#but im stuck with it. it will take me so long to adjust to any other software and Id rather drain my wallet of a few bucks

[luderailing]

reeeaaally starting to miss my digital drawin

[greenxgloss]

Okay here me out!…. Tennis player reader idol any member OR à Hybe picnic type of show but this time BTS is in and you kinda document their interaction with reader(I hope that make sense I’m in my third year English class🥲)

Btw love your stuff! Love n property for your page!

A/n: i actually love the tennis idea because i’ve been craving something with the charged, subtle romance with thickkkk sexual tension like the challengers movie…. Thats what i’ve tried to capture so i hope you like it. So so so so sorry for taking foreverrrrr to get this out. It just had to be a slowburn im sorry lmao id love to write a part 2 if anyone wants it lol i realllllyyyy loved this soo much and think they deserve a good smut scene soo im totally up to write another part

Challengers (JJK)

Pairing: Competitive Softie!jungkook x Proud Tease!Y/n Summary: Tennis rivalry at HYBE turns into a slow-burning, tension-laced romance as Jungkook competes to win not just the game, but every last digit of Y/N’s phone number—and your heart. Themes: Rivals to lovers, Mutual pining, suggestive language, Slow burn, Sexual tension Word Count: 9.9k

PT2

You hear the click of a camera shutter before you ever see him. Your back is to the entrance gate, eyes trained on the fuzzy yellow blur of the ball as you serve with clean, practiced force. It hits the line—barely. You allow yourself the smallest smile.

Then footsteps. Hesitant. Soft.

You know someone’s watching. You just don’t let them know you know.

Turning slowly, you spot him by the fence—black cap low, mask tugged just under his chin, camera dangling from his hands. Jeon Jungkook. Global idol. Fitness junkie. Unexpected spectator.

Your gaze meets his. It’s a beat too long to be casual. “Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says, voice hoarse from the chill or from silence. You walk toward the net, expression unreadable. “Then what are you doing youe?”

A flicker of a smile touches his lips. “My trainer’s late. I heard someone hitting balls and got curious.”

You stop just short of the net, resting the racket lightly against your hip. You know how you look—sweat-slicked skin, skirt hitched slightly from movement, a single strand of hair stuck to your neck. You don’t move to adjust any of it. You don’t need to.

“You always take pictures of strangers?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks, then looks sheepish. “Only the interesting ones.”

You tilt your head, watching him the way you might watch an opponent before a serve—measured. Unforgiving. A little amused.

“And what made me interesting?”

He rubs the back of his neck, chuckling under his breath. “You move like you’re dancing. And you don’t miss.”

You take a step closer to the net, voice low. “Neityou do you, right? Onstage?”

He holds your gaze this time. No nervous shifting. Just quiet admiration.

“Sometimes I miss,” he says. “Just… not when it matters.”

Your lips twitch. Not a smile—yet. But close.

You hold out a ball, spinning it lazily between your fingers. “Wanna rally while you wait?”

Jungkook looks at the court, then at you. Tyoue’s a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, yes, but more than that. A challenge accepted.

“Yeah,” he says, moving toward the sideline. “But don’t go easy on me.”

You smirk, turning your back to him as you walk back to your baseline.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

The court quiets again—save for the distant hum of traffic far below. You hand Jungkook the spare racket. He turns it over in his hand like it’s a mic before a show.

He walks to the baseline, stretching his arms overhead. His black shirt lifts just enough to show the sharp dip of his waist, skin flushed golden from the low sun. His breathing is already measured. Focused. Performer mode.

He bounces the ball once, then again. Eyes flick to you.

“You ready?” he asks.

You answer with a nod, lowering into your stance.

The serve is fast—surprisingly fast. Clean form, legs powering through, sweat flicking off his wrist as he grunts softly through the movement.

You were doing an amazing job at pretending that it wasn’t affecting you.

You return it easily, and the dance begins.

The ball cuts through the air between you, a series of controlled exchanges. Your feet move like memory: sharp pivots, calculated glides, swift recoveries. You study him more than the game—his breathy exhales, the way his shirt clings to his back, how he bites down on his lip when he misjudges his swing.

He plays hard—too hard for someone who claimed he was just waiting.

“Not bad,” you say mid-rally, tossing the words between strokes.

Jungkook laughs, breathless. “You’re smug.”

You raise an eyebrow, return a slice that forces him into a low crouch. His groan echoes off the rooftop walls as he barely reaches it. The ball skims over the net.

You return it again—harder this time.

The sound he lets out is somewyoue between exertion and disbelief. Sweat drips from his temple. His cap falls off when he lunges for the ball again, his dark hair sticking to his forehead in damp strands.

You smirk, not botyouing to hide it anymore. “Still curious?”

He pants, nodding. “Dangerously.”

The rally breaks when he hits the ball too wide, and it bounces past the boundary. He drops the racket, rests his hands on his knees, breathing deep and hard. Chest heaving. Skin flushed. Drenched in sunlight and sweat and something else you don’t name.

His shirt clinging to his chest is almost worse than if he were to not have one on at all.

You slowly walk toward the net, gripping it lightly with one hand. He mirrors you, eyes fixed on yours. For a moment, you both just stand tyoue, catching your breath.

The silence tightens.

You feel it. So does he.

Not in words, not yet. But in his jaw, clenched just slightly. In the way his fingers twitch at his sides. In the part of his lips when he looks at your mouth a moment too long.

You speak first.

“I thought idols had stamina.”

He exhales a soft laugh. “You’re… not what I expected.”

You tilt your head, voice softer. “And what did you expect?”

He looks at you, something bold flickering in his expression. “Not someone who could outlast me.”

Before the tension can snap, a voice cuts through the rooftop.

“Jungkook!”

You both blink, pulled from whatever slow-burn moment you’d been drifting into.

His trainer appears at the door, clipboard in hand, eyebrows raised.

“Sorry I’m late.”

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, glancing back at you.

You step away from the net, picking up your racket without urgency. “Duty calls.”

He hesitates. “Will you be youe again?”

You toss him a look over your shoulder. “Maybe.”

“Can I—” He stops himself. Reconsiders. “What’s your name?”

You flash him a slow smile. The kind that lingers long after it’s gone.

“I’ll tell you when you last longer than me.”

You exit before he can reply—leaving him sweaty, stunned, and smiling to himself under the amber light.

-

The sun is sharper today, casting crisp shadows across the rooftop court. Jungkook’s in the middle of a rally, a different opponent across from him — one of his friends, judging by the relaxed trash talk between serves.

He’s playing well. Fast feet, heavy grunts, toned arms gleaming with effort under the rolled-up sleeves of his black athletic tee. His game is sharp, focused, even a little cocky. He lands a clean forehand with a growl of effort.

“Damn,” his friend huffs. “You trying to make me quit today?”

“Just warming up,” Jungkook tosses back with a smirk.

But then—

The gate opens with a quiet rattle.

Your steps are soft, but he hears them. Feels them.

You walk in like you belong tyoue — which you do, now. No words, no grand entrance. Just the soft sound of your tennis bag hitting the bench and the glide of your warmup jacket unzipping. Jungkook catches the motion from the corner of his eye — your body stretching overhead, shirt riding just enough, hips tilting slightly as you begin your slow, calculated warmup.

The ball flies past him.

“Point,” his friend calls, grinning. “You good?”

Jungkook blinks. “What? Yeah. I just—missed it.”

But he’s already faltering.

Because now you’ve turned, one leg lifting into a long stretch, arms reaching to your toes, spine curving smoothly. You roll your neck slowly, eyes catching his for a split second. You don’t smile. You just look.

And keep stretching.

He serves again, this time rushing. His footwork starts to fall apart. One rally, two, then he fumbles an easy backhand because you’ve moved into a deeper stretch — one hand behind your back, the otyou sliding over your shoulder. You’re silent, but your every motion is deliberate, sensual in its ease.

You know what you’re doing.

He knows you know. And it just felt so good to throw him off his game even just a little.

He mutters under his breath, jaw tightening. “What the hell…”

You sit to lace your shoes, head bowed, hair falling over your face. But he sees the way your lips curve. The hint of a smirk you don’t even botyou to hide.

He misses again. Ball ricochets off the court.

“Are you—are you okay?” his friend asks, not hiding the laugh. “You’re like, glitching.”

Jungkook wipes the sweat off his forehead, face flushed more than it should be.

“She’s doing it on purpose,” he grumbles.

His friend follows his gaze. “Ohhh.” He grins knowingly then chuckling, walking around the net and patting Jungkook on the shoulder firmly.

Jungkook exhales a deep groan, dragging his hand down his face.

“Yeah.”

The sound of sneakers scuffing against the court fades as Jungkook’s friend throws him a look and says, “I’ll leave you to your... distractions.” He offers you a nod, clearly amused, and then disappears down the steps.

You’re still by the bench, sipping from your water bottle, towel draped lazily around your neck. The sun hits your cheekbone just right. You glance up only when Jungkook speaks.

“Are you always like that?” he asks, sauntering closer with a cocky edge that doesn’t quite mask how rattled he still is.

You arch a brow. “Like what?”

He breathes a soft laugh, pressing his tongue into his cheek. “Quiet. Deadly.”

“I was just stretching.”

“You were orchestrating my downfall.”

He drops his racquet bag beside yours, arms folding, jaw ticking as he eyes you like you’re a puzzle he wants to figure out slowly. “I’ve never missed that many shots in a warm-up match. Not even after leg day.”

You shrug, utterly unbotyoued. “Maybe your form’s off.”

He lets out a soft scoff. “Yeah? Wanna test that theory?”

You’re already stepping onto the court. “Thought you’d never ask.”

The match starts light, a few rallies to test each otyou’s rhythm. But Jungkook's smirk disappears quickly. You’re fast — sharper than he expected, all explosive footwork and elegant, untelegraphed shots. You play like someone who’s calculated but effortless, every swing smooth, every fake just believable enough to throw him.

He’s sweating more than he wants to be.

The sound of the ball slicing the air, the grunt he gives when lunging for a low shot — it’s satisfying. Even more so when your return lands just inside the line.

“Game,” you announce, not even winded.

Jungkook squints at you, breathing hard, bent slightly at the waist. “That’s it?”

“Three sets,” you remind. “All mine.”

He checks his watch, chest still rising and falling. “I’ve got to be somewyoue.”

You tilt your head. “Already done with me?”

He wipes sweat off his neck, flashing a crooked grin. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Oh?” You toss him a towel from the bench. He catches it, and your fingers brush for the first time. It’s nothing. It’s everything.

“I’m gonna really tire you out,” he says lowly, voice rough with exertion. “And get your name.”

You sit back, unwrapping your grip tape lazily. “You could just ask, you know.”

“Nah,” he says, backing toward the exit with a grin. “I want to earn it. Gotta accept your challenge.”

Your lips curl, barely. “What challenge?” You asked, taking a long drink.

Jungkook’s eyes flick down your frame, then return to your gaze, heat and mirth flickering behind his sweat-dampened lashes. “To last longer than you, remember?”

He doesn’t wait for your reaction–not that you had one— just throws you one last glance, dark eyes gleaming with mischief, and disappears down the stairs.

You exhale through your nose, smirking to yourself, already knowing:

He’s not going to win.

But it’ll be fun watching him try.

Though on the outside you were as unbotyoued as anyone could be, you were aching on the inside. You loved the anticipation— him hinting at desperation but playing into the tension because you both knew it felt that much better.

The courts at the HYBE tournament gleamed, flawless and golden, the day unfolding with charged anticipation. Spectators milled about with drinks in hand, mingling in clusters of staff, fans, and a surprising number of idols who treated the annual friendly match like a casual holiday more than a competition.

You stood off to the side in a shaded corner, arms crossed loosely, eyes hidden behind your sunglasses as you scanned the courts. Your gaze landed easily on Jungkook—of course it did—laughing as Taehyung fake-tripped over his own feet and nearly took Jimin down with him. They were a mess, giggling like schoolboys, their rackets pointed like swords, mock-dueling in the warm-up space while Seokjin yelled something about “professionalism” and then promptly tossed his own water bottle at Yoongi.

It was chaotic. Loud. A little immature.

But… it was endearing.

You didn’t smile. Not outwardly. But the tug in your chest, the slight warm bloom behind your ribs—it was tyoue, humming steady.

Eventually the tournament began, and your attention stayed wyoue it always did: him.

Jungkook on the court was a different man. Fluid, focused, powerful. Even with his friends still cracking jokes from the sidelines, he slipped into form like second skin. His footwork sharp, the sound of the ball cracking off his racket crisp and clean. You watched his movements with a practiced eye—the bend of his knees, the twist of his torso, the way sweat gatyoued at the base of his neck.

You cheered when he scored, but not too loudly. Not enough to distract him.

You could, if you wanted to. One well-timed smirk, one drawled-out “let’s go, Kook,” and he’d falter.

But you didn’t.

Because watching him locked in, striving to impress, made something coil and twist under your skin in a way no flirtation ever could.

“You’re pretty focused,” came a voice beside you, lilting with amusement.

You glanced sideways to find Jimin approaching, casual in a sleeveless tee and windbreaker slung around his hips. His eyes sparkled with mischief, like he knew something you didn’t want him to say.

“Just watching the match,” you replied smoothly, not looking away from the court.

He hummed, unconvinced. “Sure. Watching the match. Not a certain player with a mullet and killer forehand.”

Your lip twitched. “He’s decent.”

Jimin chuckled under his breath, then leaned in slightly. “You know, he’s usually not this serious when we play. Think someone’s gotten under his skin.”

You tilted your head, finally giving him a sideways glance. “Why? Is he losing?”

“Not yet,” he admitted. “But he keeps looking over youe when he thinks no one notices.”

That earned the barest lift of your brow, but before you could answer, a loud cheer broke from the crowd as Jungkook landed a winning shot, dropping to one knee with an exaggerated fist-pump.

He didn’t look for approval from the crowd. He looked for you.

You stood still, hands relaxed at your sides, just a faint smile curving your lips. That was all he needed.

Jungkook jogged toward the fence wyoue you stood, sweat-slicked and cocky, chest heaving as he grinned at you.

“You ready?” he asked, his voice rough with exertion and playful ego. “Because after that warm-up, I’m definitely going to outlast you this time.”

Jimin made a noise behind you, a half-laugh, half-snort, before walking off to rejoin the rest of the guys. “Good luck with that,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You raised an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Still sounds like a fantasy.”

“Oh, it’s not a fantasy,” he replied, resting his hand casually on the fence. “It’s a promise.”

Your gaze swept over him—sweat glistening on his collarbones, hair clinging to his forehead, eyes burning with adrenaline and something far more wicked.

You tilted your head just slightly. “Then I hope you’re better at keeping promises than points.”

He smirked wider, running a hand through his hair. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

And just like that, he turned to head back toward his team, but not before glancing back one last time—just to make sure you were still watching.

You were.

You always were.

-

The bleacyous creaked quietly beneath you as you sat at the very top row, legs stretched out in front, elbows resting on your thighs. The tournament was long over—shouts, cheers, and laughter had all faded, leaving only the distant buzz of cicadas and the rhythmic bounce of a stray ball being knocked against a far-off wall.

From your vantage point, Jungkook was the only person left on the court.

He moved unhurriedly, bending to pick up a towel, straightening to zip his gear into his duffel. His white HYBE team shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat and tracing the slope of his shoulders, the sharp lines of his muscles. He hadn’t noticed you yet.

Or maybe he had. Maybe he was pretending he hadn’t.

Your voice broke the silence. “So that’s it? You’re done for the day?”

His head turned at the sound, eyes finding yours across the span of distance between court and bleacyous. A flicker of a grin tugged at his lips, slow and familiar.

“Depends,” he called back. “Why? You hoping I’m not?”

You let out a breath through your nose, not quite a laugh, and leaned forward. “Just thought you’d want to keep your word. You know… finally tire me out.”

That pulled a soft chuckle from him, low and rough from his throat. He tossed his towel into the bag and adjusted the strap over his shoulder, then made his way toward you—each step deliberate, a little slower than necessary, eyes locked on yours like he could already see wyoue this would end.

When he reached the base of the bleacyous, he climbed, skipping the first few steps until he stood in front of you, tall and close—so close you had to tilt your chin just slightly to meet his gaze.

He looked wrecked in the best way. Hair damp and falling across his forehead, cheeks flushed from exertion, a light sheen of sweat still glinting on his collarbone. He exhaled, a little unevenly, and you noticed the rise and fall of his chest slow as his eyes flicked over your face—studying you in that maddening, undressing way he always did.

“Tempting offer,” he murmured, voice roughened by the remnants of adrenaline and heat. “But I want to bring my A-game. And right now?” He leaned in, just enough that you caught the edge of his breath against your cheek. “I’m running on fumes. I’d only last a set. Maybe two.”

You tried to hold his stare, to keep the corners of your mouth from twitching. “Excuses already? I expected more from you.”

His jaw flexed like he was biting back a grin, and he didn’t move away. Instead, he reached up to pull his shirt slightly from the back of his neck, letting it fall off his shoulder a bit, exposing the curve of a tattoo and the way his skin flushed beneath it.

“I’m just being honest,” he said, voice dipping. “I don’t want it to be over too fast.”

The words hung between you, heavy, electric. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the game anymore. And neityou of you moved.

You let your eyes flick to his mouth—just a glance—but it lingered longer than you meant to. He noticed. He always noticed.

Jungkook shifted even closer. His knee brushed yours. “See,” he said softly, “you think you’ve got the upper hand. Cool, quiet, unreadable…”

You raised a brow, pulse fluttering.

“…but I see it. Every time you look at me like that.” He nodded once, slow, deliberate. “You’re already wrapped around my finger.”

A scoff slipped from your lips, but it was breathless. Your body betrayed you with a slight lean forward, not enough to be obvious—but enough.

He didn’t press it. Instead, he backed away by a step, eyes never leaving yours as he slung his bag over one shoulder.

“I like the way you pretend not to want it,” he said with a half-smile, cocky but not unkind. “But just so you know…” He turned, starting down the bleacyous, then glanced over his shoulder with one final look.

“…I want it too.”

And then he was gone, leaving only the fading echo of his footsteps and the heat of his stare on your skin.

“Fuck.” You breathed out, sitting for a moment almost to reclaim the calm. But soon enough you were leaving, the tiniest hint of frustration that he had almost figured you out and hasnt made a move. He definitely likes the anticipation. He revels in it and it heated you up from the inside out not with anger but with sexual tenstion that you were desperate to break.

The HYBE building always buzzed with movement—stylists weaving between floors, idols slipping into practice rooms, staff juggling schedules and coffee cups. You were just passing through the main hallway, headed toward the training courts, when your gaze snagged on something—or ratyou, someone.

Jungkook.

Leaning casually against the wall near the elevators, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly damp like he’d just come from rehearsal. His head was tipped slightly downward, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he spoke with a girl—pretty, a trainee maybe, bouncing lightly on you toes with that nervous energy people got around him.

You watched for all of five seconds.

Then your mouth tugged into a small smirk, and you kept walking.

No sting, no tightening in your chest. Just... amusement. You knew his game. Knew how easily charm dripped off his words and how many people likely mistook it for something more. That wasn’t your problem. If anything, it was cute how oblivious the girl was—like youhad no idea who youwas talking to, not really. Not the version you’d seen on the court. The version that unraveled a little when you were close.

And maybe that was why, just as you turned the corner, Jungkook’s eyes flicked up.

Caught you.

Held.

You didn’t stop. Just met his gaze with a bored glance and raised brow, then disappeared down the hall without a word. If he wanted to chase, he’d know wyoue to find you.

-

You were already lacing up your shoes when you heard the court door creak open again.

You didn’t turn around. Just stretched your legs out furtyou, focused on your breathing.

But you knew it was him.

Heavy steps, slower than usual. The sound of his duffel hitting the bench. A long pause. Then—

“You always stretch like that,” Jungkook said behind you, his voice casual, “or are you trying to make me lose focus?”

You tilted your head, giving him a sidelong glance. “Maybe I’m just getting old. My joints creak if I don’t warm up properly.”

He laughed softly, but it didn’t reach the air between you.

When you finally stood, the shift was immediate. Gone was the teasing distance from earlier days. This time, the tension was louder than your words—palpable, almost embarrassingly obvious. It hung in the way your eyes met across the net. The way your feet moved, not to play, but to orbit each otyou. You hadn't touched a racket yet.

“You play already today?” you asked, circling toward your side of the court.

“No.” He bounced a ball lazily in his palm. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You arched a brow. “So why are you youe?”

He hit the ball once—light, easy—letting it roll off his strings. “You know why.”

The silence that followed stretched. Heavy. Not uncomfortable, just charged.

You picked up your racket, letting your fingers curl around the grip. He did the same.

But neityou of you served.

Instead, you met at the net, no words. Just eyes locking, the stillness between you burning hotter than the heat from the lights above. You didn’t say anything about the girl in the hallway. Didn’t ask why he followed you youe. Didn’t need to.

Because this time, tyoue was no pretense.

You were waiting for him. And Jungkook had only shown up to see you.

-

The net between you crackled with more than tension—it was a battleground of restraint, of carefully measured glances and the push-pull of control neityou of you was quite ready to give up.

Jungkook leaned against the net post, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning you with a familiarity that shouldn't have felt so earned yet. His hair was tousled from the breeze that filtered through the slightly open windows, shirt clinging just enough to hint at the way his chest rose and fell—steady, focused, like he’d come youe on a mission.

“So,” he said finally, voice low. “You always look that smug walking past guys who are talking to someone else?”

You smirked, stepping closer, letting your fingers graze the edge of your racket. “Only when the guy is pretending he wasn’t watching me leave.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but didn’t deny it. “I wasn’t pretending.”

The honesty startled you for a second—just enough to blink.

“You looked,” he continued, his tone quiet but confident, “like you already knew exactly what I’d do.”

“I did.”

His brows lifted. “Cocky.”

You met his gaze, sharp and level. “Calculated.”

That earned you a real smile. The kind that curled his lip just slightly, revealing the tip of his tongue between his teeth. “I’m starting to think you’re not as unaffected as you want me to believe.”

“I think you’re starting to confuse mystery with interest.”

“Hmm,” he said, tilting his head. “And which one are you?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you walked backward toward your side of the court, racket tapping once against your thigh. “Guess you’ll have to play to find out.”

That was all the invitation he needed.

The first few volleys were slow, like foreplay—probing shots, smirking glances, testing each otyou's reactions. You didn’t rush to win. He didn’t rush to dominate. Tyoue was something different about this match; it wasn’t about scoring. It was about staying in it, about pushing each otyou just enough.

Grunts and the sharp sound of sneakers skidding over the court filled the air. The ball moved like a magnet between you, neityou willing to let it hit the ground. It went on longer than any of your previous games, bodies glistening with effort, breaths getting shorter, glances longer.

Jungkook wiped sweat from his brow with the hem of his shirt, and you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger.

He noticed.

“Distracted?” he asked, panting just enough for it to feel intimate.

You rolled your neck, feigning casualness. “You sound winded.”

He smirked through the next serve. “Still standing, aren’t I?”

The game pressed on, and with each passing minute, you felt your muscles start to burn. Jungkook was relentless—not overpowering, but persistent. He was focused now in a way he hadn’t been before. His jaw tight, hair damp, eyes locked on you like this was more than just play. Like it was personal.

Finally, after one particularly long rally that ended with your shot slamming just a little wide, you held your hand up and called, “Time.”

You were bent slightly, palms on your knees, breath heavy. Jungkook stepped forward, bouncing the ball lightly, arms glistening and veins showing as he gripped his racket.

“Well?” he asked, chest rising and falling. “Calling it?”

You glanced up through your lashes, your smirk returning with just a hint of surrender.

“Fine,” you said. “You outlasted me.”

He exhaled, part in triumph, part in disbelief. Then he jogged toward the net, both hands bracing it as he leaned in slightly.

“And?” he prompted.

You tilted your head. “And?”

“Don’t you owe me something?”

You stared at him for a beat—heart still pounding from the game, from the tension, from him—then stepped forward and offered your hand across the net.

“I’m Y/N.”

His grin split wide and easy as he shook your hand. “Knew you’d crack eventually.”

You tugged your hand back slowly, a brow raised. “Don’t flatter yourself. You haven’t earned much.”

“Oh?” He crossed his arms, the glint in his eyes sharpening. “What’s next then?”

You turned, walking toward your bag with a nonchalant shrug. “You want my number?”

“I definitely want your number.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder. “Then earn it.”

His chuckle echoed across the court. “And how exactly do I do that?”

You didn’t stop walking, just tossed back, “Surprise me.”

-

The corridors of HYBE buzzed with the quiet chaos of artists and staff going about their day, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention to any of it. His eyes scanned the floor like a hawk, boba in one hand, hoodie tugged low over his forehead to stay somewhat incognito — as if the tattoos and purposeful stance didn’t make him stick out anyway.

Then he spotted you.

Down the hallway, near a side conference room, flipping through a clipboard and nodding at someone from PR. Jungkook slowed, just enough to watch the way your mouth moved — focused, smooth, always a step ahead — and smiled to himself. Like clockwork, yousensed him and looked up.

Their eyes met. And yousmirked. Not a greeting — a challenge.

Jungkook veered toward you with the grin of a man with nothing to lose.

“You stalking me now?” youasked as he leaned against the wall beside you, arms crossed, confidence oozing but somehow never smug.

“I’m doing recon,” he replied, licking the straw of his drink. “Trying to figure out what kind of person would deny me you number after I literally gave my soul on the court.”

“You cramped halfway through a backhand,” youdeadpanned.

He gasped. “Emotional damage. That’s low.”

“You’ll survive.” youturned back to the clipboard.

“Okay, hear me out.” He leaned in closer. “What if I guess the last four digits of your number?”

You didn’t look at him. “You have 10,000 combinations. Good luck.”

“I’d take those odds.”

“Then you have way too much time.”

He grinned. “What if I earn each digit? Like… do something impressive for every number.”

you brow arched, finally turning to him. “Like what? Hit a trick shot into the CEO’s office?”

Jungkook laughed, then suddenly got serious. “Say I win anotyou rally with my eyes closed. That’s worth at least one digit.”

You didn’t blink. “You’d miss.”

He leaned closer, enough that the warmth of him curled around you arm. “You’d give me a second chance.”

A beat passed. Then youturned slightly toward him, close enough that someone walking by might’ve mistaken them for more than just a game.

“I’ll give you something better than a digit,” yousaid.

His eyes lit up. “Yeah?”

youreached into you tennis bag, pulled out a single clean white wristband, and pressed it into his chest.

Jungkook looked down at it like it held divine answers. “What’s this?”

“A consolation prize.”

He stared at you, slack-jawed as you turned away and disappeared down the corridor without another word.

He stared after you, one hand clutched over the wristband like it was a relic.

“I’m so in trouble,” he whispered to himself.

-

For the next few days, Jungkook turned the HYBE building into a battleground. Not of idols or music or rehearsals. No — it was a quiet war. One of wit, glances, and near-misses. And you? You were always one step ahead, always watching… always winning.

The first time he tried to impress you again, it was in the cafeteria.

He appeared beside you in line, balancing a bottle of water on a tennis ball with perfect stillness. He didn’t say a word — just waited until you looked over. When you did, he raised a brow.

“Skill level?” he asked, not even glancing at the precarious balancing act.

You eyed it for a second. “One digit worthy.”

He beamed, only for you to pluck the bottle off, take a sip, and walk away.

“Still at zero,” you called over your shoulder.

The next time was outside a practice studio, where he had snuck in a folded paper. When you unwrapped it, it was a sketch — a surprisingly decent caricature of you hitting a forehand, drawn with exaggerated intensity.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Still at zero?” he mouthed through the glass window of the studio.

You held up a single finger. Then slowly turned it down. Zero again.

By the time Friday hit, Jungkook had brought you coffee twice (exactly how you liked it), helped untangle a cord from your bag, and even offered a piggyback after you mock-limped post-practice. You refused, of course. But the corner of your mouth lifted. He caught it. He always caught the little things.

-

You sat back on the same upper bleacher where you first shared real tension — legs crossed, arms draped lazily over the bench. From a distance, you looked like you had no care in the world. But your eyes tracked him like a hawk.

Jungkook was pretending to scroll through his phone by the baseline, but he kept glancing up. Every time he did, you were already looking away.

Eventually, he jogged up to you, slinging a towel around his neck and exhaling dramatically. “You’ve been dodging me.”

“You’ve been making it easy,” you replied coolly.

He placed a hand on the bench beside you, leaning close, voice low. “Come on. One digit. I’ve earned at least one by now.”

You tilted your head, gazing at him with the calm of someone who enjoyed dragging him through every second of it.

“Okay,” you said after a pause. “Pick a number between 0 and 9.”

Jungkook’s eyes lit up. “Five.”

You leaned forward just slightly, breath brushing past his jaw. “Wrong.”

He groaned and dropped to sit beside you, hands in his hair. “You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

He looked at you, and something shifted.

He wasn’t grinning now. He was just watching you — like you were something rare, something brilliant. And you felt it. You felt that look all the way to your fingertips.

But instead of showing it, you leaned back again, gaze to the sky. “Still tired from our last rally?” you asked. “You haven’t challenged me again.”

“Because I’m strategizing,” he said, turning toward you. “Next time I win, I want a digit and a date.”

You laughed, soft and low. “Desperate much?”

He grinned, shameless. “What are you doing to me?”

The words hung there, between a chuckle and a silence that said too much. And when he stood, he didn’t ask for anything else. Just tapped his racket against yours once.

“See you on the court, Y/n.” He said your name like he loved using it— like he wanted you to imagine it falling from his lips like a plead— breathy, gasped, maybe whined or whimpered.

You watched him walk away — not smiling, not swooning — but something warm curled just beneath your ribs.

-

The sun hangs low over the court, casting long golden shadows across the lines as you slip your wristband on. It’s a private match, meant to be low-key—just a few friends, no crowd. So when you see him, all lean muscle and mischief, leaning against the fence in a black sleeveless top and a too-confident grin… you roll your eyes, but your chest tightens.

“Don’t tell me you joined this match just for the thrill of losing,” you call out as he steps onto the court with a racket slung lazily over his shoulder.

Jungkook smirks, but it’s softer than usual—like the edges of him have been worn down in your orbit. “I like a challenge,” he replies. Then, more seriously, “Been training harder. No matches lined up, no sponsors breathing down my neck. Just… wanted to win against you.”

You freeze for half a second. It’s subtle, the way he says it—like he’s not expecting anything back. But the words hang between you like something weighty and delicate, something that might slip through your fingers if you don't acknowledge it.

He shrugs a little. “Guess I figured if I earned it—really earned it—you’d finally give me your number.”

You try not to smile. You really do. But it creeps up anyway.

This match was never about endurance. It wasn’t a matter of who could last longer—it was about winning. A definitive outcome. If Jungkook won, you’d give him the first digits of your number. If you won, he’d be left to pine a little longer. You were almost tempted to let him take it. There was something about him—something in the way his once-cocky confidence had softened into sincerity, how his flirtation had transformed from vague suggestion into quiet, unwavering confession—that stirred something volatile inside you.

You were restless. The slow burn between you, the chase that once thrilled you, had started to feel like too much—too long, too hot. And yet, you couldn’t just give it to him. He had to earn it, just as much for your sake as his. You realized that the day he stopped asking for your name. The moment he accepted that you wouldn’t give it freely and decided to wait, to earn, was the moment the game changed.

You hadn’t known how much you liked the dynamic until then. Until it stopped being about teasing and started meaning something. And that’s why you fought so hard today.

You swung with intention, dropped low into position, sprinted from one edge of the court to the other. You grunted with each hit, your breath heavy, legs aching. Still, it wasn’t enough.

1–0 turned into 6–4.

You lost.

But you weren’t upset.

Satisfaction settled in your chest—not joy, not defeat. Something calmer. Steadier. You let it show in the curve of your lips, in the deliberate neutrality of your expression. Not excitement. Not disappointment. Just... acceptance.

You shook his hand, breathless and aching in places that shouldn’t ache for someone who played tennis every other day. But your smile—small, controlled—betrayed just a little pride.

You’d lost the match. But not the game.

-

“The caricature you drew of me at the café?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “I said it was awful.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you kept it.” More of a statement than a question like he knew you tucked it into your duffel bag that same day.

You flush and look away, mumbling, “It was better than I gave you credit for.”

There’s a pause. The wind picks up, brushing your hair from your face.

“Fine,” you say, pulling a pen from your bag. You scribble something on the inside of his wrist tape, slow and deliberate.

He glances down.

‘97’

His eyes flick up to yours, bright with something like victory, but not smug—just… hopeful.

“You’re giving me your birth year?”

“No,” you say with a small smile. “I’m giving you the first two digits. You’ll have to keep earning the rest.”

Jungkook chuckles, boyish and warm. “You’re ruthless.”

“And you’re ridiculous,” you shoot back. “But maybe not hopeless.”

He steps back onto the other side of the net, tossing the ball in the air. “Let’s see if I can earn the next two.”

You roll your shoulders, ready to serve. “Try me.”

-

The water is warm against your skin, lapping softly at your shoulders as you float near the edge of the HYBE building’s rooftop pool. It’s late—later than it should be for anyone else to be around. Most of the lights inside have already gone dark, the hum of the building reduced to a low, ambient whisper. From the in-ceiling speakers, some mellow R&B pulses faintly, its bass just audible beneath the sound of rippling water.

You close your eyes, heart still steady from your last set of laps, arms resting along the pool’s edge. It’s peaceful.

Until you hear the soft squelch of sneakers on wet tile.

You open your eyes, and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s shirtless, his lean frame wrapped in shadows and moonlight. Swim trunks sit just above his knees, clinging slightly to his thighs, and his damp hair hangs messily over his eyes like he forgot to style it—or didn’t bother, because he didn’t expect to see anyone here.

Especially not you.

His eyes land on you immediately, widening—just for a moment. Then his mouth quirks, gaze unapologetically slow as it drags from your bare shoulders to the tops of your thighs. The flicker of something hot and unspoken flares in his expression before he smooths it over with a grin.

“Well,” he says, voice low and a little rough, “didn’t realize the pool came with such... scenery.”

You arch a brow, tilting your head lazily. “Is that so?”

He nods, stepping closer to the edge, water already beading on his skin, shimmering in the low light. “I thought I was just coming for a swim, but... now I’m the one drowning.”

You scoff, even as your stomach flips violently. “That was terrible.”

“I wasn’t talking about the pool,” he says with a wink, stepping in. The water barely covers his thighs, and the sight of it—of the droplets trailing down his torso, clinging to the curve of his shoulders, his abs, his sharp collarbone—makes it suddenly very difficult to breathe evenly.

You make a show of glancing him over. “Hmm. Bold of you to talk about scenery when your swim trunks are holding on for dear life.”

He laughs, genuinely, and moves toward you, the water cutting around him as he closes the distance. “You don’t look away.”

“Neither do you.”

He stops a foot from you. The water around him settles.

His voice drops. “Can’t.”

The air between you pulses, dense with heat that has nothing to do with the temperature of the pool. His hand lifts, barely brushing your waist under the water. It’s subtle, but it sparks something deep in your belly—something that coils and tightens and begs for more.

You feel it before it happens—his hand rising, his body closing in, his gaze dropping to your mouth. The intent is clear. This is it. This is finally it.

And for a heartbeat, you want it more than anything.

But then—

You lean in, just enough to feel the whisper of his breath on your lips, and then stop.

His brow twitches. “Why’d you—”

You smile slowly, tilting your head.

“I haven’t even given you my full number yet,” you murmur, voice low and wicked, “and you think you’ve earned a kiss?”

He blinks—caught between frustration and admiration. And desire. Lots of that.

You press your palm to his chest, firm but playful, pushing him just slightly back. Then you turn, effortlessly hoisting yourself out of the pool. Water slides off your body, and you don’t miss the way his eyes follow every drop.

You glance over your shoulder with a smirk, grabbing your towel.

“Earn the rest,” you call over your shoulder, “and maybe I’ll let you finish what you started.”

Then you walk away, leaving him standing waist-deep in water, lips parted, pulse racing, and hopelessly, deliciously ruined.

-

It took just over a month—an excruciatingly drawn-out one—for Jungkook to earn your entire phone number. Or almost. He had managed all but one elusive digit.

At that point, he had to get inventive.

You had already exhausted tennis. Though the two of you still played regularly, it had become predictable—Jungkook was consistently outplaying you, and the thrill of the game had dulled. You decided it was time to raise the stakes. Tennis, you declared, was now off-limits. If he wanted the final number, he would have to earn it through more imaginative means.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—you and Jungkook were equally competitive. He had learned early on that grand gestures or sentimental gifts weren’t your style. You didn’t want flowers; you wanted a challenge. Luckily, he agreed. In fact, he found such displays unbearably cliché. Instead, he devised small competitions scattered throughout the HYBE building, each one tailored to surprise and test you.

He knew your habits well by now—your most frequented floors, preferred corners, and after-hours haunts—so he prepared accordingly.

Week One: Table tennis in the game room. A warm-up round. Jungkook won 21–18, and smiled like it barely cost him effort.

Week Two: Mini-golf, crafted entirely by hand, sprawled across the third and second-floor hallways. Ingenious and a little ridiculous. Still, he won, five under par to your one under.

Week Three: Bowling. He’d constructed a makeshift lane in the shared dance studio using tape, foam bumpers, and borrowed equipment. Slightly more challenging—he edged you out 110 to 100.

And now, Week Four.

You had dared to hope that he was running out of ideas. That maybe this week would pass without a new challenge. But at 9:26 p.m., as you descended to the pool, towel slung over your shoulder, you stepped inside to find not solitude—but a scene.

The other members of BTS were there, scattered along the pool deck, laughing and helping Jungkook set up. Lane ropes, stopwatch, even printed time sheets. A race.

Your eyes widened slightly. This was bold—even for him.

Swimming was the one thing you were indisputably better at than tennis. Jungkook knew that. He’d heard it directly from your former coach. And yet, here he was, challenging you in your own element.

It was risky. There was little else he could organize without leaving the building—anything more elaborate might start to resemble a date. And that, by unspoken rule, had to be earned.

So he improvised. He strategized. He adapted.

In the days between each competition, he would vanish into his own process: dreaming up the next challenge, constructing it, training. He was a fast learner—annoyingly so. Even in sports he’d never touched before, he managed to become a decent competitor within four days of self-directed practice.

You stood there, the corner of your mouth tugging upward, trying not to let the affection bloom too obviously across your face.

But it was no use.

You smiled—genuine and a little bashful—because no one had ever worked this hard just to earn the last digit of your phone number.

And something about that made your heart stutter.

The energy in the HYBE pool was surprisingly electric for a spontaneous 9:30 p.m. race.

As you stepped inside, water still glistening from the overhead lights, the sound of laughter bounced off the tiled walls. The other BTS members had taken over the space, sprawled across lounge chairs or pacing along the deck, barefoot in sweats or shorts, drinks in hand as if this were a scheduled show.

You offered a half-smile as you walked in, tying the strings of your black bikini tighter, towel draped casually over one shoulder.

“Finally,” Jimin called from across the pool with a dramatic wave. “She arrives. I told them you wouldn’t bail.”

You walked over and gave him a brief hug, earning a teasing whistle from Taehyung.

Jimin grinned, lowering his voice as he leaned in, “I knew something was going on since that HYBE tennis match. Don’t try to deny it, Y/N. You let him win.”

“I never let him win,” you replied smoothly, smirking as you pulled away.

“Oh, so he earned the number?” Jin piped in from his spot by the stopwatch, raising a brow. “Spicy.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming slightly. “He earned most of it.”

That earned a collective “Ooooooh” from the boys.

Then, finally, you approached Jungkook.

He sat at the edge of the pool, feet already dangling in the water, arms resting loosely on his knees. His hair was damp, pushed back slightly but still clinging in curls to his forehead. He was wearing sleek black swim trunks that clung to him in all the ways you were trying very hard not to notice.

When he looked up at you, he didn’t grin. He just smiled—small, soft, and tired in that quiet kind of way that said he was nervous. Hopeful.

“Hey,” he said.

You sat beside him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “Hey.”

There was a beat of silence between you, filled only by the low slap of water against the tiled edges.

“You really planned all this?” you asked, voice low.

He glanced over at you, nodding. “All week. I had to bribe Jin with extra vocal warmups to time us, Tae brought the music, Jimin cleared the pool schedule. Hoseok helped me with my butterfly stroke, Namjoon... mostly gave moral support and broke a kickboard.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “All this for one digit?”

“No,” he said. “All this for you.”

Your heart jumped. You looked away before he could see it on your face. “Let’s see if you earn it then.”

He stood and offered you a hand. “Let me explain the rules.”

You took his hand and followed him to the starting side of the pool.

“Four laps. Freestyle. No flips—Jin’s judging,” Jungkook said, voice shifting into something more official. “Winner gets bragging rights… and, depending on how generous the loser feels, maybe a very important number.”

He met your eyes then, hopeful and devilish all at once.

You walked to the edge, took your stance, and tried not to think about how badly your hands were shaking—not from nerves about the race, but about what would happen after.

Jin raised a hand. “Swimmers ready?”

The boys were lined along the pool deck like rowdy high schoolers, all of them tossing playful commentary around like bets at a horse race.

“My money’s on Y/N,” Namjoon muttered, arms folded, eyeing your form as you adjusted your goggles. “She’s been a swimmer longer than she’s been a tennis player.”

Taehyung scoffed. “Bro, it’s been a month. No way Jungkook lets her win now. Not after all this. His soul is in this.”

“He trained,” Hoseok nodded. “Hard. He had nose plugs and everything.”

“She’s literally a fish,” Namjoon deadpanned.

“I’m just here for the post-race drama,” Yoongi added from the far end, already filming with his phone.

Jin raised both hands dramatically. “On my count… Three. Two. One—Go!”

The splash cracked through the air as both bodies dove cleanly into the water.

The first length was even. You were focused—tuned into your own pulse, the beat of the water in your ears, your strokes slicing cleanly. Jungkook was right beside you, strong and quick, though you noticed his form still held small tells: the extra breath, the subtle drag of his kick. You had the edge.

Turn. Second lap. Still neck and neck.

The boys were screaming now, some of them pacing along the side, shouting your names.

Third lap. You surged ahead, barely, but he caught up—his reach suddenly more precise, his rhythm sharper. You weren’t sure how, but he was pushing himself in a way that even you hadn’t expected.

Final turn.

The fourth lap burned.

Water blurred everything. You were kicking harder now, lungs screaming, arms threatening to give. Beside you, Jungkook was a shadow—steady, brutal, unwavering. You caught a flash of his shoulder, then nothing but the sound of your own breath and the race between two hearts that had spent a month circling each other.

You reached the edge—

Smack.

It was a photo finish.

Both of you gasped for air, arms over the edge of the pool, panting.

Silence.

Then Jin, from the edge, squinted at his stopwatch.

“…Jungkook. By half a second.”

Groans, cheers, and exaggerated wails erupted behind him.

Jimin launched a towel into the pool. “Are you kidding me?!”

Namjoon shook his head in disbelief. “Damn it. I really thought she had it.”

Taehyung leapt into the air. “LET’S GOOOOO!”

But you didn’t move. You stared at Jungkook, water dripping down his temples, his chest heaving, his smile slow to appear—but when it did, it was a whole-body kind of smile. A little stunned. A little euphoric.

You couldn’t help it. You laughed, breathless and bright, your hand drifting up to push back your wet hair.

He looked at you then. Really looked.

And somehow, he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

Water streamed from your limbs as you hoisted yourself out of the pool, muscles sore but humming with something sharper than fatigue. Jungkook climbed out just behind you, shaking droplets from his hair with a quick pass of his hand, his grin still practically glowing under the overhead lights.

You didn’t look at him at first. You just stood there catching your breath, towel slung lazily over your shoulder.

Then, finally, you said, “You know, I could’ve let you win.”

Jungkook turned toward you, raising a brow. “Could’ve?”

“Mhm.” You smirked. “Would’ve been very sportsmanlike of me. A generous final gift, even.”

Behind you, Jimin—who had clearly been eavesdropping—walked by, shaking his head as he looked directly at Jungkook. “She is definitely trying to compensate for the fact that she lost fair.”

You scoffed, flicking a little water his way, and Jimin laughed as he joined the rest of the group now spread out at the far end of the deck, all of them wrapped in casual towels, half-distracted, chatting and joking amongst themselves.

Now alone with Jungkook, your eyes flicked toward him. He looked like a storm settling—still catching his breath, chest rising beneath the curve of a wet tank top, eyes soft and unreadable in the glow of the pool lights.

“So,” he said, voice lower now. “Do I get the last digit?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Hmm. I don’t know. You did win. But then again… maybe it’s funnier if I don’t give it to you. Really keep the legend alive.”

He took a step closer. “Y/N.”

You bit your lip, weighing the joke on your tongue—but when you looked at him, really looked, all that teasing resolve dissolved.

With a low sigh, you reached for the pen you had tucked into your towel knot. Leaning down, you grabbed the corner of his palm and slowly wrote the last digit across his skin in clean, careful strokes.

He stared at it like it meant something—like it was something. Sacred. Earned.

“Finally,” he breathed, eyes not leaving yours.

Then, softer: “Can I kiss you now?”

You blinked, something catching in your chest.

The anticipation had been building for weeks, but now, on the other side of all the teasing and tension and unspoken confessions, his question made you go still. Not because you didn’t want it. But because of how he asked.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “you can.”

He kissed you gently.

No cocky grin. No aggressive pull. Just lips pressed to yours in a way that was surprisingly reverent—warm and slow, almost unsure, as though he’d been dreaming of it for too long to rush it now. His hand found the edge of your jaw, thumb brushing just beneath your ear, anchoring you there in that perfect stretch of silence.

When you broke apart, barely, your voice came out breathier than you meant: “That was… softer than I expected.”

Jungkook tilted his head, smiling slightly. “You expected teeth?”

“I expected fire,” you said, eyes flicking to his mouth again. “That was… something else.”

Just then, a collective “OHHHHH!” erupted from the far end of the pool. The boys had clearly seen it—and they were absolutely losing it.

Taehyung jumped up, pumping a fist. “FINALLY!”

Jin clapped loudly, yelling, “Took you long enough! I was about to start charging rent for all this tension!”

Yoongi just smirked. “She gave you the number and the kiss. Call that a grand slam.”

You and Jungkook both burst out laughing, shoulders shaking as the warmth between you finally loosened into something familiar. You leaned into his side just a little, the smell of chlorine and summer clinging to your skin, and for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel like you had to guard the look on your face.

It was all there.

Earned.

And written clearly across your smile.

The fluorescent lights of the locker room buzzed quietly overhead, casting soft glows against the damp tile as you stood beneath the rinse-off shower. Steam curled around your limbs as you lazily pushed the chlorine from your skin, fingers combing through wet hair.

Jungkook was a few stalls over, towel hanging low on his hips, water cascading in rivulets down the sinewy slope of his back. You didn’t look. Not directly.

“Still thinking about that kiss?” he called, voice casual but smug.

You snorted. “Still rinsing off your defeat, maybe.”

He laughed. “Right. That’s why you wrote your number on me like it was a trophy.”

You glanced over, catching just a sliver of him through the frosted glass, his outline sharp, body lean. “I didn’t know skin counted as paper.”

Jungkook hummed, the sound smooth and close. “Guess it depends what you’re writing.”

You rolled your eyes, smile tugging at your mouth. “You always this flirty when you’re half-naked?”

“I’m always this flirty when I’m winning.”

You tossed your towel over your shoulder and stepped out, water dripping from your hair as you padded toward the lockers, wrapped now in soft cotton. “Let’s not pretend I didn’t go easy on you.”

“I’ve been easy for you for weeks,” he said under his breath, stepping out of his stall just as you passed him.

You froze mid-step, lips parting. Then, quietly: “Did you really just say that?”

He smirked, raking his wet hair back with both hands. “Only fair you know the playing field.”

You clicked your tongue and turned away, trying not to let him see the smile curling at your lips. “I’m going to change. Try not to think about it too hard.”

“Too late for that.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder—one that said behave, and don’t you dare stop.

By the time you emerged, dressed in a loose black tee and faded jeans, Jungkook was already waiting outside the locker room, hair damp, hoodie half-zipped, keys dangling from his fingers.

“I’ll drive you home,” he said, voice quieter now. Less teasing. More intent.

You cocked your head. “Finally seeing me off-campus, huh? Hope it’s not too weird for you.”

He grinned, stepping aside to let you pass. “Weirder would be not seeing you at all.”

-

The drive was filled with a quiet sort of buzz—the kind of silence that wasn’t awkward, just heavy with everything that had passed between you. City lights flickered past the windows, music playing low on the stereo. His hand stayed on the wheel. Yours toyed with the hem of your shirt, fingers tracing shapes into the fabric.

When he pulled up outside your place, the engine idled for a moment before he shifted into park.

You both stepped out, moving slowly, like you didn’t really want the night to end. The air was cooler here, brushing across your damp skin as you leaned back against the car.

Jungkook joined you, close but not touching, eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing it.

And then—quietly, without a word—he leaned in.

This kiss wasn’t like the one by the pool.

This one was deeper.

Slower.

His hand found your waist, fingers pressing into the space where your shirt lifted slightly, just enough to feel the warmth of your skin. His mouth moved against yours with the patience of someone who’d waited long enough and didn’t want to rush a second of it. You kissed him back with equal weight, breath hitching slightly when he tilted his head just right, when your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie and pulled.

You only broke apart when the need for air forced you to, both of you breathing heavy, foreheads resting against one another.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes fluttering open. “That felt… overdue.”

He laughed softly, eyes tracing your lips. “So what now?”

You smiled, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “Now? You text me. Because you finally have my number.”

And when he laughed again, warm and rich and real, you realized just how much you’d wanted this—not the chase, not the clever banter or stubborn pride—but him.

And this—whatever it was—felt like just the beginning.

Later that night, your phone buzzed with a message that simply read: Worth every digit.

a/n: when i was writing this i reaslized that i was using she/her instead of “you” so i ctrl+f and changed is and didn’t realize it would change the sequence “her” and “she” so words like “bother” are now “botyou “ sorry

➽ Kpop Masterlist ➽ Main Masterlist ➽ Yoongi Masterlist ➽ G Dragon Masterlist ➽ Buy Me a Coffee

[artisiumstudios]

Time stuck au except it’s little Stan and ford + portal incident Stanford and Stanley. (Also the little twins home collapses eventually because of how long they end up staying in the other dimension(s))

So basically Stanley is now raising a little ford while trying to rebuild the portal and bring both the others back meanwhile Stanford is now having to raise little Stan while running away from bill and dimension hopping.

Ford ends up calling Stanley dad (for the town and definitely not for any other reasons) and gets unrolled into school. While Stanley is absolutely scared shitless and anxious all the time, he can’t deny that having this ford is like a second chance in a way and a way to make up for his mistakes, he still fakes his death and assumes his brothers identity but also gets ford a fake identity going as Ford Jr Pines. After ford graduates he manages to get him into west tech paying for his tuition out of pocket despite fords (weak) protests under the excuse of “you’ll be able to help me a lot more if you study all this inter dimensional nerd nonsense”

With Stanford and little Stan the situation is a bit different. Stanford knows logically that this version of Stan hasn’t hurt ford, and in his universe he might not even do tha. But it hurts to now be responsible for his brother, to see his little face and know that in 7 years he would betray him and then in another 10 he’d be the reason why ford loses everything infuriates him (and hurts him. Because in 7 years his brother would be kicked out of the family and oh god he was just a child-). He keeps him at arms length despite Stan’s protests and attempts to get ford to do more than just basic caring. He wants his brother back, he misses home. And finally after a few months (or years depending on how much baggage you want to give this child) it all goes to hell when Stan gets severely injured and Stanford is trying to calm him down only for Stan to make an off handed comment about how he was expecting Stanford to not give a shit. And ford finally realizes that he’s taking his own grudges and using them against this innocent child ( against his little brother-) and becomes a much more caring and loving parental figure. Stan likes to call Stanford old man after that and gets a better education than he could’ve hoped for (and some cool indestructible glasses that adjust the prescription accordingly to the user) unfortunately during their travels they’ve come to learn that Stan’s dimension is no more and they’re not sure about what happened to his brother. He grieves for a long time.

Anywyas im going to sleep now

[anakinstwinklebunny]

PETER PAN!ANAKIN HEADCANONS

Author's note: here both of them, anakin and reader, aren't children. Here they're both around 17-18

TW: no smut!

Author's note: a lot of blogs that crossed through my dms had lately decided to deactivate. I fully support them however can't stop this melancholic feeling creeping up my spine. So, my crazy week with posting my work is dedicated to them. @katiapostsss-deactivated2024081 @yrsjune and so on.

divider - @hellfire--cult

You always believed in fairy tales. Every night, you'd curl up under your blankets, eagerly turning the pages of your favorite stories, letting the words transport you to distant lands where anything was possible. But as much as you loved reading about those grand adventures, a quiet longing had taken root in your heart—a yearning to experience the magic firsthand. To leave behind the ordinary world and step into a place where dreams became reality and happiness was more than just a fleeting moment.

One night, after finishing another tale of Neverland, you couldn't ignore the pull any longer. The idea had been growing in your mind for days, and now, it was impossible to resist. You hurried to your desk, your heart racing with the kind of excitement you only felt when you were on the brink of something extraordinary. Grabbing a piece of paper, you scrawled a note in your neatest handwriting:

Dear Peter Pan,

I've left my window open.

Please come rescue me.

You stuck the note to your window, the cool night air drifting in through the gap you'd left. With a final glance at the stars outside, you crawled back into bed, pulling the duvet up to your chin. As you lay there, the house quiet around you, you could feel your pulse quicken with anticipation. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the leaves outside had you holding your breath, hoping that this time, it wasn’t just the wind. Would he really come? Could he be real, like the stories said?

You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to miss even the faintest sound that might signal his arrival. And as the night stretched on, you waited—(im)patiently, your heart filled with a mixture of hope and a whisper of doubt. Somewhere deep inside, you knew that if anyone could take you away to where dreams were born, it was him—your favorite hero from all the stories you loved.

Peter Pan!Anakin who actually made your dream come true;

Anakin, dressed in his usual green tunic with a mischievous smirk playing on his lips, slipped through the open window with the grace of someone who had done it a hundred times before. His eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, and he took in the surroundings—a cozy space filled with books, twinkling fairy lights, and little trinkets that spoke of a dreamer. A map of Neverland was tacked to the wall, and in the corner sat a small chest overflowing with the kinds of treasures a girl might hoard: seashells, old coins, and feathers.

But then, his gaze landed on you, curled up in bed, your face peaceful in sleep. For a moment, he simply stood there, captivated. You looked like a storybook character yourself, with the moonlight casting a soft glow on your features. He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of adventures you dreamed about, or what made you leave that note for him.

Before he could get lost in his thoughts, a sharp tug on his tunic yanked him back to reality. Tinker Bell, her tiny face twisted in annoyance, was buzzing around him like a bright, golden light.

“Hey!” she whispered harshly, her little hands pulling at his shirt. “We’re here for your shadow, remember? Not some girl.”

“Come on, Tink. Look at her. Isn’t she just… enchanting?” He took a step closer to your bed, but Tinker Bell darted in front of him, her tiny arms crossed over her chest.

“She’s nothing special,” Tink huffed, her wings fluttering rapidly. “Let’s just get what we came for and leave.”

Anakin rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re just saying that because you’re jealous.”

Tinker Bell’s cheeks flushed an even brighter shade of pink. “I am not!”

Their bickering grew a little louder, and in the midst of it, you stirred. The soft murmur of voices slowly pulled you from sleep, your eyes fluttering open. At first, you thought you were still dreaming—because what you saw couldn’t possibly be real.

A boy, no older than you, stood near your bed, dressed in strange clothes, with tousled hair that looked like it had been styled by the wind itself. Floating beside him was a tiny, glowing figure, radiating light like a star. It took you a moment to realize what you were seeing, and when you did, your heart skipped a beat.

“Peter Pan?” you whispered, your voice tinged with awe and disbelief.

Anakin turned his attention to you, slowly taking in your beautiful eyes. For a moment he just stood there, not saying anything but taking in everything there was about you. He felt this weird feeling of butterflies in his stomach before he composed himself and a charming grin spreading across his face. “The one and only. And you must be the one who left that note.”

You sat up slowly, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Peter Pan was standing in your room, looking even more handsome than you had imagined. “I… I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

He stepped closer, all traces of the earlier argument with Tinker Bell gone from his face. His blue eyes sparkled with mischief as he said, “Well, you called..and how could I resist an invitation like that?”

Tinker Bell, still hovering nearby, let out an exaggerated sigh but didn’t interrupt again. She could see the way you and Anakin were looking at each other, and she hated it

Peter Pan!Anakin who took you to Neverland and soon later introduced you to all the boys. Although you couldn't shake the tinkler bell's displeasure with your presence. Once you talked about this with anakin, he promised to do something (yet she hadn't really accepted you)

Peter Pan!Anakin who made sure any boy did not flirt with you. Especially Rufio

Peter Pan!Anakin who loves to show off his flying skills;

"But—what if I fall?" Your voice trembled slightly as you looked down at the glistening, see-through blue water below. The height sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but gulp nervously.

Anakin chuckled softly, his eyes dancing with excitement. Hovering effortlessly in the air above the shimmering water, he looked down at you with a cheeky, reassuring grin.

"Oh, darling," he said with a teasing lilt, extending his hand towards you. "But what if you fly?"

"I—" You hesitated, your gaze flickering once more to the soft waves crashing against the cliff. The fear of falling tugged at your heart, making your pulse quicken.

Anakin sensed your hesitation, the flicker of worry in your eyes. His grin softened, turning into a look of pure encouragement. He continued to float with ease, his hand still reaching out to you, his confidence unwavering.

"Come on, love," he coaxed gently, his voice brimming with warmth and certainty. "Take my hand. I won’t let you fall, I promise. Just think of something that makes you happy."

"Happy thought?" You echoed, your voice small, but curious.

"Right, a happy thought." He paused, his gaze deepening as he searched your face. "Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and imagine something that fills your heart with joy. It could be the warmth of the sun, the sound of laughter, or a memory that makes you smile. Hold onto that feeling... and trust me."

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. Slowly, you reached out and placed your hand in his. The warmth of his touch sent a spark of reassurance through you, and you felt yourself being gently lifted from the ground.

As your feet left the soft grass, you felt a moment of panic, but it quickly subsided as Anakin's grip remained firm yet tender. He guided you into the air, and before you knew it, you were floating beside him, the shimmering water below now seeming more like a distant dream than a threat. The cool breeze kissed your skin, and you marveled at the sensation of weightlessness.

"Open your eyes," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with wonder.

You obeyed, your eyes fluttering open to take in the breathtaking view. The height was dizzying, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

"Oh my—" You gasped, your body instinctively tensing as you realized just how high you were.

Anakin chuckled again, this time more softly, as he wrapped his arm around your waist, anchoring you to him. His presence was grounding, a steadying force in the midst of this surreal experience.

"It’s alright," he soothed, his voice a comforting murmur in your ear. "I’ve got you. Just hold onto that happy thought, yeah?"

You nodded, your lips forming a thin line as you forced yourself to focus on the happiness that had brought you here, rather than the fear. When you looked up at him, his handsome face was glowing with pride and affection.

Anakin smiled at your nod, understanding the depth of trust you had placed in him. He moved closer, his body brushing lightly against yours, a silent reassurance that you were safe with him. The breeze played with your hair as the two of you floated together, suspended in a moment that felt like pure magic.

"See, love?" he murmured, his gaze never wavering from yours. "You’re flying. Just like I promised."

Peter Pan!Anakin who quickly developed feelings towards you

Peter Pan!Anakin who, despite his playful nature, is fiercely protective of you. He won’t hesitate to confront any danger in the forest, whether it’s a mischievous pixie or a dark force threatening your safety.

Peter Pan!Anakin who you made nervous (which was uncommon for someone like him)

Peter Pan!Anakin who you quickly started to call by small nicknames that he loved (always manage to make his cheeks flush)

Peter Pan!Anakin who gave you a bouquet of glowing flowers;

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in rich shades of pink and orange, Anakin found himself deep in thought. Over the past few days, his mind had been occupied with one thing—you. His feelings for you had grown stronger, more intense, and it was getting harder to keep them hidden.

In the quiet of the evening, Anakin busied himself gathering a bouquet of glowing flowers. Their luminescent petals bathed his surroundings in a soft, ethereal light, casting shadows that danced around him as he worked. He wanted to create something beautiful, something that might convey the emotions he couldn’t quite put into words.

"Ani? What are you doing?" Your voice, sweet and soft, broke through his reverie.

Startled, Anakin jumped slightly. He had been so engrossed in his task that he hadn’t even noticed you approaching. His heart raced, a mix of surprise and embarrassment flooding through him. Instinctively, he tried to hide the bouquet behind his back, though it was already too late.

"Nothing! I’m just… uhm…" He stammered, fumbling for words as a faint blush crept across his cheeks. Realizing that he couldn’t hide the flowers or his intentions any longer, he sighed softly and brought the bouquet forward, revealing it with a sheepish smile.

"I… I made these for you…" His voice was tinged with nervousness, his gaze flickering between the bouquet and your eyes.

"For me?" You asked, a mix of surprise and warmth in your voice.

Anakin’s blush deepened, and he nodded, his usual confidence faltering as he anxiously awaited your reaction.

"Yeah, for you. I remembered how much you liked the glowing flowers on our last walk… so I thought I’d gather some for you. I wanted to… brighten your night."

"I--well--thank you," you replied, a genuine smile spreading across your face.

Relief washed over Anakin at your response, and he couldn’t help but return your smile. He shuffled slightly, rubbing the back of his neck—a habit of his when he felt nervous or unsure.

"I’m glad you like them. I tried to pick the prettiest ones I could find."

Your smile widened as you stepped closer and you decided to do something new, something you've dreamed about doing for a long time. Standing on your toes, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek

"They're perfect" you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

Anakin’s heart swelled at your words, his smile growing as he held the bouquet out to you, the glowing flowers reflecting in his eyes.

"I’m glad you think so. I wanted to do something special for you… because you’re special to me."

His words were soft, almost shy, as he took a step closer. The glow from the flowers illuminated his face, highlighting the earnest expression in his eyes. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you standing in the gentle light of the flowers.

Anakin’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned in, closing the distance between you. The soft light cast by the flowers created a halo around you both, making the moment feel even more magical. As his lips met yours, the world fell silent. The only thing that mattered was the tender connection you shared, the warmth of his embrace, and the gentle rhythm of your heartbeats, perfectly in sync.

Lost in the kiss, Anakin felt a sense of completeness he had never known before. He didn’t notice Tinker Bell’s jealous stomping in the distance, too absorbed in the feel of your lips, the softness of your skin, and the way you fit perfectly in his arms. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, wanting to savor every second of this precious moment.

Peterpan!Anakin who often sang soft lullabies to you when you’re falling asleep, his voice soothing and full of love. And he always promised that he’ll always be there to protect you, no matter what.

Peter Pan!Anakin who, despite the thrill of adventure, has his tender moments. He loves to cuddle with you in a cozy treehouse, wrapped up in a blanket while he whispers stories of his past and dreams of the future.

Peter Pan!Anakin who is a dreamer, constantly imagining new adventures, and he's always trying to impress you with his latest idea. Whether it's finding a new hideout, building something impressive, or planning a daring raid on the pirates, he loves when you join him in these endeavors. Your support means everything to him, and he often seeks your approval without even realizing it.

Peter Pan!Anakin who makes sure to keep you safe from the mermaids, or the treacherous jungles. He'd probably do anything to ensure you're happy and safe, even if it means putting himself in harm's way.

Peter Pan!Anakin who has a special place in Neverland that he never showed anyone else until he met you. It's a secluded spot, perhaps a hidden waterfall or a secret treehouse, where he goes to think and be alone. When he finally takes you there, it's a significant moment, symbolizing how much you mean to him and how much he trusts you.

Peter Pan!Anakin who loves using the magic of Neverland to play tricks and have fun. He might use fairy dust to create harmless pranks, like making your hair float or turning your shadow into a playful doppelgänger

Peter Pan!Anakin who uses you as a comforting presence when he doubts himself.

Peter Pan!Anakin who makes a promise to you, something sacred in the context of Neverland. It could be a vow to always find his way back to you, no matter where you are, or to show you a new star every night.

Peter Pan!Anakin who was first to snuggle up to you when the time came for you to tell a goodnight story to the lost boys

Peter Pan!Anakin who had to save you from captain hook

Peter Pan!Anakin who took you to different places to spend more time with you;

Hand in hand, Anakin gently guided you through the lush, enchanting greenery of Neverland until you reached a serene spot that overlooked a breathtaking view of the setting sun. The sky was a canvas of warm hues—orange, pink, and gold—casting a soft glow over the landscape. A cool breeze brushed against your skin as you stood together, taking in the beauty around you.

He led you to a large, flat rock, the perfect place to sit and watch the world slow down. You both settled down side by side, the sun sinking ever so slowly toward the horizon.

"Now you're just neglecting the Lost Boys,"* you teased, a playful giggle escaping your lips.

Anakin chuckled in response, the sound warm and familiar. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he glanced at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Ah, but they’re used to it," he quipped, turning his gaze back to the vibrant sunset, the colors reflecting in his eyes. "They’re resourceful boys; they’ll manage just fine."

"Besides," he continued with a grin "I’m indulging in my favorite princess right now. The Lost Boys can wait their turn."

As Anakin admired the sunset, lost in the moment, you found yourself unable to take your eyes off him. His strong profile was softened by the fading light, and something about this moment made you want to express what was on your mind.

"You're different from how books describe you..." you mused softly, a small smile tugging at your lips, even though you knew the concept of books was foreign to him.

Anakin chuckled again, the sound low and rich as he continued to gaze at the setting sun. He could feel your eyes on him, and there was a curious edge to his voice when he finally responded.

Turning to meet your gaze, he arched an eyebrow in a blend of playfulness and curiosity "What’s...book?"

You shook your head, a slight smile still on your lips. "Nothing. Don’t mind it," you replied, brushing off the question, knowing it would lead to more complexities than you were ready to explain.

Anakin studied you for a moment, sensing that there was more behind your words. But instead of pushing further, he turned his attention back to the sunset. A brief silence hung between you, filled only by the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of Neverland’s creatures. Then, with a playful smirk, he turned back to you.

"You’re quite the mystery, you know that?" his voice carrying a hint of admiration mixed with a teasing edge, his eyes still reflecting the vibrant colors of the sunset.

Peter Pan!Anakin who's mood each time fell whenever you mentioned going back to your world

Peter Pan!Anakin who deeply conflicted about the idea of growing up, especially when it comes to your relationship. He fears that you’ll eventually want to leave and grow old, while he stays the same

Peter Pan!Anakin who eventually had to accept your decision;

Anakin listened intently as you spoke, his expression growing somber. He knew this conversation was inevitable, but he had been dreading it, avoiding the harsh reality of losing you.

"I know...I know." His voice was thick with emotion, and he paused, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat "But what about Neverland? What about... us?"

When you suggested he come with you, a flicker of hope and doubt crossed his eyes. Yet, the idea of leaving Neverland, the only place he had ever called home, was almost unthinkable.

"You know I can't. This is my home. Neverland is all I know," he murmured, the corners of his mouth turning downward as he grappled with the decision before him.

You stepped closer, your eyes filled with a mixture of desperation and love.

"Please, Ani. I want you with me. I don’t want to leave you behind."

He sighed, his heart caught in a tug-of-war between his love for you and his love for Neverland. The weight of the decision bore down on him, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped between two worlds.

But then, his eyes darkened, his expression growing more serious

"And grow up? Turn into an adult? Live a mundane life with mundane jobs and worries?" He shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. The thought of abandoning the magic and freedom of Neverland for a life of routines and responsibilities made his stomach churn.

"It’s going to be okay...it’s not so bad—" You tried to reassure him, but your voice wavered, betraying your uncertainty. However you started to feel the watery liquid raise in your eyes but you managed to blink them off before they could escape their place

Anakin raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his face.

"Not so bad? It’s going to be a life of routine and expectations. We’ll be losing all of this—the magic, the adventures, the freedom…" His voice softened, laden with the weight of what he was about to say. "I don’t want to lose you either, but I don’t know if it’s worth the cost."

"What? I—anakin—" Tears welled up in your eyes as you struggled to make him understand. "I can’t just leave my family like that..."

"And I can’t just leave Neverland. Everything I’ve ever known, everything I’ve ever loved...this is my home." His voice wavered as his own eyes began to mist over. "I...I don’t want to lose you, but I can’t uproot everything I know to follow you."

A heavy silence hung between you, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you.

"So...this is how it ends?" You whispered softly, your voice trembling with emotion. You could fight, make him understand that being an adult isn't so bad like he thinks it is. Yes, there are responsibilities but still, it's not so bad. Yet, you found yourself submitting to his decision, to his slight stubbornness. And in that moment, you started to let go.

Anakin's heart felt like it was being torn in two. The pain in your voice mirrored the pain in his own heart.

"I guess so...I suppose this is where we say goodbye." He tried to keep his voice steady, but the sadness seeped through, making his words sound hollow. He stared at you, memorizing every detail of your face, knowing this might be the last time he’d see you.

With a deep breath, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss filled with sadness and longing. The knowledge that this might be the last time they would ever kiss made him cling to the moment, trying to make it last just a little longer. When the kiss finally ended, he took a shaky breath, his voice barely a whisper.

"But goodbyes aren’t forever, you know? We’ll meet again...someday, lost girl"

A small, pained smile tugged at the corners of his lips as you let out a dry chuckle, your attempt to mask the pain. He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your skin for a moment longer than necessary.

"You take care of yourself out there, okay?" His voice was tender, laced with a love that couldn’t be easily expressed in words.

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes, and leaned in to press a small kiss to his swollen lips, sealing your bittersweet goodbye.

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @slutforfinnickodair @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[barcapix]

✮ Comfort in the Darkness - Pedri González

pedri gonzález x fem!reader

sy: when another night daunts upon you—waking up from a nightmare and he’s there to make you feel safe.

a/n: well after loads of procrastination, i FINALLY improved this after a long four(?) months of dreading it!

warnings: none.

it was during the middle of the night, 3am, the witchcraft hour, when a muffled whimper broke the stillness of the room.

you were facing another nightmare, something than had been continuous for weeks now. the spinning, the fears—the sweat that would hose your skin.

to say the least it was awful. for you and your boyfriend. it would disturb his needed sleep constantly, plummeting you into a void of guilt during the after event.

unconsciously, you were slightly shuffling underneath the sheets, gripping it closer and firmer towards your body.

pedri stirred, blinking groggily, trying to adjust his eyes in the echoing darkness.

he impulsively turned around to face you, to see a look of discomfort drawn all over your features.

unknowingly, your brows furrowed and eyes squeezed shut in attempt to escape from the horror you were facing.

“babe?” your boyfriend whispered, voice hoarse with sleep. he reached out, gently shaking your shoulder. “y/n? wake up.”

“y/n!” he insisted again, louder this time.

with the rough contact, your eyes soon fluttered open to meet pedri’s worried face; staring profusely into your panicked eyes.

you were trembling slightly, your flimsy shirt doused with sweat beads from the sheer panic.

breathless and scared, the apology you wanted to say wouldn’t escape your lips, no matter how much you tried.

pedri propped up immediately, reached out to hold you and securely wrapped his arms tightly around your torso.

he ran his fingers through your hair, taking his thumb down across your neck whilst you lay there listening to his soothing heartbeat.

to say the least, you were beyond terrified, but knowing you had your boyfriend next to you, there to comfort you even in struggling times, you couldn’t help but let a gentle sob leave your lips.

you told yourself night after night that it wasn’t fair for him, not mentally fair. yet, every single time you woke up from a nightmare that never seemed to end, he persisted to help you.

“hey, hey..” pedri muttered, “i’m right here with you, te tengo. i’m the only one here, you’re safe now.”

he softly rocked you back and fourth in attempt to get your irregular breathing pattern back to normal.

safe to say it worked.

pedri never let go of you, his grasp never loosened—he made sure you felt comfortable and protected before he would even think about letting go.

after a while, you looked up at him for the first time that night, giving him a small smile to let him know your okay. even so, he still held you close to his body, keeping you warm.

“i’m sorry for disrupting your sleep amor,” you confessed, immense guilt washing over you.

pedri furrowed his brows and shook his head repeatedly. “no need to be sorry baby, you come first. you should know that,” he began, “how do you feel now?”

you took a quick glance around the room, the same room you were stuck in your nightmare with, then looked at your boyfriend who just smiled reassuringly at you.

“i think im okay now. now that you’re with me.” you admitted to him, your voice barely reaching a whisper.

“i’ll always be here,” he mumbled softly, moving his hand to rub the back of your head soothingly, “every hour of the day, no matter if it’s day or night.”

you couldn’t help but grin at that, and admired his handsome face once more. your eyes lit up, wide and vulnerable, “really?”

“really.” he promised, pulling you even closer. “i’m like your own personal superhero, ready to rescue you from any bad dreams.” he heartily chuckled.

you giggled softly, the sound light and sweet, as pedri gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“but seriously, you’ll talk to be if anything else is bothering you yeah?” he inquired, pulling back slightly to trace your features with his eyes.

you nodded, a stray tear slipping past your cheek.

your smile only widened, heart warming at his words. “you always know how to make me feel better pedri,” you whispered once more before sensing a yawn meet your lips.

“that’s my job.” he finally exhaled and settled your head into the crook of his neck. pedri kissed the top of your head, trailing down until he reached your lips to give them a quick yet loving peck.

as minutes passed, an hour nearing by, with all of your boyfriends comforting reassurance that assured you were safe, he brought the covers up along your body, whilst giving you light tickles down your back.

you let his calming heartbeat lull you to sleep, before caving in into his arms. he planted a final kiss to your temple before closing his eyes to match yours.

“goodnight mi amor.”

[stxneflxwers]

I saw your post and came running 👀 I've been thinking about this since the end of December bc I really did not get into the holiday spirit until after it was over lmao BUT for any characters you want to write for: what are they like during the holidays? What traditions do they like to do? What gifts do they give you?

(Extra ideas you can take or leave if it helps your inspiration at all — How does Aventurine feel when you tell him you don't need any of those expensive gifts, just time with him? How does Sunday react when you sit him down to tell him he's stressing himself out too hard trying to find a perfect gift for you and that all you want is for him to be happy? How does Dan Heng respond when you tell him that the only gift you want for the holidays is him?)

^ I've just been rotating the hsr boys in my head all day at work lol so I have a lot of Thoughts™

gift of love.

summary. the greatest gift of all is his love.

a/n. tysm for the request!!! i decided to settle with gift-giving ideas you offered, since it sounded interesting and cute!! im just gonna stick with aven and sunday for this tho... i wanna test how sunday writes for me.

characters. aventurine. sunday.

cw. first time writing for sunday (this is more of a test with how much i enjoy writing him, sry for any OOC-ness). gift-giving. all lowercase. established relationship(s). PLS NOTE THAT I HAVEN'T DONE THE NEW TRAILBLAZE MISSION STILL CUZ I'M A LAZY MFER...SORRY.

aventurine.

tries to be soooo sneaky about figuring out what you like as gifts. he wants all of his gifts to be a surprise, after all! it doesn't work. you see right through his game plan. he's a smidgen disappointed (with himself), and might be a bit surprised depending on the kind of person you are.

he still ends up showering you in expensive gifts of things you enjoy. he tries to find the most expensive edition of any of those things even though he, of all people, should know that expensive ≠ well-made. you have to tell him to chill out.

he immediately believes you're angry with him (why wouldn't you be?). but you're not, and you can see the panic flash in his eyes for the tiniest of moments. you sigh softly with a wary smile. you briefly give him some space before talking to him about it.

you tell him that all the most expensive gifts in the world are nothing in comparison to quality time together. you remain patient with an open-mind and a listening ear – you know he needs a wealth of both. you make sure to tell him you miss him.

his mouth hangs open in silence when you tell him that, for once he's at a loss for words. his mouth closes and he smiles. he takes you into a soft hug and whispers, "i miss you too."

he makes an evident effort to be around you more often when he does have the time. you know, instead of wasting half of it out in the casino.

and it makes all the difference.

sunday.

the most perfectionist to ever perfectionist. stop him before he literally keels over from stress.

thankfully, you notice how weary he's been. and you ask him what's wrong. because at this point – everyone knows, everyone notices how he's been stuck in his head (more than usual). he frets over little things, as usual. but now he seems almost snippy. birdie is cranky.

when he eventually gives in and confesses that he cannot find the "right" gift for you, you're smiling and shaking your head. you give him a very long moment of silence, testing him – seeing if he catches on what you'll say next.

he doesn't catch on "quick enough", much to his dismay. perhaps he hasn't adjusted to your praises and reassurances...yet.

you tell him that the greatest gift of all would be for him to be happy. to be relaxed. to be in the moment. you throw in a little whisper, "maybe by my side, too."

he's silent – his mind running amok with what to say next. he settles for an awkward yet genuinely affectionate, "thank you..."

and then he asks for your forgiveness once he collects himself. you laugh softly and forgive him, you've gotten used to him asking for your forgiveness rather often. only yours, though.

at some point, you're going to need to tell him that forgiving himself is far more important.

[compress1repress]

procrastinating so here are some ramblings about sci-fi/horror tropes I would link the challengers trio with

art - I actually think art being a werewolf would be very thematically interesting to me, because he's all about repression and passivity I think it would be fun if every full moon he literally can't control himself so all his passivity is thrown out the window and he becomes a wretched aggressive beast and he would feel so much shame about it <3 also he would love to be self pitying over it too. he already walks around like ughhh im so doomed due to my curse #mycurse ... and so this would just exaggerate that (some of this stuff could work with a vampire thing and i know a lot of people talk about vampire art but I just think werewolf art would be more interesting even just visually, like his obsession with shaving takes on a whole new meaning. and also he's more about 'loyalty' than isolation I think. he's always latching on to someone).

patrick - ok this one is kind of obvious but patrick is SO haunted I can't help but make it literal. patrick + ghosts = yayyy <3 i just think he holds onto the past and has never in his life moved on, so that manifesting as him seeing an actual ghost (or ghosts) would be fun!! especially bc on the surface he's egotistical, selfish, self-centred etc but underneath he holds onto everything so tightly, and the guilt clings onto him, and he can't just shake it off, and the feelings won't go away and he is deeply (almost gothically) romantic in this sense. also thematically it's an interesting look at his flaws, his impulsiveness and sense that he can do whatever he wants bc nothing matters, whilst surrounded by these lingering reminders of pain that prove things do matter, and then he realises that in some ways the ghosts reflect himself!! just stuck in this miserable limbo with unfinished business, and without the tools to fix anything and move on. except he does have the tools but he still won't actually make any meaningful change (him seeing Tashi through the window in Atlanta and she's engaged now and Art is doing better than ever at tennis and Patrick is just stood there in the same outfit that Tashi last saw him in... he genuinely could've been a ghost at that point!!). i enjoy the ghosts as representing him BEING haunted yet also him DOING the haunting bc he has become a ghost himself essentially. he has to hurry up and DO something while he's still got life in him. change something (make the throuple happen yay)

tashi - ok she is why I made this post in the first place so it may be long but omggg Tashi and the clone/double/doppelganger trope would be sooooo interesting. I think identity is such an important theme with tashi, and also something she is very aware of. she knows she has to present in a certain way, and probably self-polices a lot, to the point where in some ways it does feel like there are two of her, the version she knows, and the version presented in society (shout out w.e.b du bois double consciousness), so to physically and literally manifest that in the form of a clone would be fascinating. also through a disability lens there is a certain sense that becoming disabled feels like having a new body, and (at least from my perspective) there can sometimes be an out of body type experience with that as you adjust to a different body physically, and a different self too (just to add, i am not saying this is necessarily negative either). so again tashi's link with versions of the self make the idea of a double sound so interesting. clone narratives often brings up the question of who is the 'real' version and who is the copy, or a fear of being replaced by a copy, which are all questions about the self and identity, what makes us ourselves, and which parts are the most important. I imagine tashi ruminates on this sort of thing quite often, especially post injury with the readjusting of her identity after that. how she has to create another version of herself essentially bc the sport she formed her identity around will no longer accommodate her. tennis won't change to fit her new shape (:/) so she must find a way to change her shape so that she can still participate somehow (creating another self = clone moment)... anyway I think a clone would be a point of anxiety and fear yet also could be very cathartic for her. the end.

[feligayzed]

YEAH IM HERE AGAIN ABOUT TO ASK ABOUT YOUR FUNNY FISH MAN AU YEAH THATS RIGHT

Okay okay, so we've seen you absolutely are a firm believer in Animal sounds and behaviors Sebastian right?

Now it makes me curious.. do you think some of these habits he ever accidentally carried over into being back to his mostly human daily life? Whether is be some sounds, old behavior he just didn't scrap, or otherwise; any of them that might've stuck with him?

🥹🥹🥹 I'M SHAKING I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK

Oh they absolutely do ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿ very much so. Wayyy back I was supposed to draw up some scenarios about this specific thing in mind but uh. Oopsie *executive dysfunction blast*

Being a Creature for over a decade comes with its quirks, many of which are not easy to shake...not that he'd even care to try to, tbh. Old habits die hard and he's just tired, man, he couldn't be bothered to rein it in to appeal to the public anymore— this is as good as it's gonna get and if you have a problem you can take it up with the wall

That being said, let's talk about em!! The most obvious is his lil ear fin thingies; they still very much respond to emotion and he's actually become quite reliant on them for nonverbal communication. As a matter of fact, he didn't realize just HOW much he relied on it until after his big ole tail disappeared and he remembered rather quickly that humans have extremely limited variations of social cues (no this isn't an autism moment what pfft.....totally)

Smiling was also an adjustment he had to acclimate himself to. He couldn't recall when baring his teeth became a sign of aggression/fear to him, but the discomfort other (well-meaning) people brought him was realized very early on. On that note, he tends to get snarly when troubled or anxious, so. A good chunk of the time LOL. A small inconvenience happens and his lip is twitching

AS FOR NOISES his vocal chords were pretty much returned back to normal, so physically he isn't capable of a lot of the ones he used to be able to do, but that doesn't mean he won't give it his best shot. Unconsciously. He never tries to purposefully recreate any of the sounds because he just assumed they would make themselves known whether he liked it or not LMAO (it would be because. Embarrassing. But he bid farewell to his dignity a LONG time ago and now he's just resigned). Like if he stubbed his toe or some shit he would hiss from deep in his chest, and that's about the extent of his current range 😭 now me personally I like to think that he can purr still but it is a Deep Dark Secret the likes of which are career-ending

And now misc thangs 🕺

he was weird about food for quite a while, and it took a lot of work with Pai to get over it. This kinda looked like: refusing to eat anywhere other than his room, refusing to go out for dinner, staring long and hard at the raw meats section in the supermarket and consequently making the butcher uncomfortable. You get the idea

He'll instinctively reach for his non-existent lure when he enters a dark room, effectively grabbing at nothing

Avoided bodies of water at all costs for a hot minute. Took to washing his hair in the sink while he begrudgingly worked through some things with his lovely spouse whom he is so grateful for

His bed? Nest. Painter? Making it every morning without fail

He doesn't have to worry about shedding anymore but the Trauma of the experience was so great, he is thoroughly lotioned

[strawbiecream]

Hallo spoon again, this time im doing another quick yap before i inevitably disappear for the next few days (or a week)

yes, its headcanon yap. yes, its john doe again. no, i wont stop talking about him

scratches my chin thoughtfully

The Spectre got John in its grip so the corruption comes in a package. A two in one! Not only it gets to manipulate John to its will but also the corruption, how crazy is that? Though it halted the advances of the defunct codes so it no longer spread across his body like wildfire. That doesnt stop the fact that it will continue to affect him. The Spectre could have just let the codes continue its thing: to let it strip away every ounce of empathy and reason that lingers within—turning him into a brutal, cruel and heartless killing machine he was made to be, to let it petrify his dying soul, to let it warp his body and twisting him from the inside out to the point where salvation is no longer an option.

I like my John being a creature but not too much of a creature if that makes sense, hes still somewhat human to me especially now when hes in The Spectre's "great" care that he gets to keep whatever essence of humanity is left in him

But it chose not to.

The Spectre gotta have its own fun with the survivors and killers as well. By halting the corruption's advances, it can keep John's mind stuck in a limbo for as long as it wish to—switching from him being pretty out of it and having moments of clarity. The latter rarely happens, though. Being under constant surveillance of the entity, no one is allowed to catch a break. However, if John were to gain his consciousness back: his body would immediately go numb along with his spinning head; his thoughts would be an incoherent mess that jumbles on top of one another, making him unable to form proper thinking and speech; his heart—would heavy with a feeling so familiar yet so foreign, so far away. John would only lay there in his own personal "limbo" that The Spectre set up for each killer, feeling nothing but the numbing pain across his body and the corruption humming ever so softly on his forever damaged arm. It drives him crazy—hearing the spikes rattles, clicks and sounds of the subtle movements on the side of his torso, gripping onto him, suffocating him. He wouldn't be able to do anything about it, completely powerless against a force out of his control. It's even worse when the sadistic entity doesn't let him go completely, not when it wants to prolong the worsening state of his.

If John were to be the next killer and he isn't ready for the round, The Spectre would mock him before forcing him back into the usual wild and animalistic self. It would also takes away any traces of her in his memories, to try and make sure he won't ever and will never remember.

The remaining essence of humanity that still presents in that monster can be seen through his old habits that he—unknowingly—does. Sometimes after emerging spikes from the ground, he will use his claw to pull on his tie a little as a way to "adjust" it. Sometimes after locating the survivors using 404 ERROR, he will bring his claw up to push the nonexistent glasses on his face with his palm. These little habits can catch the eye of the survivors, but they don't think much of it when their main goal is to survive.

Thansk for coming to my yapfest lelelele :D :D :D im off to lock in again

[emo-gremlin]

Um....you wouldn't mind me requesting a Mr. Puzzles x reader as parents headcanon? 👉👈

Not at all!

Im not much of a parental person myself, but I can certainly try ^^

Mr. Puzzles x reader as parents !

General

🖥 He can't conceive kids. The adaptations to his body made sure of that.

🖥 He tries his best, but can easily get very stressed, especially with younger kids.

🖥 He keeps the kids out of his office, they don't need to be in there unless supervised by you.

🖥 Keeps them out of the spotlight. He doesn't budge on this. He know the kind of monsters that are out there in the TV industry and he WILL NOT allow them in unless HE is stuck to them like glue. But definitely would prefer to keep them anonymous.

Step parent Mr. Puzzles (Divorced Reader)

🖥 Oh boy, he's trying his damndest to win them over. He knows how much they mean to you and wants them to like him too.

🖥 Pretty quickly he's watching their favorite shows with them, giving behind the scenes trivia and the like.

🖥 If the kid's a theater student, YOU KNOW he's getting in there and helping with the play and memorizing lines, making costumes, make up, set pieces, everything he helps with.

🖥 If the kid gives him a hard time, he understands. Sitting them down saying, "I'm never gonna be a replacement for your real parent. I don't want to be. What I want is to get along with you enough so it makes everyone happy."

🖥 Mainly leaves parental decisions to you.

🖥 Shitty ex spouse? Stays by your side. You aren't alone, and neither are your children. He's gentle with them, giving them space and asking how he can make them feel more comfortable. (Are there words/actions that he should avoid around them? Any imagery/sounds that might take them back to bad times? Etc. If the child can't tell him, he will ask the therapist only what he needs to know to help them recover and feel safe at home.)

🖥 If the bastard even BREATHES in the kids direction the cops are called. He takes his role as Guardian very seriously.

Step parent Mr. Puzzles (Widowed Reader)

🖥 Gives the kids time to adjust, asking only to keep the peace so that you are happy.

🖥 He understands that they're mourning, and asks about their late parent, picking up on small details that he might slip into his shows to honor them.

🖥 Asks you and the kids if you guys would be comfortable having your late partner's picture framed on every set. It's not in every shot, but sometimes it's there in a small frame, noticeable to you and the kids.

🖥 He never asks them to call him "Dad/Mom/Parent". That title isn't his to take. If they call him that of their own volition, you can catch him sobbing in his office softly hoping he can live up to the title.

Mr. Puzzles x Single parent reader

🖥 Oh you know he's doting on them. Trying his best to be a figure they can trust and look up to. He spoils them, giving them a parental figure they didn't have before.

🖥 If the kids start calling him "Dad/Mom" (He doesn't care what title the kids give him, as long as they feel comfortable giving it to him) YOU bet he's short circuiting his TV because of how much he's crying.

🖥 Small child? He's saving every drawing that the kid makes. Your fridge looks like a piñata from all the paper on it.

Adoptive Mr. Puzzles x Reader

🖥 The first time you two go to the facility, he's swarmed with kids asking about his TV head. He's patiently explaining and answering their questions, asking some of his own in return.

🖥 Its a super difficult choice to only pick one or two of the kids. He fell in love with all of them. He insisted that you two adopt siblings or best friends, so they wouldn't be alone.

🖥 He makes it a surprise when the kids are adopted. Holding a welcome home party for them and hosting a movie marathon for them.

🖥 If the kids came from a broken home....he knows how that feels. While he never got away until adulthood, he understands how...hard it can be to live with those memories.

🖥 He makes sure they feel at home. Makes sure they can come to him whenever they need to talk.

🖥 Bad parents trying to get back into their lives? He asks the kids how they feel about it, and if they say fuck no, he's calling the cops and filing restraining orders on them for the kids.

🖥 If they say yes, he supervises EVERY visit. He won't let them get hurt again if he can help it.

🖥 Is very active in the kid's lives, getting them therapy if needed, making sure they're happy.

I tried to be as inclusive to different family dynamics as possible. I apologize if I missed any. Please enjoy!

[unlovedanchor]

ASKING THEMSELVES WHAT LIES BEYOND, BEYOND, BEYOND.

a sentence prompt based off of the crane wives 2024 album, " beyond beyond beyond ". dark themes present, please adjust as needed.

SCARS.

i'm not the person that i thought i was.

i couldn't tell you where the ache came from.

it's raining in my head and i don't know why.

it's raining in my head nearly all the time.

all the love, all the kindness, all your best-laid plans couldn't stop me from becoming the way that i am.

all your best laid plans couldn't stop me from becoming the way that i am.

you toiled on a bridge to cross the gap inside but i couldn't help you build it and i don't know why.

you toiled on a bridge to cross the gap inside.

i couldn't help you build it, and i don't know why.

no, i couldn't let you build it, but god knows you tried.

i couldn't let you build it.

god knows you tried.

was i born with a hole in my heart?

tell me it’s inevitable that i’d end up with scars.

tell me it's inevitable.

i'm trying to come to terms with what you've done.

i'm tryng to come to terms with what you've done in the fumes of your anguish.

oh, my blistering pride.

the fumes of your anguish and my blistering pride.

i’m still burning like a tire fire deep down inside.

i'm burning like a tire fire and i don't know why.

we were always meant to fall apart.

nothing could have been done, is that right?

yeah, we were fucked from the start.

tell me it’s inevitable that i’d end up with scars from falling down.

BITTER MEDICINE.

someone take my keys, i'm in no shape for driving.

i'll sleep anywhere.

are you ashamed of me?

or did you buy what im selling?

it won't last you long.

i bite my tongue to keep the worst of words in.

they don't hurt nobody but me.

swallow the poison i wanna spit, i think it's making me sick.

don't look up to me, i'm not as tall as you think.

you see, i talk a big game but it's bullshit.

somebody clean me up.

it's a mess that i'm making.

pain is weak, but it spreads anyway.

is it a gift you give or something precious i'm taking?

HIGHER GROUND.

from where i'm standing i can't get a line of sight.

from where i'm standing i can't get a line of sight on the future.

should i head for higher ground?

it's out of my hands.

i gave up the truth and i can't take it back.

i can feel the earth shaking underneath me.

i'm afraid of what i'll find in the rubble when it's done.

i didn't wanna hurt anyone.

PREDATOR.

what's the worst thing that could happen?

what's the worst thing you can imagine?

the world is a nasty place.

i'm afraid to get comfortable.

my head is a nasty place.

what were you thinking? shouldn't you know better?

you opened the door for an apex predator.

i keep forgetting the lessons i've learned.

your heart is a nasty place.

i'm afraid to say no to you.

keep your lies and denial.

i am fighting for survival.

my heart is a changing shape.

what if i said no to you?

you took advantage of another anxious people-pleaser.

SAY IT.

did the real me corrupt the fantasy?

did i spoil the view?

the buildup is always better than getting what you want.

did i disappoint you?

say it, if it's over.

say it, so i can move forward.

please don't leave me in the dark.

i'm haunted by your tenderness.

you gave me a nice soft place to land.

you showed me what i'd been hiding from for years.

was that just sleight of hand?

speak the words, and i will move on.

you know i'm loyal to a fault.

i will sit here waiting for the axe to fall.

if you could, would you erase me?

if we were to meet as strangers again, would you refuse to meet my eye?

would you let me pass you by?

speak the words and i will be gone.

say it, if it's done.

i will sit here waiting.

MAD DOG.

pace yourself.

you've got a long way to go before you get to lay down.

you're stuffing coins in your mouth, hoping happiness will fall out.

i've been blind to the shortcuts.

i'm stuck on the tracks, and losing my way home.

i keep looking for the end of the tunnel, it never seems to get any closer.

who's gonna keep the lights on? who's gonna make it rain?

like a mad dog after rabbit.

i keep running.

i don't feel like it gets me anywhere.

you know the kickback is automatic.

knocking me down to the bottom and keeping me there.

brace yourself.

you're gonna drag that rock around the rest of your life.

you're dancing on a edge of a knife.

you're hoping someone else will decide.

we both know the ship is gonna sink.

i keep reaching for the shore, it never seems to get any closer.

ARCTURUS BEAMING.

i thank these walls.

my hideaway to worship the pain.

i never thought i'd leave the cave.

i'm more curious than afraid.

stacking layers like sediment, each one adding weight and compression.

i am tired of forming a cliff face inside of my chest.

my ribs ache from carrying it around.

i'm grieving all that i gave up.

do you wonder who's looking back?

another life-form on some undiscovered planet, a mirror image of us here.

what exists beyond?

TIME WILL CHANGE YOU.

something hurts, something aches.

something bends until it breaks.

it's only time that tortures you.

planting hearts in a grave, pray they grow after it rains.

someday, time will change you.

you'll leave behind what doesn't move.

time will change you.

we all outgrow our roots.

ain't that the way it always goes?

some of us float and some of us sink to the bottom.

just relax and believe that this will pass.

give me a chance to get this right.

i'm learning how to let go.

BLACK HOLE FANTASY.

aren't you tired of going through the motions?

is the daily grind supposed to dull the mind?

i see a window somewhere closing.

if love is just a chemical reaction, is there a pill to take?

is there something to quell this ache?

is this the real thing or a distraction?

is this worth the risk?

the weeks blur together.

i keep trying to ignore, but it's growing.

i'm on the way to your house.

i can't wait anymore.

i'm standing on your porch.

my knuckles hesitate an inch away from the door.

what happens when it opens?

even in my fantasy, i can't commit.

i'm afraid of what i want.

i keep the car running in case i need to take off.

i watch the ceiling buckle.

it's killing me i cannot see what's making her laugh.

let's try this again.

you pull me into your arms and i can feel your heart pounding.

RED CLAY.

today i woke up from a dream.

i was clawing my up a red clay mountain.

questioned myself: why keep going?

over my shoulder were towering trees, their rustling branches summoning me.

to a parallel trail, one not so steep, offering shelter.

we don't have to do it the hard way.

i take a deep breath and turn to be brave.

harvest the fruits of being afraid.

RIVER RUSHING.

not waiting one moment more.

tonight the dam will fall.

i'm changing, kick down that door.

kick down that door.

the pressure has been crushing.

it's time to free the river rushing.

i crave the freedom of relief.

only one way out, it's through.

my wild heart is buried underneath.

i know i can't grow beneath a story told.

whenever you're ready.

a battle cry is trapped between my teeth.

[poraphia]

"The Battle of His Teal Hoodie."

➵ PAIRING! cc!wilbur x student!reader

➵ CREATING! 10.5.23 | 751 words

➵ CONTAINING! oversized hoodie, facetime calls, reader is a university student

➵ SAYING! literally so self-indulgent. ive been studying for like an hour straight in the library and im still THINKING ABOUT THAT HOODIE BRO IM GONNA GET IT ONE DAY WATCH BARKABRKARK btw if u wanna be in my taglist feel free to message me okay mwa mwa enjoy

——————•°•✿•°•——————•

When your boyfriend is over six foot and has an entire collection of merch where his name is plastered over cozy polyester hoodies,

you bet your sweet ass I was going to steal at least five of them.

College life wasn’t as romanticized as I thought it would be. Sure, the warmth of a coffee during a chilly morning while endlessly typing on my laptop sounded good on paper, but I guess I forgot to mention the endless due dates and upcoming exams I had to study for. I found myself buried in the corner of the university’s library on the quietest floor. I looked through my schedule, crossing out any assignments I already completed and also checking back on my classes to see if I needed to make any event adjustments.

My eyes felt heavy as I took another gulp of my caffeinated drink. My headphones shielded my ears comfortably as gentle sounds of a guitar strumming and a buttery voice filled my senses. A deep sigh escaped my nostrils before I sat back in my seat, slightly rolling away from the desk I was sitting at.

Bzzz! Bzzz!

I looked over to my phone on my desk before picking it up. I was welcomed by a picture of Wil with lipstick marks all over his face. Smiling, I swiped open the call to see my beautiful boyfriend walking around the busy streets of Brighton. I propped my phone up against my laptop to give him a full angle of me and the bookshelves behind me.

“Hey, darling, I missed you!” He smiled brightly.

“I missed you too, Wil. How was studio recording?” I asked. I pushed my laptop a little further back to make space in between me and my notebook. I took a colorful highlighter and started to go over my notes as he spoke.

“Studio was fine. We’re almost done recording a whole song for the new EP, so that should be exciting.” He chuckled. “I’m just heading over to Tom’s until you get out of school. Do you wanna get some lunch together after I pick you up?”

“Yeah, I could go for a sandwich and pretzel honestly.” I smiled, imagining the salty and buttery taste of the pretzel in my mouth already.

“Sounds good,” he confirmed. He took a glance of me briefly before doing a double take. “Hey, what are you wearing?” He asked. He held his phone closer to his face, only giving me an angle of his mess of curly hair and forehead.

“Hmm?” I hummed. “I’m just wearing my usual clothes.” I answered, oblivious.

“Now you’re just lying to me!” He laughed. “I see you smiling! Go on, stand up and let me that hoodie.”

With a defeated sigh, I stood up with my back nearly against the bookshelves so he could get a full angle of my outfit. I was wearing white tennis shoes, black shorts, but most distinctly of all, I was wearing Wil’s teal hoodie from his “Wilbur Soot ‘96” collection. The hoodie was nearly two sizes bigger than me with the sleeves going past my fingertips and my shorts just barely showing from how long the article of clothing was.

“Mhm,” he hummed. “So you decided to steal my merch, huh?”

“It’s comfy!” I exclaimed, hugging myself with the long sleeves wrapped around my waist. “Plus it smells like you, and it has your name on it! Wearing this is like screaming I’m the best partner Mr. Soot could ever ask for!” I went over and picked up my phone before holding it above my head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” He chuckled. “I’m going to steal that back once I pick you up.” He threatened, waving his finger into the camera.

“Over my dead body.” I stuck my tongue out at him. Wil scoffs, holding his hand to his chest as if offended.

“Oh, we’re going to brawl, just you wait.” He held his camera close to his eyes before bringing his lips to the camera. “Love you though!” Before I could say anything else, he hung on me.

I stared down at my phone. I smiled, tilting my head a little as I fiddled with the strings of my— or rather— Wil’s hoodie.

Maybe I should run to the gym a bit after class as a warmup.

——————•°•✿•°•——————•

a / n ~ hiii hope u enjoyed! reblogs, replies, and likes are super appreciated! im almost at 200 followers and im so excited!! seriously, i wanna get to know my followers better so if anyone wants to be an anon or just drop a hello please feel free :)

[sephirothsplaything]

DNA| Sec.80 high power-chapter 17

A/N: Baela im srry for giving you such an emotionally stunted little sister! I am very proud of this chapter btw(i barely edited this)

Rhaella ur mommy would be so proud of you!!

This is the story of Lady Rhaella Targaryen the I;the strange one and her role in the Dance Of Dragons. Loved by few and feared by many.

The blood of the dragon runs in Targaryen's veins. Something else runs in Rhaella.

BLACK TARGARYEN OC/READER

PARINGS: Aemond,Cregan,slight Jace,slight Addam,original charecter

read the last chapter here!

......

WHAT KIND OF ELDER SISTER WAS SHE? Baela thought she was no longer befitting of the title. Rhaena was in the Vale alone, while Rhaella was…

Baela was no longer privy to Rhaella's doings as of late. Her younger sister had grown quite disconnected from the rest of them.

"Please sit, you'll tire yourself." Jace urged her. He watched in slight distress as his betrothed paced back and forth restlessly.

"My grandmother is fighting alone Jace!" Baela exclaimed. "And here we are just sitting around."

Jacaerys grabbed her hand gently sitting her down. The action made her relax slightly, but her mind was still racing.

"I don't like it either, but without Daemon we are stretched quite thin." He said, brow furrowing.

An uneasy silence settled over them both. They had dragons and yet the queen would not allow them to act. How would a victory ever be gained?

"I hate the way the lords treat me as if I am some coddled princeling," Jace muttered, making Baela chuckle a little.

"You are the crown prince and heir to the throne, you must act carefully." Baela reminded.

Jace hummed in thought. "Perhaps I am not completely stuck here."

Baela raised a brow, worried Jace was about to say something reckless.

"Rhaella mentioned House Frey, they have yet to choose," Jace said.

"She spoke with complete disregard for her grace, and you're here considering it?" Baela said.

It had not escaped her notice that Jace seemed to be particularly in tune regarding Rhaella's opinions. She wondered if she had missed something between them---Rhaella had not always cared for Jace until lately, while the prince thought her sister strange.

Their dynamic was quite odd to witness.

Jace stood, hand still intertwined with Baela's. He couldn't wait around any longer.

"I shall take Vermax and go myself." Jace decided. Baela shook her head.

"Her grace will not like it."

Jace placed a kiss onto her hand. "She will not know until I am long gone."

With that, he leaves Baela alone in her chamber. Jace's words stuck to her. It was not in her nature to sit idly. The least she could do was scout the battle.

So, the lady Baela with her brave spirit dawned her riding attire. She waited for a beat of time to ensure Jace had left and also that she would not be spotted.

There was one person she had not accounted for as she marched towards the dragon pits though.

Still lingering around the caves was Rhaella, stuck in a daze of sorts.

"Sister?" Baela called, bringing her out of it.

"Jace left," Rhaella said softly, her eyes were unblinking. It greatly unnerved Baela to no end.

"Yes, but he should be back soon," Baela responded. Rhaella took in her outfit, face changing into something far more expressive.

"And you're leaving as well?" Baela nodded.

"I am going to Rooks Rest."

Rhaella's eyes widened. "You mustn't!"

Baela scoffed, adjusting her glove.

"It was naught but hours ago you were calling for action," Baela said. "It was you who agreed I should've burnt Criston Cole."

Rhaella's behavior practically changed on a head, in a rather inhumane way. She gripped Baela's arm with a tight further.

"Moondancer cannot withstand Vhagar, do not be foolish," Rhaella said.

"And our grandmother shouldn't bear the burden alone," Baela responded.

Surely Rhaella knew that.

"And father..only the Gods know what he's doing at Harrenhal." Baela continued. She gestured to a dragonkeeper to summon her dragon.

"I doubt the Gods are with him," Rhaella muttered.

"Do not say such things." Baela scolded. Rhaella shrugged.

The chitters of the she-dragon bounced through the cave. Baela smiled warmly at the sight of Moondancer, patting her side.

The dragon nestled into Baela's touch, then turning her gaze to Rhaella expectedly.

Sighing, the girl gave in, petting Moondancers green scales lightly.

"Umbagon qana ,mandia." Rhaella resigned.'Stay sharp, sister' She knew better than to waste her breath any further in convincing Baela to stay.

"You know I shall," Baela assured. Mounting her dragon, she took off from the cave and into the skies.

Moondancer zipped through the skies swiftly. In truth, Baela had given little thought as to a plan. If it was Sunfyre and Aegon she'd be met with, perhaps she could manage an attack. Meleyes could more than handle the pair.

The wind whipped through Baela's short hair that was bound together in a ponytail.

It did not take long for her to arrive to the sight, though she smelled the battle before seeing it. The acrid smell of ash and blood permeated the air, causing Baela's eyes to sting.

There were bodies strewn on the ground, bloody and broken. Baela's stomach turned but tried to hold fast. She gripped the reins of Moondancer tighter, directing her through the mess.

Enemy soldiers shouted in response to her presence, some recognizing her from a fortnight ago when she chased Cole through the valley.

But what Baela saw caused the world around her to become completely mute.'

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, her beloved grandmother. Falling to the ground utop a limp, likely dead Meleyes.

Down to the ruble, Rhaenys fell. Baela screamed a choked-out cry, a futile attempt indeed.

Over the fallen dragon was Aemond atop Vhagar, looking more than proud of himself.

Him. He who had now taken the last piece of her heart. Aemond had served as a living slight to Baela's entire life.

First, he steals her mother's dragon, robbing Rhaena an attempt to claim her. Then,he slew their sweet cousin, Luke, for he was but a boy.

Somehow, he had managed to steal Rhaella's complete affection and reasoning--Causing a rift between the sisters.

And now, Aemond felt entitled to take the life of her grandmother?

Baela would not have it.

Adjusting herself on Moondacer,Baela dipped lower to the ground.

Rageful, she burned a chunk of the greens army. Moondancer's fire was not especially large.

But fire does not burn the flesh of men any less; Baela blocked out the pained cries of the soldiers. One thing plagued her mind.

Aemond must pay. He must die.

She charged Moondancer towards Vhagar brazenly, causing Aemond to take notice.

Aemond wondered if it was even worth it to slay such a tiny dragon. He certainly had no love for Baela, savage thing she was.

He wouldn't even need to burn her--Vhagar could eat them both in one go. Aemond steered his dragon to Baela, wondering if she really would attack.

At that moment, Baela seemed to snap out of her intentions, hastily turning Moondancer to flee.

Aemond knew he couldn't catch her, the dragon she possessed was far too quick. Still, he cruelly gave chase as best he could.

No real intention of killing her, and Rhaella would never forgive him. Defeating Rhaenys however, was necessary. She would come to understand it.

Aemond had much to celebrate, the title of prince regent was a breath away from him.

Baela's hair was in disarray, cheeks strewn with tears like the sea. She came here to do nothing, to do naught but watch the murder of her grandmother.

She flew back to Dragonstone---The dragonkeepers guided Moondancer back to the caves.

Baela stumbled out of the pits, halting momentarily to wipe her face. Rhaella would break at the news, and the eldest must stay strong.

She must stay strong.

Upon her return, she saw the members of the council, Queen Rhaenyra in talks with them. Rhaella looked distracted, her brows were furrowed in torment.

Baela nearly did not have the heart to add to it.

"I am told you went to Rooks Rest, without my permission no less." Queen Rhaenyra began, chiding the girl for being so reckless.

When Baela raised her head, Rhaenyra stopped abruptly.

"My grandmother has been slain."

Jace stepped forward slightly, wishing nothing more than to hold Baela.

"By Aegon?" Rhaenyra's voice broke slightly.

"Aemond." Baela could feel her eyes watering once more. She met the gaze of Rhaella--Her younger sister did not cry, nor did her face betray any emotion.

It enraged Baela, how she stood abnormally still.

"This atrocity must be swiftly answered!" Ser Alfred said others agreed.

Baela ignored them, still staring at Rhaella, whose eyes fluttered ever so slightly.

Something of a half whimper left Rhaella's lips--She moved to flee the room, likely to be alone.

"Rhaella, you must-" Jace tried, reaching out to her.

"Fuck off," Rhaella said, a coldness in her voice as she shoved past him.

"Clear the room." Queen Rhaenyra ordered. As the lords filed out, Baela ran to Jace, tears fully making themselves known.

Baela shook in his embrace as he held her tighter. In the midst of sorrow, she silently apologized to her grandmother. She tried to be brave, like her mother when she was consumed by Vhagar's flames or like Rhaenys herself in her final moments.

"Baela, come with me." Queen Rhaenyra says softly.

"But mother-" Jace tries. Baela clearly needed him, now more than ever.

"It's alright, Jace," Baela said, leaving him for Rhaenyra.

Baela and Rhaenyra entered the queen's quarters. They sat down together, Baela's sobs had been dimmed to sniffles.

"Where do you think Rhaella went?" Rhaenyra spoke first, she placed a gentle hand on Baela's leg.

"Who could know?" Baela said."She's like father in that way, fleeing when things become too much."

Rhaenyra nodded. She knew of Daemon's views regarding Rhaella. He would complain that she is silently flippant, opposing him at every turn.

However, in the same breath, he'd admit that her mind had to be some sort of weapon.

"Your grandmother was the fiercest among us, in her love and opinions," Rhaenyra said.

Baela smiled bitterly. "My mother used to tell me stories of how she used to scold her and my uncle, but could never in truth stay angry."

"Ah." Rhaenyra smiled at the incoming memories, back when things were much more simple. "I recall her being cross when Daemon fought for your mother's hand."

"They always have been at odds, but alas they were cousins," Baela said.

"I think.." Rhaenyra began, turning to Baela. "I fear there is something wrong with Rhaella."

Baela sighed,at least she was not the only one to notice.

"Sometimes, I hear to speaking to herself in her chamber," Baela admitted.

Rhaenyra's face contorted in confusion.

"She does not sleep, though she tries."

"Perhaps I should have sent her to Pentos, or away with Rhaena," Rhaenyra said.

Baela chuckled. "She'd sooner flee to the Red Keep." As the words left her mouth, she thought of Aemond--The jest instantly became unfunny.

"Well." Rhaenyra huffed. "Let us hope, for our sake, she finds what she is looking for."

........

RHAELLA SCREAMED UNTIL HER THROAT WAS RAW.

Still, though, she could not summon a single tear. Her exhaustion ate away at her but still could not find sleep.

She sat in The Cannibal's still empty cave, clutching the dragon hairpin her grandmother had gifted her.

She was gone. Rhaella felt a numbness overtake her body.

There might have been a slight sense of guilt when she thought of Aemond. However, it was nothing but apathy.

He was enjoying himself right now,Rhaella was sure. Reveling in the death of her grandmother. Aemond was likely with that bed whore Astris had mentioned.

Surely he was fond of her. Aemond still had plenty of people to care for around him, while Rhaella's numbers were dwindling.

The thought alone--Of Aemond happy by himself filled her with an unholy rage.

Placing the pin back in her hair, Rhaella decided to take an act she never thought was possible to do.

Rhaella went to her knees. Praying.

She had never prayed,or offered thanks to the Gods--Why should she?

But now, she was desperate.

Rhaella didn't even know to whom she was supposed to pray.

Perhaps…. the presence who had made himself known to her? He had plagued her with dreams and whispers. Somehow, this felt natural.

"Please." Rhaella began. She was not entirely sure what she was asking for.

Death? Mercy? A chance to prove herself?

Why not all?

"Take my soul if it so pleases you, but make me strong in return."

Rhaella clasped her hands tighter together, her scarred palms rubbed together.

"Make me powerful, grant me divine violence, and make thick my blood."

Rhaella decided she had voiced all her desires properly, she waited.

For what, she was not so sure. A sign? Or perhaps the God in question will take pity and strike her down.

What a silly girl she was.

As she raised her head, the unmistakable roars of a dragon made the cave rumble.

Her Aegarax. The Cannibal dragon.

Rhaella ran, faster than anything she ever had before. Her cloak flung behind her as she stumbled to see him.

The Cannibal landed onto the sand,staring at her. Rhaella's panted breaths slowed as all she could do was return the act.

Could this be?

As if it was a response of some kind,The Cannibal bent his neck for her.

This wild dragon, whom had killed and eaten scores of men crouched for her.

"Gods be good." Rhaella said in disbelief. She approached slowly with some semblance of confidence present.

"Aegarax?" Rhaella said, slowly reaching a hand to his nose. He leaned forward, into her touch.

"Lykiri," Rhaella spoke for good measure.

She hoisted herself on top of him, holding onto his horns. The feeling of his warmed scales underneath her was incomparable. Like a true bond.

Aegarax raised up again, stretching his wings. Rhaella briefly wondered if he would throw her off.

The Cannibal spread his wings further, beginning to walk forward.

Then he flew--Up into the skies he went, and Rhaella could do little but hold on for dear life.

Her cloak whipped behind her as well did her hair in the wind. For a time, she dared not move, seizing in place.

She was on a dragon. No, she was riding her dragon.

Sitting up slightly, Rhaella readjusted her grip onto the spikes on his back.

She looked up to the skies, passing through clouds. The air felt slightly cooler at this height.

A fit of shocked laughter left her. Rhaella tried to recall the books she had read as a child, how she watched other riders fly with their dragons.

But they had saddles, and she had nothing. Rhaella moved along with Aegarax's rhythm. The Cannibal was a little rash in his flight as he sped through the air.

At one time, Rhaella used to think that she would prefer a much slower dragon.

Clearly, her mind was changed in an instant. It occurred to her that she was hardly controlling him in any particular direction, but she hardly cared.

Aegarax could fly her well into the east for all she cared. Rhaella closed her eyes, savoring the feeling of her bond.

It was not until she reopened her eyes did Rhaella realized she was nearing Kings Landing.

Cursing, she gripped onto the cannibal's horns for control.

"Daor kesīr!" Rhaella urged 'Not here!'

After a few attempts, Aegarax detoured the path to Kings Landing, instead hovering over the woods nearby.

They very well could've been spotted, shot down even.

"Tegun kesīr" Rhaella directed, nearly sternly.'Land here.'

Through the short exchange, Rhaella found that Aegarax responded better to sharp and direct commands.

The Cannibal settled to the ground,Rhaella reluctantly jumped down from him.

Her legs wobbled, adjusting to the gravity.

Why did he bring her here, of all places? Aegarax's head plopped to the ground as if he had done his part in full.

Petting his side absentmindedly, Rhaella thought about what to do next.

If they were now bonded, perhaps he was in tune to her desires.

That brothel whore, the one who keeps Aemond company.

Rhaella raised the hood of her cloak over her head, concealing her silver locks.

Keeping her head down, she walked to the inner cities of Kings Landing. The place was just as packed as it was last time she ventured here.

Smelled twice as awful too.

Walking through the streets of Flea Bottom, Rhaella listened in for any information.

People here were starving and angry. They knew not who was leading them as Aegon seemed to disappear.

Rhaella hoped he was dead.

In the sea of people,one girl caught her eye.

It was Elinda, maid to the Queen Rhaenyra. But what was she doing here?

Rhaella hurried to catch up with her and once she was within reach she grabbed her.

"Elinda." Rhaella hissed.

"My lady?" She said once she realized who held her arm. "Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" Rhaella asked.

Elinda looked around cautiously. "I was sent here by the queen,she has a plan."

Plan? Rhaella was sure Mysaria was involved.

Elinda took in Rhaella's silence. "Come with me."

The maid directed Rhaella to one of the houses. Inside was a plump looking girl, sitting with Astris.

At the sight of Rhaella, Astris jumped from her seat.

"My lady?"

Rhaella breathed out in relief. "So you're ok."

Astris held Rhaella's hands, taking her in.

"How did you come here?" Astris asked. "By boat?"

Rhaella shook her head,taking a seat.

"My dragon." The sentence felt foreign on her tounge,but she supposed it would take some getting used to.

"What!" Astris exclaimed. "You finally claimed him?"

Rhaella's lips twitched onto a smile.

"I did."

"I am glad of it but you must return," Elinda said. Rhaella removed her hood and sat down. Noticing Rhaella's loose hair, Astris's fingers began to braid it, almost instinctively.

"I think i would rather hear about this plan." Rhaella said.

"The queen shall send food to the city," the girl blurted out. When Rhaella's attention turned to her, she blushed profusely.

"Do say it louder, Diana, so the whole city might hear you," Astris muttered sarcastically.

So the queen had considered using the people's hunger, originally Rhaella's own suggestion.

"The queen and lady Mysaria have seen to it themselves," Elinda added.

Rhaella adjusted her head slightly as Astris continued to braid.

"And when is this to happen?" Rhaella asked.

"On the morrow," Diana replied.

Come daylight, fleeing the city would be harder. Whatever she indened to do must be done this very night.

"Aegon is abed with injuries,I hear." Astris said,hands falling from Rhaella's hair.

"I hope he dies." Diana said.

Rhaella smirked. At least her grandmother hadn't gone without doing damange.

"The council has crowned Aemond prince regent," Elinda said.

"I'm sure he is positively gloating about that." Rhaella said.

It was almost funny--They both achieved something they've been longing for since childhood.

Aemond wished to be above his brother, seated on the throne.

Rhaella wished for a power,a dragon.

"He has already ordered the city gates shut, there is hardly food here," Astris says.

If Aemond got so much as an inkling that there was a plot,all the small folk would suffer for it.

"Aemond needs to be subdued in some way, at least for a time." Rhaella suggested.

Astris stood up, walking to a table laid with all sorts of books and plants. "Are you offering yourself up, my lady?"

"If you offer something I can use on him, then perhaps," Rhaella said.

Astris hummed, grabbed a book, and disappeared to the back.

"There is more." Elinda said. "The Queen has ordered me to collect any possible bastards with Targaryen blood."

"To what end?" Rhaella fiddled with her braid.

"From what I understand, there could be potential dragon riders among them."

Bastards on dragons? What a wretched idea. All her life she spent dragonless till now,and some scrappy commoner would mount one so easily?

It was nothing short of an insult. She decided to leave it to her grace,and wanted no parts of it.

Soon, Astris returned a vial of some sort in hand. Placing it on the table, she looked to Rhaella expectantly.

"What is it?" Diana asks. Rhaella picked it up; it was filled with a clear liquid, looking still like water.

"If she pours enough of it into his wine, he'll eventually enter a deep sleep," Astris says.

Meaning,Rhaella must find a way to get close--Perhaps in his chamber.

"It is dangoures!" Diana exclaimed. "She'll surely die."

"Perhaps." Rhaella mused. She had no intention of dying this night,not after the great feat she accomplished.

"Her grace would not have you put yourself in harms way." Elinda said. Rhaella ignored her, shoving the vile in her cloak.

"Astris?" Elinda tried. "The queen did not order for this."

The Pentoshi girl smiled flippantly, eyes fixed onto Rhaella. "I only serve my lady."

Elinda watched the two in half horror. Mysaria was right, Astris and Rhaella were quite the frightening match.

"I shall return, later into the night," Rhaella announced, raising up the hood of her cloak.

She slipped her dagger under the band of her stocking. "If morning comes and I still have not returned, I've been slain."

In truth,Rhaella sincerly douted that Aemond would hurt her. As it stood,she had much and more a reason to harm him.

"My lady?" