yank at it until they’re cumming their brains out right into your hand, but you came into this battle with a different outcome in mind.

[REDACTED] trembles again, probably assuming that you’d start jerking them off slowly. you wait, like a wild animal in anticipation for the perfect moment to pounce, until they let out a shaky exhale and let their eyelids flutter shut gradually. good. they’re letting their guard down around you.

you part your lips, drawing closer to their throat. 

and with as much love and lust you can muster, you bite.

“-kgh!” they cry out, flinching against your body. they whimper and moan as your teeth sink into their flesh, making sure the force is deep enough to leave a visible bite mark into their skin. it’s hot, their neck feels hot against your mouth, and [REDACTED] unconsciously bucks their hips, trying to find something to rub up against as a masochistic wave of red hot pleasure flashes against their mind.

it’s only then that you pull away from them, grinning down at them as if you’ve gotten them right where you want them. and you do—they’re panting underneath you, pretty blue eyes glazed over with need, eyes half-lidded as their cock visibly twitches and leaks in between their spread thighs.

you trace your fingers over the reddening bite marks on their throat. you giggle to yourself, moving your fingertips into the shape of a heart. “consider that an appetizer. ready for the real deal, sweetheart?”

[REDACTED] grits their teeth at the condescendingly sweet purr of your words. your nickname goes straight to their boner. “you’re awful, angel. don’t stop.”

your smile only widens as you clamber off of them and find your place on the floor. you push against their already spread knees before wiggling in between [REDACTED]’s legs. you peer up at them with a coy look, and you tug down at the flimsy lingerie top until it’s just barely hanging onto the bottom of your breasts. [REDACTED] looks like they’ve been turned to stone, unable to tear their eyes off of your chest as they sit frozen, propped up like a statue.

like you did earlier towards your phone camera, you press up against the sides of your boobs with your arms and move your chest slightly so that your breasts jiggle right in front of [REDACTED]’s swollen cock. you carefully slot their dick against the valley of your breasts, engulfing their girth partly with your chest. their cock feels hot against your skin, and it jerks slightly against your boobs, a perfect dot of translucent pre-cum beading at their tip.

[REDACTED] looks like they might choke to death on their own spit. you use your hands to push up against your chest from the bottom, trying to get the fatty flesh to fully envelop their thickness. 

“happy birthday, [REDACTED],” you coo lovingly. “i saw a bunch of girls doing this online to celebrate their favorite pop star's birthday, and… well, i thought it’d be fitting for me to do it to celebrate you instead.”

“you’re awful,” [REDACTED] weakly repeats. “you know just what to do t’make me crazy over you.”

“that’s kind of the whole point,” you laugh. before the hacker can smartly get back at you, you move your chest and your hands, sliding their cock downwards into your boobs. you gingerly stroke at the bottom half of their cock, making sure to cup your boobs just right so that their tip peeks out from between your breasts and their sensitive shaft is hugged with all the milky goodness [REDACTED] could only dream of. 

you net yourself a beautifully strangled moan. the sound comes from somewhere deep inside of [REDACTED]’s coiling stomach, and their body stiffens and tenses as you continue moving up and down on their shaft. hentai characters and pornstars make this look so easy, but you move slowly so that you can conserve your energy. 

you squeeze suggestively at your chest, and [REDACTED] lets out another weak cry when they see you groping yourself while you stroke them off. everything is too sudden, too much for them to handle, between you kissing their collarbones and biting like a feral animal at their jugular, to sitting so pretty in between their thighs in the lingerie that they specifically picked out for you, you’ve set the perfect honeyed trap for them to die in. 

“fuck- angel- fuck, my cock feels like ‘t’s gonna explode-,” they’re bucking their hips pathetically against your chest, grinding against your boobs. the delicious friction has their mind reeling, their metal piercings dragging against the soft skin in between your breasts. this is so much better than creeping on you through a camera, furiously fisting at their cock until they’re cumming all over their floor and hand, so much better than the rubbery artificial pleasure of a fleshlight. [REDACTED] just knows this is going to haunt them for the rest of their life. they’re going to beat off to this until their own brain goes hazy and stupid, wake up with a raging boner and rutting against their mattress from embedding this scene and this pleasure so deep into their mind that it invades their dreams. 

“hah-,” their breathing is rapidly turning ragged, the focus in their eyes slipping. “yeah- move your tits like that- move ‘em f’me- jerk me off with them… mhm- squeeze me harder- make me feel good… fuck, doing so good all this just f’me…” 

your chest is so soft and so welcoming, and you’re looking at them with such a pleased look in your eyes that [REDACTED] thinks they might actually pass out from the sheer pleasure. their heart flutters and squeezes inside of their own chest, and heat swirls and thrashes against the inside of their stomach. their cock pulses and weeps shamelessly with pre-cum, and it only lubricates your boobs further.

“do you like it? you look like you’re having a fun time,” you egg them on. your heart is thundering, and your blood races in your ears. it feels so lewd, so wrong yet so right, to be cupping your boyfriend’s cock this closely to your chest, to your heart, and watching them squirm and fuck against your skin. 

“yes- love it,” they manage out. their voice trembles and shakes, and the sound of your boobs squelching around their cock makes them go even more lightheaded. “yeah- just like that- oh, fuck, angel… milking m’cock with your tits- doing something so naughty all f’me… hah- you’ll be the death of me.”

they’re too coherent for your liking. [REDACTED] has never been particularly shy about how much they get off of simply being around, being able to claim you as theirs, on sharing as much intimacy as they can possibly hoard. the base of their pleasure has always revolved around you, but that’s not what you’re here for tonight. 

today is about them. you need to strip them all the way down to your instincts, using your body as the perfect tool to reduce all of their mind games and turn the tables entirely onto them. it would be your perfect reward, to turn your calculating and cunning lover into their true self: a [REDACTED] so lost in you that they can’t think. 

“i’ve always wanted to make you feel good like this,” you muse to them. the cool metal of their dick piercings are starting to warm up, nuzzled perfectly in between their body heat and yours. their cock pulses as you keep talking, your words and voice the perfect aphrodisiac to [REDACTED]. you bat your eyelashes innocently again, the smile they love so much gracing your face like holy light. 

“so naughty…,” they hiss. “tell me what you’re thinking, then. what you’re feeling.”

“hm…,” you trail off, humming under your breath. “i feel your cock… duh. it’s so big… you’re always so big, but having you against my boobs makes it feel even bigger.”

“oh?” their voice trembles the slightest bit when you lean back to rub your nipples over their tip. “y’like that? enough to ‘always want’ to do this for me? jerk my big cock off with your tits?”

heat flares inside of your face, and you pout. you don’t bother responding properly to them. words would be wasted on them when actions would be much louder, and you envelop their cock fully with your tits again. [REDACTED] lets out a moan when they feel the sudden skin-to-skin contact, the soft plush flesh of your tits wrapping all around their shaft and engulfing them with a wave of warmth. 

something deep in their stomach lurches dangerously. they’re lucky you didn’t make them strip all the way, otherwise you’d have a front row view to how much they were struggling to keep it together. [REDACTED] blames it fully on the novelty of getting to fuck their cock in between your boobs. 

“so what if i do? you’re the one getting off to it. look at how hard you are,” you reply curtly. you move your chest in one languid stroke, and it instantly has [REDACTED] recoiling against your mattress frame. you let out a puff of air as if to cement your temporary victory over the smart-mouthed hacker. “i’m gonna make you cum on me. just you watch. let me take care of you today. it’s your special day.”

they laugh weakly, and the bittersweet sting of defeat lingers against the corners of their mouth. they can’t win against you today, not when you’re so determined. it makes them a little shy. every part of them has existed solely to make you happy, so the thought that you’d want to do something to make them happy instead is doing things to their brain.

“alright- do what you want, angel-,” they acquiesce pretty quickly. they could put up a better fight if they wanted to, but they’re nothing if not easily convinced by you. it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to lose themself completely in your presence, especially when you explicitly want them to. they let their head hang back for a second, and their hair slinks from their shoulders to their back. “fuck- yeah- like that… make me cum, angel… make my cock feel good. feels s’good already…”

you take that as your cue to move faster, more passionately. your movements are escalating slowly, moving and cupping your chest based on their reactions. they’re letting you take the lead, and you let their noises and expressions guide you. you try to focus on their sensitive tip, rubbing your boobs all over it before moving all the way from head to base. every time [REDACTED]’s hips move against yours, you morph into their rhythm. their once controlled breathing quickly melts away into short pants and groans, and they’re rutting all over your sternum like they can’t get enough friction against their needy cock. 

“still feeling good? hmmm? are you liking the way my boobs make you feel?” you quip the question both in earnest and to tease them. 

[REDACTED] nods, and they’re barely able to look at you in the face. “yes- s’fucking good… feels s’good to have your tits wrapped around me like that… you’re moving so much too, fuck-!!”

god, you love having this effect on them. it’s so satisfying to know that as scary and ruthless as they could be, you had them wrapped firmly around your little finger. or in this case, you had your breasts wrapped around them. same thing.

“what if i move like this? still feeling good?” you stroke them with more full-bodied motions, and you do your hardest to press as much of your torso as possible against their dripping length. [REDACTED] gives a throaty groan, almost sounding like a wounded animal as they gasp and grip onto the edge of your mattress for what little stability it offers them.

“if you move like that, i’ll- god, fuck, god, angel-,” their words slur together into a garbled mess. “your boobs feel the best- feels so good- doing so good f’me, making me feel so good… love them. love you s’much- you’re s’good to me- spoiling me so much…”

they’re starting to babble, your praise spilling from their mouth endlessly. their cock is so big and so thick in between your chest that you have to continually keep moving to make sure you’re spreading your love equally between their girthy inches. [REDACTED]’s balls tense up and strain against the underside of your chest, undoubtedly wanting nothing more than to spill their load all over your face and chest, to cover you with ropes of their pearly white cum so that there’s physical proof of their love on your body. 

“if you-,” they pant out, their words coming out in short and broken phrases, “if you keep moving like that- keep moving your tits around m’cock like that- i’ll cum- fuck…! i’ll cum all over your tits- your pretty tits- fuck… gonna cum on your fucking tits-”

“oh? do you want to do that? wanna cum all over my boobs? gonna rub your cock all over my boobs and them cum straight onto them? wanted it so bad that you practically kicked my bedroom door in so you could get me in between your legs to jerk your cock off with my tits?” you squeeze your boobs even tighter before loosening them up again, mimicking the pulsing of a wet hole wrapped tightly around their cock. you know you’re torturing them by the strangled moan that escapes them, their eyes already lost amidst the numbing pleasure gripping their head. 

they nod feebly, their head lolling on their neck. they swallow thickly, and their marked up adam’s apple bobs tantalizingly inside of their throat. “yes- want it. want it s’fucking bad, angel- wanna cover those pretty tits of yours with all my cum… fuck- just thinking about it makes me feel s’fucking crazy…!”

their cock throbs and pulses dangerously against your boobs as you move up and down. you can barely hear the wet sounds of your skin rubbing against their length, the repeated shlick-shlick-shlick noises echoing around the room. even the once-cool metal of their jacob’s ladder piercings feel warm rubbing against your chest, and with how much pre-cum is dripping from [REDACTED]’s length, it’s only a matter of time before they lose all control of themself and cum all over you as if they’re in heat. 

