#but i think i got over the worst of it by now

[moyazaika]

PRESQUE VU

♡ ⋮ yandere ‘boyfriend’ x gn reader

cw ☆ it’s going to hurt.

“i don’t blame you, babe.” his fingers are intrusive, but gentle, as he pries your mouth open. his thumb is calloused, and you can feel the rough skin pressing against the soft flesh of your bottom lip and pulling it down with a pinch. “happens to the best of us,” he says, not unkindly. “and besides, i’m here to take care of you, yeah?”

you give him a sorry excuse of a nod, and he smiles at you over his glasses. “i love that, i ever tell you? when you show me you understand me?” he sighs. “i fucking love it.”

you can see your reflection in the glasses. faint, but unbearably noticeable for every last line of desperation. look at you, nodding again; going yes—yes, i understand you.

do you, really?

“see? you’re so good to me.” beyond the image of yourself, you glimpse the twinkle of his approval (and consequently; your assured safety—at least for now) in his eyes. he only wears his glasses in the early mornings and evenings, when he hasn’t got his contacts in yet. and he wouldn’t right now, considering the two of you’d just woken up. “sometimes, i almost think i don’t deserve you.”

you think of something to say, almost immediately. think of the words so fast that you end up losing them—slipping somewhere just out of your reach.

ah, come on—!

you know they’re important. these words, they mean a lot. it’s imperative you recall them; if only so they can leave your lips.

“but then i think,” dawn’s sun is gentle, blurry glow soft through the bathroom window; hitting him so nicely, and bathing the best and worst of him in gold. “who better for me than you?” features you’ve memorised down to the last detail, your inclination to observe and remember vacillating between an obedience rooted in fear and a strange, beautiful sense of duty owed to what could only be an even stranger sort of love. “and who better for you than me?”

please come back. what were you going to say? it’s—it’s right there, you know it is and you just—what was it, again?

you need to remember. these are very important words that must be said—!

“and no matter how many times i ask myself these two questions,” his other hand, just as rough and warm, squeezes the rolled up toothpaste onto the wet, bent bristles of his toothbrush. it’s a fresh white with specks of bright blue. “the answer is always the exact same. and isn’t that absolutely beautiful?”

he carefully cradles your face with one hand, the other holding the toothbrush by its hilt—or is it called a handle? a body? these autonomous concepts are far beyond your understanding. you perceive even the most mundane object in the only way you know how which is only the one way you’ve been taught to live by.

(hurt.)

but that’s not what you were looking for. no, you’re losing yourself—going off track. you frown, dig deeper. it’s frustrating and you hate the feeling.

you were going to say something—you had to be careful of what you said; speak up only if you’d thought what you were going to say through very carefully—

and here was something you’d thought to waste your few precious words on; only to forget—!

“don’t get lost in your head, lovely.” you blink. look up to find him watching you expectantly.

you realise with a sinking feeling that you’ve been gone for longer than you’d managed to catch. you don’t let that happen too often, nowadays. and for good reason. you immediately make a mental note beneath his curious gaze not to let it happen again.

“there you are. hi, darling. i really hate when you leave me like that.”

you’ve learnt to be attentive and observant, attuned to his every desire—and truthfully, as he often asks you when his mouth is sucking on the sensitive skin of your neck; are they really that different to yours?

so when you notice that his eyes are focused on your lips, instinctively, you part them with a shuddering breath; stand right on your tippy toes and slide your palms up, up, up his body and right over his shoulders—

“oh,” you’re knocked off kilter when his chest, as warm and strong and unyielding as ever beneath your pliant hands, reverberates with unexpected low laughter. you take a step back, but you can see in the reflection of his glasses that he sees it as a stumble; the falter of shame at him having caught your hand in a metaphorical cookie jar. “oh, poor baby. i wasn’t—”

he straightens. catches his breath to wipe a tear from his eye. “oh, darling. you thought i was going to kiss you?”

you stammer, pathetically, hopelessly; only end up looking like even more of a fool when the uncertain edges of an excuse in the back of your mind fail to solidify into something sharper; something that would cut and sink and stay under his skin.

it’s not your fault. really—! you’re just trying to remember those words you’d lost a second ago—where did they go?

he watches with great, quiet amusement as the words continue to evade you, despite your best efforts. eventually, your jaw falls slack and the cat really has got your tongue and even though you know the cat is right around the corner you can’t—can’t quite reach it to get the words back—when they were only just here one second—

“hey. that’s alright.” he squeezes your cheeks together with one hand, and you forgo any last, sad attempt at trying to talk. “i know, baby. i got you. i get it. you understand me, and i understand you. that’s how this works. you don’t have to explain yourself.”

the words in your head are getting closer. clearer. you can feel it; are acutely aware of the fact that you’re on the brink of a breakthrough. monumental for yourself, to know what to say for today, but worth very little to him.

“i’m sorry for laughing. you’re just so cute. i promise i’ll give you a kiss after, okay? i’ll give you all of the kisses you want, darling.” you nod again, more desperate this time. you want him to think back on this morning and remember his glowing success at solidifying your obedience rather than your own spectacular failure at defying him. his grip loosens, hands slide down to your chin—a finger tapping against your jaw with expectation. “but only if you can go back to showing me you’re listening. makes sense?”

it’s very important that you show him you’re listening. very important not to lose yourself in your own head.

“alright, darling. be patient, okay? this is going to sting for a bit. might hurt you a little. so hold onto me if you need, but do not,” he smiles softly, “even think about pulling away. alright?”

the last time you’d lost yourself in your head had also been the first.

you remember, still, looking up at him through your lashes the same way you are now. though, then, you’d been crying. you could afford to do that, before—wave the markers of resistance around like a white flag. it should have been easy; you’d surrender physically—but you wouldn’t really be there mentally. thought that would make the violating ordeal easier to bear.

he’d caught on, of course. the minute your eyes glazed over and your jaw went slack. he hadn’t even pushed his fingers (still slick from your arousal) past your lips—he rolled his eyes. muttered something to himself and got up, instead. you chose not to come back just yet; fearing he’d just return any second now and try again.

from somewhere far away, you’d heard the whistle of the kettle; both at once a shrill scream and yet as silent as a whisper, over the sound of his restless pacing in the kitchen, and then the strangely quiet steps down the hall again.

“you want to zone out when i’m speaking to you, baby?” he’d cooed. pulled out your tongue, pinched between his thumb and forefinger—warm skin unbearably uncomfortable against the wet, squirming muscle that he yanked further out of your mouth. you were there, now, physically and mentally—because you’d seen the kettle in his hands.

“darling, if you think i’m going to just let you check out on me,” he flippantly spoke over your screaming and thrashing, his knee on your chest was painfully digging into your ribs. your body was shaking violently. his hands were as steady as his gaze. eyes trained on your mouth, just like now. “then you don’t know me at all, and that’s very disappointing. so i thought,” he said casually, lips curling into something sweet. “maybe i should show you exactly what sort of man i am. just so you know not to ignore me, again. just so you remember to pay attention.”

and when you screamed again, he’d silently tipped the spout of the kettle over, fingers loosely wrapped around the hilt—and down, down, down had the boiling water gone; spilling straight into your mouth and right onto your poor little tongue.

so today, on this slow morning where the sun hasn’t even risen yet and the stars are still out in the sky, you listen very closely to what he says.

he lines the toothbrush up against your teeth. “open your mouth for me, baby. a little wider.”

you obey.

“that’s perfect, love. come just a little closer, will you? tilt your head up.” he kisses your nose. “good job, baby. now stay still.”

he’s looking down at you through his glasses with a quiet intensity, focused entirely on the task at hand. he still looks golden in the light of the rising sun.

the warm hand holding your jaw in place is soft and his movements are careful as he moves the bristles of the brush over your every tooth with a gentle affection.

he is cleaning you, helping you heal when he takes the utmost care not to let the brush he wields touch your tongue for even the barest moment; the muscle is lying uselessly limp, slack and scarred in the cavern of your mouth—heavier now from the burden of an unspoken confession.

because the words that had been just out of reach have come back to you as quick as they’d first disappeared. in a second, you almost stumble beneath the weight of them; the burden of needing to blurt out what you’ve worked so very hard to get back; something you need to say because you looked for it and found it and you need to tell him. you need to speak. let it out—

say it—!

but you can’t.

so because you can’t quite speak again just yet, even though he does his best not to make it hurt for you any more, you look up and smile at him; sweet, eager, and bright.

his lips curl. you glimpse the approval in his gaze. let yourself feel safe, again, in his hold as he presses another kiss to your nose. “i got you, baby. don’t even need to use your words for me to understand you. i know you already. like i said, nobody better, yeah?”

you can’t tell whether he’s referring to you or himself, so you stay very still as he continues brushing your front teeth, positioning your head at different angles as he makes sure to get every tooth. spends extra time on your canines, you notice.

“we’re going to have such a beautiful day, darling. i think i’m going to love you very kindly today. want to show you that i can be nice, baby. how’s that sound, hm?”

and even though you can see in the reflection of his glasses that despite his careful efforts, your gums are bleeding from the bent bristles of the toothbrush, the blood having mixed with the toothpaste, now staining your teeth a soft, foamy pink; because you won’t quite be able to say it just now—

it’s all you can do to split your lips into a grin and hope he understands.

[stealvrth]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄

STARRING ... SPIDEY!J. JUNGKOOK X READER

WORD COUNT ... 9.0K

SUMMARY ... in which jungkook realises his heart is caught in your web.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... PATHETIC KOOK ALERT!! cringefail!jungkook, mostly pure fluff. unrequited(?) love if you blink. slow burn(?). unresolved crush. idk i had a lot of fun writing this tho!! not proofread, so there may be mistakes 🫣

jungkook doesn't know how to approach you.

he's seen you in passing countless times, walked your path because the two of you share the same class. he's considered saying hi, or asking if you need help with schoolwork, or literally doing anything else other than following you and staring like a creep.

the only genuine interaction the two of you have had was during freshman year when jungkook asked you to point out the lecture hall for chemistry, and you laughed and told him you were headed the same way — and just as lost as he was.

he thinks about that moment more often than he should. not because it was anything significant, but because it was the last time talking to you felt easy—effortless. before he let hesitation sink its claws into him, before he started overthinking every glance, every opportunity to speak.

now, jungkook just watches from a distance, caught somewhere between curiosity and cowardice. he wonders if you remember that day at all, if you ever think about him in passing the way he does you. probably not. he wouldn’t blame you.

still, the thought lingers. maybe tomorrow, he tells himself. maybe tomorrow he’ll say something.

jimin always makes fun of him for it, saying he’s fought villains before and yet one girl makes him shy?

“bro, you’ve literally been thrown through a building,” jimin snickers, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. “but god forbid you say hi to a girl in your chemistry class.”

jungkook rolls his eyes, staring down at his untouched burger. he doesn’t pay jimin’s teasing any mind—he never does. it’s easy for jimin to talk; he’s never had to hide a whole second life, never had to balance midterms with stopping armed robberies. he doesn’t get it.

(though, to be fair, jimin is right. jungkook has gone toe-to-toe with some of the worst criminals in the city. yet somehow, the idea of talking to you makes his palms sweat.)

“it’s not that simple,” he mutters, picking at the edge of his tray.

jimin snorts. “right, because saying ‘hey, what’s up?’ is way harder than getting launched off a bridge.”

jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. he doesn’t have a good rebuttal for that. mostly because jimin’s right, and he hates that.

“it’s different,” he insists, even though it really isn’t.

jimin raises an eyebrow. “how?”

jungkook opens his mouth, then closes it. then opens it again. “because—” he starts, but the words get stuck in his throat, tangled up in excuses that don’t make sense even to him.

jimin grins, sensing victory. “you’re scared of her,” he sings, dragging out the last word obnoxiously.

jungkook scowls. “i’m not scared of her.”

“you so are,” jimin laughs. “like, imagine this. you’re mid-battle, bad guy’s got you in a chokehold, and suddenly—boom! it’s her. she’s watching. do you still pull your usual show-off stunts, or do you fumble and get your ass kicked?”

jungkook doesn’t answer.

jimin gasps, slapping the table. “you’d fumble.”

“i would not.”

“you so would.”

jungkook glares at him, but it’s weak. because, again, jimin is right. jungkook has had guns pointed at his head, has dodged death more times than he can count, but somehow, the thought of you seeing him trip over his own feet is what keeps him up at night.

jimin waggles his brows. “just talk to her, dude. it’s not that deep.”

but it is. it is that deep. because talking to you is different. talking to you is real, not some masked-up alter ego that people only half-believe in. and if he messes up as spiderman, he can hide behind the suit. if he messes up as jungkook—well.

there’s no hiding from that.

jungkook stabs at his fries with unnecessary aggression. “it’s not that simple,” he mutters again, knowing full well jimin won’t let it go.

“bro, it’s literally that simple,” jimin says, leaning back in his chair like he’s exhausted by the sheer weight of jungkook’s awkwardness. “just go up to her, say—i dunno—‘hey, you dropped this’ or something, even if she didn’t. instant conversation starter.”

jungkook squints at him. “so, lie?”

“not lie,” jimin corrects, “strategically mislead. big difference.”

jungkook exhales through his nose. “you are the worst person i know.”

“and yet, i’m the only person willing to help your pathetic ass,” jimin grins, stealing one of jungkook’s fries.

jungkook should be used to this by now. the teasing, the dramatic reenactments of how he supposedly looks when he freezes up around you (jimin does this thing where he goes stiff as a board and stares blankly into space—it’s completely inaccurate, by the way). but today, it gets under his skin more than usual. maybe because he knows he’s been avoiding this for way too long.

“whatever,” jungkook grumbles, shoving jimin’s hand away from his tray. “it’s not like i have time for dating, anyway.”

jimin rolls his eyes so hard his whole body moves with it. “oh my god, it’s not about dating. just be normal for once. be her friend. say more than two words to her that aren’t ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry’ when you accidentally bump into her in the hallway.”

jungkook hates how easily jimin reads him. it’s not like he hasn’t considered all of this before. but the thing is—he’s not good at the whole “normal” thing. he doesn’t know how to balance both sides of his life, how to let himself want something outside of the web-slinging and late-night bruises.

because what if he lets you in, and you see everything? what if you see the real him, and you don’t like what’s underneath?

“just think about it,” jimin says, shoving back from the table and tossing his empty tray onto the pile near the trash. “but not too hard. your brain might overheat.”

“ha ha,” jungkook deadpans.

but later, when he’s walking home with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he thinks about it. he thinks about it way too hard.

today is the day. jungkook is going to do it. he’s going to walk up to you, give you his biggest award-winning smile, and he’s going to ask if you want to study together.

he’s going to do it. he’s going to do it.

he’s not going to do it.

because now you’re here—actually here, walking straight toward him, completely unaware that he’s been psyching himself up for this for the past fifteen minutes.

his heart stumbles over itself.

he keeps walking, like a normal person. normal people walk. normal people breathe. normal people don’t panic just because the girl they like is getting closer with every step.

you’re looking at your phone, scrolling absentmindedly, your brows pulling together in a way that makes jungkook wonder what you’re thinking about. your bag is slung over one shoulder, earbuds in, and you look—god, you look good. not in some over-the-top, magazine-cover way, but in the kind of way that makes his stomach feel weird and his feet feel heavier than they should.

he was not prepared for this.

his brain short-circuits. every pre-planned conversation starter he practiced disappears into the void. his feet slow down before he can stop them.

he’s close enough now that he could just say something. one word. one syllable. literally anything.

you look up.

jungkook stops breathing.

and then, like the complete disaster he is, he stops walking altogether.

which is unfortunate, because you don’t.

he realizes his mistake half a second too late, just as you get close enough that you nearly crash into him. nearly—because at the last second, you sidestep smoothly, like it’s no big deal, like you totally meant to almost collide with him just to keep things interesting.

and then you smile.

“oh! hey, jungkook!”

your voice is bright, cheery, like this is just another normal interaction between two normal classmates, not the catastrophic event jungkook’s body is currently treating it as.

his brain goes static. you said his name. you’re smiling at him. did you always smile at him like that? did the hallway lights always make you look this—

“you okay?” you ask, tilting your head. “you kinda just froze.”

jungkook blinks. Words. Say words.

“I—uh.”

good start. solid foundation.

you don’t seem fazed by his awkwardness. instead, you just grin and shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “what’s up? where are you headed?”

this is it. this is his chance. the perfect opportunity to say something cool, something casual, something that doesn’t make him sound like he’s barely holding it together.

jungkook swallows. “library.”

…right. just one word. like a total weirdo.

but somehow, you don’t seem to notice, nodding along like that was a perfectly normal response. “same! i have a psych paper due, but i was procrastinating, so now i have to power through. you too?”

jungkook should say something. something about school, or studying, or—oh, right, the reason he even stopped you in the first place.

ask her to study. ask her to study.

his mouth opens. what comes out instead is:

“you look… happy.”

he immediately wants to throw himself into the sun.

you laugh—this surprised, airy sound that makes jungkook’s chest feel tight. “thanks? i try.”

he nods. good. cool. nailed it.

(jimin is going to clown him so hard for this.)

you shift your weight, still standing in front of him like you’re actually waiting for him to contribute something meaningful to this conversation. like he’s capable of that right now.

“so,” you continue, oblivious to the fact that jungkook’s brain is actively short-circuiting, “are you studying for midterms, too? or just, like, catching up?”

this. this is his moment.

just say it, he tells himself. it’s so easy. just ask if she wants to study together. worst-case scenario, she says no, and you move on, and you never speak again, and you have to drop out of school and move to a remote island where no one knows your shame—

“yeah,” he blurts out. not an answer to your question, exactly, but something.

your smile doesn’t waver. “cool, cool.” then, as if the universe is giving him the easiest possible setup: “wanna study together?”

jungkook’s entire soul leaves his body.

because—what? what?? that was supposed to be his line. that was the whole plan. but now you’re standing there, looking at him expectantly, like this is a totally casual, no-big-deal offer.

he should say yes.

he should absolutely say yes.

“uh.”

your head tilts. “you don’t have to,” you add quickly, as if you think he’s the one who might not want your company. “i just figured, y’know, since we’re both headed there anyway…”

this is so much worse. now you’re giving him an out, and if he hesitates any longer, he’s going to look like an idiot. more than he already does.

“yeah,” he says, a little too fast. “i mean, yeah. let’s—uh. let’s do that.”

you beam, like this is the best news you’ve heard all day. “awesome! let’s go.”

then you turn, start walking, fully expecting him to follow.

and jungkook?

jungkook thinks he might actually die.

not from a supervillain attack, not from getting thrown off a building—no, it’s worse than that. he’s dying because you just asked him to study, and now he has to actually go through with it.

he forces his feet to move, catching up to your side, even though his entire body feels like it’s running on autopilot. this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. he was supposed to be the one taking the initiative, proving to himself (and to jimin, unfortunately) that he could be normal about this.

instead, he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy, barely keeping up with the conversation.

“so,” you say, tucking your phone into your bag, “what class are you studying for?”

jungkook opens his mouth—then immediately panics because he didn’t think this far ahead. he is studying, technically, but he didn’t have a specific subject in mind. his only plan was talk to you and try not to embarrass himself.

which—so far? not going great.

“uh, chemistry,” he says, because that seems like a safe bet.

you hum in acknowledgment. “oof, rough. is it that professor who hates everyone?”

“yeah,” jungkook lies, because sure. why not.

you wince sympathetically. “brutal. hope you’re not failing.”

jungkook lets out a weak laugh. hope you’re not failing. If only you knew the things he actually had to juggle on top of school. But no big deal—he can totally pretend to be a normal college student for a couple of hours.

the library comes into view, and suddenly, it hits him—he’s about to spend an actual study session with you. at the same table. breathing the same air.

“you good?” you ask, shooting him a curious glance.

jungkook clears his throat. “yeah. just—uh. mentally preparing.”

you snort. “for studying?”

“yeah.”

you shake your head, laughing. “you’re a little weird, huh?”

jungkook nearly chokes.

but you don’t say it in a bad way. you’re smiling as you say it, like you find it endearing. like it doesn’t make you want to walk away. jungkook has no idea what to do with that.

jungkook has no idea what to do with that.

his brain is still buffering by the time you step through the library doors, pushing them open with ease, like this is just another regular day for you. like you didn’t just tell him—straight to his face—that you think he’s weird.

and that you don’t seem to mind.

he follows in a daze, letting the cool, quiet atmosphere of the library settle around him. there are plenty of empty tables scattered throughout the study area, but you don’t hesitate, making a beeline for a spot near the windows. sunlight spills over the wooden surface, and you plop your bag down like you’ve claimed this space a hundred times before.

“this seat good?” you ask, pulling out a chair.

jungkook nods dumbly. “yeah. good.”

(good? what does that even mean? why does he sound like he just learned how to talk?)

you don’t seem to notice his internal struggle. instead, you pull out your laptop, sliding into the chair with the kind of ease that makes him jealous. how are you so normal about this? why does it feel like this is just a casual, no-pressure situation for you, while jungkook is actively fighting for his life?

he sits down, trying to regain control over his body. trying to focus on literally anything other than the fact that he can smell the faint scent of your shampoo from here.

(focus, he tells himself. be normal.)

you glance at him as you open your laptop. “do you need to charge anything?”

jungkook blinks. “huh?”

you gesture toward the outlet beside the table. “your laptop? phone? charger?”

right. yes. because normal people bring chargers to study sessions. normal people actually bring their school stuff.

slowly, with the painful realization that he is so unprepared for this, jungkook unzips his backpack and stares into the absolute void of nothingness inside.

no laptop. no charger. no notebook.

just… snacks. and, for some reason, an extra pair of gloves.

his stomach sinks.

you peer over curiously. “uh—did you forget your stuff?”

(lie. lie, you absolute idiot.)

“yeah,” jungkook says, forcing a laugh that does not sound normal. “guess i left it at home.”

you blink at him. then, without missing a beat, you shrug. “that’s fine! we can just share.”

his brain nearly explodes. “what?”

you gesture toward your laptop. “i mean, if you’re studying chemistry, i have my notes from last semester. we can go over them together?”

together.

as in, sitting close. looking at the same screen. existing in the same breathing space.

jungkook swallows. he is not ready for this.

but somehow, he forces his legs to move, pulling his chair closer so he can see your laptop screen. the metal legs scrape lightly against the floor, the sound embarrassingly loud in the quiet library, but you don’t seem to care.

you rest your elbows on the table as your laptop boots up, fingers tapping absently against the keys. “so, chemistry,” you say, glancing at him with a playful smirk. “you’re totally failing, huh?”

jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, hoping it doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “i mean. define failing.”

“oh my god.” you laugh, shaking your head. “yeah, okay, you definitely need this.”

your screen flashes on, illuminating your face as you navigate to your files. but jungkook isn’t looking at your notes.

because just before you click away, his eyes catch something else.

an open tab. a news article.

Spider-Man: Hero or Menace? City Officials Weigh In.

his heart jumps straight into his throat.

he doesn’t mean to react—doesn’t mean to tense up, doesn’t mean for his fingers to curl against his jeans—but it happens before he can stop it.

you don’t notice right away, too busy sorting through your documents. “i think i have an old study guide in here somewhere,” you mumble, scrolling. “oh! do you wanna—”

then you pause.

jungkook can feel the exact second you realize where his attention is.

you glance at the screen, then back at him.

“oh,” you say, blinking. “you’re a spider-man fan?”

he should lie.

he should lie, laugh it off, make some offhand comment about how everyone is at least a little curious about the city’s masked vigilante.

but his throat feels tight, and his brain is still processing the fact that you—of all people—were reading about him.

his hesitation must look weird because you tilt your head, smiling lightly. “i mean, i don’t blame you. he’s kind of cool, right?”

(kind of cool.)

jungkook swallows. “uh. yeah. i guess.”

you glance at the article again, then back at him. “i was just skimming,” you say, like you feel the need to explain yourself. “some people in class were talking about him, and i realized that i don’t actually know much about him, so—” you gesture vaguely at the screen, “—research?”

jungkook’s head is spinning. “research,” he echoes.

you nod, chin resting in your palm. “it’s kinda crazy, though. no one even knows who he is.”

he forces himself to breathe. to relax. to be normal.

“yeah,” he says, voice even. “crazy.”

you huff out a laugh. “what do you think? hero or menace?”

jungkook blinks. “what?”

you nod toward the article, eyes bright with curiosity. “the headline. do you think he’s a good guy? or is he, like, actually sketchy?”

he should say something neutral. something vague. something that won’t give him away.

but for some reason, looking at you—sitting there, genuinely wondering, genuinely curious—he can’t stop himself from asking:

“what do you think?”

you blink, surprised by the question. but you consider it, eyes flicking back to the screen as you chew on your bottom lip.

then, finally, “...i think he’s just trying his best.”

jungkook’s stomach flips.

you shrug, scrolling absently through the article. “i mean, yeah, the whole vigilante thing is kinda illegal, but—” you pause, then shake your head, like you’re struggling to find the right words. “i don’t think he’d do all this if he didn’t care, y’know? like, he doesn’t have to help people. but he does anyway.”

you turn back to jungkook, smiling softly. “so yeah. i think he’s a good guy.”

jungkook is silent.

because suddenly, sitting here, right next to you and hearing you say that—

he’s pretty sure you just turned him into an even bigger mess than he already was.

jungkook doesn’t know what to say.

he just sits there, staring at you, heartbeat in his ears, hands curled into fists beneath the table.

he’s just trying his best.

he swallows hard. you have no idea.

but you don’t seem to notice his internal crisis, already clicking away from the article, pulling up your notes like this conversation didn’t just make his brain short-circuit.

“okay, so, chemistry,” you announce, stretching your arms over your head before settling in. “i have, like, three different study guides, so take your pick.”

jungkook is still trying to remember how to function as a person.

he clears his throat, shifting in his seat, eyes flicking away from you as if that will help him not think about what you just said. “uh. yeah. sure.”

you hum, scrolling through your files. “oh, also—before i forget.”

he glances up. “huh?”

you flash him a grin. “you should totally tell me your opinion on spider-man sometime.”

jungkook chokes.

he should’ve seen that coming.

his reaction is immediate—too immediate, too obvious, and you blink at him like you weren’t expecting that much of a response.

he forces himself to play it off, coughing into his fist. “uh—why?”

you tilt your head, amused. “you just seemed interested, that’s all.”

interested? yeah, that’s one way to put it.

you shrug, tapping at your keyboard. “not now, though. we’re totally studying. no distractions.”

(no distractions. funny.)

jungkook nods, gripping his pencil a little too tightly. “right. studying.”

but as you start explaining your notes, flipping through equations and diagrams, jungkook isn’t paying attention.

because all he can think about is the way you looked when you said it.

like it was obvious.

like you didn’t even have to think twice.

"i think he’s a good guy."

yeah.

he’s so not ready for this.

the next time jungkook sees you, he’s in the suit.

he doesn’t expect to find you all the way across town, so far from campus—especially not here, where the streets are rough and the people are meaner. and he definitely doesn’t expect to see you sprinting full-speed down the sidewalk.

his stomach drops. and then he sees why.

before he can think, before he can second-guess, his body moves on instinct.

jungkook swings down without hesitation, landing hard on the pavement just a few feet ahead of you. the second you see him, you skid to a stop, sneakers screeching against the concrete.

“whoa—” you breathe, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling from the sprint.

but jungkook isn’t looking at you. his focus is already behind you, on the two men barreling toward you from the other end of the street.

he doesn’t think. doesn’t hesitate.

his web shoots out before they can get any closer, yanking the first guy clean off his feet and sending him crashing into a lamppost. the second guy isn’t any smarter—he reaches for something in his jacket, but jungkook is faster, spinning and kicking the guy square in the chest before he even has a chance to react.

it’s over in seconds. too easy.

but the part jungkook wasn’t prepared for—the part making his heart pound harder than the fight itself—is you.

because when he finally turns back around, you’re still standing there, staring at him like you’ve just seen a ghost.

he swallows. he should leave. he should web them up, say something cool, and leave.

instead, he says, “you good?”

you blink at him. your breathing is still uneven, adrenaline still high, but... you smile.

“yeah,” you say, nodding. “that was… really cool.”

jungkook has been shot at before. he has been punched through windows, thrown into walls, nearly crushed by collapsing buildings. but somehow, this—you, standing there, grinning at him, eyes bright—is what almost knocks him on his ass.

he clears his throat, trying to regain control of his entire existence. “uh. yeah. just—y’know. doing my job.”

you huff a laugh. “well, thanks for that.”

(you’re thanking him. you’re actually thanking him.)

jungkook knows he should leave. he knows this.

but instead, his eyes flick to your bag, then back up to your face.

“what are you even doing here?” he blurts.

you blink, surprised by the question. “uh. getting very nearly robbed, apparently.”

jungkook exhales sharply. great. real smooth.

you shake your head, adjusting your strap. “i was just picking something up for my friend. obviously didn’t think that one through.”

jungkook doesn’t say anything, just clenches his fists at the thought of what could have happened if he hadn’t been here. if he hadn’t been on this side of town tonight.

“seriously, though,” you continue, tilting your head at him. “you okay?”

jungkook freezes. “what?”

“you just… looked kinda tense for a second.”

his brain short-circuits. because what kind of person almost gets mugged and then asks if their rescuer is okay?

he shakes his head, stepping back, forcing himself to get it together. “yeah. i’m good.”

you don’t look convinced. but you nod anyway, shifting on your feet.

“…guess this is where you do the whole mysterious-hero thing and disappear, huh?” you joke lightly.

jungkook should.

he needs to.

but he hesitates.

because for the first time, standing here, watching you look at him like this, he wonders. if he took off the mask right now...

would you still look at him the same way?

jungkook needs to leave. he should web up the guys groaning on the pavement, throw out a quick “stay safe,” and disappear into the night like he always does.

but he doesn’t.

because you’re still looking at him. really looking at him. and for some reason, that makes it impossible to move.

he swallows, gripping his fingers into fists at his sides. don’t be stupid. don’t linger. don’t let yourself wonder.

his fingers twitch.

he almost—almost—reaches up.

but then you sigh, shaking your head with a small, amused smile. “well, thanks again, spider-man,” you say, rocking back on your heels. “i should probably get going before more weirdos show up.”

just like that, the moment shatters.

jungkook blinks, the weight of reality crashing back in.

right. spider-man.

not jungkook. not a guy who shares your chemistry class, who has spent so much time psyching himself up just to talk to you like a normal person.

just a masked stranger you’ll forget about by morning.

he exhales, finally forcing himself to take a step back. “yeah,” he mutters. “probably a good idea.”

you nod, gripping the strap of your bag. “guess i’ll see you around?”

jungkook hesitates. he shouldn’t answer that. he shouldn’t make promises. but then—because he’s apparently the biggest idiot alive—he hears himself say,

“yeah.”

your lips twitch, eyes flicking over him one last time. and then, without another word, you turn and walk away.

jungkook watches you go, his chest tight, his heart pounding like he just walked out of a fight.

and that—the way he feels right now, standing frozen in the middle of the street, watching you disappear around the corner—is more terrifying than anything he’s ever faced.

after that first time, jungkook just keeps running into you.

you’ve been caught up in a gas station robbery. your train got derailed. been a victim in three separate mugging attempts.

either you’re trying to manifest him showing up, or you might actually be the unluckiest person jungkook has ever met.

and the worst part?

you don’t even seem bothered.

the first couple of times, sure—you were a little shaken up, a little breathless, wide-eyed and gripping your bag like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. but by the fourth time he drops out of the sky to save you, you barely even flinch.

“oh,” you say, blinking up at him as he lands in front of you, cutting off yet another guy who thought it would be a great idea to corner you in an alley. “you again.”

jungkook stares. you again?

he webs the guy’s wrist before he can bolt, yanking him forward just enough to knock him out cold with one clean punch. then, once the guy is down and sufficiently tied up, he turns back to you. arms crossed. head tilted.

“...okay,” he says slowly. “you have got to be doing this on purpose.”

you snort, shaking your head as you adjust your bag strap. “oh, totally. i go wandering through crime-infested areas just hoping you’ll show up.”

he points at you. “see? that’s exactly what someone who’s doing this on purpose would say.”

you just roll your eyes, amused. “do you think i want to be constantly in danger?”

jungkook narrows his eyes. “...i don’t know. do you?”

you laugh—actually laugh—and something about the sound makes his stomach do something weird and annoying.

“trust me, spider-man,” you say, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. “if i had it my way, you and i would never be seeing each other again.”

for some reason, that makes his chest tighten. he should let it go. he should web this guy to a fire escape for the cops to find and leave. but instead, he hears himself saying, “what were you doing here, anyway?”

you blink. “going home?”

“through an alley?”

“it’s a shortcut.”

jungkook throws up his hands. “it’s also where people get mugged!”

you squint at him like he’s being dramatic. “not all the time.”

jungkook lets out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “oh my god.”

you snicker. “relax. i’ll take the long way next time, okay?”

he doesn’t believe you. not even a little bit. but he can’t exactly force you to change your entire route home.

he exhales, shaking his head. “if you say so.”

you smirk, tilting your head. “aww, do you worry about me, spider-man?”

jungkook nearly chokes.

“what— no. no, i—” he shakes his head aggressively, backing up like that will help him recover. “i worry about the crime rate.”

you nod, way too entertained. “right. of course.”

he glares. “i do.”

“sure, sure.”

he groans, already regretting everything about this conversation.

and then—because he really needs to get out of here before he embarrasses himself any further—he steps back, flexing his fingers before shooting out a web.

but just before he swings away, he hears you call out:

“see you next time, spider-man.”

he freezes.

because that almost sounded like a promise.

“dude.”

jungkook sighs. “no.”

“dude.”

“jimin, no.”

“duuuude.” jimin is vibrating in his seat, practically buzzing with excitement as he leans across the cafeteria table. “you know what this means, right?”

jungkook takes an aggressive bite of his sandwich, staring him down. “that i have terrible luck?”

jimin gasps dramatically, clutching his chest like jungkook just personally offended him. “terrible luck? bro, are you hearing yourself? this isn’t bad luck—this is literally fate.”

jungkook makes a face. “it’s really not.”

“okay, so let’s go over this one more time,” jimin says, ignoring him entirely. he starts ticking off on his fingers. “you meet this girl in class. you like her. but you’re too much of a coward to do anything about it—”

jungkook glares. “thanks.”

“—and then, suddenly, the universe just keeps throwing her in your path. over and over and over again. and not just in normal, everyday ways—no, no, no. she gets into highly dangerous situations that just so happen to require your heroic intervention.”

he wiggles his fingers dramatically. “it’s like magic.”

jungkook takes another bite, chewing slowly. “or, and hear me out—maybe she just has bad luck.”

“bad luck doesn’t land you in the same masked superhero’s path five different times,” jimin says, slapping his hand on the table. “this is literally the plot of, like, half the romcoms i’ve ever seen.”

jungkook groans, dropping his head onto the table.

“you’re actually insane,” he mumbles into his arms.

“insanely right,” jimin corrects, grinning.

jungkook lifts his head just enough to squint at him. “you’re telling me that if you got randomly mugged three times in the span of a month, you’d consider it romantic?”

jimin shrugs. “depends on who’s saving me.”

jungkook groans again, slumping further into the table.

jimin, unbothered, just leans in closer. “look, bro, all i’m saying is—you clearly have some cosmic connection to this girl. so use it.”

“use it?” jungkook repeats, deadpan.

“yes. as in, maybe instead of waiting for her next near-death experience, you actually talk to her for real.”

jungkook scowls. “i have talked to her.”

jimin makes a face. “you’ve talked to her as spider-man. that doesn’t count.”

jungkook hesitates.

because… yeah. he has technically talked to you. but barely as himself. hardly without the mask. and the worst part?

he kind of likes it that way.

because spider-man isn’t awkward. spider-man doesn’t trip over his words, or overthink every interaction, or panic every time you smile at him.

spider-man is confident. quick. easy.

but jungkook? jungkook is an absolute mess.

he presses his lips together, staring down at what’s left of his sandwich.

jimin watches him, expression shifting slightly. “look,” he says, voice a little softer now. “you don’t have to do anything. but… don’t you think it’s a little crazy that she keeps showing up in your life like this?”

jungkook doesn’t answer.

because yeah.

it is crazy.

but what’s even crazier is the way he already knows this isn’t the last time it’ll happen.

jimin squints at him. “wait, hold on.”

jungkook braces himself, because he knows that look. that’s the i’m about to make your life hell look.

“didn’t you guys, like… study together once?” jimin asks, tilting his head.

jungkook shifts uncomfortably. “uh. yeah.”

jimin slaps the table. “exactly. so that means you already had an in.”

jungkook sighs, rubbing his temple. “what’s your point?”

“my point is,” jimin says, voice heavy with dramatic exasperation, “you had a perfectly normal, non-life-threatening interaction with her before all of this. meaning, you had every opportunity to follow up—y’know, send a text, sit next to her in class, act like a human being.”

jungkook stares at his sandwich, avoiding eye contact.

jimin’s grin sharpens. “...so?”

jungkook exhales, slumping back in his seat. “i, uh… didn’t actually talk to her again,” he mutters.

jimin blinks. “after studying?”

jungkook nods, already regretting admitting anything.

jimin’s jaw drops. “not once?”

jungkook shrugs helplessly. “i was gonna, but then—”

jimin points an accusatory finger at him. “but then you saved her as spider-man and decided that totally counted as interacting with her, didn’t you?”

jungkook opens his mouth. closes it. scratches the back of his neck.

jimin gasps.

“oh my god,” he says, full-body flopping back in his chair. “you absolute loser.”

jungkook groans. “i know.”

“no, you don’t know, because if you did know, you would have done something about it.”

jungkook buries his face in his hands.

“i tried, okay? but it’s—” he groans, dragging his hands down his face, “—it’s just easier this way.”

jimin levels him with the flattest look imaginable.

“easier?” he repeats. “easier how?”

jungkook hesitates. because if he says it out loud, then it’s real. but jimin is staring at him, waiting, and—well.

he’s already lost his dignity at this point.

“…spider-man is cool,” jungkook mutters finally, eyes glued to the table. “spider-man doesn’t get nervous, or embarrass himself, or say dumb shit and then want to throw himself off a building.”

jimin snorts. “oh, buddy. that’s cute. you think you haven’t embarrassed yourself?”

jungkook glares. “shut up.”

jimin is grinning now, full and unrestrained. “bro. do you realize how weird you probably sound to her? imagine getting rescued by the same guy five times in a row and every time he acts progressively more awkward about it.”

jungkook groans. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t,” jimin says, smug.

jungkook drops his head onto the table again. because, unfortunately, he’s right.

jungkook groans into the table. “okay. fine. let’s say you’re right—”

“i am right.”

“—and i have been weird about it—”

“super weird.”

jungkook lifts his head just enough to glare. “jimin.”

jimin grins, unrepentant. “continue.”

jungkook exhales sharply, scrubbing a hand down his face. “whatever. what am i even supposed to do now? just waltz up to her in class and pretend i haven’t been awkwardly saving her from disaster every other week?”

jimin shrugs. “yeah.”

jungkook stares. “you cannot be serious.”

“why not?” jimin says, stealing a fry off jungkook’s plate. “you already know she’s cool. she doesn’t freak out around you, she doesn’t think spider-man’s a menace, and she definitely isn’t scared of you—”

jungkook scoffs. “yeah, because she doesn’t know it’s me.”

jimin points at him with the stolen fry. “exactly! you have nothing to lose!”

jungkook squints. “that’s not how that works.”

jimin waves him off. “look, bro. i love you. i do. but you overthink literally everything.”

jungkook frowns. “i do not.”

jimin gives him a look so flat it could be legally classified as a murder weapon.

jungkook shifts. “…okay, sometimes.”

jimin nods approvingly. “glad we’re on the same page.” he shoves the fry into his mouth before pointing at jungkook again. “so, let’s think about this logically.”

jungkook groans. “oh, now we’re thinking logically?”

jimin ignores him. “you already know she likes talking to spider-man. you’ve literally heard her say she thinks he’s a good guy. and you also know she was cool with studying with you before you started avoiding her like a total dumbass.”

jungkook winces. “ouch.”

jimin grins. “so, what does that tell us?”

jungkook crosses his arms, scowling. “that i’m a dumbass?”

“correct. but more importantly,” jimin leans forward, voice going annoyingly dramatic, “it means you’re already in.”

jungkook blinks. “what?”

jimin gestures vaguely. “she already likes you. not just spider-man, but you-you. maybe she doesn’t have a crush or anything—”

jungkook’s face burns at the mere mention of the possibility. “dude—”

“—but at the very least, she doesn’t hate you,” jimin finishes, undeterred. “so, all you have to do is act normal for once in your life, and maybe—maybe—you can stop making things harder than they need to be.”

jungkook stares at him.

jimin stares back.

“…that’s it?” jungkook asks, skeptical.

jimin shrugs. “that’s it.”

jungkook exhales.

because—okay. maybe it does make sense. maybe he is overcomplicating things, like he always does. maybe he really is just making his life ten times harder for no reason.

but then he thinks about actually doing it—about sitting down next to you again, about saying hey like it’s nothing, like he hasn’t been a complete coward for weeks.

and suddenly, he’s panicking all over again.

“…okay,” he mutters. “sure. i’ll talk to her.”

jimin beams. “hell yeah.”

“eventually.”

jimin’s smile drops. “no.”

“yes.”

“jungkook—”

jungkook shoves the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and stands up. “gotta go, bye.”

“jungkook, don’t you dare walk away from me—”

but jungkook is already halfway across the cafeteria, ignoring the way jimin’s voice follows him, loud and accusing.

because, yeah.

maybe he’ll talk to you.

but eventually sounds a hell of a lot safer than right now.

it turns out you end up talking to him first.

jungkook barely has time to process the end of the lecture before you’re suddenly there, standing next to his desk, shifting on your feet like you’re nervous about something.

which is weird.

because you’re never nervous. not when you were nearly mugged, not when a guy pulled a knife on you, not when you looked spider-man in the eye and grinned at him like it was just another Tuesday.

but now, standing here, looking at him?

you’re fidgeting.

and jungkook’s brain immediately starts malfunctioning.

“hey,” you say, voice a little softer than usual.

jungkook stares.

then, realizing that yes, this is real, he forces himself to swallow the dumb why are you talking to me that nearly slips out.

“uh. hey,” he says instead.

you shift your bag higher on your shoulder. “so, um.” you clear your throat, glancing around the emptying lecture hall. “this might be kind of random, but… do you, uh. know anyone who tutors?”

jungkook blinks. “tutors?”

you nod, still looking strangely hesitant. “yeah. for chemistry.”

chemistry.

the subject he lied about needing help with.

jungkook can feel the irony punching him directly in the face.

but beyond that, beyond the fact that he is absolutely not qualified to help you with this, there’s something else creeping into his mind.

the fact that you came to him.

out of everyone in this class—hell, out of everyone on campus—you chose to ask him.

his stomach flips.

it has to be fate, right? this is too much of a coincidence. after all the near-misses, after all the nights he spent convincing himself to just talk to you already—you end up coming to him first?

it doesn’t feel real.

but you’re still standing there, watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

jungkook swallows. “uh. yeah. i mean, i—” he clears his throat, scrambling to make his voice sound normal. “i can ask around.”

your shoulders drop a little, like you were bracing for rejection. “oh. cool. yeah, that would be great.”

you pause, glancing at him, hesitant. “and, um… if you hear of anyone good, could you maybe… let me know?”

jungkook nods so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. “yeah. of course.”

your lips curve into a soft smile. “thanks, jungkook.”

his breath stutters.

(oh, he is so screwed.)

and then, just like that, you wave and disappear out the door, leaving him sitting there in the empty lecture hall, gripping his desk like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

he doesn’t move for a solid minute.

his heart is still hammering, his brain is still catching up, and all he can think is jimin is going to have a field day with this.

and jimin fucking does.

“you’re actually kidding me.”

jimin is staring at jungkook like he just confessed to being an alien.

they’re in jungkook’s apartment, controllers in hand, some game running on the screen—but jimin has completely forgotten about it, pausing mid-match to turn and gawk at him.

jungkook, on the other hand, is doing his best to act normal. which is hard, considering his entire life has just been flipped upside down.

“i’m not kidding,” jungkook mutters, keeping his eyes glued to the screen. “it happened.”

jimin lets out a loud, incredulous laugh, tossing his controller onto the couch. “so let me get this straight. you—who have been avoiding this girl like she’s an actual fire hazard—you were literally just sitting there, minding your own business, and she just walks up to you? and asks for a tutor??”

jungkook grits his teeth. “yes.”

jimin cackles, grabbing a pillow and whacking him over the head with it.

“bro, fate is spoon-feeding you a love story and you’re just sitting there like a fucking brick!”

jungkook groans, shoving the pillow away. “okay, first of all, relax. it’s not a love story.”

jimin scoffs. “it could be.”

“it’s not.”

“it could be.”

jungkook sighs aggressively, running a hand down his face.

jimin flops dramatically against the couch, shaking his head. “so? what did you say?”

“i said i’d ask around.”

jimin blinks. “you said you’d—” he stops, eyes narrowing. “...ask around.”

jungkook shifts. “…yes?”

silence.

“you idiot!” jimin yells, smacking his arm.

“ow!” jungkook jerks away, scowling. “what? what was i supposed to say?”

“literally that you could tutor her yourself!”

jungkook’s stomach flips. “i can’t tutor her, dumbass, i'm barely passing chemistry myself.”

jimin throws up his hands. “bro, she doesn’t know that! just pretend!”

“pretend?”

“yes! look up some notes, re-learn a few things, do what you need to do!”

jungkook shakes his head aggressively. “no way. i am not tutoring her when i don’t know shit.”

jimin levels him with a deadpan stare. “so instead, you’re just gonna, what? let her go find some other guy to tutor her?”

jungkook freezes.

jimin grins. “ah.”

jungkook clenches his jaw. “fuck you.”

“no, no, let’s think about this,” jimin continues, voice full of fake contemplation. “some dude, sitting real close, explaining things all smart and helpful. maybe he’s got nice hands. maybe he’s charming. maybe he’s better at chemistry than you—”

jungkook throws a pillow at his face.

jimin laughs as he catches it. “so? what’s the move, lover boy?”

jungkook scowls, but deep down, he already knows.

he sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch.

“…i’m gonna have to tutor her, aren’t i?”

jimin claps a hand on his shoulder, shaking him with excitement.

“yes, you absolutely are.”

jungkook hasn’t seen you in days.

which is weird, because ever since this whole thing started, you’ve been everywhere. in class, in study sessions, in the middle of very questionable situations that require his immediate intervention.

but now?

now, you’ve just vanished.

he’s checked the usual places—your usual seat in lecture, the library, even the coffee shop on the corner where he thinks he saw you once. nothing. no sign of you anywhere.

he doesn’t know why it bothers him so much.

(yes, he does.)

but he pushes it out of his mind. or at least, he tries.

because right now, he’s got other things to focus on—like swinging through the city at just the right angle to catch the breeze, flipping effortlessly between buildings, scanning the streets for trouble.

except there is no trouble. not tonight. it’s weird. quiet. almost peaceful.

and then he sees you.

not running. not being chased. not clutching your bag like your life depends on it.

just… standing there.

paintbrush in hand, clothes speckled with color, entirely focused on the massive mural in front of you.

jungkook nearly crashes into a building.

he just barely manages to recover, swinging onto a rooftop ledge, crouching down to watch from a safe distance.

because what the hell?

you’re supposed to be in a classroom. or getting into some ridiculous situation that requires his immediate assistance. not this. not standing in the middle of an empty lot, surrounded by paint cans, filling an entire wall with streaks of blue and gold.

you look… calm.

you step back, tilting your head at your work, lips pursed in thought. then, with a small nod, you dip your brush into another color and go right back to it.

jungkook stares.

because somehow, in all this time, in all the chaotic ways he’s seen you before—he’s never seen you like this.

focused. steady. completely lost in something you love.

he exhales, watching the way the city lights catch in your hair, the way your brows pinch slightly when you concentrate.

for once, he doesn’t have to worry about saving you.

for once, he just gets to watch.

before he can help himself, jungkook is swinging down.

it’s instinct, like muscle memory—one second, he’s crouched on the ledge, watching from a safe distance, and the next, he’s mid-air, descending toward you before his brain can even catch up.

he lands a few feet away, boots hitting the pavement with a soft thud.

you don’t even flinch.

just glance over your shoulder, brush still poised against the wall, and say “hey, spider-man.”

jungkook freezes.

because—what?

no startled jump, no wide-eyed what the fuck?, no immediate questioning of why a masked vigilante just casually dropped into your art session. just… hey, spider-man. like he’s some guy from your lecture hall, like you expected him to show up.

his brain malfunctions. “uh.”

you smirk, finally lowering your brush. “you always this quiet?”

jungkook clears his throat, scrambling to pull himself together. “uh—no, just… wasn’t expecting you to be so—” he gestures vaguely, “—chill about this.”

you tilt your head. “should i not be?”

“i mean, most people don’t just greet me like i’m their next-door neighbor.”

you hum, considering. “well, most people don’t run into you five times in a row, either.”

jungkook exhales sharply. “true.”

you grin, then turn back to your mural, wiping your hands against your paint-stained hoodie. “so,” you say, glancing at him. “what brings you here? crime’s looking pretty low tonight.”

jungkook falters.

because yeah. crime is low. there was literally no reason for him to come down here. he just saw you. and… well.

you smile knowingly, like you can see the wheels turning in his head. “you were watching me, weren’t you?”

jungkook chokes.

“what— no. no, i—” he shakes his head aggressively, backing up like that will help him recover. “i was patrolling.”

you arch a brow. “patrolling from a rooftop directly above me?”

he groans. “oh my god.”

you laugh, bright and easy, and jungkook swears his entire world tilts for a second. “relax,” you say, dipping your brush into a new color. “it’s kind of flattering, actually.”

jungkook short-circuits. “it’s what?”

you just wink. “so, you sticking around, or was this just a quick check-in?”

jungkook should leave.

he knows that.

but then you turn back to your mural, completely at ease, completely unbothered by the fact that you’re casually talking to spider-man like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

and jungkook, against all logic, against all common sense, sits down on the curb.

“guess i’ll stick around.”

you glance over when you hear him sit, eyebrows raising slightly. but you don’t question it, don’t make it weird. just hum, like this is normal, like masked vigilantes dropping into your painting sessions is a completely regular thing.

jungkook doesn’t know what to do with that.

you dip your brush into another color, dragging long, confident strokes across the wall.

for a while, neither of you speak.

it’s… oddly comfortable.

jungkook watches, elbows resting on his knees, head tilted as he tries to figure out what you’re painting. it’s not quite clear yet, but the colors blend together in a way that makes his chest feel weirdly tight. like something about it is important.

finally, he clears his throat.

“so… what is it?”

you pause, glancing at him before looking back at the wall. “not sure yet.”

jungkook squints. “you’re not sure?”

you smirk. “it’s a process.”

he huffs a soft laugh. “so you’re just winging it?”

“more like… feeling it out,” you correct. you step back, tilting your head, eyes scanning over the patterns of color like you’re looking for something only you can see.

jungkook doesn’t know why, but that makes sense.

for a while, he doesn’t say anything else. just watches as you paint, as your hands move with purpose, as you fill the blank spaces with something real.

and then, before he can stop himself, “why do you do it?”

you pause, brush still hovering over the wall.

jungkook feels his stomach drop. “uh—you don’t have to answer that, i was just—”

“because it’s mine.”

he stops.

you’re still looking at the mural, voice calm, steady. “it’s something i can make real. something i can create, and leave behind, and know it’s mine. even if someone paints over it later.”

jungkook stares at you.

because, for some reason, that hits him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

he doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. just watches as you pick up where you left off, like you didn’t just shake something loose in his chest. and that’s when it hits him. this is the first time he’s ever spent time with you without worrying about saving you. the first time he’s seen you just be.

and it’s terrifying.

because suddenly, jungkook isn’t sure what scares him more.

the thought of you getting hurt again, or the thought of you never looking at him the way you look at spider-man right now.

jungkook hates this. hates the way his stomach twists every time you look at him—at spider-man—like this. open, unguarded, like you trust him. like he’s someone worth trusting. hates the way he wants you to keep looking at him like that.

because he knows this isn’t real. or at least, not fully real. not like it would be if it were him sitting here beside you, mask off, just jungkook.

(but would you even talk to him if you knew?)

he exhales slowly, pressing his palms against his knees. you don’t seem to notice his internal crisis, still completely focused on your painting, eyebrows furrowed just slightly in concentration.

“you’re staring,” you say after a moment, not looking away from the wall.

jungkook jolts. “what? no, i’m not.”

you smirk, finally glancing at him. “you totally are.”

he crosses his arms, tilting his head at you. “you want me to lie?”

“i want you to at least try to be subtle about it.”

he scoffs. “okay, and what exactly am i supposed to be staring at? the back of your head?”

“or my art.” you gesture to the mural dramatically. “y’know, the thing that’s actually interesting here.”

jungkook huffs a quiet laugh. “yeah, okay. so what’s it supposed to be now?”

you step back, surveying your work. “dunno.”

he stares. “so you still don’t know?”

you shrug. “told you. it’s a process.”

jungkook exhales, shaking his head. “yeah, well. not every process ends up making sense.”

“maybe not right away,” you say, glancing at him. “but eventually.”

eventually.

the word sticks in his head, clinging to something deeper, something he doesn’t want to think about right now.

so instead, he sighs, shifting to stand. “well, don’t get mugged while you’re doing your whole process thing.”

you grin. “what, no more rooftop patrols?”

“depends,” he says, adjusting his gloves. “you planning on wandering into any more dark alleys?”

you pretend to think about it. “maybe. depends on the shortcut.”

jungkook groans. “i hate you.”

you just laugh, waving your brush at him in a mock salute. “see you next time, spider-man.”

jungkook’s fingers twitch.

he should leave. but instead, he lingers—just for a second. because for the first time, he knows something you don’t. he knows he’ll see you again. not just like this, not just as spider-man, but as himself.

because eventually isn’t good enough anymore.

[impish-baby]

More dad survivor x zombie reader + an old friend :) (tw: dead animal, guns, emetophobia, threats of harm)

"Aw, sugar.." The dead bird is the farthest thing from appetizing but you look so darn happy offering it to him, how's he supposed to say no?

"You're the sweetest, daddy will eat it later, ok?" That at least seems to be satisfactory enough for now, as you drop the poor thing down onto the park table.

The playground has long been abandoned, left in disarray since the apocalypse hit, that doesnt stop Hank from finding it absolutely adorable when you try to climb up a slide. Nearly gives him a heart attack though.

"Baby, come on, you're gonna hurt yourself." He wonders if you remember being little and playing here, your memory isn't the best when it comes to some things but you sure seem to recall what it takes to give him gray hairs. "I know you think it's fun, but your old man really couldn't handle it if you got scratched up while you're messing around."

You get hurt so easily now a days, he's basically toddler proofed the house all over again and yet you still find a way to bang yourself up when he's not around, that's why he's taken to tying you up when he can't keep an eye on you.

When you do finally decide to slide back down, Hank immediately sweeps you up into his arms with a soft chuckle. "Alright, alright, I think you've had enough outside time for today, we should be headin' home."

It would've been a good day, a great one even, if he didn't catch the glittering of a silver barrel from the corner of his eye.

"Shit-" Hank has never been more greatful that he was holding you, because you lunge automatically for the stranger and likewise closer to the gun. "No, sweetheart, shhh..shh..calm down.." God, he'd love it if you listened, it's hard to pull out his own pistol while trying to wrangle you into staying put.

Other survivors aren't very common in town, most people left after the first few months.

"You gonna let that thing go so I can shoot it?" He recognizes that voice, and it makes Hank's heart sink into a pit in his stomach. "I ain't.. Hank?" A familiar face is rare, a friendly familiar face is nearly unheard of.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot, just step back for a minute, alright?" When Hank glances over, he wasn't expecting Bo to be emptying his stomach onto the cement.

"I- Fuck-" The man retches again, dryheaving. "You.. God, the kid.." An honorary uncle, Bo knew you since the day you where born, he didn't see the day that was meant to be your last.

"I know," You stopped struggling once you heard his voice, eyes wide as you simply whine to be let down. "You're gonna have to wait, be patient, hun." That never was your strong suit. "The grown ups need to talk."

"Hank.. man, you gotta let them go.." There's tears in Bo's eyes as he takes a cautious step forward. "They're dead. There aren't any ifs or buts, that's a corpse. You can't-"

"That is my child," He's been a sinner for a long time, if it comes down to it, shooting his brother will be one of his worst. "My baby, what kind of father am I to hurt them?"

"A merciful one!" There are days you wake up confused and scared, you cry for hours or at least your body tries to. "They aren't a person anymore, Hank, they aren't themselves. You're fucking lucky they haven't bitten you yet!"

"I'd welcome it if they did." He's thought about it, that first night when you went cold in his arms and many more after that. "You pull that trigger and that's it, a life without my kid isn't worth living."

"Dammit," Hank almost collapses in relief as the gun is holstered, putting his away as well. "You're still an idiot, huh? Figures.."

Bo approaches slowly, never taking his eyes off your still form. All you do is smile and try to reach out for a hug, but he cringes away with a look of disgust.

Hank's heart breaks as you tuck your teary face against his neck. He doesn't know how to explain in a way you'd still understand, all he can is press a kiss to your forehead and shush your sniffles.

[mistymisfit]

How they met

summary: When Poison Ivy takes Gotham's central park hostage reader gets stuck with Red Hood and accidentally saves him.

warnings: mentions of reader being shorter than Jason, reader uses glasses, mentions of reader wearing a skirt, smoking, and this.

wc: 3,8k

It was just a matter of time of living in Gotham until you got stuck on a situation like this. You have to have the worst luck in the city because, on the day you finally give in and agree to dog-sit for a friend, Poison Ivy decides to show up when you take her on a walk. Of course, the dog was no idiot and ran away a while ago at the first sight of danger, so now you were stuck here in Gotham's central park. You have to admit you're not as scared as you should be, however you were getting mildly annoyed at hanging upside down with a vine holding you by your ankles. At least you could be glad it wasn't the joker.

It was a common topic of conversations late at night with your friends when you seem to run out of things to discuss, debating which Gotham rouge attack you could survive as a hostage. This topic was only second to "Which vigilante would you rather have to save you?", that one allowed for more rambling over who you thought was hottest. Still, no pointless drunk debate could prepare you for when it actually happened.

"Hey, excuse me, miss" You said when you watched her walk past and she stopped almost amused that you'd dare to speak to her "I understand that you're part plant, right?"

"That'd be correct" She paid close attention to you, she was intrigued by the fact that the effects of her "sleeping pollen" worn off fast unlike the other hostages next to you. You were supposed to be passed out for around 5 hours more, after all her pheromones never failed.

"Yeah, so, the rest of us are human" You tried to be as polite as you could so she wouldn't crush you to death "So could you please put us down, I'm getting a headache from having my head upside down"

She didn't say anything but agreed, the vines gently leaving you and the others on the grass before quickly wrapping you again. As you felt less and less dizzy, you could pay more attention to your surroundings. The concrete trail was shattered, plants breaking it from growing over it, the closest bench was split in half, and a water fountain was removed from the ground, water leaking from where it used to be. Though your vision is blurry since you lost your glasses from hanging upside down, you can still tell that next to you were the mother and daughter you saw seconds before it all went down. The mother chased after her daughter, demanding her to not go that far away from her. Then your friend's dog, the king Charles spaniel you only agreed to take care of because she was cute, ran away and you went after her. Next thing you know, a vine wraps around you and you're hanging from your ankles, no dog in sight. When did all of this happen? And how in broad daylight?

You heard a cracking noise and thought, "oh, no, were those my glasses?". Your head turned to see ruthless vigilante Red Hood picking up your glasses from the floor, or at least you think that is what he's picking up. It sounded much like broken glass. He could tell by the disappointment on your face that they were yours, so he quickly moved in silence getting closer to you.

"Sorry" He whispered, cleaning them up a little bit with against his red vest. He gently put them back on your face, and you nearly blushed at his hands brushing against your face.

"It's okay," You lied. You couldn't be mad at him for it, but you could dwell on how expensive it would be to fix them.

"I'll get you out of here." He promised, his voice was still low, not knowing if she was close enough to hear him. He started cutting through the vines to set you free.

"Sure" If you could've shrugged, you would have.

"Sure?" He repeated, offended. He wasn't expecting you to be overcome by joy by seeing him there, he's realistic, but you could show more gratitude. Even if he crushed your glasses.

"Or you could leave me here to die," You deadpanned, you must've been in this city for too long if this wasn't fazing you "so I don't have to turn in that essay on Monday"

"I won't," He quips back, finally breaking through and helping you throw the plants from you.

"Well, at least you're not a cop"

"Good to know I'm a step above them" He was beginning to wonder when was the last time he met a hostage so talkative as he worked cutting the vines that held the little girl captive. She lumped forward, still unconscious as you caught her, holding her until he could free her mom.

"Several steps, really" You corrected "You won't remember them, but you rescued my neighbors' daughter after she went missing for four months"

"Who? Zoey?" You were both surprised, you over the fact that he could recall her name, and him that you knew that. Those kinds of stories never made the news, or if they did, they never mentioned him if it was going to paint him in a good light. "How's she doing?"

"Yeah, she's better now"

Once he managed to cut through the last vine, he picked her up like it was nothing. You looked away trying to push down how attractive you found that. He guided you, signaling to stay quiet on what you hoped would be a way out of the dome she had created. And just when you thought you're out of trouble, a plant wrapped once more around your leg, dragging you and Red Hood back in. As twigs and being dragged through the floor scratched your arms and your face, you couldn't help but think, Why me? and that at least in that rough motion you dropped the girl, and the paramedics running your way would take her and the other woman.

This time, she was not as merciful, a thicker and stronger vine entrapped you both together with your back pressed against his chest. He tried putting his arms in front of you to stop the vine from getting tighter around you, but you're quicker than him in realizing what could happen.

"Stop, stop," you swatted his forearm lightly to get his attention; "it'll break your arms"

You were surprised to see him listen, and he put his arms back to his sides. You could tell he was trying to be as respectful as he could in this situation, trying to avoid touching you even if your butt was pressed impossibly close to him.

"Hood?" You asked nervously, feeling something pressed against you. "That is a gun, right?"

"I'm flattered, sweetheart." He chuckled, "It's a 9 millimeter, but don't worry safety's on"

"Uh-huh" You acknowledged his response, more worried about not panicking at the thought of being squeezed to death. It didn't occur to you earlier that you might die today. Well, it did, you just didn't have to accept it until then. In your desperation you tried wriggling your arms out, at least to get some room to breathe. The binding plant was right above your waist, constricting your lungs.

"Stop squirming like that."

"Sorry, I-"You gasped, on the verge of tears "god, what if I die? My friends won't have anything to say at my funeral"

"Hey, take a deep breath." You felt his hands on your hips, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back as the rest of his hand kept you in place, grounding you. It was comforting; he was trying to make you feel better, and you appreciated the thought. He leaned down his head until his forehead rested on top of your head "You are not dying, okay?"

"Okay," you repeated, your voice weak but less panicked.

"Besides, if we're having a bad funeral competition, I'd beat you for sure" He joked, trying to distract you "What were you doing here?"

"I uhm, I was walking my friend's dog, she's out of town for her sister's wedding"

"What's it called?"

"Anne Boneyn" Your response was met with a full belly laugh from him, it's almost contagious as you had to push your lips together and hold back a smile to avoid joining him.

"I'm sorry, whose idea was it?"

"Mine," you blushed, "only because she named my cat Joan D'cat"

He laughed again, and if you weren't scared for your life, you wouldn't have known how to feel about him so close to you.

"Wait until you hear about my other friend's turtle, Mary Shelley" You added inciting his laugh once more. It was a bit of a contradiction to see a man you know for a fact has killed many people before laughing this much over bad puns, but you felt flustered and a little proud that you were able to do that.

"I'll tell you something; when we get out of this, I'll help you find Anne, hopefully with her head still attached," He offered.

"Hey" You laughed "that's not helping "

As your laughs died down and you were reminded of his hands still on you, you started to wonder if Red Hood was single, you'd kill him if he was your boyfriend and found out he had a moment like this with another girl. You have to stop yourself from getting even more delusional, this was probably a random Thursday for him, and you had no reason to feel bad or even jealous of an hypothetical girlfriend. You brushed off how he made you feel, attributing it to either the adrenaline of the moment or the fact that he's quite attractive and you haven't had any contact with a guy in a while. You really couldn't help but grow a little crush on him when he's so reassuring, telling you that you'll be okay

Then you hear steps, both of you suddenly going quiet. You could see some plants moving, but not her or any other vigilante, though the latter would surprise you more since you heard Red Hood usually works on his own, and you've seen a few news articles of him and Batman beating the shit out of each other.

"We're far from Crime Alley, Red Hood" You could finally make out where she was through a cracked lens, was she always that green? or was her skin changing?

"I just happened to be in the neighborhood" He replied before whispering:"Try to distract her"

She made a face of what you could only describe as disdain, and she was about to leave when he nudged you to get her attention. If you could turn back, you would've shoot him an exasperated "what the fuck do you want me to do?" look. You grunted from the vine getting tighter and decided to do as he said.

"Can I ask you something?" You rolled your eyes at what you said, anyone with a quick wit would've told you that you already had. "Why the whole display of power in the middle of the city?"

"Why?"

"Yeah, don't get me wrong, I agree with the whole men are killing the planet thing" You took a deep breath and she noticed, loosening a bit the vines so you could talk "But why the park? It's the only place people in this city get to see some green... besides the botanical gardens, but we are right next to them."

"Are you saying I'm wrong?"

"No I-uhm, I'm just saying you got the target wrong" You quickly added before you made it worse "You know it's not the average person that's killing nature?"

"It's men's greed that is killing the planet"

"Still, in a shorter run, you'll get better results if you aim higher," You reasoned "You should go after the factory outside the city that's been polluting the water, or the biggest oil company you can find, or-"

"Hm," You were both surprised to see her actually think about it "I suppose I could try"

What? You were just rambling, trying to buy time for whatever plan Red Hood's got. You were not expecting her to take your suggestions seriously, and neither was him when he whispered a "what the fuck?" under his breath. Once she starts walking away and turns your back to you two you quickly move your head, shooting him a look that asks the very same question he had.

"And don't even try following me," she warned, you knew that was for the vigilante behind you. You were not going anywhere that isn't your own bedroom after this "my plants will let you go in half an hour"

You were at a loss for what to do for all that time stuck there, hopefully you could free yourselves faster. Though you wouldn't mind spending the time with him. You mentally scolded yourself for thinking like that, you needed to stop being so delusional. Lucky for you, he did have a plan, so as soon as the grip lessened up, he was able to get his arms out and cut off the vines.

"Are you going after her?"

"Nah, sounds more like the bat's problem to me" He shrugged, " 'sides I promised to help you find Anne"

He kept up that promise, he helped you call out and look for your friend's dog until you found her—alive and with her head still on her neck. You figured it took you around the same time you would've been trapped had he not cut you off earlier. Saying goodbye to him was surprisingly awkward, as if he didn't want to leave either. At least until he noticed a few police officers, then he really made a run for it, but not without waving as he left.

He nagged himself for that, letting his guard down that fast when a pretty girl was nice to him. Then reprimanded himself even more when the urge to find you got too intense and ended up investigating you. And felt equal parts, bad for watching you and relieved to find out you didn't have a boyfriend. Told himself it was for your safety when he made sure you got home safe late at night, and convinced himself he was doing you a favor when he fed your cat on the balcony when you were out or sleeping.

"Fuck," Is all that left your lips when he fell on the floor. Where did he even come from? You were looking at the city lights, distracted, when you heard someone stumbling and grunting.

When you turned to see the very same vigilante who you met a few weeks ago, saying you were shocked fell short. It's rare that you ran into him once, but twice? That's got to be luck-- or its opposite. His muzzle was shattered, God knows where the rest of the pieces fell, he was also covered in blood and holding his side as he tried to sit up. You managed to move amidst the initial surprise, and leave your cigarette on the ashtray to help him up.

"Hey, are you okay?" You asked, guiding his back to rest against the wall.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," He repeated, as if he was not only trying to convince you but also himself, "It isn't my blood"

"You sure?" The way your hands lingered on his form did not go unnoticed, not that he minded at all.

"I'm just bruised," He explained before looking up. Of course, he'd end up at your building, and just by chance, you happened to hang out on your rooftop. "It's you again"

"Yeah, It's me" You held back a smile, he remembers you? You'd thought by now your face would've phased out of his memories, mixed along with the other people he must have helped.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here-"You rolled your eyes, avoiding the real reason to be at a rooftop at 4 am. You could tell his eyes lingered on yours even under the mask before he looked up and saw the ashtray on the ledge. With renewed energy he got up, still using the wall to help himself. "Wait!"

He raised an eyebrow, and before he could make any witty comment, you beat him to it.

"I only do it when I'm stressed, okay? Not that I owe you any explanation"

"I get it," He sighed, reaching out for the pack and getting one out of the little box "You mind?"

You shook your head no, handing him your lighter. You watched him drop the broken muzzle and take the first drag with so much attention you had to tell yourself to stop being so awkward. You flicked the ashes off your own before your eyes went back to him. Jesus, what a fucking jawline, and now you couldn't stop looking at his lips. He was going to think you were weird if he caught you staring like this, or at least you thought that. Not that you would know he had been looking out for you since you met. From a distance, of course.

"I didn't get your name last time" He knew your name, you knew a guy with his resources probably already knew the answer. But you indulged him, saying your name out loud for him, "that's pretty"

"Thanks"

"So what's got you stressed out enough to be smoking this late," He said your name. You liked the way it sounds coming from his voice; he liked the way it rolls off his tongue so easily.

"Had the worst night out, ever" Now it was your turn to sigh, leaning in to rest your arms on the ledge. He was eyeing your outfit now, an oversized hoodie clearly thrown over a going out outfit, black tights and heavy boots visible under it. And if you leaned forward just a little bit, he could see a bit of the miniskirt your hoodie was hiding. "You?"

"I've had worse, had better" He shrugged, intentionally giving you a vague answer. He wasn't going to tell you about his activities, no normal person wants to hear about that much violence.

"Really?" You raised an eyebrow, your tone was playful, and he knew you were about to tease him "You seem pretty fucked to me, or should I have seen the other guy?"

"Hey, I've got no open wounds tonight" He smirked and you wanted to scream, why was that so fucking attractive? "I'm counting that as a win"

You let out a chuckle, and you just missed the way his lips curved up in a smile when you left the cigarette butt on the tray. His eyes followed your movement, looking at the lipstick-stained cigarette for a few seconds before returning his focus to you.

"Were you born here?" He asked

"Nope, I moved a couple of years ago for college"

"How's that going?"

"I'm getting my masters now" You shook your head, looking up at him before continuing "What about you? Are you a full fledged Gothamite?"

"Loud and proud" He joked, getting you to laugh loudly.

"Of course you are, I can't imagine getting a costume and going out to fight criminals every night" You teased.

"Hey!" He tried to sound offended at your remark, but he couldn't hide the smile he was fighting against, so he opted for changing the subject "I'm sorry, what did you say you were studying?"

With that, he got you to tell him about your masters, how you got into that field, and what you liked the most.  You also got him to talk a bit about himself, even if he was not willing to give you that much information. Both to protect his identity and not to scare off the first girl he's had a crush on in a while. You both steered closer and closer to the other as you talked, close enough you could smell the intoxicating mix of gunpowder, sweat, and whatever cologne he used.

"Can I be nosy for a second?" You bit your lip at the risky question you were about to ask. He just nodded, his hands itching to touch you again, to wrap around your hips like they did last time he saw you. "What's the deal with you and Batman?"

"What deal? There's no deal" He brushed it off, he was about to take a step back when you stopped him. Pulling him in by grabbing his clothes, an eyebrow raised and a "do you think I'm stupid?" expression. "We don't get along, 's all"

"Really?" You knew you were pushing your luck.

"He hates me, I hate him" He explained, hoping to put your growing curiosity to rest.

"In my opinion," Your voice was soothing, and so was your hand on his chest. He didn't know how long it had been since he was touched like that; "hate like that can only be born out of someone you loved"

"He thinks I'm bad, they all do" You noticed how weak and sad his tone turned.

"I don't think you're bad, if it's worth anything"

He moved one hand up to cup your cheek, and he stared at you tenderly for a moment. It happened fast, his lips crashed onto yours in a second. You hummed, tasting the left over taste of the smoke, stood on your tip toes, hands fisting at his clothes to maintain some balance as he leans down too. His other hand rested on your back, but not too low trying not to push his luck with you.  And he kissed you like he had something to prove, whether it was to you or himself you were not so sure of. What you were sure of was how warm he felt, your body pushed up against his in the cold, windy night. It felt like a consolation prize after such a terrible night.

And he wanted to tell you that he wished he was a normal person, that he had a normal life, and he could date you without it meaning a death sentence to you. But all it comes out is; "I wish I never met you"

"Excuse me?" You gasped, pushing him off "What a weird fucking thing to say after kissing someone"

"No—I mean" He sighed, hands cupping your face once again. You just couldn't resist that. "You're pretty, and funny, you should be kissing someone normal"

"I think I can make that decision for myself"

"I should go" He let go of you, and you grew colder by the second, already missing him before he left.

"Wait," You tugged on the hood hanging on his back. He turned back to see you, anything to make the moment last more. "I usually come up here on Fridays, in case you need to talk to someone"

He just gave you a court nod before jumping off, and you could only stand there and think about what just happened. Despite his better reasoning, he found himself swinging by your rooftop that Friday, and the one after, and all the next ones for the foreseeable future.

a/n: I mentioned in my birthday drabble that poison ivy called reader "her favorite hostage" and this is why, so technically part of the birthday-verse?

[nerdycheol]

Love, On Air || Choi Seungcheol (valentine's special)

♡ Pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader

♡ Genre: best friends to lovers, romance, fluff, slice of life

♡ Word Count: 7.8k

note: Happy Valentine’s Day! 💖 This is a special Valentine’s edition based on the poll results(so if you voted—congrats, you manifested this 👀). A massive shoutout to @facethesunflower for proofreading and making sure this didn’t turn into a total disaster. 😆 Hope you enjoy this fluffy, slightly dramatic, finally-they-confess moment.

Remember: if your best friend is acting suspiciously like Cherry… maybe it’s time to connect the dots. 👀💕

The clock hits 9 PM. You take a deep breath, adjusting the headphones on your ears as the familiar hum of the radio booth wraps around you. The room is small, dimly lit by the soft glow of the equipment and the neon sign flashing LIVE on the wall. 

"Alright, we’re live in 3... 2... 1..."

Your hand hovers over the soundboard as you smile into the mic. 

"Good evening, lovely listeners, and welcome back to The Heartbeat Hour, your go-to late-night show where we talk all things love, relationships, and everything in between," you say, your voice smooth and warm, like a cozy blanket on a cold night. "I’m your host, __ , and tonight is extra special because we’re in the heart of Valentine’s week. So, buckle up, folks—this week’s all about confessions, crushes, and, of course, giving you some advice to help you sort through your feelings."

You press the button for the first song request, the soft strains of a romantic ballad filling the room. As the music plays in the background, your eyes scan the requests that have been flooding in. The chat box is constantly ticking with messages—listeners asking for advice, sharing their love stories, or seeking songs that speak to their hearts. You feel that rush, the adrenaline of knowing you’re connected to so many people in real time.

"Now, I’ve got a message here from a listener who needs a little help," you say, pulling up the request. "This one’s from 'Cherry,' who writes in: ‘I’ve been crushing on someone for a while, but I’m not sure how to confess. Any advice?’"

You let out a small breath, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk as you think. This one’s a classic. You've seen it all before, but every confession still feels fresh. You smile softly into the mic.

"Ah, 'Cherry,' I get it. Confessing your feelings can be scary, but it’s also one of the most real things you can do. Here’s my advice: Keep it simple. No need for grand gestures, no elaborate speeches. Sometimes, the best way to let someone know how you feel is through a small, sincere gesture. Maybe write a note or give them a little gift that shows you’ve been thinking about them. And when you tell them how you feel, just be honest—there’s no such thing as a perfect confession. Just be you."

You pause, feeling the warmth of the words settle into your heart. The music swells in the background, adding to the ambiance of the moment.

"Remember, 'Cherry,' it’s not about getting it perfect—it’s about being brave enough to say it. And hey, the worst that can happen is they don’t feel the same way. But you know what? You’ve still won because you were true to yourself. So take a deep breath and go for it. You got this.”

You let the silence linger for a moment, Cherry’s words still hanging in the air. Then, with a small smile, you reached for the controls.

"Alright, Cherry, and everyone out there holding onto feelings they haven’t found the words for—this one’s for you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to say what’s in your heart, or at the very least, remind you that you’re not alone."

With a soft click, the studio filled with the delicate, wistful melody of "From the start" by Laufey—a song that is the ultimate friends to lovers song for all delusional daydreams.

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced out at the city lights reflecting against the glass. Somewhere, maybe Cherry was listening, hesitating over a letter they weren’t sure they’d ever send. Or maybe, just maybe, they had already begun writing.

After an hour of song requests, confessions, and quiet laughter shared through the airwaves, the LIVE sign dims. You take off your headphones, stretching your neck as the studio falls into silence. Another night, another show wrapped up.

Gathering your notes, you stack them neatly before grabbing your now-lukewarm latte from the desk. The faint chatter of coworkers drifts through the halls—other RJs wrapping up, producers discussing schedules.

"Great show tonight, ___," someone calls out in passing.

"Thanks! See you tomorrow!" you reply with a small smile, pulling on your coat.

Near the exit, your producer glances up. "Don’t forget—tomorrow’s segment is longer for the Valentine’s special. Get some rest!"

"Got it. Night, everyone!"

Pushing open the station doors, you step into the cool night air. The city hums in the distance, but here, it’s quiet—still. You take a slow sip of your latte, savoring the warmth against the crisp breeze.

And then, just a few steps away, you see him.

Leaning against his car, hands tucked into his coat pockets, Seungcheol watches you. The street lamp casts a soft glow over him, catching the faint curve of his lips.

You stop in front of Seungcheol, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

He tilts his head, acting like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I was just passing through."

You narrow your eyes. "Passing through? Your workplace is nowhere near here."

"Okay, fine," he chuckles, pushing himself off the car. "I thought I’d pick you up. It’s been a while since we had dinner together."

"Ah, I see. You missed me." You smirk, taking another sip of your latte.

"Don’t flatter yourself, " he scoffs, but the amusement in his eyes gives him away.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head before walking around the car. "Alright, alright. Let’s go before you start crying about how I never have time for you."

He pulls open the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. "Your chariot awaits, my lady."

Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you slip inside, and he shuts the door before making his way to the driver’s seat.

As he starts the engine, Seungcheol glances at you. "Nice show today."

You blink. "Oh? What’s up, Choiseung? You’re complimenting me?" You raise an eyebrow, grinning.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Forget it. Should’ve just let you believe no one listens to your rambling at night."

"Too late. I’m taking this to heart forever," you joke, leaning back in your seat.

A few minutes into the drive, Seungcheol reaches into his coat pocket and hands you a neatly folded envelope.

"Here."

You glance at it, then at him. "What’s this?"

"Just open it."

Curious, you unfold the letter inside. His familiar handwriting stretches across the page, carefully written, filled with warmth. It’s a simple note—thanking you for being in his life, for always listening, for just being you.

Your heart softens as you read.

"Ohh, Cheol... this is so sweet. Thank you so much, friend." You smile, touched by the gesture.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he freezes—just for a second.

Then, with a short nod, he looks away, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Yeah… friend." His voice is light, but something about it feels off.

You don’t notice. Or maybe, you just don’t understand.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"Nothing," he clears his throat, turning into a street. "We should hurry before the restaurant gets packed."

You let it go, tucking the letter safely into your bag as the city lights blur past.

Dinner is simple—warm bowls of stew and easy conversation. You catch up on each other’s lives, laugh over childhood memories, and argue over who should pay the bill (which Seungcheol wins, as always). It’s comfortable, familiar—just like it’s always been.

But every now and then, Seungcheol watches you with something unreadable in his gaze. Something just beneath the surface.

Later, he pulls up in front of your place.

"Thanks for dinner, Choiseung." You grin, unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Yeah, yeah. You can pay next time."

"I’ll believe that when it happens." You laugh, stepping out of the car. "Goodnight!"

He waits until you disappear inside, only driving off once your lights flicker on.

And then he waits.

Seated in his car, he watches as your silhouette moves around the room. It’s only when your lights finally turn off that he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before driving away into the quiet night.

The next day passes in a blur of work, coffee, and the usual routine. You go through meetings, reply to emails, and try not to fall asleep at your desk. It’s just another regular day—until night falls, and you’re back in the studio, headphones on, mic live, slipping into the comfort of your show.

"And that was 'Moonlight' to set the mood for tonight," you say, adjusting the volume on the console. "Now, let’s see what’s on your mind, listeners. Late-night confessions, random thoughts, love letters—I'm here for it all."

A familiar name pops up in the chat, and you smile.

"Ah, a message from ‘Cherry’ again," you muse, skimming through it.

"So, Cherry says: ‘I wrote them my feelings, but I feel like they didn't get the hint. Any advice?’”

You lean back, thoughtful.

"Confessions are tricky, aren’t they? But if words feel too heavy, why not try something else?"

You pause, then smile.

"Here’s an idea—make a playlist. Fill it with songs that subtly express your feelings, and share it with them. You can name it something meaningful, like ‘For You’ or ‘Songs That Remind Me of You.’ Maybe they’ll get the hint, maybe they won’t, but either way… music has a way of saying what we can’t."

A soft melody plays as you set up the next song, your voice lowering.

"Speaking of confessions… Cherry, this one’s for you."

___

After the show, you gather your things, stretching as the familiar hum of the studio fades into the quiet of the night. Stepping outside, the cool air brushes against your skin—and there he is, leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting.

"You again?" You arch a brow, teasing.

Seungcheol smirks. "What can I say? Madam needs her personal chauffeur." He pushes off the car, opening the door for you with a playful grin.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you slide in. "More like my chauffeur needs his daily dose of validation."

He chuckles, shutting the door before rounding the car. "Can you blame me? Gotta make sure my most important passenger gets home safe."

You shake your head, biting back a smile as he starts the engine. The familiar warmth of routine settles between you, comfortable and unspoken.

As you drive, soft music fills the space—a melody unfamiliar yet strangely intimate. You pause, listening. It’s not his usual sound. Gone are the heavy beats and sharp rhythms he prefers. Instead, the speakers hum with gentle tunes, lyrics drenched in longing.

You glance at him, amusement flickering in your gaze. "Since when did your taste in music change this much?"

His fingers flex over the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "Dunno. Just felt like switching things up."

You hum along absentmindedly, letting the melody wrap around you, comforting in ways you don’t fully understand.

Seungcheol exhales quietly, gripping the wheel a little tighter, sneaking a glance your way. Because this playlist isn’t just a mix of songs—it’s a confession. One he can only hope you’ll hear.

As Seungcheol pulls up in front of your place, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t make a move to unlock the doors just yet. Instead, he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, stealing a glance your way.

"__, since tomorrow’s the weekend... you wanna hang out?" His voice is casual, but there’s something just a little hesitant in the way he says it.

You turn to him, brows raised. "Sure. Where?"

Seungcheol clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. "Nothing much… just the amusement park. Maybe a café after, y’know."

You blink before breaking into a small smile. "Huh, it’s been a while since we’ve gone there."

He nods, still avoiding your eyes. "Yeah. Thought it might be fun."

You tilt your head, watching him for a second before nudging his arm. "Well, if you’re paying, I’m definitely in."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes but grinning nonetheless. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go overboard with the snacks."

You laugh, reaching for the door handle. "No promises. See you tomorrow, Choiseung."

As you step out, he waits, watching until your lights flicker on inside. Only then does he drive off, the soft hum of the playlist still playing in the background.

The next day, the weekend air carries a hint of excitement as you step outside, spotting Seungcheol waiting by his car. Dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, he looks effortlessly relaxed—except for the way he keeps checking his phone, as if trying to act nonchalant.

"Wow, you’re actually on time today," you tease, walking up to him.

He scoffs, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Please, I was born punctual."

You snort. "Sure, if 'punctual' means making me wait at least ten minutes every time."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but opens the car door for you anyway, his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Just get in, before I make you walk to the amusement park."

You laugh, sliding in as he rounds the car. Soon, you're both on the road, the soft hum of music playing in the background.

"So, what’s the plan, tour guide?" you ask, glancing at him.

He shrugs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Nothing fancy. Just rides, food, and you trying not to chicken out on the roller coasters."

You gasp dramatically. "Excuse you, I do not chicken out—"

"You literally backed out last time," he deadpans, making you groan in protest.

The banter continues, filling the car with laughter as the amusement park comes into view, the vibrant lights and distant screams of thrill-seekers setting the perfect scene for the day ahead.

As Seungcheol parks the car, you glance at the towering rides ahead, the excited chatter of parkgoers filling the air.

"Alright, where to first?" he asks, stretching as he steps out of the car.

You scan the park, lips pursed in thought before pointing towards the roller coasters with a challenging grin. "Since you’re so confident, let’s start with that."

His eyes widen for a split second before he huffs. "I wasn’t the one who backed out last time, remember?"

You laugh, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. "Exactly. Time to redeem myself."

The line moves faster than expected, and soon, you're seated, the bar locking in place. You grip the handles tightly, sneaking a glance at Seungcheol. He looks relaxed, but the way he exhales deeply before the ride starts doesn’t go unnoticed.

The moment the coaster shoots forward, your screams mix with laughter, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you grip the bar for dear life. When it finally slows, you glance at Seungcheol, only to see him looking at you instead of the ride’s descent.

"What?" you ask, breathless.

He shakes his head, a small, fond smile on his lips. "Nothing. Just glad you didn’t chicken out this time."

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully as you both step off the ride, your legs slightly wobbly from the rush.

The day continues with more rides, playful bets on who can win the most arcade games (he cheats, you swear), and an unnecessary but hilarious attempt at a claw machine.

"Face it, I'm just naturally gifted," he boasts, tossing you a small stuffed bear.

"Naturally full of it, maybe," you grumble, but take the bear anyway, hugging it to your chest.

Finally, as the night settles, you both find yourselves on the Ferris wheel, the gentle hum of the ride filling the comfortable silence. The city sprawls below, glowing under the streetlights, and in the distance, fireworks begin to bloom in the sky.

"Didn’t think today would be this fun," you admit, leaning back against the seat, the cool glass behind you a contrast to the warmth in your chest.

Seungcheol glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. He exhales softly, his fingers tapping against his knee.

"Yeah... I, uh—" He hesitates, licking his lips, his voice quieter now. "There's actually something I—"

But before he can finish, a particularly loud firework crackles in the sky, painting the cabin in flickering colors. You turn quickly, eyes lighting up as you take in the view.

"Oh, look at that one! It’s so pretty" you say, completely missing the way Seungcheol sighs, his half-spoken words swallowed by the moment.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmurs, gaze lingering on you instead of the fireworks. "It is pretty."

Eventually, you both find yourselves at a cozy café just outside the park, the scent of coffee and pastries filling the air.

After placing your order, Seungcheol suddenly pushes back his chair. “Be right back,” he says, flashing a quick smile before heading toward the counter.

You don’t think much of it, scrolling through your phone until the waiter returns with your drinks. As they set your cup down, you notice the delicate heart design floating atop the foam.

You tilt your head, stirring it slightly with your spoon. “Oh? Is this some kind of Valentine’s special?” you ask, amused. “Did you get one too?”

Seungcheol, who’s just returned to his seat, glances at his own plain coffee and shrugs. “Yeah… no.”

You raise a brow. “Huh. Guess they just like me more.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, but you don’t notice the way he hides his small, satisfied smile. Because the truth is, he had asked for that heart—just for you.

//

The next evening, the soft glow of the studio lights casts a warm hue as you settle into your seat, adjusting your headphones. Outside, the city hums with life, but a sudden downpour has turned the streets into shimmering reflections of neon signs.

"Looks like we’re in for an unexpected downpour tonight," you say, adjusting your headphones with a small chuckle. "So if you're heading home, grab an umbrella—or better yet, find someone who’ll share theirs with you—if not, maybe this is your chance for a classic movie moment. You know, the whole ‘one umbrella, two people’ thing."

With a quick tap, you queue up a slow, dreamy melody.

"Wherever you are tonight—rushing through the rain or just watching it fall—I hope this keeps you warm. Stay safe out there." As the song plays, you sit back, stretching your arms with a sigh. 

As the show wraps up, you take off your headphones, letting out a small sigh as the last song fades into silence. The studio, once filled with the hum of voices and music, now feels still. Gathering your things, you push open the door, stepping into the quiet hallway.

Outside, the rain still falls in soft sheets, blurring the glow of streetlights. You pause near the entrance, rummaging through your bag. No umbrella. Right. You meant to bring one this morning, but in the rush, it completely slipped your mind.

 You pause at the entrance, contemplating making a run for it, when a familiar voice calls out.

"Figured you’d forget yours."

You blink as Seungcheol steps forward, holding out an umbrella, his usual smirk in place. His hair is slightly damp, his coat dusted with droplets, like he had hurried here without much thought.

A small flutter, barely noticeable, stirs in your chest. You shake it off with a teasing smile. "What, no chauffeur duty today?"

He chuckles, tucking a hand into his pocket. "Uhh, not tonight. I have to stay late for that project."

You tilt your head, a little surprised. "So you came all the way here just to give me this?" You motion toward the umbrella in your hand.

"Yeah," he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Before you can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, sighs, then looks back at you. "I gotta go. Text me when you get home, okay?"

You nod, watching as he jogs toward his car, the red taillights fading into the rain.

For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the umbrella a little tighter. You don’t know why, but the weight of it in your hands feels different.

Then, shaking off the thought, you open it and step into the rain, heading home.

//

As morning arrives, the first thing that comes to mind is Seungcheol. You blink at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

Texting him isn’t anything new—you’ve done it countless times before. But for some reason, tonight, it feels… different. Maybe it’s your coworker’s words still echoing in your head, or maybe it’s the way he’s been occupying your thoughts more than usual.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

You: Did you get home okay?

A second passes. Then another. You bite your lip, debating whether to add something else.

You: And did you even sleep well? Don’t tell me you stayed up all night working.

You press send before hesitation can creep in. Almost instantly, the dots appear.

Seungcheol: Wow, checking up on me? I must be special.

You roll your eyes, already imagining the smug grin on his face.

You: Forget I asked.

Seungcheol: Wait, wait— I did sleep. Kinda. Had a long day, but I’m home now.

You: Good. Don’t overwork yourself.

Your fingers hover over the screen for a beat before you add one last message.

This time, he takes a little longer to respond.

Seungcheol: You too.

You lock your phone, exhaling softly as you sink into your pillow.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. But the warmth unfurling in your chest suggests otherwise.

At work, the usual hum of chatter fills the office. You’re halfway through your emails when a coworker slides into the seat beside you, a teasing grin already in place.

"I saw you yesterday," they start, leaning in slightly. "With a guy. Was he your boyfriend?"

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

"What? No!" The denial is immediate, instinctive. Too quick. You clear your throat, forcing a casual shrug. "Just a friend."

Your coworker chuckles, clearly amused. "Mmm, sure. You should’ve seen your face just now."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Oh, please. It’s not like that."

They raise an eyebrow, smirking as they lean against your desk. "Right. Just a friend, huh?"

You roll your eyes, waving them off, but as they walk away, their words linger.

Just a friend. 

You’ve said it a hundred times before. So why does it feel different now?

The soft glow of the studio lights wraps around you like a familiar embrace as you settle in for another night on air. The playlist hums in the background, filling the quiet spaces between your thoughts as you scroll through messages from listeners.

One catches your eye.

“I think I’ve fallen for my best friend. It wasn’t sudden—more like a slow, creeping realization. One day, I caught myself smiling at my phone just because they texted me. I don’t know if they feel the same, and I’m scared to lose what we have. What do I do?"

You hesitate for a moment, the words settling heavier than they should. There’s a flicker of something familiar in them, something that makes you sit up a little straighter.

You take a breath and lean toward the mic. “That’s… complicated,” you begin, your voice even, steady. “Falling for a best friend is tricky. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. One day, they’re just… them. The same person they’ve always been. And then suddenly, everything feels different.”

Your breath catches slightly. A part of you wants to laugh at the timing, but instead, you clear your throat and lean into the mic.

You exhale softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your notes. "I think the scariest part isn’t even confessing—it’s the thought of what happens after. What if they don’t feel the same? What if things change? But… at the same time, isn’t it worth knowing? Isn’t it better than wondering ‘what if’ forever?"

The words come naturally, maybe a little too naturally, and you catch yourself mid-sentence, blinking at the realization. Your fingers tighten slightly around the papers in front of you.

You shake it off with a light laugh. "Anyway, I’m not a love expert. But if you’re listening… maybe ask yourself this—would you rather take the risk or live with the regret?"

As the segment transitions, you queue up the next song, the soft melody of Can't Help Falling in Love by Kina Grannis filling the airwaves. A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

//

The idea of a team dinner had been floating around the office for weeks, but it wasn’t until today that your producer finally put his foot down.

“We’re going,” he declared, arms crossed as he leaned against your desk. “No more excuses, no more ‘let’s do it next week.’ Tonight, we eat.”

Your coworker snickered, spinning lazily in their chair. “You just don’t want to go home and cook.”

“Exactly,” he admitted shamelessly. “Besides, it’s been a while since we all hung out outside of work. You in?”

You hesitated for a beat, glancing at your screen before sighing. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do. “Yeah, I’m in.”

And that was that. A few hours later, you found yourself walking toward the restaurant with the rest of your team, the air buzzing with conversation. Your producer was still arguing about food, insisting that this place was “decent at best” while another team member defended it with an almost personal level of passion.

You laughed at their banter, falling into step behind them—until something made you slow down.

A familiar figure stood just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Even before he turned, you knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Your brows lifted slightly in amusement. “Are you a stalker?” you teased as you approached. “You’re literally everywhere I go.”

He turned toward you, chuckling under his breath. “No, I’m here with someone. My cli—”

“Shall we go?”

The voice belonged to a woman who stepped up beside him, her posture poised, her tone polite. She looked… elegant. The kind of effortless elegance that didn’t even need to try.

Your gaze flickered between them, something unreadable tightening in your chest before you smoothed your expression. “Who…”

The woman met your eyes and smiled. “Oh, I’m Lee Hana. I’m working with Seungcheol on a project.”

You nodded, lips curving into something light, something easy, even as something else tugged inside you. “Right. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” you blinked, shifting slightly. “Our team is having dinner.” You motioned toward the restaurant behind you. “You know, bonding and all that.”

He nodded, but before he could say anything else, Hana touched his arm lightly. “Shall we?”

There was a pause—brief, barely there—before he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.” Then he glanced at you again. “Bye, then. Have fun.”

And then he was gone, walking away with her at his side.

You watched them leave, something unspoken pressing against your ribs. It’s not jealousy, you told yourself. Not really. But the feeling stayed anyway.

A voice broke through your thoughts. “Oh, isn’t he the umbrella guy?”

You turned to see your coworker standing beside you, glancing after Seungcheol with mild curiosity before their gaze shifted back to you. “Did he come here with a woman?”

You said nothing, but that seemed to be enough of an answer.

They hummed knowingly. “You really must be just friends.” And with that, they walked inside.

You stayed there a second longer, staring at the spot where Seungcheol had just been, before shaking yourself out of it and following them in.

The night air is crisp as you walk back home, the sounds of the city buzzing softly in the background. Your team dinner had ended a while ago, but instead of feeling full and satisfied, there’s a strange heaviness in your chest—a weight you don’t quite understand.  

As you turn the corner to your apartment complex, you slow down, your steps faltering.  

There, leaning against his car with his arms crossed, is Seungcheol.  

Your brows knit together. “What are you doing here?”  

At your voice, he straightens, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t look well back at the restaurant,” he says, his tone light but laced with something else—concern, maybe. “So, I thought I’d check on you.”  

You blink at him. “You drove all the way here for that?”  

He shrugs. “It’s not far.”  

Liar. His office is nowhere near your place.  

There’s a brief pause. The usual banter is on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, the words don’t come out as easily tonight. Maybe it’s because he actually showed up. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what to do with the way your heart stutters at the sight of him standing there, waiting for you.  

You shift your weight. “Do you… want to come in for coffee?”  

At that, he chuckles, shaking his head. “Coffee? At this time?” He tilts his head at you, amused. “You must really hate me if you don’t want me to sleep tonight.”  

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Then I’ll give you plain water. Just come in.”  

His lips twitch into a smirk before he pushes himself off the car. “If you insist.”  

And just like that, he follows you inside.  

The door clicks shut behind you as you step inside, flipping on the lights. The familiar warmth of your home settles around you, but with Seungcheol standing in your living room, it suddenly feels… different.

“You can sit,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the couch as you move toward the kitchen.

He hums in response, wandering over but not immediately sitting down. Instead, he looks around, eyes flickering to the small details of your space—the stack of books on the coffee table, the blanket draped lazily over the couch, the half-full cup on the counter from this morning.

“By the way,” you start, keeping your voice casual as you pour warm milk, “who was that woman earlier?”

Seungcheol hums in acknowledgment, but when he answers, it’s after a slight pause. “Just a client. I’m handling a project for her company.”

“Ah.” You nod, stirring the coffee a little too forcefully. “Looked like you guys were close.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Are you interrogating me right now?”

You scoff, bringing the mugs over to the table and handing him one. “No. Just making conversation.”

You drop onto the couch beside him, curling your legs under you. He’s been here so many times before, and yet tonight, the usual comfort feels a little different—like you’re hyper-aware of the way he leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the way he watches you over the rim of his mug.

“You seemed off earlier,” he says after a beat. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you lie, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s figuring out a puzzle. “If you say so.”

After a while, he stretches, glancing at the time. “I should go.”

You nod, following him to the door. He lingers for a second, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Text me when you wake up, yeah?”

You frown. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just ‘cause.”

You roll your eyes, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes your chest tighten. “Fine.”

He smirks. “Good.”

And then, with a small wave, he’s gone.

You stand there for a second, staring at the closed door, fingers curling tightly around your cup.

The theater is dim, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering lights across Seungcheol’s face. The film has barely begun, but the hum of quiet conversations and the rustling of popcorn bags fill the space around you.

You’re not sure who suggested this movie. Maybe he did. Maybe you did. Maybe it was just one of those things—where he casually texted, "Movie?" and you didn’t even think before replying, "Sure."

The movie plays, but your focus wavers. You’re aware of him. Of the way his shoulder is just barely brushing yours. The way his fingers drum lazily against his knee. The way he shifts slightly every now and then, getting comfortable.

And then, his hand moves to the popcorn bag between you.

Your fingers accidentally graze his. Just for a second.

You don’t think much of it—until it happens again.

The second time, neither of you pull away immediately. It’s not intentional, not deliberate. Just… a pause. A moment that lingers for a beat too long before he finally retracts his hand.

Your pulse stutters, but you keep your expression neutral.

A few more scenes pass. You’re getting lost in the film when suddenly—

A jump scare.

It’s sudden enough that your breath catches, and before you can stop yourself, your hand darts out, grasping the closest thing—his arm.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word. Just glances down at your fingers curled around his sleeve.

You realize what you’ve done a second too late. Heat creeps up your neck as you start to pull away.

But then—

His arm shifts just slightly, just enough that your hand slides from his sleeve to his wrist, fingertips brushing against his skin.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The moment stretches, unspoken, unacknowledged. Not quite intentional. But not exactly not intentional, either.

And suddenly, the movie is the least interesting thing in the room.

The movie ends, and the crowd slowly shuffles toward the exits. You stretch your arms as you step out of the dimly lit theater, the cool night air greeting you.

"That wasn’t as scary as I thought," you say, glancing at Seungcheol.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Sure. That explains why you nearly ripped my sleeve off."

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "That was one time."

He smirks. "Uh-huh. And what about the other time? And the time after that?"

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real bite behind it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, whatever. Where are we eating?" You change the subject swiftly, and Seungcheol hums, pretending to think.

"Ramen?" he suggests.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, and you nod. "Sounds good."

It’s a short walk to the small ramen shop tucked away on a quieter street. The place is cozy, warm, and familiar—one of those late-night spots you’ve both ended up in more times than you can count. The moment you step inside, the comforting aroma of broth and spices fills the air.

Seungcheol orders for both of you, as he always does, rattling off your usual without even asking. The cashier doesn’t even blink, already used to it by now.

You shake your head with a small smile. "One day, I’m going to switch things up just to mess with you."

He leans against the counter, grinning. "No, you won’t."

He’s right, and you hate that he knows it.

The two of you settle into a booth, the conversation flowing easily between bites of food. Seungcheol steals a piece of your fish cake without asking. You retaliate by swiping a sip of his drink. It's effortless, familiar.

By the time you step back outside, the streets are quieter. The late hour drapes the city in a peaceful hush, the occasional headlights casting long shadows on the pavement.

Neither of you say much as you walk, but it isn’t an awkward silence. Just the kind that lingers when words aren’t needed.

At some point, Seungcheol slows his pace, falling into step beside you instead of slightly ahead.

The street lights flicker above, the air crisp but not too cold. You rub your hands together out of habit.

A beat passes before Seungcheol exhales through his nose and, without a word, reaches out.

His hand brushes yours, just barely.

You think it might be an accident until he does it again.

This time, he doesn’t move away.

And neither do you.

The apartment is quiet when you step inside, the familiar space wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. You toe off your shoes, set your bag down, and exhale, as if the night still clings to your skin. The soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound filling the air, but your mind is anything but quiet.

You wander into the kitchen on autopilot, reaching for a glass, but your fingers hesitate over the cabinet handle. The thought slips in, uninvited.

What if he already knows?

The question lingers, settling into the corners of your mind like an echo. You shake your head as if that alone could shove it away, but it doesn’t work.

Maybe it’s the way he laughed tonight—soft, genuine, like the sound itself belonged to you. Or the way he leaned in closer, just enough that his warmth almost touched you. Maybe it’s nothing at all, just the way he exists around you—familiar, steady, yet suddenly… different.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to chase the feeling away, but it’s stubborn. Because now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t unsee it. Every teasing remark, every lingering glance, every small, meaningless moment—it’s all been leading to this.

And the worst part?

You don’t even know when it started.

You sink onto the couch, pressing the cool glass against your palm, grounding yourself. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing. You’ve always been close. He’s always been there.

But tonight, when his hand brushed yours and he didn’t pull away… when he said goodnight like he meant something else…

Your heart had stuttered.

You bite your lip, staring at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to settle.

...What if he already knows?

//

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of the equipment. The city lights flicker through the window, casting faint shadows against the booth. You scroll through the messages, eyes landing on a familiar name.

Cherry.

“I tried everything you said—gave them a letter, took them out, spent so much time together. And honestly? I swear they like me too. But… nothing. What do I do?"

You let out a breath, tapping your fingers lightly against the desk.

"Okay, first of all—don’t give up. I know it’s frustrating when someone doesn’t read between the lines, but sometimes, people need things to be said plainly. No metaphors, no subtlety. Just… real words."

You lean back slightly, eyes flickering toward the dim window of the booth, where the city blurs in the distance.

"Because here’s the thing—what if they do feel the same way? What if they’re just as scared as you are? Wouldn’t you rather know than spend your days wondering?"

The words come easily, almost too easily, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re really just talking to Cherry anymore.

You exhale and push forward.

"So here’s my advice, Cherry. Tell them. No hints, no half-confessions. Just look them in the eyes and say, ‘I like you.’ And if they don’t feel the same? At least you’ll know. At least you won’t have to live with ‘what if.’"

Your hand hovers over the controls for a moment longer than necessary before finally pressing the next song cue.

The melody flows through the studio, soft and steady. And yet, your heart is thudding slightly faster than it should.

The night air is cool against your skin as you step out of the building, the faint hum of the city filling the quiet. Work is done for the day, your coworkers already heading their separate ways after a few lingering goodbyes.

You stretch your arms slightly, exhaling as you adjust the strap of your bag—only to freeze mid-motion.

He’s there.

Standing just outside the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket—except for one, which lingers behind his back, hiding something.

Your heart stirs, something instinctive. “Seungcheol?”

His lips twitch in a small, almost nervous smile. “Hey.”

“You’re waiting for me?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, stepping toward him.

“Yeah.” A soft exhale. “I had to.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why?”

Seungcheol hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulls his hand from behind his back—revealing a bouquet of flowers, delicate and vibrant under the streetlights.

Your breath catches.

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

Your breath catches.

He holds it out to you, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “I know it’s kind of cheesy, but... I saw this and thought of you.”

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

The world feels like it slows down.

His eyes flicker with something—uncertainty, vulnerability, an honesty so raw it makes your chest tighten.

“I tried not to,” he continues, voice steadier now. “I thought maybe it would pass, that maybe we were just friends and I was misreading things. But then you started showing up in my thoughts at the most random times. I’d hear a song and think of you. I’d pass a café and wonder if you’d like their coffee. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it… it was always you.”

Your fingers tighten around the flower.

“So I’m done pretending.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You swallow, fingers tightening around the flower as your heart stumbles over itself. The weight of his words settles over you—not heavy, not suffocating, but something warm, something undeniable.

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You don’t know if you can.

Seungcheol watches you carefully, his usual confidence laced with something softer, something uncertain. You can tell he’s waiting, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So you inhale slowly, steadying yourself.

“You—” Your voice falters slightly before you clear your throat. “You’ve liked me for a long time?”

He nods, lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah.” A beat. “I thought you knew.”

Your breath catches.

Did you?

You think back—to the lingering glances, the easy laughter, the way he’s always been there, steady and constant. The way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. The way your heart has been shifting, your feelings unraveling into something you weren’t ready to name.

“I…” You pause, lips parting, your heart beating so fast it’s dizzying. And then you laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “God, I feel so stupid.”

Seungcheol blinks, caught off guard. “Huh?”

You meet his eyes, and this time, there’s no doubt, no hesitation.

“I like you too, you idiot.”

For a second, everything is still.

Then Seungcheol lets out a sharp breath—a laugh, almost disbelieving—and suddenly, that teasing smile you know so well is back, but there’s something else in his expression now. Something real. Something unshakable.

“Yeah?” His voice is quieter, laced with something warm.

You nod, lips pressing together. “Yeah.”

And then, he pulls you in—his hand resting at the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

His lips press against yours, gentle at first, then firmer, like he’s been holding this in for too long. His other hand stays over yours, the bouquet still between you, petals brushing against your skin.

The city buzzes in the background, but all you can hear is the quiet rush of your own heartbeat. And in that moment, with his warmth, his touch, his everything—

It just feels right.

You pull away just enough to look at him, breathless, your forehead still resting against his. His hands remain on your waist, warm and grounding, as if neither of you wants to let go just yet.

And honestly? You don’t think you ever want to.

A soft laugh escapes you, light and airy. “You know… a listener of mine also loves their best friend,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “They tried everything—subtle hints, letters, taking them out—but their best friend was too dense to get it.”

Seungcheol chuckles, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “Sounds familiar.”

“Right?” You sigh dramatically. “So, I told them to just confess. No hints, no half-confessions, just… real words.”

He hums, nodding thoughtfully. “Good advice.”

“Yeah,” you grin, looking up at him. “I wonder how it went for them.”

Seungcheol pauses for a second, then leans in just a little, his voice playful yet quiet. “I’d say pretty well.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up, and suddenly, the way he’s looking at you feels a little too knowing.

And then, before you can process it, he says it—just two words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks.

“I know.”

You stare. “What?”

He grins, tapping a finger against your forehead lightly. “Your listener. Cherry.”

Your brows furrow. The pieces are there, but your brain refuses to connect them. “What about them?”

He hesitates, as if savoring the moment, before finally confessing, “It’s me.”

Silence.

You tilt your head, processing his words. “...You’re Cherry?”

Seungcheol nods, clearly holding back a laugh at your expression.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him.

Then, with a dramatic gasp, you lightly smack him with the bouquet in your hands.

“Ow—hey!” He feigns pain, stumbling back slightly, but the wide grin on his face betrays him.

“You idiot!” You hit him again, though there’s no real force behind it. “You made me give love advice for your own confession?”

He catches your wrist, still laughing. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can retaliate, he tugs you forward, pulling you into another hug.

This time, it feels different.

Familiar, warm, but with something new. Something neither of you have to question anymore.

You sigh against his shoulder, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you.”

He grins. “Believe it, Baby.”

[rebelssvy]

roommates ✧.*

ushijima x reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: ushi is your roommate and saw your phone with porn on it. creating an interesting relationship with you two. sex, smut, porn

i added twt links bc why not just to make it juicer lol

the worst thing to ever possibly happen, happened. while getting some cereal at one a.m, you had been scrolling on your own personally private twitter account. do you have porn on there? yes. do you actually watch it? yes. did you mean to leave it open on the counter top? no. not at all.

so to your horror as you ran to the pantry for some more cereal, you came back to the kitchen to find your your roomate, ushijima, standing right above your phone.

the action of him ease dropping isn’t what got you, he often snoops around your shared apartment. it was the audio you heard coming from it that made you jump out of your skin.

in the dead quiet of your dimly litted apartment, the audio of a girl getting absolutely railed by a man echoed.

“oh my god!” you scrambled, running over to your phone you shut it off. then threw it across the room it landing on the couch.

your hands instantly found your face, everything was burning up. ushi was normally a kind of awkward guy. not ever really saying much and when he did, it was always just kind of awkward.

did this stop you from having a crush on him? of course not. how could it? he was fucking huge. his muscles could make you pop from a hug. and he was also caring. even if he stuggled showing it. so you had no idea how he was about to handle this.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed y/n.” his voice prodded through the silence. it was deep, hushed. it wasn’t until a hand found your back that you looked up to him.

“i’m so so so sorry ushi!” you said turning to face him, putting your hands on his chest and burrying your head into his pecks. being touchy with him wasn’t abnormal. he just never really reciprocated it. that didn’t bother you.

“i’m… i’m just gonna go to bed.” you said before leaving your cereal on the counter, grabbing your phone and walking away.

that night you slept in horror. praying that he wouldn’t move out because of the action.

that night ushijima was more sexually frustrated then he had ever been.

✧.*

the next day when you two were at dinner, he brought up the situation from last night.

“god.. you don’t have to try to make me feel better. just forget about it.” you stood shaking your head. you two were out at a random restaurant about to leave when he asked you about it. you really wished he could just forget.

“you know y/n.. everyone watches porn.” he said it casually. tone unwavering. your eyes darted to his, attempting to read his emotions. to which you were met with a straight face.

the rest of the night you kept thinking about what that meant. does the ushijima wakatoshi watch porn? no way. i mean… there is no way right? in your head he could never be tempted. he’s too idk. perfect.

those words haunted you until you got home. every moment of silence between you lead back to the mental image you created.

finally walking through the door you decided to bring it up with him. you just didn’t know how.

he waked to his bedroom as you made you way to the kitchen for a drink. “hey ushi..?” you called out. he only responded when he walked back in with a changed, more casual outfit.

“yes y/n?” he replied finding a spot on your shared couch. instantly stretching he made himself comfortable as he flexed his biceps ever so subtlety. your eyes wandered to wear his shirt poked up. a flips of his happy trail peaked out. “do you have a question?” he said. your eyes snapped back to his face. you only nodded in reply.

going and sitting down next to him, sitting cris cross legged. as he faced forward his head turned to you. you were close, but not as close as you wished you were. so you opted to scoot closer to him. one of your knees now touching his thigh.

“earlier, i just can’t get it out of my mind… you said yk ‘everyone watches porn.’… and i was just wondering if like.. excuse me if im over stepping here but, if you watched.. porn?��� your skin felt hot. like you were burning up. after you said it you wished you could take it back.

there was a long pause, and you swore you died and came back to life. just as you were about to excuse yourself to suffer an eternity of embarrassment, he responded.

“yes i watch porn.”

it was the answer you had longed for. craved and yearned. but now what? you asked him.. now what do you do?

“okay…” you said, hesitant. “i’m sorry. i don’t know what to say i’m so embarrassed oh my g-“ he stopped you mid sentence. cutting you off to say,

“want to see what i watch?” his tone was so casual that he never seemed more comfortable to talk to you. you couldn’t give him a verbal yes, so you shook your head yes instead.

you gasped as he moved his arm closer to you, only to grab his phone your thigh had been covering up. you watched intently, all nerves stood on end as he traveled to his notes app. you watched as he unlocked a hidden folder that revealed several links and notes under them. this was so ushijima. you thought to yourself.

“can i?” you asked while scooting closer to him. he flushed and shook his head yes. you scrolled through tens of links and notes beneath them like, ‘threesome two boys one girl.’ or ‘good creampie.’ it wasn’t out of the ordinary until one really caught your eye. it was a link, then labeled. ‘y/n.’ you gasped reading your name. then he caught on right away. obviously embarrassed he shut his phone off and didn’t say anything.

curiosity struck at your bones. what was that video? what did it have my name on it?

“can i.. can we maybe watch some of them..?” you leaned into him now bringing the phone back up to seversace level and unlocking it. he never said no. he shook his head yes before saying.

“let me explain-“ you cut him off, pressing a finger to his mouth before saying. “we will save that one for last how bout that…” you were now flirting with him. and he could tell. he shook his head yes once again as you scrolled through all the different links.

finally clicking on one you watched it with him side by side. you watched as a boyfriend penetrated his smaller girlfriend with his huge cock. you felt ushijima squirm next to you, obviously uncomfortable.

“fuck…” you said without realizing. your head whipped to his but he was already looking at you. and god.. he was so handsome. his lips parted slightly, glossed from his own saliva

“can i please kiss you?” he asked while dropping his hand and now holding your face. before giving him an answer you brought your face to his with passion. kissing him so intently. your lips molded around each others. it was hot. it was almost too much to handle. a line of saliva connected the two of you as you parted.

you picked up his phone and went back to scrolling. this time his hands were all over you, touching every part of your body. brushing over it of pinching at it, he needed to feel you.

you moaned as he brought his head to your neck and slurped at all your open skin. you watched videos that he had saved, making mental notes about how the women in them are. or what he was into like, two lovers forced to be quiet or how the girl in the video spread herself open to get finger fucked.

finally you made your way to the video with your name on it. ushijima had now brought his eyes back to you, nervous of what was about to happen. in silence you clicked on it. just to find a video of a girl with your body type and look getting absolutely pounded.

“i’ve never been fucked like that before…” you admitted, breaking the silence. you looked over to him. dropping the phone now.

“fuck y/n… i’m trying really hard right now to be a gentleman but your making it hard.” he dropped his head back before bringing a hand to his hair and messing with it.

“fuck that! just fuck me please oh my god!” you squealed out, shocked that you even said it. you smacked a hand over your mouth. but it was too late. ushijima had already taken you into his arms. carrying you into his room.

“i haven’t..” he started while throwing his clothes off, and undoing yours next, “been able to get you out of my mind. i need you so bad” he admitted now laying you down on the bed.

it was all happening too quickly. and yet his pace was awfully slow for you. fully naked you stared at him. he stared back at you.

finally his fingers trailed your asshole before finding your cunt. it was soaked already, ushijima was seeing stars. “fuck your so wet..” he groaned. “can i?” he asked for your consent.

“yes! ushi~just fuck me!” you moaned as his hand cupped your soft little cunt. he stood above you, spread your legs open and pressed his middle finger into your tight little hole. taking it out to draw circles on your clit. your back arched at all of his motions. you squirmed under his touch.

“god your so fucking tight. so fucking pretty.” he groaned before putting another finger into you. pumping it in and out of you at reckless pace.

“need more… i need your cock ushi..!” you moaned out grabbing at his length. you jerked him off a couple strokes before he pulled his fingers out of you and pushed them in your mouth.

you sucked your own juices off his digits. and oh my god, ushijima had never felt hotter. he felt like he was on fire.

now on the bed with you he threw your body around into a doggy position. your ass in the air. he waited seconds just looking at you before he positioned his cock near your hole.

as his fat tip sank its way further into your sobbing cunt, the more your pussy sucked him in. half way in and he thought he was going to cum. he pushed the feeling deep down into his soul. he needed to fuck you first.

“ushijimaaa~ fuck! ah-! your so fucking bi-i-g!” and with that moan of his name, he swore he heard wedding bells.

a new fuel fired his engine, as he pounded your wet cunt from behind. your arched your back further. the sensation was too much for you. the feeling of you stretching out around his fat cock. you could feel him everywhere.

your cream gathered at the base of his cock, it made his mind go hazy. pushing your farther into the bed, he rested more of his weight on you. slamming his cock in and out of you. your noises filled the room. the way you clenched around home you knew you were close.

“fuck you like that? cmon y/n.. cum around my fucking cock.” his words sent you over the edge. shaking and spasming beneath him you cursed out moans. saying ‘fuck ushi-! god i fucking love your dick ohmygod’ it wasn’t until his pace slowed slightly that you realized that he wasn’t stopping.

“i’ve been waiting to fuck uou for months baby. cmon gimmie a nother one cmon…” you watched all his composer slip away as he pounded your overstimulated body. flipping you on your front you got pounded face to face with him. his eyebrows furrowed. he was such a sight.

you felt your second orgasm approaching. he reached down to circle your creamy clit. as soon as he touched it pleasure ripped through you. your body lurching forward. you shook with the feeling.

“imcummingfu-c! god ushi~ your cock oh my god. fuck your so fucking good ah-!” you moaned, almost screaming him praise. he came on the spot. his cock filling you up with his seed. you felt him everywhere.

“god your so perfect. oh my god fuck y/n.” he said through grunts and groans. finally he fell next to you. kissing your sweaty body.

getting cereal at one am was the best thing you’ve ever done.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

i missed writing about him so u know i had to do it

[fancyfeathers]

Imagine Daughter!Reader having a phone that is constantly going off and the batfamily is just like "Who is that?" then one day they look and it's just one of her friends but they literally talk all the time. Nothing wrong with that! Then they find out it's a boy. Batfamily is probably thinking, "Friend that's a boy? Oh hell nah she already has a boyfriend but two boys that aren't family in her life need to GO" Cut to Damian stalking Daughter!Reader at school(it's normal at this point) only to find her arguing with said friend that's a boy and acting like competitive siblings. No seriously, Damian walked into lunch and saw the two arguing over the school brownie that they had found still wrapped up in it's plastic on the lunch table. So the batfamily continues their regular stalking and with how they've been so far I can only assume the siblings will be super jealous of this random boy that's suddenly stolen their "Sister's" attention from them and treating the rando like a sibling more. Side note: I love your writing and I love your page! I hope you have a lovely day/night<3

Yandere Batfam w/ Wife/Mother!Darling & Daughter/Sister!Darling

To be honest they would block his number the second they felt even slightly threatened by someone else, they probably did the same with her boyfriend but they can’t get him out of her life because their families are in the same social circle and they go to the same school.

But honestly I am imagining her friend as like the most unthreatening person imaginable, like a scrawny art kid that she met in her AP psych class. But since they go to the same school the only person who would know what he looks like is Damian, all the rest of her siblings have not the slightest clue. They probably meet him when he is dropping off a hers and Damian’s schoolwork when they both got sick with something, and they honestly did not picture a teenager who probably has more interest in painting butterflies than socializing.

But then when they talk to each other it’s like all walls completely come down, like one day Damian came home and showed them all of a video of Daughter!Darling and her friend getting into a paint fight at school, which is also supported when Daughter!Darling comes into the room ten seconds later with dried paint all over her.

Now Damian will make comments at the boy that are slightly threatening and telling him to back off and mind his business, especially when Daughter!Darling confides in her friend about her home life a tiny bit.

Dick will try to ask her if she wants to do things that she has done with her friends and obviously gets upset when she says no because if she does it with them then why does she not want to do it with him?

Tim may or may not hack his grades to get him moved out of some of her classes, but he won’t if he if a scholarship student because that could end up with him being kicked out of school and Tim has enough of a conscious to not ruin someone’s life just because they piss you off.

Now once graduation comes along and he goes off to college then that is when they completely cut her off from him and any of her other friends, because most of them are leaving Gotham for school and they are already blocked on her phone so if she has no contact with any of them then their relationships are going to begin to break apart until they don’t exist anymore.

Honestly those few months after high school and before she runs away are the worst because she is not allowed to leave the house, she is hardly allowed out of her room without someone else out of fear she’ll try to run away because she is eighteen now and there for no longer has a legal guardian, so that fear of loosing her just becomes more real.

[your-turn-to-role]

okay so i haven't watched the episode and honestly i don't think i'm going to, there's a lot i've heard about what's happened with vm that i really don't know how i feel about yet

but it's been a long time since the cast were playing c1, huh

like i don't blame them if they've forgotten or moved on from the themes of it, it was a decade ago and sometimes this stuff changes

but as far as the characters go, like. yeah, loving people and losing them was keyleth's worst fear, and they all knew that from the start

vax let the choice to be in a relationship be hers because he didn't want to push her into something that would inevitably be traumatic for her

(and he even apologised when he died because "i've confirmed your worst fears and then some")

but loving vax was the start of her overcoming that! he's always had a huge heart despite the losses he's been through and he wears it on his sleeve. his entire philosophy is best summed up by his quote to vex in 72, when she's beating around the bush about admitting she likes percy, "what the fuck do we have in this world except moments with each other? that's all we've got. [...] you know what's awkward? a life not lived."

when the rest of vm tries to turn inwards and isolate themselves as protection vax drags them back together again because he knows the best remedy for a broken heart isn't to shut yourself off but to love even stronger in spite of it. and keyleth agreeing to be with him was proof some of that got through to her

and then there was kerrek, who saw that she was afraid of every step she took, because she knew she would live to see the consequences, she plotted out everything she did under the assumption she might come to regret it centuries from now. and he told her she had the soul of a gardener, and that was a good thing for a leader to have. but sometimes as a fighter, you need the soul of a blacksmith, who knows that when a project goes wrong you melt it down and try again. and he gave her a ring, as a reminder that even for a gardener, some seeds only flourish after they've been burned

and to the most important episode in keyleth's entire arc, her twisted mirror sprigg. sprigg terrified her because where everyone else looked at him and saw a kooky old man, she saw, in crystal clarity, her future. a retired adventurer who'd shirked his duty out of spite, who lived in utter isolation, all his friends dead so long ago he didn't even remember their names.

but (ignoring for now all the other potential consequences of that particular choice by bells hells) they helped him find himself again. they helped him find meaning in service to ioun, and in ioun's library, where nothing is ever forgotten. and once he was given a reason to remember, he realised none of their names had ever left him. a friendship that meaningful cannot be erased by time, and if you lose it, you can always find it again

she had all the coping mechanisms and support a narrative could provide. and while "how am i supposed to get over you if you keep sending ravens to me?" "i am imperfect, as are the gods" lives forever in my mind, i wonder how the vax of c1 would feel, seeing this

The thing that kills me about Keyleth getting Vax back is how anti character development it is for her.

Her horror at how her increased lifespan will inevitably result in her outliving people she loves is something introduced in campaign one, and losing Vax is the very first taste of that inevitability. Campaign three shows us Keyleth as a woman who has spent thirty years refusing to move on and develop a healthy relationship with grief, still terrified by the prospect of outliving those she loves. And then she gets her dead boyfriend back, and he's immortal now, so she'll never lose him again.

It's pathetic! It's sad! It's kicking the can down the road! What's she gonna do when Percy dies? Grog? Every friend she has besides her immortal dead bf? Is her social circle just gonna close up further and further till it's just her and Vax for a thousand years, because Keyleth never learned how to mourn people she loves while also forming new meaningful relationships, and was in fact rewarded by the narrative for refusing to do so?

[sweetbunpura]

Past Relationships.

I know Valentine's day is around the corner, but I couldn't resist the urge to write about Yuu's past relationships~

"Yuu."

The girl looked over at Epel as the first year group sat in the courtyard. The winter frost had started melting early as temperature started to rise allowing the gang to break out the lighter jackets today.

"You said you were in a couple of relationships in the past. What was the worst?"

"Really?" Ace looked at the farmer. "That's what you ask?"

"I mean, she said she's been in worse ones before!" Epel crossed his arms. "I was just curious."

"It's fine, it's fine." Yuu waved her hand and hummed as she tried to remember. "I think I was like either thirteen or fourteen at time, I kinda blotted the guy's name from my memory. Probably Brad or some other boring shitty name. Uh, he was part of the basketball team and he asked me out on a date."

"You said yes?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

"I was young, sue me." She shrugged. "Anyway, he took me out on a movie date and a couple of other dates until we officially announced we were dating."

"There's a "but" in there." Deuce pointed out.

"You are correct. A week or two later, he starts acting really shitty. I'm talking calling me names and talking me down and shit. Calling me ugly and how I should be lucky he gave me a chance at all." She scoffs. "He even said I was pretty for a black girl, can you believe that shit? He even tried getting money out of me, saying how he was entitled to some of it since I was his boyfriend."

"He should be lucky he isn't here." Sebek crosses his arms with a glare.

"He wouldn't even last a day here. About a month into dating, he notices I'm not bending the knee to him, giving into his demands and everything. Basically, the emotional manipulation isn't working and so he tries to amp it up. By now, the whole school knows something was going on with me and him. I wasn't popular, but I was nice enough that people wanted me to be their friend." Yuu curled a strand of hair around her finger. "When the amped up manipulation doesn't work, he tries physically attacking me."

The boys eyes widen as they heard that and tensed up.

"Sevens, Yuu!" Deuce sat up. "What happened? Tell me you knocked this guy into next week!"

"I did. The moment he tried to punch me, I caught it and punched him in the face. He cried and held his face while he's on the ground, complaining that I broke his nose. He kicks at me and well.... I start swinging. Teachers had to pry me off of him and call my parents, big whole ass issue." She sighed.

"How did you manage to take all of that for a month?" Ortho blinks.

"Simple, I told my mom about everything he had done and she told me to write it down so she could gather evidence on it. But she also told me never to believe the lies someone like him spits out in order to drag me down. He didn't like how strong I was compared to him, so he tried to tear me down with words instead." She crossed her arms. "My dad and mom said I could only fight back if he throw the first punch, he did and he was swiftly put in his place. Come to find out it was all a dare one by his shitty teammates cause they dared him to ask me out and date me because they thought I wasn't attractive enough."

"What happened to the guy, Henchhuman?"

"The school and his family got sued, they tried to sue us instead but because of all the evidence and eye witnesses, they couldn't get away with it. That's the story, the end~"

"I see why he's the worst now." Epel muttered. "Almost regret asking. Wait... is that why you have issues with Ace ghosting that girl?"

"Can you stop bringing it up!?" Ace snapped.

"Honestly, yeah." Yuu fixed the red head with a glare. "But I've gone off on him about it."

"So..." Jack spoke up. "...Does he know?"

Everyone's eyes shifted over to see Leona walking down the hallway as he yawned. He was unaware of the eyes on him as he continued walking.

"I've told him everything and I had to stop him from shredding the bed." Yuu gave a soft smile. "Four relationships and this one is the golden one."

"...Wait four?"

"Story time's up boys!" She got to her feet. "Another time maybe."

[rose24207]

Lando taps your car, sending you into a devastating crash that leaves you in critical condition, shocking the F1 world.

"And here we go, ladies and gentlemen! It’s an intense fight for P3 between McLaren’s Lando Norris and Aston Martin’s Y/N L/N! With just six laps to go, neither driver is willing to give an inch!"

"Y/N has been absolutely stellar today. She’s held off both Ferraris, she’s fought wheel-to-wheel with Hamilton, and now she’s desperately defending against Norris, who has the pace advantage on those fresher tires."

"Lando’s got the DRS down the straight—he’s closing in rapidly! Y/N moves to the inside to cover it off, but Norris feints left, then right—trying to force an error. She doesn’t budge! This is masterclass defending!"

"This is nail-biting stuff! Lando looks to the outside into Turn 9, but Y/N holds firm! Oh, she’s squeezing him wide, making sure he has no space to switch back! That’s absolutely brilliant racecraft!"

"You can hear the tension in the crowd, Ted. Every single fan is on their feet! They know how much this podium means to Y/N—she’s been fighting all season for this moment!"

"But Lando is relentless, Crofty! He’s going to try again—this battle isn’t over!"

"And here they come into Turn 10—Norris is going for it! He’s sending it up the inside—"

"OH NO! CONTACT! CONTACT! Y/N IS AROUND! SHE’S GONE STRAIGHT INTO THE WALL!"

"THAT IS A MASSIVE CRASH! RED FLAG! RED FLAG IMMEDIATELY!"

"Oh my god—Y/N’s car is destroyed! The impact—she’s hit that barrier head-on at full speed! This is a horrifying accident!"

"There’s debris everywhere, Crofty! The car snapped around instantly when Lando tapped her rear tire—she was a complete passenger! There was nothing she could do!"

"The medical teams are already sprinting to the scene. This does not look good."

"We have radio from Lando Norris—"

"‘No, no, no, no—oh my god—NO! Is she okay?! Please tell me she’s okay! I—oh my god—I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!’"

"Lando Norris is in absolute distress. You can hear it in his voice—he’s completely shattered."

"‘I touched her tire—I didn’t mean to! Oh god, please—tell me she’s moving! I—fuck, I’m so sorry!’"

"Lando is crying over the radio. He can barely breathe between his words."

"This is utterly heartbreaking, Crofty. He knows this is serious. He knows how bad this looks."

"‘I can’t—oh god, please, please let her be okay—’"

"His engineer is trying to calm him down, but Lando isn’t responding properly—he’s in complete shock."

"McLaren is calling him into the pits, but I don’t even think he’s hearing them right now, Ted. He sounds absolutely broken."

"You can hear a pin drop in the grandstands. No one is speaking. The entire pit lane is frozen, staring at the screens in horror."

"The medical teams have arrived, but we still have no word on Y/N’s condition. They’ve pulled a privacy screen up around the wreckage—"

"That’s never a good sign. We’ve seen it before, and it never gets easier. This is the worst-case scenario."

"Drivers are being told to return to the pit lane. Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Lewis Hamilton… none of them are speaking. Even over the radios, there’s nothing but stunned silence."

"This is the darkest moment we’ve seen in Formula 1 for years."

"We’re receiving an update now—Y/N is being transported to the medical center. Reports indicate that she is in critical condition. The impact was catastrophic."

"This is an absolute nightmare. Lando Norris, McLaren, Aston Martin—no one wanted this. No one."

"For now, all we can do is wait… and hope."

"All thoughts are with Y/N, her family, and the entire F1 community."

A/N: a little drabble because I had a shitty day :(

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom

[hisfavegirl]

Aegon Reaction to Your Pole Dancing Video in instgram.

Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for letting me using your beautiful dividers

Aegon Targaryen was not amused.

It started with a notification—his phone buzzing lazily in his hand as he lay sprawled on the couch. He wasn’t expecting anything exciting, maybe some mindless scrolling. And then he saw it.

Your Instagram post.

A video.

Of you.

Pole dancing.

The slow, teasing way your body moved, the way your hands gripped the pole, the way your hips swayed so effortlessly—it was enough to make his mouth go dry. Enough to make his blood fucking boil.

But the worst part? The comments.

“Goddamn.”

“I need a moment.”

“She can ruin me, and I’d thank her.”

“Aegon is the luckiest man alive. If he fumbles, I’m next.”

Aegon saw red.

His jaw clenched as his grip tightened around his phone, nearly cracking it in his hand. His knee bounced aggressively, his body vibrating with jealousy and rage.

He was already dialing your number.

No answer.

His teeth ground together. He didn’t care if you were out. He didn’t care what you were doing. He needed to handle this.

So he sent a text instead.

Aegon: Delete the video. Now.

Seen. No reply.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Fine. You wanted to play? He’d play.

Less than twenty minutes later, he was storming through your door. You barely had time to react before he was there, grabbing your phone right out of your hand.

“What the hell, Aegon—”

“You think this is funny?” His voice was low, dark, dangerous. His eyes burned into you, stormy with jealousy. “Posting that video? Letting other men drool over you like you’re some—some—”

Your brows furrowed. “I’m some what, Aegon?”

He exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring. His fingers raked through his silver-blond hair, his other hand still gripping your phone. “You know exactly what you’re doing,” he growled. “You wanted attention? Congratulations, you got it. And now I get to deal with a bunch of pathetic little fucks thinking they have a chance with my girl.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words.

My girl.

Possessive. Jealous. Fuming. And absolutely turned on.

“Aegon, it was just a video,” you tried, softer now. “It’s not that deep.”

His gaze flicked to yours, intense and unreadable. And then, in a flash, he had you pinned against the wall.

“You think it’s not that deep?” he murmured, voice dropping into something dark and wicked. His hands gripped your waist, firm, demanding. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

You swallowed hard. You knew that look.

“You don’t post shit like that unless it’s for me,” he growled, pressing his forehead against yours. “So tell me, sweetheart—how do you plan on making it up to me?”

The internet lost its mind.

Aegon Targaryen was already known for being bold, cocky, and possessive—but this? This was a declaration.

The video was barely a few seconds long, yet it was utterly devastating.

A perfect mirror shot.

You, on top of him, body arching in pure abandon. moaning his name like a needy girl you're.

His hand gripping your hair, pulling just enough to make you tilt your head back.

And him? Smirking. Lazy, smug, like a man who had just won the ultimate prize.

The caption?

“If she wants attention, she’ll get it—from me.”

The internet exploded.

— “WHAT THE HELL, AEGON?! WE WERE JUST ADMIRING HER POLE DANCING, NOT ASKING FOR THIS ATTACK.”

— “He really said ‘MY GIRL’ in the loudest way possible.”

— “I was happy being delusional until this man reminded me that I’m single as hell.”

— “I’m blocking both of you for my mental health.”

— “Not him marking his territory in 4K.”

— “Aegon just dropped the most toxic, possessive, jealous boyfriend move and we’re all jealous??”

— “This is revenge for the pole dancing vid and we ALL lost.”

— “I need Aegon Targaryen erased from history before I die of envy.”

— “The way she’s arching though… girl, blink twice if you need help.”

The video spread like wildfire. Within minutes, it was on every fan page, every meme account, every thirst edit. People were breaking down in the comments, screaming, crying, throwing their phones.

And Aegon?

He was loving every second of it.

The moment Aegon posted that video, the family group chat turned into absolute chaos.

FAMILY GROUP CHAT: Family Therapy Session.

— Alicent: Aegon. Targaryen. DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW.

— Helaena: …why is this the first thing I see when I open Instagram?

— Aemond: Have you lost your damn mind?

— Daemon: LMAO. This is so embarrassing for the rest of you.

— Rhaenyra: Alicent, come get your son.

— Jace: Bro. You need therapy.

— Luke: I DID NOT NEED TO SEE THAT.

— Baela: I’m blocking both of you.

— Rhaenys: I have never been more ashamed to share blood with any of you.

— Daemon: Weak move. If you really wanted to mark her, you should’ve made sure it wasn’t mirror-friendly.

— Viserys : Even I would’ve taken your phone away for this.

Meanwhile, in the Instagram comments:

— AlicentHightower: I have failed as a mother.

— HelaenaTargaryen: The bugs didn’t warn me about this.

— AemondOneEye: This is why I tell people we aren’t related.

— JacaerysVelaryon: @YourUsername, blink twice if you need rescuing.

— RhaenyraTargaryen: Can someone explain why I’m tagged in this??

— DaemonTargaryen: This is why he’s my favorite nephew.

— CristonCole: Disgraceful.

Aegon, of course, was thriving in the chaos.

He sent one message in the group chat and muted it.

— Aegon: Don’t like it? Unfollow. 😘

The knock on the door was loud—not the casual kind, but the type that promised trouble. Aegon barely had time to pull on a shirt before the door swung open. His mother stormed in first, followed by Aemond, Helaena, and Jace, all wearing various degrees of rage, horror, and exhaustion. Daemon strolled in last, looking amused as hell.

Alicent was seething, her face flushed with pure mortification.

“Aegon. What in the name of the Seven was that?”

He stretched lazily, unfazed. “A video.”

“A video?” Aemond repeated, his voice sharp. “You mean the public video of you and her—IN YOUR BED—posted for the entire world to see?”

Jace looked traumatized, hands on his hips, as if he didn’t know whether to fight Aegon or bleach his eyes.

“Do you have any shame?” Jace nearly shouted. “People sent that to me. I had to see that with my own eyes.”

Helaena, standing in the middle of the chaos, looked genuinely confused as she muttered, “But why through a mirror?”

Daemon? Oh, he was having the time of his life.

“I, for one, think this is hilarious,” he smirked, leaning against the wall. “But even I didn’t go this far.”

Alicent looked like she was two seconds away from throwing something.

“Do you understand how humiliating this is?” she snapped. “Not just for you but for all of us?”

Aegon rolled his eyes, slouching onto the couch.

“Relax, mother,” he drawled. “She looked good, didn’t she?”

Silence.

Then Aemond lunged.

It took Daemon and Jace to hold him back as he snarled, “I should break your jaw for that.”

Aegon grinned, knowing he’d won.

“Too late. Already got what you wish you had.”

That? That’s when the real fight broke out.

The argument was already spiraling into chaos, but Daemon, being Daemon, decided to make things worse.

He clapped Aegon on the back, grinning like the devil himself.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Daemon drawled. “Boy’s just showing off. Frankly, Rhaenyra, maybe we should do the same. What do you think, love?”

Rhaenyra, who had been rubbing her temples in frustration, froze mid-motion. Her expression shifted from exasperated to murderous in seconds.

“Daemon,” she said slowly, “shut. Up.”

But Daemon only laughed, turning to Aegon with mock approval.

“I say well done. If you’re going to ruin the family name, at least do it properly.”

That’s when you appeared.

You walked into the living room, barely able to stand, moving with that telltale weakness that said everything without a single word. Your hair was a mess, your skin marked, and the oversized shirt was clearly Aegon’s.

The room fell silent.

Alicent’s face drained of all color. Aemond looked seconds away from stabbing someone. Jace? He turned around like he physically couldn’t handle this.

But it was Rhaenyra who broke first.

“Oh, for FUCK’S SAKE.”

Daemon? He just smirked harder.

“Now that,” he gestured to you, “is how you make a statement.”

Aegon grinned, absolutely reveling in their reactions, but before he could open his mouth—

Alicent threw a goblet at his head.

Tag list : @danytar @julessworldd @hangmanscoming @yazzzmints @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @callsignwidow @ashblooddragons

[suiana]

hi hi hii!! I saw your requests are open so may I pleade request for more yandere classmate oneshots/fics/headcanons anything that is a yandere classmate content cause I really love your writing and those yandere classmates hcs/oneshots you wrote♡♡!! if you need me to be more specific here's a suggestion/scenario:3...(that's a bit too specific if you don't mind hehe)

Yandere classmate transfer to reader's school and class. Yandere meets reader and boomshakalala typical yandere scenario where he falls inlove with reader. Yandere finds out that reader is getting backstabbed and bullied by their classmates. Reader is an extrovert and silly but like can't do anything about the bullying so they just ignore their classmates comment. Reader can be gender neutral or fem, whatever feels more comfty for u to write:>>! yan is a male!

Also, if you're in a writer's block, u don't have to force yourself! Also jst ignore this if u don't feel comfty writing this. Take of yourself and sorry if this is a bit too specific or demanding !

xoxo - Anon

hey anon! you just pulled me out of my writers drought so please have this for valentines

Yandere! classmate who's the new kid and is trying to fit in. Right, the average new kid experience. You're not popular, not a loner, just somewhere in between and trying to get by with all the horrors school can throw at you. No one has enough time to bother with others when they have to focus on themselves.

But there is.

You know how there are some people who peaked in highschool that take out their sadness on others? Yeah, that's right. Those people. And he just so happened to walk into one of these sessions.

Some grown ass man pouring milk over- oh, it's you.

Yeah just like how there's the losers who peaked in highschool, there are the popular kids who remain popular throughout their life. Aka you. And he's fallen for you hard.

It all began one fateful day... When he bumped into you while running on 2 hours of sleep and simply passed out because of the force at which he walked right at you. That's right. He fainted from walking into you.

Anyway, when he woke up, he found out that you had dragged him to the nurse's office and had stayed right by his side until he woke up.

How fucking cute.

He was definitely attracted to you. That was for sure, he still could feel it even when he was still woozy. I mean, you were his type from head to toe! Physically at least.

But now you're telling him you stayed by his side and waited patiently by his side until he woke up? You've got him hooked. So he gave you his number, got you to be his friend, and everything else fell in place.

He started noticing you around campus, talking to everyone and socializing like a freaking butterfly. Figures. You were clearly an extrovert and loved being just an absolute sweetheart. Sweet and kind to everyone around you. He would give you the world if you asked for it.

Then, he started noticing the bullying. The whispers, backhanded compliments... Just everything about it enraged him. It's bad enough that people are being mean, it's even worse that they're called your friends. How could they do such a thing to you? You were a blessing to be around! These people should be grateful that you even wanted to befriend them! Hell, they should be grovelling and begging on their knees for even as much as thinking wrong of you!

The worst part of it all?

You don't retaliate. Or rather, you can't. These "friends" of yours are all kids of rich and powerful people. And you? You're just poor old you, unable to talk back in fear of them ruining your reputation and maybe even worse. They could have you removed from the school, falsely accused of a crime... They're scum of the earth and they know it.

He hates them.

He hates them.

That's why he's taken it upon himself to get rid of them! No problem if he isn't as powerful or rich as these... "friends" of yours... Who can fight back when they're dead after all? The dead don't speak, they can't. They're the best type of sinners, people who've dared to lay their filthy hands and words on your beautiful soul.

Of course... He doesn't let you know that. You're too kind for this world. You'd freak out and have a panic attack if he told such a thing to you! You wouldn't understand. He wouldn't want to scare you anyway. You think of him as just another tired student that's your really nice friend. So he's kept all this hidden away.

But right now? When he's faced with this? Milk? On you? While you're just... Forced to take it all?

How can he not act out?

"You think this is funny?"

His hands are on that losers neck in a second, depriving him of any oxygen possible. Damn you, damn you, damn you. This waste of space should just die now. He was even laughing when he was pouring the fucking milk over your head? Unacceptable.

Simply unacceptable.

"You're a fucking loser."

"You smell like piss and shit, did you piss yourself?"

"Not so much of a big guy now, huh?"

This guy's body is larger than him, muscle and veiny all over. Yet... His body was slowly losing... to him? An average joe?

Then he hears it. Your voice.

He gets pulled out of his rage by your voice. Oh... Your sweet, sweet voice. It's like an angel's touch, the warmth of spring after a cold winter. Usually it would be comforting to him, make his heart soar and face warm. Right now though? it's sending nothing but dread through him. Shit, he's exposed himself.

"Uh... Fuck, I didn't mean to-"

He's stammering, bumbling on his words like a fool. No, god no, he's messed up now. You'll surely hate him and think he's a violent creep. You'll never want to talk to him again and-

-You reached out to him and mutter a thanks? For standing up for you? With that smile and gentle hands? What was that? Did you just ask him to release the guy and go on a walk? Was that a date? He hopes it's a date. Ah, it's on valentine's too. Do you like him? Is this a sign? He's not overthinking it right?

...

Ah.

He's so cooked.

[nanamineedstherapy]

Your jjk caveman crack fics are literally the best thing ever 😂 do you think we could get a part 3???

Thank you for the ask, I was already gonna post this. Happy Valentine's Day!!!

Ooga Booga Sukuna gets Reverse Bonked

Previous Chapter 2: Ooga Booga Gojo tries to Court you (Tumblr/Ao3)

Summary: Prehistoric, period-accurate Neanderthal JJK daddies courting you with grunts, rocks, & zero verbal communication. Just prehistoric buffoonery.

A/N: Listen. I don’t know how we got here. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just know that prehistoric Sukuna is going through it, and honestly? Good for him. This chapter is dedicated to all the idiots in love who have the combined IQ of a rock & the tension of two angry stray cats fighting over a single chicken bone. As usual, => This is a different reader, but the same Sukuna—unfortunately for you. => Some bits are suggestive (in regards of mating), but nothing in detail, only in comedy. => This is Sukuna’s chapter, but don’t worry—the other guys are also getting their solo stories, with guest appearances in each other’s on a regular. So I recommend reading all of them, but I can’t force you to make good life choices. Now, let’s begin.

Sukuna, the undisputed apex predator of the prehistoric world, wakes up.

This is already unacceptable.

Sukuna does not wake up confused.

Sukuna does not wake up with a headache the size of a mammoth's behind.

Sukuna does not wake up in a cave that is not his.

Yet here he is.

His nose twitches—this place smells wrong. The fire is too small. The air lacks the familiar stench of victory. And worst of all, the pile of furs beneath him? Not his.

Then, he sees you.

The audacity.

The sheer, reckless audacity of you.

Sitting there, cross-legged, casually sharpening a rock, as if you didn’t just bonk the most dangerous being alive on the head and drag him here like a sack of mammoth dung.

Sukuna moves to sit up—except he doesn’t.

His brain short-circuits.

His wrists and ankles are tied.

Him. Sukuna. The strongest. Bound like a common prey animal.

His first instinct? Murder.

His second? Murder, but angrier.

You glance up. See him glaring. Raise a smug eyebrow.

Then, with the infuriating calm of someone who does not fear death, you reach out and pat his head.

Oh.

You will pay for this.

He—a god among men, the most dangerous being alive—has been bonked and dragged to a cave like a defenseless animal.

By you.

But Sukuna is smort so he will find a way to escape.

He gets an idea immediately.

Sukuna is also stronk. These flimsy ropes should be nothing.

He flexes. Twists. Yanks.

He will be free in mere seconds—

The rope does not budge.

You observe him silently.

Your expressions unreadable.

Then you slowly grab a stick from beside you—

AND BONK HIM ON THE FOREHEAD!!!

His entire being vibrates with rage.

This—this has never happened before.

A second bonk follows.

His eye twitches.

Fine. You want a fight? Sukuna will not even need his hands.

He leans forward, bares his teeth, flexes every muscle he owns. His glare alone has sent cavemen running.

He exudes menace.

You yawn.

Then. Without hesitation.

You reach out and grab his chin.

He stops breathing.

Your grip is firm, but what’s worse—you squeeze his cheeks.

…Like he is an adorable little animal.

Rage. Shame. Disbelief.

You boop his nose.

HUMILIATION!!!

He will try again. NOT BECAUSE THIS FEELS NICE, but because he’s exhausted.

---

The next morning, you leave the cave.

Sukuna, apex predator, descends into rabid, frantic gnawing.

His teeth work overtime. His dignity is irrelevant.

He is almost free—

Then.

You return.

Carrying food.

His stomach betrays him.

Loudly.

You know. You heard.

You smirk.

Then you feed him.

Not throw the food at him. Not let him grab it himself. No. You hold it up to his mouth.

You expect him to take a bite.

Like some helpless captive wife.

He contemplates death.

Then. With slow, soul-crushing defeat—

He takes a bite.

Disgraceful.

---

Now that you have secured the beast, you begin the ritual.

Sukuna, still bound, watches with narrowed, suspicious eyes as you approach—arms full of rocks.

You drop them in front of him like a sacrificial offering.

Not just any rocks.

Sharp ones. Deadly ones. The kind that could easily pierce flesh, shatter bone, and end lives. (Unlike a certain white-haired idiot who collects useless shiny ones.)

Sukuna blinks.

Stares at the pile.

Then at you.

What is this? A challenge? An insult? An attempt at trickery?

He grunts. (What is this nonsense?)

You grunt back. (Good rocks. Kill things. Useful.)

His fingers twitch. Even bound, he is a warrior. And a warrior recognizes quality weaponry when he sees it.

This is… acceptable.

You nod, satisfied.

Then, just because you can, you pat his head.

Sukuna’s entire body stiffens.

You leave again and return moments later, dragging an actual, freshly hunted animal carcass.

Bigger than you.

Not stolen. (Unlike certain white-haired idiot. Maybe you learned what-not-to-do by watching him.)

Not leftovers scavenged from some beast’s kill.

This is primal.

Earned.

Dominant.

Sukuna sniffs the air.

His instincts kick in.

This is real food. Warrior’s food.

You tear a chunk of meat, toss it into a flame, let it sizzle and cook—the rich aroma fills the cave.

His stomach makes that sound again.

You hear it.

He knows you hear it.

You smirk and bring some cooked bits to his mouth.

Sukuna scowls, looking anywhere but at you.

His entire existence is suffering.

Then, with murderous reluctance, he eats.

It is good.

Too good.

Too competent.

He hates it.

---

It is time.

Sukuna does not know it is time. But it is.

You grab him by the scruff like a misbehaving cave bear cub and drag him to the river.

He thrashes.

Snarls.

He is Sukuna. Apex predator. The most dangerous being alive. He does not need cleaning.

You grunt. (You stink.)

Sukuna snaps his teeth at you. (I will kill you for this insult.)

You dunk him in the river.

It is instant chaos.

He thrashes like a drowning bison.

Water explodes in all directions.

A fish gets yeeted into the sky.

Birds evacuate the trees.

Somewhere, in the distance, an elder caveman sees the commotion and rethinks his entire existence. (It was just Yaga.)

But Sukuna is still tied.

So, in the end, it is just dramatic splashing.

His pride? Destroyed.

His dignity? Evaporated.

His hair? Now suspiciously soft.

You grunt approvingly. (Worthy mate.)

Sukuna glares death.

You pat his head.

He roars in betrayal.

---

The moment of truth.

You drag him back to the cave.

The fire flickers. The air is thick with something tense.

You crouch down.

And, without hesitation—

You untie him.

Sukuna freezes.

Oh.

Oh no.

He is free.

He should run.

He should crush you, burn this place down, reclaim his pride, and remind the world why he is the strongest.

But…

He does not move.

Instead, he stares.

At you.

At the organized cave.

At the good food.

At the comfort.

At the competence.

His stomach does a weird thing.

Not hunger.

Something else.

…Oh.

OH.

He has been courted.

By you.

A woman smaller than him?

The realization is devastating.

You smirk.

And, one more time…

You pat his head.

Sukuna growls.

But he does not leave.

---

Sukuna is suffering.

It has been days.

He should be fine.

He should be thriving.

He has good food, a strong cave, sharp rocks, and the privilege of not being bonked daily. (Progress…?)

But there is a problem.

He wants you.

Physically.

Desperately.

Like a fever in his bones.

Like an itch behind his ribs that he can’t reach.

Like an unrelenting cave mosquito bite, but worse because it is YOU, and mosquitoes die easily, but you refuse to perish.

You glare at him across the fire.

He glares back.

The air is thick. Heavy. Crackling with something primal.

But there is one fatal flaw.

Neither of you know what you’re doing.

You move first.

Sukuna tenses as you grab his chin again, your grip rough, firm—like you’re inspecting game.

His stomach does that thing again.

He does not like this.

He likes this too much.

You shove him down.

His brain shatters.

He snarls, trying to flip you over—to dominate. To win. But your grip on his wrists tightens, and suddenly,

HE. IS. PINNED.

His vision goes red.

THE AUDACITY.

THE. AUDACITY. Again for emphasis.

But then…

You do nothing.

You just stare at him.

Waiting.

Sukuna stares back.

…Now what?

Sukuna, desperate to reclaim dominance, growls.

Flips you over.

You flip him back.

He flips you again.

You reverse.

This goes on for ten minutes.

At this point, it is not romantic.

It is not primal.

It looks like two prehistoric idiots trying to invent wrestling.

Somewhere outside, an elder caveman hears the commotion, shakes his head, and decides to write cave poetry instead of mating this year. (It’s Ijichi and he’s not an elder, just looks like one.)

Inside the cave, the match continues.

Grunts.

Snarls.

Dirt flying everywhere.

At some point, you both just stop.

Panting. Staring. Confused.

Sukuna frowns. (This should be instinctual. Why is it not happening?)

You squint. (Maybe… different approach?)

He grabs your toes.

You instinctively kick him.

He growls.

You growl louder.

The problem is, neither of you know where to put things.

Hands? Everywhere.

Mouth? Nowhere near the right spots.

At one point, Sukuna headbutts you by accident.

You elbow him in retaliation.

Then he chokes on his own spit.

This is not going very well.

You pull back.

Stare at each other.

Both of you look deeply disappointed in the other.

Sukuna exhales sharply and grunts. (What now?)

You grunt back. (We… thonk.)

A silent, wordless truce is reached.

For now.

But the tension remains.

You glare.

Sukuna glares back.

This is not over.

Sukuna is determined.

You are determined.

Neither of you will be defeated.

---

So, the next night, you and Sukuna do what any couple of prehistoric idiots would do.

You watch Nanami.

For research.

This is a flawless plan.

A foolproof plan.

A brilliant plan.

It is not.

You and Sukuna are in the bushes.

Close.

Too close.

Way too close.

You are practically inside Nanami’s cave.

Sukuna’s arm brushes against yours. His breath is hot against your neck.

The scent of raw violence and bad decisions lingers in the air.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

You are professionals.

Well.

You are Neanderthals.

Same thing.

The fire inside Nanami’s cave casts perfect shadows on the walls.

A masterclass performance.

A step-by-step tutorial.

A once-in-a-lifetime learning opportunity.

Your tiny prehistoric brains absorb the data.

You both squint.

Sukuna nudges you and grunts. (That look right?)

You tilt your head. (Maybe…?)

You lean in.

Then Sukuna leans in.

Then you lean in more.

Then Sukuna leans in more.

You are practically between Nanami’s legs.

And then—

Nanami notices.

Nanami stops mid-....

Turns his head.

Narrows his dead, exhausted, so-done-with-life eyes.

Sukuna freezes.

You freeze.

There is a moment of tense silence.

A life-defining moment.

A moment where you both reconsider your entire existence.

Then.

Nanami picks up a rock.

A very big rock.

You both start to back away.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Retreat.

Disengage.

Escape.

Nanami does not care.

He hurls the rock.

Hard.

(Because unlike you two and a certain white-haired tribe fool, Nanami has a concept of privacy. And money does not exist yet, so no, he will not be starting an adult site. No. Thank. You.)

The rock sails through the air.

The trajectory is perfect.

The angle is flawless.

The impact should be devastating.

It should crush one of you on sight.

But instead—

It misses.

And instead—

It hits Gojo.

Who was minding his own business.

(Also watching Nanami with his woman for research.)

Gojo collapses instantly.

Directly onto his woman’s chest.

His woman looks down.

Pauses.

Then just shrugs and drags his lanky ass back into their cave.

Like this happens often.

Like she is used to this.

Like she has accepted her fate.

Meanwhile, you and Sukuna, still recovering from near-death-by-rock, decide that maybe this particular research method is flawed.

And with whatever dignity you have left,

You. Retreat.

Nanami’s woman yanks his hair back.

Nanami sighs.

Shakes his head.

Goes back to it.

As if this is normal.

As if he is unbothered, unfazed, and entirely too used to it by now because Gojo exists.

But now, you both have studied.

The blueprint has been acquired.

The forbidden knowledge is yours.

It is time.

Back in your cave, you and Sukuna recreate the motions.

At first, it is awkward.

Very awkward.

There is fumbling.

Some miscalculations.

At one point, Sukuna forgets what legs do.

He just stands there, confused.

You overcorrect.

And by overcorrect, you mean you accidentally knee him in the stomach.

Hard.

He folds in half like a poorly constructed shrubbery tent.

This is not going well.

Then—

Something clicks.

Sukuna growls.

Pins you down.

His grip is tight.

His eyes are dark.

His muscles flex.

He grunts. (Submit.)

You flip him over.

Your grip is tighter around his throat.

Your eyes deadlier.

Your muscles flex harder.

You grunt back. (No, you submit.)

Silence.

Sukuna pauses.

Then—

He lets you.

His pupils dilate.

His breath hitches.

Oh.

OH.

He likes this.

You smirk.

Something clicks (aka Evolution in Real-Time).

Then finally, it happens.

It is violent.

It is chaotic.

It is not historically accurate.

But it works.

Afterwards, Sukuna.exe has crashed.

He is a mess.

Sprawled out.

Chest heaving.

Staring at the ceiling like he just witnessed the invention of the calendar.

His brain is fried.

His life has changed.

Meanwhile, you stretch.

Feeling accomplished.

Victorious.

Like a goddess.

Sukuna, however, is still processing his entire existence.

He has been tamed.

Fully.

You pat his head.

He glares.

Weakly.

Then you crawl onto his chest and fall asleep like a starfish.

He just sighs.

This is his life now.

A/N: Well. That happened. I don’t know whether to feel proud, concerned, or vaguely threatened. Sukuna has officially entered his “I don’t know what just happened but I liked it” era, & frankly? He deserves to suffer.

Vote wisely. Or don’t. Nothing is wise in this story. 💀

Next chapter will be out soon :)

All Works Masterlist

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Wax Strips | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Okay, I got this ask awhile ago and I'm 99.9999% sure Anon wanted angst, so I promise I have some actual PAIN coming, but this idea came to me and I could NOT stop imagining how Sebastian would react to getting his chest waxed. BAHAHAHAH

Words: ~2,000

Tags: Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Post Hogwarts, Auror Seb, Fluff, Crack

Beta: @newdreamlove95 <3

"This is the worst mistake of my life."

Sebastian groaned as he sat shirtless on the edge of your bed, eyeing the waxing strips in your hand like they were about to Avada Kedavra him.

You grinned. "You should’ve thought of that before running your mouth, Sallow."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. "I don’t even remember what the bet was about."

"It was about whether I could outdrink you at the Three Broomsticks," you reminded him sweetly. "And as I recall, you—"

"—dropped like a sack of potatoes halfway through the seventh glass, yes, yes." He waved a dismissive hand, glaring at the strip you were warming between your palms. "I still maintain Sirona put something in my drink."

"You lost. Fair and square."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. "And you couldn't pick something less... violent?"

"Oh, but where would be the fun in that?" You cocked your head, tapping a thoughtful finger against your chin. "Besides, you were so sure you'd win. So sure, in fact, that you didn't even ask what you'd be wagering."

That had been his fatal mistake. Arrogance. Pride. But that smug smirk of his had been wiped away the moment you'd casually leaned over and informed him of his penalty.

Waxing.

Now, he sat in front of you, shirtless, scowling, and—Merlin help you—looking absolutely gorgeous.

Not in the chiseled, statuesque way of some of his Auror colleagues, but in a way that was so undeniably him. Strong, fit, but softened at the edges. Broad shoulders and thick arms that spoke of years of training, but no sharp definition in his torso. No hard abs or lean cut muscle, just solid strength beneath a natural, softer layer that spoke of good meals and a life lived beyond training regimens.

The warm glow of the lamplight cast golden highlights over his bare skin, endless freckles dotting his chest and collarbones and shoulders. His stomach was taut enough when he tensed but relaxed into something far less severe when he slouched back on his hands, eyeing you warily.

And you were about to press wax strips to it.

You swallowed, throat suddenly dry.

"Oi." His voice broke you from your thoughts. "You're not getting all shy on me now, are you?" His eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dark and teasing, and you scowled.

"Shy? Hardly. I'm savoring the moment."

You pressed the first strip to his chest.

Sebastian flinched. "Bloody hell, that's cold!"

You smoothed it down with extra care, enjoying the way his muscles tensed under your touch. "I could warm them up more, but I feel like you've earned a little suffering."

He gave you a deadpan look. "Remind me to get my revenge."

"Remind yourself to not lose next time."

His gaze dropped to your hands and his voice was quieter when he said, "Didn't know you had a sadistic streak."

You hummed. "Maybe you bring it out in me."

Sebastian let out a breath of laughter, shaking his head, but something lingered behind his eyes. Something knowing.

You both danced around this—whatever it was between you. A constant, unspoken thing, humming in the spaces between your words, thrumming beneath every teasing remark, every stolen glance.

You cleared your throat and patted the strip in place. "Alright. Ready?"

His jaw clenched. "No."

"Too bad."

You yanked the strip.

"Fuck!" Sebastian hissed, chest jerking backward, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Bit dramatic, don’t you think?" You bit your lip to keep from laughing. "You're fine."

"Am I?" He gestured wildly at his chest like he’d just suffered a mortal wound. "My soul just left my body. I am not fine."

You rolled your eyes. "Pussy."

Sebastian gawked at you, mouth dropping open in pure, offended disbelief. "Excuse me?"

You waved the used strip at him. "You’re acting like I just flayed the skin off your chest when all I did was remove a few wispy little hairs."

"Few wispy little hairs?" His brows shot up. "Are you joking? That was—" He stopped, looking down at himself, and then seemed to deflate a little. "Alright, fair enough, but it still fucking hurt!"

"Oh, please," you scoffed. "I get my legs waxed all the time. I get a Brazilian wax. You're fine."

Sebastian made a choking sound, his face instantly turning red. "I—You—" He sputtered, eyes wide as if you’d just confessed a deep, dark secret.

Heat bloomed in your own cheeks. You hadn’t exactly meant to say the Brazilian part out loud, but there it was, lingering in the air between you.

You pushed through like it wasn’t a big deal, despite your ears burning. "Don't act so scandalized, it’s not like it’s a secret. Meanwhile you're making a scene over a couple of strips on your—" you made a show of squinting at his chest, "—oh-so-rugged pelt of manly hair."

Sebastian recovered fast—too fast—his lips curling into a slow, knowing smirk. "So you’re saying you have experience suffering for beauty?"

"Yes, Sebastian," you deadpanned, pressing another strip to his stomach with a little extra force, "because unlike you, I’m not a baby about it."

He groaned dramatically. "You must be built for pain or something."

You bit your lip. Oh, he has no idea.

"I simply have a higher pain tolerance."

"You are a monster," he muttered, rubbing at his chest. "An absolute tyrant."

"You lost a bet." You smoothed another wax strip down, fingers lingering longer than necessary against his skin. His stomach tensed beneath your touch, firm with the strength of someone who trained daily, but with a soft give that made the heat of your palm sink into him in a way that was far too distracting.

He huffed, shaking his head. "I’m going to get you back for this. Just wait."

"Yeah, yeah." You gave him a teasing grin. "I'll believe that when it happens."

Sebastian’s gaze dropped to your hands, his voice quieter when he said, "You're enjoying this way too much."

You smirked. "What gave it away?"

"You've got that look." His voice had dipped, quieter, more dangerous.

You raised a brow. "Look?"

He licked his lips, eyes flickering to your mouth before dragging slowly back to your gaze. "The one that says you’re having entirely too much fun touching me."

Your breath caught.

The tension between you snapped tight, crackling like lightning.

Your hand rested against his stomach, fingers splayed over warm skin. You could feel his breath, shallow and uneven. You could hear your own heartbeat, loud in your ears.

He leaned in slightly. Just enough that if you moved, even an inch, your noses would brush.

"You know," his voice was lower now, rougher, "if you wanted to touch me, love, all you had to do was ask."

Heat flooded your face, and before you could think better of it, you ripped the strip off.

Sebastian screeched, nearly knocking you backward.

You were cackling before you could stop yourself.

"You absolute menace—" He was rubbing his stomach, wincing. "Sadist!"

"You deserved that," you managed between gasps of laughter.

He glared at you, though there was no real heat behind it. Then, without warning, he lunged.

You yelped as he pulled you back against the mattress, pinning you effortlessly. His weight was warm, solid, and far too distracting as he hovered over you, arms bracketing your head.

"You owe me for this," he murmured. His face was dangerously close, lips curled into a smirk that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed, your breath catching, the weight of him a deliciously dangerous thing pressing you into the mattress. "I do?"

“Oh, definitely,” he murmured.

You barely had time to process before he dipped lower, so close that his nose brushed yours—so close that you could feel the heat of his breath against your lips. His gaze flickered down to your mouth, and just as his lips parted—

The door slammed open.

"What the hell is going on in here?"

You and Sebastian practically launched apart.

He nearly toppled off the bed, catching himself on one arm while you scrambled backward, smoothing down your rumpled clothes like you could erase what had just happened.

Ominis stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression pinched with deep suspicion. His unseeing eyes somehow managed to scan the room like he could feel the sheer amount of tension still crackling in the air. His lips curled in distaste.

“I heard shouting,” he continued, tone flat. “I thought someone was being murdered.”

Sebastian shot him a glare. "I was being murdered. Slowly. And with malice."

Ominis’s brow furrowed. "By what? Did you trip over your own arrogance again?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Sebastian let out an affronted scoff.

"By her!" He flailed an arm in your direction. "She’s a menace, Ominis! She’s committed unspeakable crimes against my body."

Ominis looked absolutely done. "Merlin, please don’t elaborate."

You snorted, trying and failing to stifle your laughter. "Relax, Gaunt. I was just waxing him."

Silence.

Ominis blinked. His lips parted slightly, and then he made a face like you’d just told him you and Sebastian had been performing dark rituals together.

"You were what?"

"WAXING," Sebastian repeated, still glaring at you like he’d been personally betrayed. "You know, the barbaric form of torture witches subject themselves to for vanity?"

Ominis looked utterly at a loss. He turned his head slightly in your direction. "Why?"

You grinned. "Because he lost a bet."

Sebastian threw his hands in the air. "A bet that was clearly rigged!"

"It was not rigged," you said smugly. "You just suck at holding your liquor."

Ominis let out a long, slow sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was in actual pain. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You two were in here, alone, waxing each other?"

Sebastian pointed an accusatory finger at you. "Not each other. Me. I was the victim here."

Ominis, wisely, ignored him. His attention shifted toward you, his expression amused. "Give me a progress report."

You smirked, holding up a used wax strip like a trophy. "Well, we’ve successfully waxed his chest and stomach. He screamed like a banshee, but I’d say we’re about halfway done."

Sebastian scowled. "Halfway? Halfway?" He threw his hands up, then gestured furiously at his own bare torso. "I have suffered enough!"

Ominis looked vaguely entertained as he tilted his head. "So, are you telling me that this—" he waved a hand in Sebastian’s general direction, "—this whining, whimpering wreck of a man—has only gone through half of his punishment?"

You nodded, feigning sympathy. "Unfortunately so."

Ominis hummed in mock consideration. "I see. And what’s left?"

You tapped your chin, dragging out your words just to watch Sebastian sweat. "Well, there’s his arms, his legs—oh, and a little patch right here." You poked the center of his belly, where a few stray hairs stubbornly remained.

Sebastian flinched. "Stop pointing it out!"

Ominis smirked. "Oh, this is fantastic." He turned slightly toward you. "Do you need any help?"

Sebastian gasped, jerking away from both of you like you’d just threatened to shave his head. "You wouldn’t dare."

Ominis sighed dramatically. "I’d never lay a hand on you." His lips curled in amusement. "But I will supervise."

Your grin widened. "Oh, you’re more than welcome to stay, Gaunt. We could use a judge for the results."

Sebastian groaned, covering his face with one hand. "I hate both of you."

Ominis simply smiled. "Yes, yes. Now hurry up. I want to hear him scream some more."

[lovely-parasite-04]

Iced Coffee, Detective?

Agnes!Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Prologue

Part 1

SUMMARY: Y/N makes it to Agatha's house expecting an hour or two of entertainment and instead finds herself in more "trouble" than she prepared for.

WARNINGS: Mention of a gun, Agatha being Agatha

NOTE: This was a long time coming, lol. I got a lot more interaction than expected, and I was so excited! However, for the longest time I didn't know where to take my little blurb and had this part halfway finished just collecting dust. I also was feeling partially guilty for picking this back up when I have scholarship essays to write but heehee oh well that will happen when it happens. ANYWAY I hope you enjoy and if you have thoughts, feel free to share :)

Walking through the neighborhood to get to Agatha's house, I made it a point to avoid looking at the plot of land Wanda Maximoff had decided to take over during her time here. There was no longer a house there, and the concrete foundation that was left had graffiti all over it. I think it's the first of anything I have seen vandalized in Westview. Despite the words overlapping and being hastily spray painted onto the small structure, I didn't need to know what it was all about; there was nothing nice written in all that mess about the Scarlet Witch or her actions in Westview.

Agatha's lovely house was to the right.

  It was a very cozy house on the outside, with beautifully green bushes almost blocking the front windows and what looked like the outside of a bay window to the left of the door. Overall the property looked shockingly plain to hold someone so...not plain. Who knows what I would find on the inside.

  What was I even doing here, anyway? I don't have to be here. There was absolutely no obligation to follow through with Agatha's summoning. She would have forgotten about it soon enough. But now I'm in front of her door after my shift to...what? To be questioned about someone - who I'm certain is imaginary - I lied about knowing? To entertain Agatha and then in turn myself? To maybe get a little insight on this curse of hers? To see her play "bad cop" with no "good cop" to save me?

  Jesus, just knock on the door.

  I raised my hand, shaking my loud-ass thoughts away and deciding to wing it. Suddenly the door swings open and I almost "assault an officer." Agatha catches my fist before it lands in her face, "Woah! Watch out there, kid." Her hair was still up but a little rattier like she'd just been napping - if her clothes were anything to go by. A Star Trek T-shirt that's two sizes two big, velvet sweatpants, and purple fuzzy socks.

  I couldn't help a giggle escape me and I blurted out, "Did you just wake up?"

  "You were supposed to call before you came in. I could have been out following a lead, or in a meeting."

  "Oh, lucky timing I guess." Right. Stick to the script. Even if you don't have a copy of said "script" for yourself. This would be an actor's worst nightmare.

  I have to clear my throat to remind her she's still got my wrist held above my head, and then I swallow at the thought.

  "Seriously though, the door is glass. You didn't need to knock." She drops my wrist and immediately turns on her heel into her house - I swear I see her start to yawn, but then maybe being under the spell is exhausting. I know after the town was liberated, I stayed in my bed for days just recovering. The door was definitely not glass, so she must have heard me pull into her driveway and watched me through the window. At least now I have a little clue to what she thinks her "prescient" looks like. An office with a glass door. Neat.

  I mentally smack myself knowing now that she watched me stare at her door for so long. I can't be embarrassed for too long though, because entering Agatha's house was like entering a new world - and not one I expected. The dark wood and light green walls gave an earthy cozy feel to the living room and the sofa looked old and comfy. I catch sight of a wall covered in random pictures of grass and flowers with red yarn connecting them every-which-way. Agatha pulls a funky looking arm chair up to her coffee table, gesturing for me to sit on the sofa. I comply - I was right about the couch - and I notice the head of a garden hose lying on the table in front of me.

  "Sorry," Agatha takes it and puts it into the side of her pants? "There shouldn't be any need for that, right?"

  No way that's what she's using for a gun.

  "Um...no, ma'am."

  "Great. Goooood." She smacks her lips and pulls a Manila folder out of nowhere, switching it between her hands almost to taunt me. Her eyes haven't left me since I arrived. "We'll get to this in a second. First, tell me about how you knew the girl."

  Uh-oh.

  My hands were suddenly damp and I did my best to rub them off on my own pants, looking around as if that'd give me a clue to what my relationship was with this fake victim. Then I remembered the pictures of flowers on the wall. "I-We were gardeners. Together. We gardened together...all the time."

  Agatha's eyes squinted and her lips pursed, "Interesting." That was the worst lying I had ever done, but how could she not believe me? Wouldn't her mind just make something up to go with her narrative anyway? "How did you two meet? Garden club?"

  "Sure."

  "Oh really? And who else was in this club? Probably a bunch of other old ladies."

  "Woah. Rude."

  "Moving on." She suddenly stands and drops the file she had in her hands and I choke on air as she bends over to pick it up. The velvet sweatpants she's wearing have the word "Naughty," bedazzled on the butt. This is definitely entertaining. If someone knocked me out right now and woke me back up to tell me I dreamed all of this, I'd believe them. She whips back around and offers the file to me, "Let's take a look at this file, huh? Sound like fun?"

  Fun. For sure.

  I take the file from her hand, now unable to take the image of her bedazzled ass out of my mind, while she circles the couch and leans over my shoulder. I'm perfectly still as I feel her cheek a hair away from mine. I can smell her shampoo, I think. It's mostly a clean smell with a small floral hint to it.

  Great. Now I'm taking in the notes of her scent. I can't fall for the town hero/cook/ancient witch. What would that make me? The idiot? Definitely some sort of idiot. Then it hits me that she is unfortunately exactly my type: older, brunette, and a little deranged. I'm toast.

  "Go ahead." She whispers in my ear. Dear god. "No need to be scared. There's nothing in there you can't handle."

  Taking a deep breath, mainly to slow down my now rapid heartbeat, I open the file. Inside are some bills addressed to someone named Ralph Bohner - tragic last name - and a couple blank papers. I pretend to take it in but have no idea where to go from here, so I look back at Agatha. Big mistake. Her mouth is now a hair away from my mouth.

  My neck nearly breaks from how far and fast my head shoots back, and I guess Agatha thinks she startled me because she chuckles before standing straight again. "Just as I thought..." What? What does that mean?

She comes around the couch and her hands are shaped into finger-guns with her two index fingers pressed against her lips in a thoughtful manner. Until she's leaning over me, her arms supporting her weight against the back of the couch on either side of my head. Her face is centimeters away from mine. I know I'm blushing but I'm praying to whatever's out there that she can't see the red under that spell of hers. She cranes her neck past my face to be right by my ear again and whispers, "I know it was you."

Huh?!

  "I don't-"

  "Pretty interesting reaction you had to my file there...only a guilty killer would act that way when faced with the cold. Hard. Truth." She yells the last part and I knock my head into her arm trying to lean away from it. Pushing herself back up straight, she looks down her nose at me and gives half a chuckle and god do I have butterflies right now?! "I'm afraid I'm gonna be taking you in now."

  Taking me in? What does that mean for her? What will that mean for me? I've been found guilty? For a crime that doesn't even exist by a cop that's not even a cop. This has gone too far. I need to get out of here. I'll make it out of here and go home and never mess with the town cook again. I can't get tangled in this - what am I meant to do?

  I slowly start to scooch to the edge of the couch with my hands up in surrender. "Aw man, that sucks. Well listen, Ms Harkness - Detective! Sorry, Detective Harkness. I..I have homework that is due tonight and damn look at the time. It's been fun-" Making the most coherent excuses I can think of knowing damn well she's only gonna hear what she wants to, I slowly stand and begin to back away when her own hands shoot up. Before I can do anything at all, red fuzzy handcuffs are around both my wrists. I choke on air while Agatha stands there completely serious. I really hope these are meant to be regular handcuffs and don't belong to her. I don't think I could handle it otherwise.

  "You're not going anywhere, toots."

  Now I'm really toast.

-----------------

[xlettex]

Indelible || osamu miya Tattoo Artist Au - Oneshot

You deal in flowers, fleeting and delicate. He deals in ink, bold and lasting. You should’ve known better than to let Osamu Miya linger, but he always had a way of getting what he wanted. And now? He’s got you right where he wants you—under his hands, under his needle, and marked in a way you’ll never forget.

pairing - osamu miya x reader genre - romance-ish, erotica/smut rating - 18+ MINORS DNI chapter word count - 4.0k content warning - slight dirty talk, oral (receiving), fingering, praise, overstimulation

The space smelled like warm amber and sunshine, petals carrying the heady fragrance of summer in full bloom. Even with boxes still unpacked and stray leaves littering the floor, your little flower shop felt alive—vibrant with the hum of something fresh and new. It should have been peaceful.

But then he walked in. 

Osamu Miya leaned against the doorway as he had nowhere else to be, arms crossed, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. The sharp scent of ink and faint traces of smoke clung to him, a stark contrast to the soft florals that surrounded you. His presence alone shifted the air—made it heavier, warmer, and harder to ignore.

And the worst part?

You could already feel yourself leaning into it.

Osamu Miya was a problem.

A problem with broad shoulders, ink-stained hands, and a way of slipping into spaces that weren’t his.

His tattoo studio, Kitsune Ink, sat just next door, and from the moment you moved in, it seemed like he had made it his personal mission to hover. You’d barely been here three weeks, yet somehow, he had already woven himself into the fabric of your routine.

He showed up almost every day. And somehow, you’d gotten used to it. The most frustrating part? He knew it.

“Ya know,” he drawled, stepping fully into your shop as if he belonged there, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone struggle this much with a shelving unit before.”

You sighed through your nose, glancing down at the half-assembled wooden shelves sitting in a pathetic pile near the window. The instruction booklet crinkled in your fist, a silent admission of defeat.

“It’s not that bad.”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, the sound deep and warm, and yet entirely mocking. “Sweetheart, the instructions are still in your hand, and ya look like ya wanna fight ‘em.”

Your glare was half-hearted at best, and Osamu—predictably—did not look even slightly deterred. Instead, he just shook his head, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie before crouching down beside the mess of wood and screws.

You hadn’t asked him to help. You never did. But that never stopped him. First, it was fixing a wobbly table. Then, it was carrying in heavy bags of soil without a word, only tossing you a glance like it was obvious he’d do it. Now, it was the shelves.

Three weeks. 

Three weeks of stolen glances, of his steady hands, brushing yours as he passed you tools, of ink-stained fingers grazing your wrist in passing. Three weeks of his scent— smoke, leather, sandalwood, something unmistakably him—lingering in your space long after he left. 

You knew this game. You just didn’t know who was going to fold first.

“Why do you keep helping me?” you asked, arms crossed as you watched him make quick work of the shelving.

He didn’t answer right away. He was focused, dark brows drawn together slightly as he secured the base, testing its stability before reaching for another screw.

"Dunno. Maybe I just like watchin’ ya get all frustrated."

He smirked, slow and lazy, his gaze dragging over you from head to toe—a deliberate, unhurried once-over that made your skin prickle with awareness.

Then, just as easily, he looked away. Like he hadn’t done a damn thing. Like he hadn’t just set your nerves on fire.

Your stomach flipped.

Not at his words—no, those were typical, he meant to poke, to tease—but at the way his voice had softened. At how easy it felt to have him here, kneeling in your shop like he fit there, like he fit with you.

You scoffed, reaching blindly for the nearest thing you could grab—a handful of delicate petals from a bouquet resting on the counter—and tossing them at him.

He barely flinched.

The petals fluttered down onto his shoulders, catching in the folds of his hoodie. And instead of brushing them away, he simply tilted his head back to look at you.

Grinning. Sharp. Knowing.

Something tight curled in your chest. The air between you felt charged, expectant, like you were waiting for something—

Or like he was waiting for you to give in first.

But you wouldn’t. Not yet.

So you turned back to your work, ignoring the way his presence still lingered.

A few days passed.

And, just like before, Osamu kept showing up. Every day, without fail.

Sometimes he found an excuse—a crooked sign, a shelf that suddenly needed adjusting. Other times, he didn’t bother with one at all.

And you? 

​​You started waiting.

Not on purpose. Not at first. But when the door stayed closed too long, when the shop felt too quiet, you found yourself listening for the chime. Expecting him.

Today was no different, the shop was bathed in golden afternoon light and the air was thick with the scent of fresh blooms. Your fingers worked carefully, arranging stems into a bouquet—soft pink peonies, delicate baby’s breath, sprigs of eucalyptus. Each piece tucked in with purpose, in perfect harmony.

The task was familiar, something steady to lose yourself in. Until–

The door chime jingled.

You didn’t need to look up.

You already knew who it was.

“You know,” you said without missing a beat, voice laced with dry amusement, “for someone who’s supposed to be a super busy tattoo artist, you sure spend a lot of time here.”

Osamu smirked, entirely unbothered as he strolled in, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Like always, he walked in without hesitation, as if the space were already his.

And maybe, in some ways, it was.

“Strange, huh?” he mused, gaze flicking over the shop like he was only now realizing how often he found himself here. Then, with that signature, lazy grin, he added, “Maybe I just like the view.”

Your fingers fumbled slightly with the ribbon, the slip small enough that most people wouldn’t notice. 

Osamu wasn’t most people.

But you covered it quickly, exhaling an exaggerated sigh. “Flirting with the florist now? Didn’t take you for the type.”

He leaned against the counter, tilting his head as his grin stretched wider. “Maybe ’m just tryna get a discount.”

You scoffed. “You don’t even like flowers.”

“True,” he admitted easily. “But ya like talkin’ to me, so I figure that’s a fair trade.”

Your jaw clenched. Heat licked at the edges of your skin—annoyance, you told yourself. Just annoyance. You focused on tying the ribbon, refusing to meet his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He hummed, something close to amusement laced in his tone. “Yeah? And what’s that say about you, sweetheart?”

You stiffened as his voice dipped lower, smooth and measured like he was testing something.

“Not once,” he murmured, “have ya told me to stop comin’ around.”

Your hands paused. Damn him. You opened your mouth—because of course you were going to argue—but then—

A sudden gust of wind rushed through the shop, sweeping in without warning.

The chime above the door rattled against the frame, petals stirred from the counter, and the silk ribbon you had been tying fluttered between your fingers. A warm breeze wrapped around you, tousling strands of your hair, brushing against the bare skin of your arms—

And then—

Your skirt lifted. Just for a second—just enough.

The hem fluttered, the soft fabric riding up a little higher along your thighs before settling again.

His gaze dropped.

Slow. Intentional.

His smirk stilled, his brows lifting just slightly as the fabric lifted—baring a little more of your thigh before it slipped back into place. And then, just as slowly, his gaze dragged back up—

Measured. Unhurried.

Taking in everything—the smooth stretch of your skin, the way the sunlight kissed the bare expanse of your legs, the delicate curve of your hip where your skirt had briefly ridden up.

And then—it hit him.

His smirk twitched, almost thoughtful. He tilted his head, his eyes lingering, searching— Like he was expecting something. Like he was looking for something. And not finding it.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the lack of dark lines. Then, voice low, teasing, edged with something just a little more real than before, he murmured—

“Wait a minute.”

The teasing lilt in his tone was there, but beneath it, there was something else. Something real.

His gaze flicked over your bare arms, the delicate curve of your shoulders, then lower—down the line of your thigh where the warm glow of the afternoon sun kissed exposed skin.

And that’s when it clicked. Something flickered behind his gaze.

“You don’t have a tattoo, do ya?”

His voice had dropped, a little quieter now.

Not mocking. Just curious.

Your stomach flipped. Your fingers twitched around the bouquet ribbon, and for some stupid reason, you suddenly felt bare in a way that had nothing to do with the heat.

“What does that have to do with—”

“Holy shit.”

He grinned, really grinned like he’d just discovered something mischievous and fun.

You lifted your chin stubbornly, crossing your arms. “Not all of us like defacing our skin, Miya.”

“Deface?” His voice dipped low, smooth as ink. Dangerous. “That’s a bit harsh, ain’t it?”

You scoffed, but he wasn’t letting up.

“What, ya scared?”

Your fingers tensed. “I am not scared.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower—teasing, challenging. “Mm. Sounds like somethin’ someone scared would say.”

Your glare was immediate, but he just chuckled, straightening up.

“Ain’t a big deal, sweetheart. Just funny, is all.” He gestured vaguely toward his own ink-stained skin, the sharp lines that curled up his forearms and peeked from beneath his sleeves. “You own a shop full of flowers that’ll wilt in a week, but ya won’t let somethin’ permanent sit on your skin?”

You hesitated.

You’d never thought about it that way.

Noticing your silence, he seized his opportunity, nodding toward the black ink marking his own arms.

“Think of it like this,” he murmured, “flowers die.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking between your face and your bare wrist.

“Ink stays.”

Your teeth grazed your bottom lip. You hated that that actually made sense. Still, you lifted a brow. “Aren’t you fully booked?”

His grin softened, just a little—something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low, warm.

And then, slowly, too casually, he reached forward, brushing a loose petal from your wrist with deliberate slowness, his fingers barely grazing your skin. They should have lifted away. Should have left no trace.

But they lingered. For just a second too long. Warmth spread through you, up your arm, into your pulse, curling deep in your chest.

“For you,” he murmured, tilting his head just slightly—just enough for you to catch the amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’ll make room.”

The air between you too thickened.

A pause. 

Long enough for your breath to feel too shallow, for your pulse to quicken just slightly beneath his lingering fingers. And then—

He leaned in just a little more. Not much. Just enough for you to feel it—the shift, the space between you shrinking, stretching something taut between you.

His voice dipped, smooth, lazy, and entirely devastating.

“So…”

He tilted his head, his smirk downright sinful now.

“…you gonna let me mark ya up, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched.

And Osamu?

Yeah. He noticed.

You should have said no. Should have walked away before this went too far. Before he did exactly what he’d been waiting to do all along.

But you didn’t. And the next thing you knew—

You were in the back room of Osamu Miya’s tattoo shop. 

The scent of disinfectant and ink replaced the soft florals of your shop, the steady buzz of a tattoo machine in the next room filling the space between you. Everything about Kitsune Ink felt different—sharper, heavier, a stark contrast to the delicate beauty of your world. Dark walls, bold artwork, and the faint scent of something deep and earthy clinging to the air. 

Osamu fit here. Too well.

You were sitting in his chair, his gaze flickering over you like he was figuring something out.

“Still got time to back out, y’know,” he mused, one brow lifted as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with that same lazy confidence that had gotten you here in the first place.

You stiffened. “I didn’t come here to back out.”

“Mm.” He didn’t look convinced.

You exhaled sharply, fingers curling against the chair. “I want a flower.”

He hummed, tilting his head slightly. “Predictable.”

His smirk was slow, knowing, and when he spoke again, his voice dipped—low, smooth, just shy of mocking. “If that’s what ya want.”

A pause.

Then, his gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate. “So, where’s it goin’, sweetheart?”

Your breath caught, pulse fluttering in your throat. And then—

Before you could second-guess yourself before you could stop the words from leaving your mouth—

“My hip.”

A beat of silence.

Then—something shifted. His smirk deepened, slow and knowing, and for a moment, he just looked at you. Like he was making sure he heard you right. Like he was waiting for you to take it back. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“…Yer hip, huh?” His voice was low, a little rougher around the edges.

You swallowed, gripping the arms of the chair just a little too tightly. “Yeah.”

His smirk twitched.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

“Good choice,” he murmured, flicking a switch on the tattoo machine, the soft buzz filling the space between you. The soft buzz filled the space between you.

Your breath stalled. Before, it had just been an idea—a teasing exchange that you could still walk away from. But now, with that unmistakable hum vibrating through the air, it was real.

He noticed.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. Didn’t tease. Instead, he let the machine run, his fingers adjusting the settings with practiced ease—giving you just enough time to sit with it.

Letting you feel the weight of the moment.

And then, slowly, too casually, he took a step closer, then another—until he was close enough for the scent of his cologne to wrap around you until your thighs brushed his jeans when he sat down beside you.

“Skirt’s gotta come up.”

Your breath hitched.

The words were so simple, so damn smug, and yet your pulse jumped anyway.

But you refused to react. Refused to let him win.

Lifting your chin, you reached for the hem of your skirt—slow, deliberate—pulling it up just enough to reveal the front of your hip, the soft dip where skin met the waistband.

The lace of your panties peeked out just slightly, delicate against your skin—barely there, but enough.

Osamu didn’t move. Didn’t say a word.

But his gaze flickered down—just for a second—before settling back on your face, and you swore you saw something darker behind his smirk. 

Something insatiable.  Something barely restrained. Like he’d been waiting for this—aching for it. Something that made your fingers curl against the leather seat. And then—before you could process it before you could stop him—

His hands brushed against your waist.

Soft. Deliberate.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat.

He didn’t press, didn’t tighten his grip—just let his fingers rest against your skin, just barely there, warm and steady, as if testing you. His thumb skimmed just above your hipbone, tracing the spot where ink would soon meet skin.

You were sure he could feel the way your breath shallowed, the way your pulse jumped beneath his touch.

His smirk curled at the edges, a little too smug, a little too pleased. His fingers slid just a bit higher, dancing along the sensitive skin of your lower belly. Your muscles twitched under his touch, goosebumps rising in their wake.

"Relax," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Yer so tense"

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your neck. "Though..." His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. "I can think of a few other ways to help ya...loosen up."

His hand drifted lower, teasing the edge of your skirt. Your breath hitched, anticipation coiling tight in your core.

"You're playing with fire, Miya," you warned, but your voice came out breathy, wanton.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin. "Ain't afraid of the heat, sweetheart."

He nipped at your jaw, teeth grazing just enough to sting, before soothing the spot with his tongue. His fingers inched higher, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt, tracing slow, deliberate circles against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Ya gonna stop me?" His voice was low, thick with challenge, his gaze half-lidded, full of promise.

Your heart pounded, heat pooling deep between your legs. You should tell him to slow down, to think this through. But the words caught in your throat—lost to the pleasure of his touch.

His hand slid higher, higher—until his fingers slipped into your panties, pressing against your slick folds.

A soft moan spilled from your lips, your hips canting into his touch, chasing more.

"That’s it," he purred, teasing, approving, circling your clit with maddening slowness.

His lips found your neck, trailing kisses, biting and sucking a path down to your collarbone. His other hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers grazing over your breast before cupping it fully—kneading, testing, claiming.

You arched into him, lost to sensation, lost to him.

"Osamu," you gasped, barely recognizing your own voice. "We shouldn’t..."

But the rest of the protest melted into a whimper as he pinched your nipple between his fingers, rolling it just enough to make you shudder.

"Shhh."

His tongue flicked over the sensitive peak, laving the sting with warm, wet heat.

"Let me make ya feel good."

His fingers picked up speed, rubbing tight, devastating circles over your clit.

Your hips rocked into him, desperate for more, for anything. "Oh god," you panted, head falling back against the chair. "Yes, right there..."

He chuckled against your skin, the sound low, knowing, sinful. "Knew you’d like that."

Then—two fingers, pushing inside you, stretching you open with a slow, delicious drag. His thumb never left your clit, pressing, circling, teasing as his fingers curled, finding the spot that made you gasp, arch, and tremble.

"Fuck, yer perfect," he murmured, voice thick with praise, with intent. His fingers thrust deep, matching the pace of his thumb, building you up, pushing you higher.

"Come for me, baby."

Your climax hit like a tidal wave—crashing, overwhelming, sending pleasure rippling through you. Your fingers scrambled for purchase, grasping at the chair, at him, at anything to keep you grounded.

He worked you through it, prolonging every pulse, every aftershock, dragging out your pleasure until you had nothing left to give. Finally, slowly, you drifted back down, boneless, sated, ruined.

He pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

"There now." His tone was smug and teasing, but laced with warmth. "Feelin’ more relaxed?"

You hummed, a lazy smile playing on your lips. "Much."

He grinned, his eyes dark with promise. "’m just getting started."

He leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his breath warm against your skin. "And remember," he murmured, voice low and rough, "you gotta be quiet for me, sweetheart."

His teeth nipped at your earlobe, just enough to make you gasp. "Can’t have anyone hearing us, now can we?"

A shiver ran through you, heat pooling low in your belly at the filthy thrill of it. You nodded, biting your lip to hold back any sounds.

He smirked, clearly pleased. His hands trailed down your body, fingertips grazing overheated skin, leaving fire in their wake. He traced the curve of your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist, his dark gaze locked onto you—watching, waiting.

Your breath hitched as he hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them down your legs with a slow, deliberate drag. The cool air against your heated flesh made you shudder.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice thick with want. His fingers slid through your slick folds, teasing, exploring, making you squirm.

"Still so wet." His lips curled into a smirk. "Fingering you wasn’t enough, huh? You need more."

A whimper escaped you, humiliation and arousal twisting together, your cheeks flushing hot. "Please, Osamu," you whispered, needing more, needing him.

He chuckled darkly, dragging the pad of his finger in slow, lazy circles over your clit. "Please what?" His tone was infuriatingly smug. "You want me to fuck you with my fingers again?" A sharp, teasing press against your clit."Or maybe with my tongue?"

You moaned softly, hips jerking up toward him, seeking more, needing more. "Either. Both. I don’t care, just—please."

He stilled for just a second, his smirk deepening. "Been picturing this since the day I walked into that damn flower shop."

The confession sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, a delicious kind of ruin settling in your bones. And then—

He sank to his knees, pushing your legs further apart, spreading you open just the way he wanted. A feather-light kiss, barely there. Then another. Higher. Then another—slower, teasing, deliberate. Higher.

Until—

“Oh!" Your cry spilled out before you could stop it, a sharp gasp as Osamu’s tongue delved into your heat, dragging long, slow strokes through your slick folds.

Your hands flew to his head, fingers tangling desperately in his hair, holding him there, keeping him pressed against you.

He groaned against your core, the deep vibration sending shockwaves through your body. His tongue flicked lazily over your clit before circling it with teasing precision, drawing out a shuddering gasp from your lips.

"Quiet," he murmured against you, pulling back just enough for his breath to brush your soaked skin. "Or do ya want everyone to hear what a little slut you are?"

A broken whimper escaped you before you bit down on your lip, nodding shakily.

He chuckled darkly—low, smug, knowing. And then he dove back in.

His tongue worked you over like he had all the time in the world, alternating between long, slow licks that made your thighs tremble and sharp, precise flicks that had your spine arching off the chair.

It was too much and not enough, all at once. Your thoughts blurred, words dissolving as your body moved instinctively, your hips rolling, chasing the friction his mouth offered.

He let you.

Let you grind against him shamelessly, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you spread open for him—for his tongue, his mouth, his relentless pace.

You were gone. Completely undone. It wasn’t long before you felt it—the sharp, unmistakable coil of pleasure tightening deep in your belly.

"Osamu—" you panted, voice wrecked, breathless.

"I'm gonna—"

But he already knew. He felt it in the way your thighs tensed, in the way your walls clenched around nothing, in the desperate way you tried to press closer as if you could sink into him completely.

He hummed against you, the sensation pushing you right to the edge. Then—a final, devastating suck on your clit.

Your body snapped, pleasure crashing through you in a wave so intense it left you breathless.

He held you down, his tongue never relenting, never slowing, dragging out every last tremor, every last aftershock, until you were left shaking, boneless, ruined. He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His lips still glistening with your release

"Mm.” His voice was low, rough, dangerous. His eyes—blown dark with lust—dragged over you like he was already thinking about the next time.

"You taste so fucking good." He let the words roll off his tongue, slow, savoring. "Could eat you out for hours."

A fresh wave of heat flooded through you. Your body still hummed, oversensitive, tingling from the aftershocks of your release. You barely had time to catch your breath before he straightened, running a lazy hand through his hair.

"Now," he said, his voice back to normal, like he hadn’t just wrecked you. "I believe I owe you a tattoo."

You blinked up at him, dazed, boneless, your mind still too foggy to process what he’d just said.

He chuckled, amused at your expression, before gripping your chin between his fingers and pressing a quick, possessive kiss to your lips.

By the time you registered the warmth of his mouth, he was already reaching for the tattoo machine—the sound of which had never stopped buzzing in the background, masking the sounds of your pleasure.