“y’feel how hard i am?” they’re drunk on how good you feel, how addictive your body is when up against theirs. they just can’t get enough of it, can’t get enough of you. they want to stay here forever, with you within arm’s reach, wallowing in your attention and affection like a lovesick puppy who’ll suffer without it. “‘t’s all ‘cause of you- you did this t’me- you made me go crazy, made me fall in love with you- now i can’t fucking control myself whenever you’re around… ‘m always wanting more of you- fuck! fuck- fuuuck…!”

you also can’t get enough of winding them down, peeling back their obsessive layers bit by bit until you’re left with a lovesick version of themself, one that would do anything for just a scrap of your time. your body, your time, your attention is so sweet to [REDACTED]’s blown out senses, and they know they’re no better than an addict chasing after their next dose, their next wonderful high. they don’t think they could ever get sick of you, not when you’re so willing to indulge every twisted part of their mind. 

“you’re so good t’me-,” they choke out, staring down at you with unfocused eyes. their eyes threaten to flutter shut, but they use all their willpower to keep their eyes open, wanting to drink up the sight in front of them for just a little bit longer. “always making me feel good… fuck- fuck, angel, what’d i do to deserve you? mm- ngh- feels like i can’t think straight whenever you’re around me- there’s s’much in my heart f’you…”

you’re really no better than them. you want to see it. you want to see them lose themself entirely in the pleasure you’re giving them. you want to cum uncontrollably over your chest. you want their semen to spill over and coat as much of your tits as possible, coating you all over with the reminder that everything you’re doing right now is in complete dedication. it’s a mark of love, and one that you can’t wait much longer for. 

“yeah? you like me that much?” you squeeze your boobs a bit further. “go ahead then. cum all you want. all over me, please.”

“‘m close, angel- c’mon, just a little more… a little more f’me, ‘nd that’s all i need,” they plead softly. your heart flutters inside of your chest, like the whisper of a chaste love rather than the obscene lewdity spread out in front of you. their thighs shake, and you can feel their balls straining against the curve of your underboob. “so close- ‘m so close to cumming…!” 

you know just the push they need to shove them over the edge. you cock your head and peer up at them with as much true affection you can bring up. their face is flushed, and you can see the effort it takes for them to maintain eye contact with you. so sweet, they have always been so sweet for you. 

“i love you, [REDACTED.]”

it’s not the first time you’ve told them this, and it sure won’t be the last. but the effect on [REDACTED] is immediate. a full body shudder consumes them, and the knot inside of their stomach shatters instantly. they’re cumming onto your chest with a barely coherent cry of your name. it feels like heat is eating them from the inside out, sparks of electric euphoria surging through their stomach and head, making their nerves short-circuit as their entire body seemingly drowns in pleasure. 

white ropes spurt out from their tip, and you’re bombarded with round after round of their sticky cum leaking out onto your chest. some of it even hits your chin, and you nearly flinch away as if to avoid it, before remembering your original goal and staying put in between their trembling legs. you let their cum coat you. 

their cum is hot. it burns at your body, and you wince. the heat feels like it’s seeping into the underlayers of your skin, characteristically of the very one who would act like they want to live in your own skin if it were possible. but at the same time, in some twisted way, it feels good to have their cum splayed out all over your chest. it’s the same kind of submissive pleasure that comes from being marked up, from proudly claiming the fact that you’re theirs. 

[REDACTED] doesn’t think they’ve ever came as hard as they did in that exact instant. their mind feels as if it’s been blown out to space, like the entire world has faded away into nothing. their blood roars in their ears, and they can hear their pulse hammering and thumping wildly inside of their chest. their limbs feel heavy and weak all at once, the high coursing all throughout their veins. being told that you love them is the killshot for [REDACTED]—it’s the only thing in this universe that could make them react as violently as they did. 

“you- you just-,” they can’t bring themself to finish their thought. their cock splurts out whatever’s left over out of their orgasm. their length softens against your chest, and you finally relax your tits so that they slide limply from between your boobs. 

you grin up at [REDACTED], who blinks feebly. you scoop up some of the semen that’s coating your chest and stick your tongue out to lick your fingers slowly, smacking your lips loudly. their salty taste spreads against the inside of your mouth, and your throat bobs as you swallow and take their cum down deep into your stomach. 

“mm… perfect.” you hum. your fingertips glide over the top of your chest, where most of their cum lingers, and you use your palms to grope at your boobs again. there’s a flash of something in [REDACTED]’s eyes when they see their cum gloss over your nipples, and you giggle at their reaction. “happy birthday. i know it wasn’t much… but i hope you liked it.”

it’s their turn to laugh. they sound like they can’t believe it, like the past few minutes were nothing more than a dream. “like it? i think that’s the understatement of the fucking century, angel.” 

you shrug continuing to lap shamelessly at whatever cum you can pick up with your hands. it feels so odd, to be chatting with them so casually while taking down tonguefuls of sticky semen, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. “like i said, it is your birthday. and i want you to be more selfish on your birthday.”

you know you’re practically signing off on your doom whenever you tell [REDACTED] that they can be more selfish with you. they raise an eyebrow, as if questioning how much they can take you up on that offer, but when you don’t budge at all, the slight curiosity on their face quickly turns into poorly restrained delight.

“if you insist, then i sure don’t have any other choice.” they lean towards you, and they reach a hand towards you to cup your face. their thumb drags along your bottom lip, remnants of their cum smearing against your skin under their touch.

“i’ll take you up on that, angel. i’ll be as selfish as i want on my special day. just for you.”

takashi murakami: and then x6 white

[raven-unkind]

HII RAVEN!! hope you're having a great day <3 could you perhaps do “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” prompt with jungwon? thank you!!

˚₊‧⁺⋆❤︎ stars ft. yang jungwon

yang jungwon x fem!reader

wc. 844 words

content. A lil bittersweet, Jungwon is a sweetheart & kinda selfless; he just wants reader to be happy. 

200 followers event: “The moon is beautiful isn't it?” 

a/n. THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SO SORRY GUYS. I wrote this listening to pryvt so i'd recommend listening to them while you read Im somewhat back :] idk what happened to me but i was brushing my teeth this morning and inspiration struck me so i wrote this ☺️ (i guess having smt in my mouth gets my thoughts going?) I’ll get my queue going and get started on the nsfw part 😼

Jungwon has been friends with you for a long time. Maybe even too long. Long enough that he knows exactly what you’ll order – no matter if the place you guys were at the restaurant you’d been going to since middle school or if it was a brand new cafe that opened a week ago. – He also knows that you have a habit of being on time but somehow also running late to everything or that you can somehow smell the rain – something he has yet to experience. 

Somewhere along the way of years of friendship, he realized he wouldn't mind being the one to wake up next to you in the morning. He’d alway had these feelings, it was so natural to him that it took him almost 4 years to realize he was in love with you. It started in freshman year, when his friend Heeseung asked you for prom. Jungwon swore he’d never felt so betrayed in his life. He’d buried his disappointment under the guise of friendship, and every incident that stirred similar feelings within him would get the same badge. It took your first – and current – boyfriend to make him realize his feelings.

…

“We broke up.” The text had illuminated his phone half an hour ago. He didn't know exactly what he was expecting to feel when he saw that text but happiness, and sheer relief was not part of the list. Upon realizing his feelings for you, Jungwon had done the only logical thing to him: distance himself from you. No matter how sincere his feelings were, he would've never forgiven himself if he'd put your relationship and happiness in jeopardy because of his own, probably unrequited, feelings. So in some way, the breakup meant he was able to be close with you again. 

"I'll come over." He sent the message a few seconds after reading yours, grabbed his key and left his apartment in a hurry. On his way to your place, he stopped by the small Japanese restaurant owned by Riki's parents. He grabbed your usual order after finals; curry, mitarashi dango and a cup of scorching hot black tea. 

It’s already 9h26 by the time he reaches your apartment building. He engulfs you in his arms the second you open the door. It’s the first time in months he’s able to hold you like this without feeling like an egotistical jerk. And it feels nice, he can't even deny it anymore. 

“How are you holding up?” he asks softly. “I’m alright… I- I think it hasn't really hit me yet… you know.. That it’s over.” he nods, humming in response and sets a familiar plastic bag on the counter of your kitchen. You smile. “You got food at Riki’s?” Your tone is soft like you’re almost surprised he’d do that for you. Jungwon offers you a lopsided grin, setting a large cup next to the bag. “Black tea, extra hot, extra strong with 1 cube of sugar.” You huffed a laugh, “Thank you Jungwon.” “You’re welcome. I wanna go eat on the roof?” You nod, and he grabs the bag on food and a blanket before the both of you head to your building’s roof. 

…

“I thought he cared, you know? I told him multiple times but he never listened.” You say, playing around with the last dango, covering it in syrup. “I feel stupid.. Like I wasted my time.” “You’re not stupid.” Jungwon replies quietly. You shrug, opting to look at the night sky. Talking to Jungwon felt good. It always had. “Thanks for being here by the way.” You hear him huff next to you “Always.” He feels like his heart is going to explode. It’s been so long since you two sat down and talked like this. Too long. He’s been fidgeting for the past 30 minutes with the loose string of the old blanket you’re both sitting on. 

“... I missed this. I missed you y/n.” You finally turn to him, a soft smile on your lips. “I missed you too Wonnie.” He swears his heart stops for a second at the sight of you under the moonlight, saying his name so sweetly. He snaps his head towards the sky, unable to look at you for too long. “The moon is beautiful isn't it?” He can see you turn to look at him from the corner of his eye. “Yeah…”  

The silence stretches; comfortable, familiar. You lean your head on his shoulder, and his heart stutters. Jungwon stays quiet for a bit, for a moment he almost gives in. He wants to tell you. He wants you to know that he’s been in love with you for a while. That your ex is an idiot. That he’d never make you cry.  But he doesn’t. Because you trust him and he could never do this to you. If that’s all he ever gets, he’ll take it. Even if it meant he would never be the center of your world, he wouldn't mind it too much. As long as he’s with you.

©RAVEN-UNKIND

reblog, comments and likes are appreciated!

taglist: @annybah @dazzlingjaeyun

[zeropro]

since you've already shared your opinion on thundercracker, could you please tell us your thoughts about skywarp? 🙏🙏(btw absolutely love how you draw him❤❤)

haha, hm…I don’t really care much for canon skywarp! sorry! I fell in love with this character while reading starscream fan fiction, I had very little opinion on him at all prior. he wasnt in TFPrime, and Earthspark’s skywarp was completely forgettable. yeah, I think the most ive seen of him in canon is idw1, and haha, he sure is a guy who is in that comic sometimes. he sure does shoot thundercracker for not wanting to genocide a whole city. 

the fun thing with skywarp in fan fiction is his lack of any real canon characterisation means he can really be whatever you need him to be to round out your home brew seeker trine dynamic. most fics write him as the most emotionally open of the three, sorta acts like the glue that keeps starscream and thundercracker from breaking apart, sorta like their kid brother. i like a skywarp that is just a silly little guy who just wants to have a good time and actually cares about his trine and canon skywarp… decidedly is not that XD 

which i guess is fair, skywarp does spend a lot of time getting betrayed by the other seekers in most media. earthspark starscream left skywarp and nova storm behind when attempting to escape GHOST, idw skywarp calls both thundercracker and starscream traitors to their face, cyberverse starscream slorped all the seekers when he absorbed the allspark, and lets not even talk about what skybound starscream did to him while he begged for his life. there never seems to be much love between the seekers in any media, despite them referring to each other as brothers, which is a real shame in my opinion. I havent yet gotten to the part in idw where thundercracker writes a screenplay about starscream and casts skywarp to play starscream, but that does sound like somethjng hilarious to look forward to, as I’m kind of just really wanting to see my boys have a positive canon interaction for once lol. 

apparently skywarp features really prominently in dreamwave, even becoming leader of the decepticons at certain points?? but I don’t plan to read those comics. I did read the wiki tho, and like honestly? good for him uwu

the most consistent character traits for skywarp in pretty much all fanfiction is that he is 1) a prankster and 2) he’s stupid, or is at least thought to be.  turns out both these traits are canon to his character spanning way back to his toy description!

((also thank you im glad you like how i draw skywarp ngl I think a major factor in why I like skywarp so much is because I really like my design for him, like?? am I allowed to find my own drawrings cute??? he’s so cute omg just look at him! he’s my boy!!! he’s my aaaaaahhh!!!!!!))

[erenists]

Caught on Camera [G.S x fem!Reader] ❤︎

Synopsis:

Gojo is LA’s newest rising star, making waves in the celebrity scene. At an exclusive pool party hosted by one of his A-list connections, he’s introduced to you—a powerhouse in your own field and someone he’s admired from afar. But what should’ve been a smooth first impression turns into a viral disaster. In front of 500+ elite guests, Gojo slips… and accidentally crashes lips with you. The moment is caught on camera, instantly sparking dating rumors. Now, with the internet in a frenzy and PR teams scrambling, Gojo finds himself in an unexpected fake relationship with the one girl he never thought he’d get close to.

What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: Eventual smut, Gojo is highkey a little cringe and embarassing, downbad and flirty Gojo, Mentions of drugs & sex.

Part two ✦ wc: 7.6k

You wake up to 34 missed calls from your pr manager and a migraine shaped like Gojo Satoru.

Your phone buzzes against your face for the 35th time. You groan, crack open one eye, and get greeted by the lock screen lighting up like a warning sign.

“GOJO & 𐙚˙⋆.˚  MIDNIGHT MAKEOUT INCIDENT: EXCLUSIVE: Sources say she left wearing his jacket.

You’re not even fully conscious yet and already ready to fake your own death. You open Twitter (mistake number one) and scroll through the trending tags.

#GojoX𐙚˙⋆.˚ #MysteryMakeout #ItCouple

Someone’s posted grainy footage of the kiss from three different angles. Another account slowed it down and added romantic piano music. There’s a particularly cursed theory thread titled “Body Language Expert Reacts”, claiming your hand placement on his chest is “intimate and clearly territorial.”

You zoom in. You were literally just squished against him and the floor..

“This is hell,” you mutter into your pillow. “I died at that party for sure" Your phone rings again and finally you pick it up. "hello..?" your voice still groggy from just waking up. "I called you more than 30 times do not tell me you were just sleeping." you pursed your lips together squeezing your eyes before speaking up. "I might..have been asleep" Your pr manager groans and you can imagine she's face palming. "me and your assistant are coming over to get you ready for your brunch date with Gojo" you roll your eyes forgetting that was the plan for today. You sit up in your bed and Immediately stretch before hopping off and waddling to your bathroom. You stare at yourself in the mirror and sigh.. today was going to be a long day..

—

You splash cold water on your face like it might rinse off the shame —your reflection still stares back like someone who's definitely regretting accidentally entering a relationship in high-definition.

“Brunch date,” you mutter to yourself. “Brunch. With Gojo Satoru.” Like repeating it will somehow make it less real.

You dry your face off and start digging through your closet, only half-functioning. What does one wear to a fake date with the most unserious man alive while under public scrutiny? Something thats cute and casual but also “I’m not here for love,” or something extra that screams “yes, we have undeniable chemistry and you’re all obsessed with us.” You land on something understated but flattering. Neutral tones, chic sunglasses, and just enough lip gloss to look like you're glowing on purpose.

By the time your manager and assistant arrive, you’re halfway through your second existential coffee.

“Okay, you look fine, that’s a win,” your manager says, breezing in with a laptop and at least seven unread stress emails. Your assistant offers a supportive granola bar.

“Here’s what we’re doing,” your manager starts, snapping open the laptop. “You go. You brunch. You laugh at something he says, but not too hard. There will be photographers at the back entrance, so we’ll go through the front to control the optics.”

You nod slowly, chewing on the granola bar like it’s your last meal.

She keeps going. “He’ll probably pull something. A hand on your back, a stupid little inside joke—he lives for the bit. Play along. But not too into it. We don’t want them thinking this is a full-on relationship.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You do remember he posted a soft-launch caption about a second kiss last night, right?”

Your assistant snorts. Your manager visibly short-circuits.

Before she can reply, there’s a knock on your door. Too rhythmic. Too chipper.

Then, from the hallway:

“I brought flowers~ and a matching color scheme~!”

You stare at the door.

“No,” you whisper.

“Yes,” your manager says grimly. “It’s showtime.”

You open the door and there he is—Gojo Satoru in a linen button-down, his snowy hair artfully messy, holding a bouquet that absolutely cost more than your rent and smiling like he didn’t set your life on fire twelve hours ago.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asks, like this is normal.

You deadpan. “You posted about a second kiss.”

He winks. “Manifesting.”

Your manager makes a sound like she’s being physically restrained.

Gojo offers his arm. “Shall we?”

You sigh, grab your bag, and slide on your sunglasses. Fake dating. Brunch. Photographers.

Hell.

But you loop your arm through his anyway.

Because if you’re going down, you might as well look good doing it.

The moment the car door shuts behind you, you realize two things:

You should have made a stronger coffee.

You should not have agreed to this.

Gojo’s already buckled in, grinning like he’s about to ruin your life recreationally. Again.

“You clean up nice,” he says, eyeing you up and down. “Like, brunch-worthy. But also, accidentally got caught on camera and now everyone ships us chic.”

You glare at him. “You did post that soft launch, Satoru.”

“I was being strategic.” He leans back with the confidence of a man who has never faced consequences. “You know how fast the news cycle is—if we give them something to obsess over, they’ll forget all about how your knee was in my crotch for like ten full seconds.”

Your face heats. “You tripped! onto me!”

He gasps. “So you admit you were under me”

You throw your head back against the seat. “Why are you like this?”

Gojo, without missing a beat: “Trauma and impeccable genetics.”

The driver up front coughs in what you think is an attempt not to laugh.

You cross your arms and look out the window. “I can’t believe I have to be seen in public with you.”

“Oh, c’mon,” he says, leaning over to nudge your shoulder. “We’re giving people hope. Romance! Spice! The thrill of unexpected love.”

“This is fake.”

“It’s real to them,” he whispers dramatically, tapping a finger against your sunglasses like you’re both in a soap opera.

You bite back a laugh despite yourself.

He pulls out his phone and holds it up. “Selfie?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Too late,” he says, snapping one anyway—mid-scowl, your face turned away, sunglasses sliding down your nose. He studies the photo. “Oof. You’re gonna owe me for this lighting.”

You grab for his phone and he ducks, laughing. “Okay, okay! I’ll delete it—geez, fake girlfriend’s got claws.”

You’re about to respond with something that’s probably unprintable when he suddenly quiets down, staring at you for a beat too long.

You frown. “What?”

He grins. “Nothing. Just... you’re kind of cute when you’re mad.”

You blink.

Then turn fully back to the window. “We’re almost there, right?”

He taps his fingers against his thigh like he’s fighting a laugh. “Oh yeah. Almost.”

You hate how your heart skips a little when he says it.

You’re barely out of the car when the first camera flash hits.

Then the next. And the next. It’s like stepping into a lightning storm made of chaos and extremely long camera lenses.

“Satoru! Over here!”

“𐙚˙⋆.˚ ? Is this serious?”

“Is it true you gave her your jacket and your heart?!”

You freeze halfway up the steps. Gojo throws an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, smile dialed up to “America’s Sweetheart” levels.

“Relax,” he murmurs out of the corner of his mouth. “Just smile like you’re in love and not actively planning my murder.”

You grit your teeth and give the cameras something between a grimace and a polite grin.

One of the photographers leans forward, hopeful. “Can we get a kiss?! Just one! For the fans!”

Gojo raises his brows at you. “Should we give the people what they want?”

“Touch me and I’ll end you.”

He makes a wounded noise, clutching his chest theatrically. “You’re really leaning into the enemies-to-lovers pipeline, huh?”

You’re about to retort when a voice cuts through the crowd:

“𐙚˙⋆.˚ , IS HE THE REASON YOU MISSED THAT FASHION WEEK INVITE?”

Another: “IS THIS A PUBLICITY STUNT OR ARE YOU REALLY DATING?”

Gojo’s smile falters for a fraction of a second, then clicks back into place like a switch. He squeezes your shoulder gently—a warning, or maybe a thank you.

You grab his hand.

You don’t think about it, you just do it.

And that’s all the crowd needs. The camera flashes go nuclear, and someone actually screams.

Gojo leans in, lips near your ear. “Okay, that was Oscar-worthy. Keep that up and I might fall for you by accident.”

You manage to smile sweetly for the cameras while digging your nails into his hand. “If you do, I’ll schedule a press conference to deny everything.”

He laughs, way too charmed.

By the time you finally get through the doors of the restaurant, your face hurts from fake smiling, your heart’s doing something weird, and Gojo’s still holding your hand.

And somehow, that might be the scariest part. Inside the restaurant, it's a whole different world. Muted lighting, upscale décor, and the faint hum of string music that screams we cater to people who have assistants for their assistants. The host greets Gojo like they’ve been best friends since birth, and you’re seated at a table by the window with just enough visibility for anyone walking by to conveniently “notice” the two of you.

Gojo pulls out your chair with the flair of someone who’s never been told no in his life.

You sit, blink at the glimmering cutlery, and wonder if you can legally drink this early in the day.

"So," he starts, lounging across from you like this is his natural habitat, "are we doing the cute couple act or the tortured slow burn?"

“I think I’m going with ‘mildly hungover woman trapped in a PR nightmare.’”

He grins like you just told him he won the lottery. “God, you’re funny. No wonder the internet ships us.”

You stab at the menu with your eyes. “They don’t even know if we’re actually "dating" "

“Exactly,” he says, pointing at you with a spoon. “Mystery. Intrigue. You’re the plot twist in my life story.”

Before you can respond with something scathing and/or violent, the waiter appears.

And unfortunately, he definitely knows who Gojo is.

“Oh my god, you’re Gojo Satoru.” The poor guy is vibrating. “I love your whole vibe. That campaign you did for Givenchy? Life-changing. My roommate has a poster of you above her bed. It’s kind of weird.”

Gojo beams. “Weird is my brand.”

The waiter turns to you, eyes wide. “And you must be 𐙚˙⋆.˚! I loved the kiss video. It was giving soulmate energy. So natural.”

You cough. “Yeah, well, you know. Gravity.”

“Oh my god,” the waiter whispers. “You’re funny too. Are you two, like, official now?”

Gojo leans back, draping his arm along the booth behind you. “What do you think?”

“I think I’m about to cry,” the waiter says, scribbling something on his notepad without looking. “Do you need a few more minutes or is your connection so strong you just know what the other wants?”

You blink. “I need coffee.”

“Coming right up!” he chirps, then sprints away like he’s about to tell his entire group chat.

You let your head fall back against the booth with a dull thud. “I hate everything.”

Gojo watches you for a second, then hums. “You’re kinda cute when you suffer.”

“Say that again and I’ll make you the mystery in a true crime podcast.”

He bites his lip like he’s trying not to laugh. “You know, for a fake girlfriend, you’re dangerously good at this.”

You look at him over the rim of your water glass. “And you, for a fake boyfriend, are surprisingly tolerable.”

“Wow,” he mock-gasps. “You’re falling for me already.”

“I’m falling asleep. There’s a difference.”

He clutches his chest, pretending to swoon, and you think—just for a split second—that maybe you’re not the only one with a headache shaped like the other person. The awkwardness is palpable as you sit across from Gojo at the table, both of you trying (and failing) to act like you’re just another couple on a brunch date, but every part of this feels like a performance. The waiter has already come by three times to make sure you’re ‘enjoying your time,’ and every time, you force a smile that feels like it’s carved into your face.

Gojo’s not helping. He’s too busy ordering random items off the menu when the waiter comes back with your coffee, clearly enjoying his role as the ‘charming celebrity’—and if you weren’t so irritated, you might actually be impressed by his commitment to the bit. He waves the waiter off with a flourish, as if the entire restaurant is hanging on his every word.

"Two orders of eggs benedict, please, with extra hollandaise sauce. She loves the sauce. And I’ll have the pancakes. Yes, the big stack. Gotta keep my energy up for the rest of the day," Gojo says, his smile practically glowing.

You narrow your eyes at him, resisting the urge to facepalm. You barely know him, and now you're acting like this is normal? “You’re such a drama king," you mutter under your breath.

“I prefer the term ‘charismatic,’” he responds with a wink.

The waiter looks between you two, clearly confused but just nods and walks off. The second he’s out of earshot, you turn to Gojo.

“Are we really going to do this?” you ask, leaning in a little closer, the only thing keeping you from fully snapping being the overwhelming urge to avoid making this worse.

“Do what?” he asks, clearly pretending not to know what you mean.

“This whole... thing.” You gesture vaguely between you. “Pretend to be some picture-perfect couple while people stalk us like we’re some reality show?”

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly, already lounging back in his chair. “It’s not about perfection. It’s about the fun of it, the drama—besides, we’re just two attractive people who happen to be caught in a web of bad timing. Why not lean into it? I mean, look at the way you’re dressed,” he adds, eyeing your outfit as if it were a work of art. “You’re already playing the part.”

You glance down at your attire: chic but casual. Gojo’s right, you do look like you’ve been styled for some kind of influencer brunch. “Oh, great. Now I’m an accessory to your drama,” you mutter.

“Well, technically, you are my partner in crime now, so... it’s a good look for you,” he says, lifting his coffee cup to his lips with a smile that makes you want to roll your eyes.

You take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. “This is... this is too much. We’re getting way too into this, Gojo. People are already watching us.”

Gojo leans forward, his voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “Exactly. That’s the point. This isn’t just a brunch, sweetheart. This is your big debut into the world of public relationships.”

“Public relationships?!” you exclaim, a little louder than intended. You immediately glance around, hoping no one heard. “What kind of term is that?”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to love the spotlight. We’ll play it cool, and soon enough, they won’t know what hit ‘em,” Gojo assures you, his confidence as infuriating as it is infectious.

You slump in your chair, massaging your temples. “I think I might actually be getting a headache from all this performing,” you groan.

Gojo laughs, looking far too pleased with himself. “You’re not the first one. You get used to it. You’ll be the talk of the town by the end of the week, and I’ll be your favorite co-conspirator.”

Before you can respond, the waiter returns with a new round of drinks and a basket of fresh pastries. Gojo reaches for a croissant like it’s his favorite thing in the world, all while keeping his eyes trained on you.

“I’m telling you, this whole thing is going to be legendary,” he says, tearing a piece of the croissant off and offering it to you with a grin.

You stare at the piece of croissant. It feels like a metaphor for your current situation. A little too sweet. A little too staged.

“I swear if you’re going to start feeding me like some Instagram influencer, I’m out,” you say, not entirely joking.

Gojo raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. “Fine, no Instagram influencer vibes. But trust me, you’ll get used to the absurdity. Besides, once the rumors start about us, no one’s going to believe they’re fake.”

You take a deep breath, realizing you might have no choice but to ride this wave.

“Well,” you mutter, glancing at Gojo who’s still confidently munching on his croissant. “This is either going to be great or absolutely disastrous.”

“Why not both?” he says, and you’re not sure if he’s being sarcastic or just too sure of himself. Brunch wraps up in an unsettling blur of awkward silences and a waiter who definitely has a fan account for both of you now. You half expect to see a headline titled “Gojo Satoru and "𐙚˙⋆.˚ : What They Ordered and Why It Matters” on your feed by the time you leave.

As you step out of the restaurant, Gojo pulls his sunglasses on with the same theatrical flourish he’s been perfecting all morning. You take a deep breath, already anticipating the madness that’s bound to follow.

Of course, the moment you exit, a few camera flashes go off. Then a few more. You glance at Gojo, who’s clearly enjoying the attention as he casually waves. You can already feel your headache intensifying.

"You seem to like this whole... attention thing," you mutter, shielding your eyes from the flash of cameras. You move closer to him, trying to act like it’s not all so utterly bizarre.

“Of course I do,” Gojo says, slinging an arm around your shoulders like you’ve been together for years. “It’s how I pay the bills. And how I make people think I'm cool.” He grins, looking down at you. “You’re good at pretending to be my girlfriend. It's the least you can do to make me look even cooler.”

You shoot him a look. "Pretending to be your girlfriend is not on my resume."

“Oh, trust me, it's a skill you’ll need soon enough,” he says, a teasing glint in his eye. “You’re practically a pro at it already."

Another set of flashes goes off, and you find yourself being herded toward a waiting car. You didn’t even know how they knew to pick you up, but at this point, you wouldn’t be surprised if Gojo had a paparazzi hotline on speed dial.

The ride to Gojo’s place is eerily quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside the tinted windows. You lean your head against the cool glass, trying to gather your thoughts.

"This whole thing is ridiculous," you mutter, half to yourself.

Gojo turns to you, unbothered by the paparazzi situation. “And yet... it’s working.”

“Is it?”

“Did you see the look on the waiter’s face when I mentioned we’re basically soulmates? The internet's gonna explode with that.” He looks at you, not entirely teasing anymore, just... studying you. “You’re good at this, but you gotta let loose a little. Fake relationships are all about chemistry, after all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And you think we have that?”

Gojo’s smirk widens. “I mean, look at us. We’re already a trending topic. I’d say we have it in spades.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure. If by ‘chemistry,’ you mean forced proximity and shared trauma from this whole thing, then yes. We're practically on fire.”

The car pulls up to a building that looks like it’s made entirely of glass. You assume it’s his place from the confident, almost knowing look in his eyes.

As you both step out, Gojo hands you a coffee cup, the steam rising from it like a faint reminder that life must go on despite everything.

“Don’t worry,” he says with a wink, “I think we’re getting better at this whole ‘fake relationship’ thing. Just wait till tomorrow. You’re going to be a pro by the time this is over.”

You glance at him, annoyed but also a little curious. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve already been roped into something way worse than I expected?”

“Because you have,” he says casually, like it's just another Tuesday in the life of Gojo Satoru.

You follow Gojo into the building, still nursing your coffee as you try to wrap your head around the whirlwind of the day. Your life—your very private life as a celebrity—has now somehow been hijacked by Gojo’s own celebrity antics, and you’re starting to wonder how the hell you’ve ended up in this mess. Not to mention, you still have no idea why you agreed to this in the first place.

Gojo takes you up in the elevator, the hum of the machine the only sound between the two of you as the doors close. His easy confidence is starting to rub off on you, but it also feels like it’s only making things worse. How are you supposed to act normal in this situation? You’re pretending to be his girlfriend, and every time you think you’ve got a handle on it, he pulls some new stunt that messes everything up.

You glance over at him. He’s leaning against the wall of the elevator, clearly unbothered by anything at all. Of course he is. This is probably just another day in Gojo Satoru’s world.

“So,” you start, trying to keep the tone light, “what’s the plan now? Do we go inside, get cozy, and start planning our ‘romantic’ Instagram posts?” You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to get a rise out of him.

He turns his head to look at you, a sly grin playing on his lips. “If you want to post something, I’m all for it,” he says, completely unfazed. “But we’re not just hanging out. I've got some work to do that Ichiji told me about , and you’re coming with me.”

You blink, not quite understanding. “Work? You mean... we’re not just, like, pretending to be a couple for a few hours? There’s actual work involved?”

Gojo shrugs, his grin widening. “The ‘relationship’ part’s just the beginning. There’s a lot more to it than that. You think the media just stops after one brunch date?” He chuckles, clearly amused at your confusion. “If we’re gonna sell this, we need to keep the momentum going. Meet the fans, take some pictures, do interviews. The usual stuff, I thought your pr manager would have told you by now”

You groan. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Gojo replies, clearly enjoying this more than he should. “By the time we’re done, people won’t know whether to ship us or hire us for their next rom-com. Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

Before you can protest any further, the elevator doors slide open, revealing what can only be described as a luxury penthouse. The floors are gleaming marble, the walls lined with art, and large windows offer an expansive view of the city. The entire place exudes an air of wealth and excess, but Gojo walks in like it’s nothing special, slipping his shoes off casually by the door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. “This is where you live?”

Gojo looks back at you over his shoulder. “I told you. It’s a bit much, but it’s mine.” He walks farther in, seemingly at home here, while you’re stuck standing in the doorway, trying to process everything.

“Alright,” he says, turning to face you, “I need to grab some things, and you need to change into something a little more... casual for the media rounds.”

You blink, confused. “Media rounds? Like, we’re doing press now?”

He holds up a hand. “Of course we are. The internet is already making wild assumptions about us, and I have to make sure we’re controlling the narrative. You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.” His smile is teasing, but there’s an edge of seriousness beneath it. “The sooner we get this stuff out of the way, the sooner we can relax.”

You look at him, half-exasperated and half-terrified. “I’m so not ready for any of this.”

Gojo smirks. “Good thing you don’t have to be. Just follow my lead, and you’ll do great. Besides, you’re already nailing the ‘girlfriend’ thing. It’s working wonders.”

You sigh, your hands clenching around your coffee cup as you mentally prepare yourself for what’s next. This day isn’t even halfway done, and already, you feel like you’ve crossed the threshold into some weird alternate reality where nothing makes sense, but it’s all somehow happening to you.

“Fine,” you say with a resigned sigh. “Let’s do this.”

The next few hours are a blur of photo ops, interviews, and awkward, highly staged moments designed to make your fake relationship with Gojo seem as real as possible. You start to feel like you’re part of some weird reality show, constantly on camera, always on for the public eye.

At one point, during a particularly cringy interview with a gossip blogger, Gojo casually tosses an arm around your shoulders and whispers into your ear, “Remember: chemistry. You’re doing great.”

You try to keep your face neutral, but on the inside, you’re screaming. This is so not your idea of a good time. But when the interview finally wraps up, Gojo gives you a playful nudge.

“You’re getting the hang of it,” he says. “A little more ‘we’re so in love’ and less ‘this is torture’ next time.”

You glare at him. “I think I’m going to need a nap before you start planning the next round of chaos.”

“Take all the naps you want,” he says with a wink. “I’ll just make sure the fans think you’re madly in love with me while you’re sleeping.” you

The day continued in a haze of media events, each more ridiculous than the last. At one point, you find yourself in a boutique, trying on outfits Gojo insists will help sell the “romantic” vibe. You can’t even remember how you ended up here, but at this point, it feels like you’re just a prop in Gojo’s fake dating game.

He’s still the same: effortlessly charming, annoying, and completely in control. He practically drags you through the racks of clothes, offering his “expert opinions” on everything you try on, and you can’t tell whether he’s being serious or just having fun messing with you.

"How about this one?" he asks, holding up a black dress that could probably cost a college students tuition. "It screams 'I’m secretly in love with you' while still being mysterious. Very sexy, right?"

You deadpan at him from behind the fitting room curtain. "I don’t know, Gojo, I’m pretty sure ‘mysterious’ can also mean ‘unemployed and broke’ when you're wearing something like that."

He laughs loudly enough for the whole store to hear. "You're killing me, you know that?"

You walk out, still in your regular clothes, and cross your arms. "I’ll stick with what I’ve got."

He grins, unfazed. "Fair enough. You’re probably saving me from making a whole bunch of questionable purchases anyway."

The rest of the afternoon is a mix of sponsored content, staged photos, and Gojo trying to make you laugh every time a camera catches a shot of you two. It’s exhausting, but somehow, it feels like you’re getting better at it—if only because you have to.

By the time you finally collapse on the couch in Gojo’s penthouse after the last media appearance, you can’t remember the last time you’ve been this drained. You pull a blanket over yourself and bury your face in a pillow, hoping that the chaos of the day will finally end.

Gojo plops down next to you, his energy still as high as ever, even though you’re pretty sure he’s been going nonstop since dawn. "Tough day, huh?" he asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer.

You groan into the pillow. "You’re the one who made me do all of this. I should be asking you if you’re okay."

He chuckles. "I’m fine. Just keeping up appearances."

You turn your head to glance at him. "Yeah, I can see that. But how much longer is this whole thing gonna last? You know, the fake relationship?"

Gojo's grin fades, just a little, his eyes flickering to the window. He leans back, tapping his fingers against the couch thoughtfully. "You’ve got a lot of questions today. Want the truth?"

You sigh and sit up, curiosity piqued. "Sure, give me the truth."

He hesitates for a moment, and for the first time, you see a flicker of something more serious behind his playful exterior. "I don’t know how long this whole thing will last," he admits. " Ichiji says the media moves fast. One week we’re in love, the next week it’s over, and no one cares anymore. But... if this helps with the scandal, it’ll be worth it. You’ll be out of it soon enough, too."

You’re quiet for a beat, processing his words. Part of you wants to ask why he’s even doing this—why agree to something so crazy that could end up backfiring.

After a moment, you finally speak. "You’re really good at this, you know. The whole... fake relationship thing. The cameras, the smiles, the ‘we’re totally in love’ act. It’s like you’ve been doing it your whole life."

Gojo shrugs nonchalantly, his signature grin back in place. "You get used to it. Plus, it’s fun when you’ve got someone to keep you on your toes."

"Right," you mutter, sinking back into the couch. "Well, just know that I’m not sticking around for the afterparty. I’m counting the days until I can go back to my normal life."

Gojo lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh, clearly amused. "Fair enough. But you might miss me. I’m pretty irresistible once you get past the insane amount of chaos I bring."

You can’t help but laugh despite yourself. "I don’t know if ‘irresistible’ is the word I’d use."

"Give it time," he winks at you. "You’ll be begging for my autograph before this is over."

You groan. "At this point, I’ll be begging for a nap."

Gojo laughs, his voice light and carefree. "Deal. But just know, when the paparazzi get too much, you can always hide behind me. I’m like a walking shade tree."

You shake your head, but there’s a part of you that appreciates how unrealistically confident he is, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a hint of admiration buried underneath the frustration.

"Alright, Gojo," you say with a grin. "We’ll see how long that lasts."

And just like that, the tension between you two shifts a little. Maybe this fake relationship thing won’t be so bad after all. Or maybe, by the end of it, you’ll be begging for the media to leave you alone.

Gojo, ever the showman, is lounged across from you with the lazy confidence of someone who doesn’t realize he’s poking a tiger with a spoon.

"You know," he says, tapping away on his phone, "I still can’t believe you said yes to this whole fake-dating thing."

You snort. "I didn’t say yes. I was blackmailed with a viral video and thirty missed calls."

He grins. "Tomato, to-mah-to. Either way, I win."

There’s a pause. You glance over at him, noticing something softer in his expression now, less teasing, more... thoughtful.

"I thought you were way out of my league," he says, almost too casually. "Like—untouchable. You’ve been dominating your field since I was still posting outfit-of-the-day selfies with ten likes."

You blink, caught off guard. "Is this supposed to be flattery or just a very strange confession?"

Gojo chuckles. "Both? Look, I’ve admired you for a while. You’ve got that intimidating, ‘I-own-the-room-just-by-existing’ vibe. I mean, half the internet thinks you invented success."

You tilt your head, skeptical. "And that made you want to fake-date me?"

"No," he says, a little too quickly. "That made me want to talk to you. The fake-dating thing just... forced the issue."

You study him, trying to read through his usual deflective charm. It’s weird—he’s ridiculous, yes. But not fake. Not in this moment.

"And what exactly did you imagine would happen if we did talk?" you ask, voice quieter now.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Honestly? I thought you’d think I was a joke. But instead, you kissed me . Accidentally. But still."

You roll your eyes. "You tripped, and I got tackled into because a suspiciously slippery floor was involved."

He smirks. "Details, details."

A beat of silence.

"You’re not what I expected," you finally say. "Not just the chaos. There’s... more underneath it."

"Careful," Gojo warns with a playful wag of his finger. "If you start liking me, this whole thing becomes complicated."

You arch a brow. "Who said anything about liking you?"

He grins. "You will."

You laugh—against your better judgment. And for a moment, you forget about the flashing cameras, the curated headlines, the pressure of being a public figure. For just a moment, it’s two people sitting in a too-bright apartment, sharing bad coffee and worse jokes.

And Gojo? He looks at you like maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to stop pretending.

Not yet.

The next day starts way too early for someone being forced to participate in a public soap opera.

You’re barely out of bed, squinting at your phone with one eye open, when the onslaught begins: fifteen new texts, seven missed calls, and a voice memo from your assistant that just starts with, “Please don’t kill me, but—”

You pause it immediately. That never ends well.

Moments later, you're standing in your kitchen in mismatched socks, scrolling through a headline that makes you physically recoil.

GOJO & [REDACTED]: THE RISE OF A POWER COUPLE “Sources close to the influencer say she might be The One.”

“The One?” you mutter. “The one who tolerates him for more than five hours, maybe.”

Right on cue, Gojo texts:

Gojo [7:16 AM]:

u up 😇

Gojo [7:16 AM]:

also ur on like…three blogs and someone made a stan edit of our brunch lol

Gojo [7:17 AM]:

…also ur assistant said i have to pick u up in 30 we’re going to a press event ily 💙

You stare at the screen for a full ten seconds before replying.

You [7:18 AM]:

I hate you. Bring coffee.

The car ride is quieter than yesterday, though only because you’re still half-asleep and Gojo’s too busy showing you fan edits like a proud parent.

“Look at this one,” he says, holding his phone toward you. “They used sparkles. Sparkles, babe.”

“Stop calling me that.”

He ignores you. “This one says we’re giving ‘power couple with generational wealth and matching trauma’ and honestly? Accurate.”

You slump deeper into your seat. “How is this my life now?”

Gojo leans back, throwing an arm over the headrest to look at you. “You’re thriving, that’s how. And don’t act like you’re not curious to see what chaos today brings.”

You shoot him a look, but it’s half-hearted at best. You kind of are.

The press event is exactly as horrible as you thought it would be.

Red carpet, flashing lights, the whole “step-and-repeat” nightmare. Gojo, of course, is in his element. He’s wearing designer like it’s thrifted, grinning like he’s been media-trained since birth, and keeping one hand on your waist the whole time like he actually wants to be there with you.

You, meanwhile, are internally screaming.

The questions start flying as soon as you step in front of the cameras.

“Are you two official?”

“What’s the story behind the kiss?”

“Are you working on any projects together?”

Gojo answers the last one before you can.

“We’re working on not murdering each other in public,” he says with a smirk. “So far, it’s going well.”

You flash a tight smile. “Barely.”

Another reporter leans in, clearly emboldened. “But you two do look good together. Any chance you guy might be the one for each other?”

Your breath catches. For half a second, you freeze.

Then Gojo says, with just enough charm to make it sound like a joke, “We’ll let you know after dessert.”

The crowd laughs. You don’t. Because when you glance at Gojo, he’s already looking at you—not with the usual smugness, but something quieter.

Something that almost looks real. Backstage is a blur of too-bright lights, assistant whispers, someone yelling about a missing bottle of Evian, and at least three PR reps trying to shove last-minute talking points into your brain.

You barely make it through the curtain before someone’s tugging you toward a makeup station for “a touch-up,” even though you were just on camera for twenty solid minutes and your face is basically cemented in place.

Gojo, of course, is already lounging in a chair with a smoothie, sunglasses on indoors like he’s allergic to humility. He grins when he sees you. “Survived your first official red carpet as my fake girlfriend. I’m so proud.”

“You were loving every second of that.”

“You weren’t?”

You stare at him.

He leans in conspiratorially. “Come on. You did look good out there. You were giving mysterious, unattainable goddess. I was just here for the supporting role.”

“You said three separate times that you were the star.”

“I lie when I’m nervous,” he says, deadpan, and takes another sip of his smoothie.

Before you can retort, a harried-looking woman with a clipboard appears.

“There’s a quick joint interview in ten. You’ll both be sitting. Keep it flirty, fun, and off-script. We’re trying to make people feel like they’re seeing something real, not staged.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So lie, but make it sexy.”

“Exactly,” she says, unbothered, and disappears again like a cryptid in heels.

You turn to Gojo. “Tell me you at least pretended to read the talking points.”

“I skimmed,” he says, shrugging. “Besides, I figure I can just talk and you’ll do your intimidating genius thing and people will love us.”

“...That’s your entire strategy?”

“That, and my bone structure,” he says, tapping his cheek.

You sigh, sitting beside him in the corner of the green room. He’s still watching you, but quieter now. Less teasing, more thoughtful.

“You know,” he says, suddenly serious, “I meant what I said. About you being good at this.”

You glance at him. “What, fake dating?”

“Well, yeah, that. But also…” He gestures vaguely. “This. Fame. Pressure. All of it. You walk into a room and people listen. You don’t try to be anything you’re not, and somehow that makes everyone pay attention.”

You blink. “That’s the most coherent compliment you’ve given me since this started.”

“I’m evolving,” he says, solemnly. “Like a sexy Pokémon.”

You snort, but your stomach flips a little anyway.

Before you can answer, someone calls for the two of you.

Gojo hops up and offers you his hand with a crooked smile. “Come on, soulmate. Time to go lie on camera again.”

You take it. His fingers are warm.

“Let’s go make them believe,” you mutter.

He grins. “That’s the spirit.” The interview set is aggressively glossy—white couches, soft lighting, and a backdrop plastered with the event’s logo on loop. There’s a camera crew already rolling, a host with a dazzling smile too sharp to be sincere, and two microphones waiting like weapons on the low coffee table in front of you.

You sit. Gojo flops beside you like this is his living room, one arm draped lazily across the back of the couch, behind you but not quite touching. He’s turned slightly toward you already—calculated angles for the camera—and you realize with a jolt that he’s done this before. Maybe not at this scale, but the man knows how to sell an image.

The host launches in, bright-eyed and ruthless.

“So!” she chirps, crossing her legs and leaning in just enough to seem nosy. “Tonights red carpet—wow. The internet’s calling you the new It Couple. How does that feel?”

Gojo doesn’t miss a beat. “Surreal,” he says with a smile that could’ve been engineered in a lab. “But I mean—have you seen her? If I wasn’t in love before, the dress tonight did it.”

You nearly choke. Your PR manager will be proud—your laugh comes out smooth and charming, not unhinged.

“She’s used to attention,” Gojo adds, nudging your knee slightly with his own. “I’m just lucky to be standing next to her while people finally start figuring out I’m more than just a pretty face.”

You shoot him a sideways look. “Bold of you to assume they figured that out.”

The host laughs like that was the best line she’s heard all day. Gojo just grins, eyes crinkling under the edge of his sunglasses now perched atop his head.

“Okay, but seriously,” the host says, flipping through a card she absolutely doesn’t need. “There’s been speculation about how the two of you met. Theories range from a secret project to fate at a rooftop party.”

You open your mouth, but Gojo beats you to it. “It was fate. I tripped. and fell on her. Very romantic. Lots of camera flashes. The whole meet-cute package.”

You deadpan, “You almost squished me to death.”

“But I got to kiss you,” he says, hand briefly tapping his chest. “That’s the part they’re keeping in the movie version.”

The host absolutely eats it up.

“Any inside jokes between you two yet?” she asks, clearly loving every minute.

Gojo glances at you, and for a second—just a second—he looks a little too sincere. “She calls me annoying at least twice a day. I’m hoping that’s her love language.”

Your lips twitch. “I’m still learning his language. It’s mostly chaos and memes.”

He grins. “She’s catching on fast.”

You both breeze through a few more questions: favorite things about each other (“Her brain,” he says. “His hair,” you say, mostly to throw him off), how you’re balancing your “newfound relationship” with your careers, and what the future looks like.

It’s ridiculous. All of it. But somehow, sitting next to him, batting lines back and forth like you’ve been doing this forever—it starts to feel natural.

Almost too natural.

As the interview wraps and the cameras cut, Gojo turns to you with a low whistle.

“Not bad, huh?”

You shake your head, dazed. “You’re scary good at this.”

He leans in close, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach do something stupid. “That’s because I’ve been imagining this for a while.”

You blink. “This? A fake relationship?”

He smirks. “You. Sitting next to me. Looking like that. Laughing at my dumb jokes.”

And just like that, he’s up and gone, waving cheerfully to the crew, leaving you frozen on the couch with a brain full of static.

Fake relationship, you remind yourself.

Totally fake.

But the way your heart just skipped? That didn’t feel fake at all.

Twitter is a war zone.

As soon as the interview drops, your phone is vibrating nonstop like it’s trying to eject itself from your bag. You make the mistake of opening it.

There, at the top of your feed:

“THEY’RE SO IN LOVE I’M GONNA SCREAM.”

@User3245: the way gojo LOOKS at her??? that man is not acting idc #GojoGate #PowerhousePrincess

“Body Language Expert Reacts: Gojo Satoru is DOWN BAD.”

16-minute YouTube analysis incoming.

“they said inside jokes??? FAVORITE THINGS??? i’m throwing my phone goodbye.”

Someone already has a clip on loop of Gojo saying, “I’ve been imagining this for a while,” followed by the audio from that one song that makes everyone cry. There’s fanart. Shipping hashtags. A tweet that simply reads, “help. i want what they have.” followed by four thousand retweets and a very cursed slideshow edit.

The internet is in love with an illusion. And maybe, just maybe, it’s starting to love you too.

Back at Gojo’s apartment, you kick off your shoes like you’re shedding a second skin. Your head is still buzzing with the afterglow of flashing lights and fake laughter. But there’s something else too—a tight pull behind your ribs that won’t quite let go.

Gojo flops onto his couch, arms stretched along the back like he’s hosting an imaginary talk show. “We killed it, didn’t we?”

You sink down beside him, careful to keep space between your bodies. “We were convincing, I’ll give you that.”

He looks over at you, that playful gleam still there—but softer now, like the stage lights are gone and he’s just Gojo. Not the internet’s favorite almost-boyfriend.

“You really think I was just acting?”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“That stuff I said,” he shrugs, casually, like it’s no big deal. But his voice is quieter. More real. “About imagining this.”

You pause. “I figured you were just selling it. Like always.”

“I was,” he admits. “Mostly.”

Your heart’s doing something deeply inconvenient again.

He doesn’t look away. “But I’ve followed your career for years. You’re brilliant. You’re terrifying. I never thought I’d even get to talk to you, let alone sit next to you and joke like this.”

“Gojo—”

“And yeah, this whole fake thing? It started out as damage control,” he says, leaning in just a little. “But you don’t fake what’s been happening when the cameras are off.”

You don’t realize how close he is until the space between you disappears completely.

Not a kiss. Not yet. Just silence. A breath caught between one world and the next.

“I didn’t think this would get to me,” you say finally, eyes meeting his. “But it kind of has.”

He smiles—genuine, without a trace of performance. “Good. Because I was starting to think I was the only one losing it.”

You laugh, the tension breaking just enough for you to lean in too.

When it happens, it’s soft. Unrushed. Like a secret being told just for you.

And for once, no cameras flash. No hashtags appear. There’s no crowd, no trending tags, no need to fake a thing.

Just you and Gojo.

No pretending.

Only real.

A/N: RAHH part two is complete and yes THEY KISS, 𐙚˙⋆.˚  is definitely starting to warm up to Gojo and omg Gojo admits how he's actually known about 𐙚˙⋆.˚  and admired her for a while oh mer gerddd I hope you guys liked this I think im making two or three more parts :)

Masterlist ✼ Part three

Taglist! @pickledsoda

[bigmacari]

hi cari! can i request hcs of swap, fell and fellswap (red or gold, you decide ^.^ or you can exclude it if it's too much) skelebros with a gn s/o who loves matching things with them? be it bracelets or clothes, those kinda stuff! hope u have a nice week <3

╭──────────────────.★..

US! Bros and UF! Bros x Reader

☆ S/O that loves matching with their skeleton

☆Warning(s) None

☆AuthorNote(s) Okay Imma be so fr, I didn't know that much about the fellswap AU'S and decided to look it up. I got ten times more confused, so until I got the characters down and learn about the AU more, please take this instead. Very sorry, didn't want to half ass it. But I hope you still enjoy ❤

..★.──────────────────╯

US! Sans (Blue) ☆

Matching bandanas!!!!!

Gave you a spare one so you can "ALWAYS HAVE A PIECE OF THE MAGIFICENT SANS!" Ever since, you added it to many outfits, rather that be around your neck or peaking out of your pocket. The first time you wore it around him, his eyes immediately morphed onto bright blue stars.

Matching bracelets are also common in your guys relationship. Some dates are spent making said bracelets. The two of you has one that has eachothers name on it. He thinks its adorable and cherishes it a lot.

US! Papyrus (Stretch) ☆

Matching necklaces!

I don't know why but I just get that vibe from him. You made a matching pair for a gyftmas present and Stretch hasn't took his off since (Made a promise that he would never take it off.) Its just something that wont slip off and get lost easily. This is great since he's messy and doesn't really know were things are half the time. Usually has it under his hoodie, on top of his shirt. So when Stretch takes his hoodie off, that's when you see it the most.

MATCHING SHIRTS

Really likes stupid shirts with dumb sayings and pictures.

HAAAAHHA

(Wears this one to piss off his brother.)

ALSO NAIL POLISH

Not sure how good that would work on a skeleton but he's so down to get his nails painted and match with you.

UF! Sans (Red) ☆

Matching sweaters!

Specifically the red one he wears underneath his coat. You surprised him with it on a random day and its safe to say that he love it. Says "it makes ya look hot." It also gives him a huge ego boost and he's glad that your willing to show off the fact that you're his.

Collar/choker?

I saw somebody say that collars on a monster in Fell AU's meant "hey they're protected fuck off" and I haven't been able to drop it. So I thought that maybe that can apply here? The thing is that collars are quite "eye catching" (really weird for humans to wear outside in public) So ya'll would settle for matching chokers instead.

UF! Papyrus (Edge) ☆

Matching jewelry!

Gold jewelry more often than not. Goes good with the red and black better. Prefers rings more than anything but as long as it looks good he doesn't care (he has to make sure that it doesn't get in the way of training though.) Likes the expensive look and wants his partner to match the same standard. So he puts in a lot of money during the holidays to make sure you have expensive stuff.

(One time he gave you a promise ring type thing and you lowkey thought he was proposing or something. He doesn't quite get human traditions yet 🤷‍♀️ Got all flustered when you told him.)

Matching scarfs?

You stole his cape (which I headcannon is just his old scarf from when he was a kid unfolded and made to look like a cape) from him once and he immediately told you to put it back. Later that week you ended up with a new red scarf on your bed. Takes pride in the fact that any monster would associate a red scarf cape with the "Terrible Papyrus" from a mile away. Like Red, Edge gets an ego boost from everyone knowing that your his and his only.

[soangelbaby]

𐑺ִ valentine’s day week event ; all addicted to me 💓

five days of control, obsession, and cupid’s arrows—all pointed at you.

cupid’s got an attitude this year, and she’s not handing out soft kisses and shy glances. this is love that takes, love that owns. love that starts with a stolen kiss and ends with a grip that won’t let go. her arrows are ready, but can you handle being struck ?

“. . . stupid cupid, stop picking on me . . .”

˗ ˏˋ what’s to come ˎˊ˗

❤︎ monday ; you’ve been mine ; charlie baker is your brother’s bestfriend, and he’s 3 years older than you. you’ve always wanted each other but your brother has deemed you as off-limits but this valentine’s day, all bets are off the table, who will make the first move ?

❤︎ tuesday ; you love when i hate you ; vinnie hacker has always been your academic rival, but on valentine’s day, when he sees you with a date at his PR event, he’s not having it and he’ll remind you who truly owns you.

❤︎ wednesday ; prove yourself ; valentine’s day is supposed to be about love, but when your boss, jensen ackles, walks in, everything changes. as his assistant, you’re caught between professionalism and a dangerous, irresistible pull.

❤︎ thursday ; captured by cupid ; on valentine’s day, cupid’s arrow strikes—clark kent, the flannel wearing farm boy, tonight he’s torn between his loyalty to lana and his forbidden attraction to you, her best friend. one look sets off a passionate, dangerous affair.

❤︎ friday ; my bloody valentine ; valentine’s day, clark kent isn’t himself—a red kryptonite-fueled vampire. one bite changes you forever—intoxicating, overwhelming, binding you to him. there’s no escape. you’re his now, body and soul.

₊˚⊹ ᰔ wanna keep up ?

reblog this post and spread the love (or, you know… the chaos 😉)!

drop a comment if you’re already feeling the excitement—or if you can’t wait to see what kind of mess i’m cooking up!

tags are appreciated ! keep your hearts close, but not too close. things are about to get dangerous… can you handle the heat ?

✩‧₊˚౨ৎ cupid’s arrows don’t just bring love. they bring madness, obsession, & all the forbidden desires you’re craving. valentine’s week is approaching & the hunt is on. will you survive cupid’s world ?

ෆ༘ rini’s note ; ahh !! im so excited ! literally working overtime on these fics but thank you so much for 250 followers already :D it hasn’t even been a full week yet and y’all gassing me like crazy🥹 but ily ily so muchh get pumped for what i have next luverss <33 also will probably edit this and make tweaks so dont mind thatt lol

[sl33paholics]

Good day to you <3 !!! Can you please write to headcanon about the antagonists of season 3 of "Baki" (Spec , Yanagi , Dorian , Sikorsky and Doyle) where they kiss S/O (like: forehead, cheeks, etc..) ??? I will be very grateful if you notice >3< ❤

Death Row Inmates Kissing Their s/o Headcannons!

Warning(s): errrrrrr the death row inmates themselves are a warning enough. Mentions of their crimes and a hint of spice (if you squint) a hint of crack on Spec's end

also sweethearts my requests are now closed I have 7 more that I've been neglecting I'm sorrY

Ryuukou Yanagi

Can't Let You Go Just Yet Kiss (on da lipz)

For Yanagi, you're his spouse before he got sent to prison, then becoming a death row inmate (bc he couldn't keep his hands to himself 🙄)

You'd occasionally come whenever you had the chance, although you couldn't bring gifts for him to keep in his square type of cell, the two of you would always exchange letters resulting in scheduled meetings with one another with HEAVY surper vision from the guards

Due to his poisonous hand, Yanagi carefully tries not to do anything out of line whenever his mind is on autopilot. The two of you would catch up on things. How's the outside life been treating you? Are you adjusting to living alone without him home? Is work going well? You know, the usual questions

As time ticks, the two of you begin to reminisce of your lives before it was struck because of Yanagi's stupid actions, sure, you don't agree with his murderous behavior but you'd stick by his side regardless

Yanagi would grab your forearm and pull you towards him. You were just looking so good. The short king couldn't resist kissing your beautiful ass

What felt like an eternity, you felt his hot lips making contact with yours as he had a firm grip on you, holding you close and deepening the kiss, sending frictions down your spine

Hell, the two of you were so lost in thought that the guards finally had to step in and SEPARATE you two as they put the man back in handcuffs.

Safe to say you'd be making more scheduled visits in the near future 😛

Hector Doyle

Unbreakable Snuggle Up Kisses (on the neck)

You're the man's fiancé.

You would've thought that after him being responsible for many killings as an assassin, now being on death row, he expected you to leave. Leave, move on with your life, not being tied to a monster who wishes to finally taste defeat.

But you didn't. And that's what confused him.

With someone with his stature and nature, the thought of his one love finally leaving him did cross his mind a lot when he was in that cell. Only for the guards to bang on his sell and tell him he has a visitor.

To see you at the visitors' longue patiently sitting waiting for him as you analyzed the room, it made him let out a sigh of relief (but not loud enough for the guards to hear 🤫🧏‍♀️)

Doyle IMMEDIATELY sat next to you (although security clearly stated to sit across but bffr they don't want that smoke) getting all up in your personal space, staring down at you with intensity. The man starts to interrogate you. How's life doing? Have you seen anyone ever since he got locked up? Are you doing well on your own? Did anyone know you were coming to see him today?

Without a single thought, he wrapped his arms around you. His one and only, resting his head on your neck and feeling his hot breath on your skin. It felt nice. The man you've been separated for months is now here showering you with affection.

The silence between you two is nice, but it came to a halt when you felt short and wet kisses from Doyle. You quietly tried to move him away, but the red-haired man didn't care.

With his large arms around your body and his kisses becoming more sloppy to the point where he was damn near bitting you to mark your neck up, you couldn't help but to enjoy the fact that getting caught sent a shuddering thrill down your spine.

It only stopped when a few guards had to drag him away from you and cuff Doyle up again. Only for that sly dog to look back at you with a smug grin and him mouthing, "I expect to get another visit from you soon~" while getting escorted back to his cell.

Dorian

A quick, goodbye kiss (on your cheek cheeks)

A longtime partner of his. It was honestly sad to see him delve into his murderous ways, resulting in him being on death row and awaiting his fate.

No letters. No gifts. No nothing from you, surprisingly.

You couldn't fathom the fact that this could either break your marriage completely. It was only until then a serge of letters flowing through your mailbox that Dorian was egar to see you.

So why not make a schedule to see him? It can't be that bad.

Man, as soon as the day came, his big self hugged you so tightly you thought your eyes were gonna pop out.

Somehow, seeing him in this state really made you feel happy. His heavy belly laugh, alongside Dorian sharing his experiences on prison, it really made you two become close again just within a short amount of time.

Hell, he looks like Santa (if he didn't go on the deep end) if you squint hard enough 🤷🏾‍♀️

Dorian would also share short stories that he would remember during his time in the military many many MANY years ago to you.

For the first time, that lost spark that faded all those moons ago finally came back to bring life to your stale marriage.

But when it was time to leave, you didn't want to. Much to Dorian's surpise, you wanted to extend the visit since it's been forever since you've felt this way.

However, it wasn't up to you to decide.

Before he was escorted out, Dorian gave you a big fat kiss on the cheek, and one on the other. It made you cheese up, for your grown age

You're DEFINITELY going back to see him more often.

Sikorsky

A Distracting Kiss (on your forehead)

You were originally a fling turned partner

The thought that you slept with a killer before finding out his true ways definitely shocked you to your core

So it was a surpise when you received a letter to come visit him. You really didn't want to go but hell, you had nothing to do and decided to go anyway

Gosh. The wait and anticipation sent you over the edge while waiting for his arrival, making your hands sweaty. So, seeing his big build stomping towards you as the guards removed the cuffs was pretty intimidating and low key terrifying

The two of you sat in silence. The prison smells. Not the cleanest tables and chairs. Dirty ass walls. Without a single thought, you commented on how this building looks, only for Sikorsky to let out a loud chuckle at what you had to say

The two of you made small talk. It was awkward. You'd thought he'd be the one initiating conversation, but nooo it was YOU

Time was ticking, and the two of you were getting nowhere. You were getting upset. He invited you over only for him to just sit there and stare.

It wasn't until you mentioned that you planned on moving overseas. It's like he had a shift of attitude and wanted to be involved jn what you had to say 🙄

The two of you got so lost in conversation you didn't even keep track of time until the guards began to walk up and ruffled Sikorsky to stand up, but you kept talking

It was only then you felt his huge hands cup your face and bringing you up towards him, giving you a rough smooch on your forehead before you sat back down on the hard metal chair as the men were taking Sikorsky back into confinement

Safe to say that you will be coming back again

Spec

What do I even put for this guy??? (All types of kisses)

Ever since that man escaped from underwater, it's been nothing but hell

But you weren't expecting him to immediately crash at YOUR place

WTF??

You woke up to your face being smothered in kisses from the big bald man with your doors being busted open from the brute force

You wanted to scream out but really, being tied to this man as a middle-aged person was very difficult

You had to deal with the torment of SPEC. The guy doesn't understand the meaning of "personal space" or wanting to be alone just for a good hour

While lounging on the couch, he's there pecking your cheeks with small kisses until you get sick of it

Spec the type of guy to give really, really rough kisses on the lips. He doesn't know when to control himself, often leaving your lips swollen or bruised but will pamper you for being able to handle him

If you just so happened to be in the shower, his tall ass is towering over you while giving you neck kisses, you warned him not to get out of control. This is Spec we're talking about, you're going to have hickeys on your neck and throat

The only time I see Spec being gentle with you whenever you're back from your job, sore and exhausted, he would give your forehead the best kisses ever. Even if you have to deal with them sometimes being sloppy

You love the guy. Even if he's psychotic, an asshole, and many other things combined, you can't deny you love when he spoils you with affection ❤️

[donutz]

❤ (ɔˆз(ˆ⌣ˆc) Mokarun x reader // Pt 1

| Sleepover with Momo, Takakura, ‘n you! Pt 1; Pt 2

Warnings: Fluff!! Cuteness, plenty of physical affection/some words of affirmation, body appreciation(Momo and Okarun receiving), very loving reader(an absolute sweetheart), flustered Momo and Okarun// This part mainly focuses on Okarun, the other will be about Momo!! This fanfic is recommended in light mode because both(Mokarun's) names are quite dark (^_^;)

“So, do you wanna come over to my house, my granny wouldn’t mind at all. She’s like— super chill with guests,” Momo's hands were dug into the pockets of her night sky-like sweater, avoiding your gaze with a light blush littered across her face.

The sudden interruption of silence caused Okarun to flinch, making him quickly turn his head to the left, “.. What—”

“Yea sur-”

Adjusting his glasses, he looks at you but then almost immediately looks away when you two make eye contact.

“Oh, mh.. sorry,” he shrinks, turning his head farther, maybe even to the point where he’s looking over his shoulder. He grips the back of his neck while rubbing his fingers over his smooth skin.

Your hand lifts moving side to side, indicating that— 

“It’s fine, I actually kinda interrupted you because you spoke first. So— my bad on my part,” visible cold air puffs from the heat of your mouth while you speak, drawing more attention to that beautiful smile. It’s almost like Okarun could feel your warm aura even when looking away.

It isn’t like Okarun could deny that you interrupted him, even if it was just a millisecond before.

Momo chimes in, seeking your attention.

“Oh well Okarun's at my house all the time, so it’s nothin’ new,”

Your eyebrows raise, a surprised yet nonchalant expression rests on your face. 

“Really?”

She looks away slyly, her earrings jingling along with her head movement.

"Yeah" she breathes out, “It’s almost like he lives with me,”

Silence falls upon all as you look up at the sky. Looking at every individual star spotting the navy-violet view. Connecting some, quite a few look similar to shapes. 

“Star…” you unknowingly whispered.

Did I really just say that out loud? That’s totes cringe man…

The thought popping into your head makes you cringe, mentally and physically.

I’m such a nerd.

Smiling to your thoughts, too busy in your own world you didn’t notice the two pairs of eyes staring at you. Eyes looking from the top of your hair down to what shoes you wore.

Now realizing the world around you, you can feel their stares. Commenting on it would be an instant response, but you didn’t want to seem cocky. Though your peripheral view gives you truthful evidence that they are staring at you.

“… I can feel you guys staring at me,”

“Yea I knew you’d say that…”

“Sorry! I uhh…”

.

.

.

“So you gonna sleep over or what?”

“Oh? I thought I was just gonna stay there for a few hours?”

She slouches; turning to you with a face full of blush and a caught expression, with furrowed eyebrows of course.

“Yeah but I changed my mind! So are you gonna come over or not?!”

You chuckle, looking down at the floor.

“Yea I’ll come over. I don’t have extra clothes though. Can I borrow yours?”

“Mmnahhh, I’ll give you some clothes in the attic,” she jokingly waves you off.

“… You don’t have an attic,”

“I’m joking, stupid,”

“I already knew you were,”

“…”

“Stupid,”

/////

Whether you borrowed her clothes or not— and if you didn’t then you got some from Okarun— you ended up at her house.

You’re very welcome in Momo's house, perhaps you are the favorite ‘grandchild’.

“Yea, you’re mature and also better than I ever could be when I was a kid” — Granny Seiko

Sitting at the table with Mokarun, Ms. Seiko, and Granny Turbo; crushed food is digested inside of your body, legs folded under your upper half. Back straight, slouching every now and then, you were a great example of what Mokarun wanted to be.

Beautiful.

Ms. Seiko was (slightly)surprised at how quiet it was. When you’re around that is.

Whenever everyone is at the table— excluding you— there’s always a loud voice included in an argument. But vice versa it’s like your presence is magic.

Granny Turbo is sitting next to you, actually eating instead of bothering Okarun. Speaking of the alien expert, he’s focused on the slices of fish, small plates of sauces and whatnot. 

Well— he’s mainly focused. 

It’s just really hard to not stare at you, when you look so—

So—

Ugh.

He can’t explain it.

Neither can Momo.

You just have this outstanding effect on them.

Licking your top lip, you announce the now-finished plates sitting on the table in front of you.

“Yea I’m— done too!!”

Momo flaps down her halfway-finished dishes on the beige wooden surface. She marches over to the stairs with a reddened face— though you’re not sure why— stomping up the steps.

Takakura wanted to join you two in the “finished plates club”, but he was still hungry.

He lifts his head with urgency, “Uh-”

“Mm..” he slowly drops his head down to the dishes.

Turbo and Seiko both look at each other, knowing what’s going on.

Momo wants some alone time with you, Okarun wants the same, though— he can’t.

You are completely unaware of what’s happening and want to clean your plates ‘n bowls.

Waving you off with her hand Ms. Seiko says it’s fine.

Soon enough Okarun is left alone at the table with two knowledgeable grannies.

“You know.. It’s obvious you want some alone time with yer bae,” Ms. Seiko states.

“What—!!”

/////

A cold hand grasps the back of yours. The other chilled hand was busy brushing Momo's teeth. She looked in the mirror, watching you while you watched her.

“I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself, beautiful,” you smiled, analyzing her facial features.

She grunts, then spits out the toothpaste, and rinses her mouth.

Leaning back into her original position, she looks away from you.

“You need to stop with yer damn charm… It’s pissing me off!!”

“Mm? What charm? I’m just admiring my outstanding girlfriend taking care of herself,”

“Stop!!!”

You hug her even closer, laying your head on hers. Moving your head, again, cupping your chin into the pit between her neck and shoulder. Getting a whiff of dirt and the outside, you cringe(with kindness), backing away from Momo.

“Um.. Did you take a shower?”

“Uh— you sayin’ I stink or somethin’?” she questions, her voice coming out as raspy. Her face shows the most obvious scowl, irritated and embarrassed.

“Well I can mainly smell the dirt that floats in the air. I don’t think it’s you,” you smile(scared, honestly) with cupped hands behind your back, looking away and stepping farther.

“… Get out,”

“I was starting on that,”

While Momo was showering, though you’d love to take a shower too, you were waiting in her room. You let out a sigh of boredom, “Mm.. Where’s Ken? Miss ‘em.. Mm…”

The sound of light footsteps increases, your eyes darting to the open door, ajar to the hallway. Jumping up from Momo's bed, your face brightens with joy.

You knew who it was.

Rushing out of the room, you engulf Ken. 

“Ah! Oh…” his back arches from your tight hold. He rests his head on your shoulder, hugging you back.

“I was just thinking about you!” picking him up he lets out a squeal; then securing him in your hold while returning to Momo’s room.

“Kiss me ‘karun… I need your affectionnn..” going face to face— still holding him—  you needily whine to your boyfriend.

“I— Um well..” laying him on her bed, you sit above him(hovering).

“Oh, maybe you shouldn’t be on her bed in your school clothes. Can you change into your ‘Momo's house clothes’?”

“Yea.. I-I guess that’s a good idea,” he inches away from your gaze. He’s always so nervous around you.

He gets up from the bed, changing into his clothes. Of course, you’re looking away.

“O-ohkay I’m done,” he crawls on the bed, not knowing what to do.

You glance over to his arms, remembering that he’s been working out lately.

With raised eyebrows you ask if you can feel his muscles. Agreeing to it, he lets you trace over his shoulders, deltoids, biceps, and other arm anatomy names…

You fall silent as you observe his body, astonished. Sure, he doesn’t have big muscles— but he’s been working out for you.

And Momo.

“So.. You’ve been working out for us huh?”

Okarun responds with zero stutters, his ego being boosted just a bit. Though it doesn’t mean his (face)cheeks aren’t flushed. 

“… I’ve been wanting to work out for a while now. Thinking of saving the both of you without being— basically treated like a baby— is amazing to me! Or— not amazing, it just seems like a really good idea,”

You head lifts when hearing him saying that he gets treated like a baby.

“We don’t treat you like a baby,” confusion laced your voice.

“I think you think we’re treating you like a baby. But we’re not,”

You two make eye contact,

“It’s called ‘working together’” you smiled, mouthing each syllable.

“I’m not saying I don’t like your muscles though. They’re super cool,” going back to outlining his muscles, you praise him.

“Your slightly bigger arms show your progress in working out, which is cute to me because I already know why you are,”

His shirt lifts by your hands just enough to show his abs.

“Plus, I can see packs forming on your stomach,” light pressure is put on each slab.

Slight glances are viewing into his eyes every now and then, searching for discomfort.

You make a noise of content, “You make me smile so much, Ken. ‘M so proud of you,”

This fanfic got me smiling I'm ngl.

[mazeofyeni]

╰ 💋︰ ( RELATIONSHIP WITH NCT DREAM ) ─── ❛ 넌 나의 tangerine love † 찬 바람 속 내 곁에 온 you're my favorite ?! ~ 🥀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 마크 ¡ mark ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : saturn - sza ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : minhyung💞

her : yoon❤️‍🔥

♡⃝ about machae ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

being new to korea , yoonchae spent most of her time to herself — training and eating alone, that was until she met mark.

mark was older than her , but he still made an effort to get to know her , helping her get out of her shell.

the first person she broke the news to when she made the debut team , the look on both of their faces when they realized they both made the same debut team.

he can tell when she's struggling and knows how to help her , pulling her aside if she gets too overwhelmed.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 런쥔 ¡ renjun ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : golden hour - jvke ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : jun🩵

her : 洛夫 💐( love )

♡⃝ about yoojun ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

renjun is yoonchaes' home , she trusts him with all her secrets , he just gets her on a different level.

he isn't a yes man , he isn't afraid to tell her when she's doing something stupid or is slacking — at first this made her upset but then she got used to it.

he's softer when it comes to her though , he's tough but he'll tell it to her in a way that won't hurt her , but also in a sense that he does things for her that he'd never do for anyone else.

always seen behind the scenes , holding hands or her head on his shoulder sleep , it's just so cute.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 제노 ¡ jeno ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : old love - yuji ft putri dahlia ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : 개🐾 ( dog )her : chae🛸

♡⃝ about jenchae ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

much like mark , jeno was another person who helped her come out of her shell as a trainee , he protected her when other trainees would make fun of her.

everyone loves a protective jeno.

even after debut he still looked over her , there are so many videos of him making sure she's safe at airports or if a fan is making her uncomfortable you can see him watching them before telling a staff , subtly getting close so he can pull you away.

can't stand her saesangs , like he hates that they're the reason she's always struggling , has to try his best not to curse them out when they're calling her on live.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 해찬 ¡ haechan ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : die for you - the weekend ft. ariana grande ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : fullsun☀️

her : yoonie🫶🏼

♡⃝ about yoochan ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

mark didn't know what he got himself into when he introduced these two before they debuted , it was like giving him a slightly evil twin.

anybody who comes across these says they're destined to be friends forever , they debuted glued to the hip.

he memorized her apartment code before she did , has a drawer there and all.

there's the dreamies friendship ring , then there's the yoonchan friendship bracelet , these two silver bands that they bought with their first check after debut and either one of them have yet to take it off.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 재민 ¡ jaemin ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : be my next - riize ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : jaeminie🤍

her : noonie⭐️

♡⃝ about yoomin ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

the dating rumors with these two are never ending , since 2017 when Jaemin and her were seen together with without staff ( doyoung was right behind them )

they're always seen bts sharing cheeky glances or throwing random finger hearts or subtly flirting.

some people think they're just doing fan services others think different and that they're dating.

there are a few times where people are like are they? aren't they? were they? are they gonna be? people are confused.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 천러 ¡ chenle ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : stuck with you - ariana grande ft. justin beiber ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : 丈夫💍 ( husband )her : 妻子💍 ( wife )

♡⃝ about chenchae ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

in everyone's top 3 ships in nct, everyone says they're like an old retired married couple – they even call each other pets siblings.

before she moved out into her own apartment , she would sometimes spend the night at his apartment , now they do it interchangeably , he has the key code to hers.

not only to they act like a old married couple , they fight like one , everyone says they fight over the pettiest things.

her travel buddy , they've went to many places during their breaks together.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝒊. 지성 ¡ jisung ✟ . ༅｡˚

♪ … now playing : best friend - nct dream ׄ ⸝⸝ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 . ₊ 🍒 ᤺ . . .

his : andy park🐹

her : jennifer bae🫰🏼

♡⃝ about yoosung ... ❤︎ ྀི ݁𓂅˚۪

awkward as hell when they debut it was funny cause you could see them both awkwardly smiling at each other , even sometimes they bow to each other or speak formally, people doubted if they even liked each other.

that was debut them , skip a few years to 2018 , you constantly saw these two walking to restaurants or shopping together , people were shock with the total 360 , which did cause a dating scandal ( people thought it a enemies and lovers situation ).

they just simply had to get used to each other , now they get along so well — they even celebrate their birthdays together since they share one.

also has her password to her apartment , and just makes himself a home when she isn't there.

©️MAZEOFYENI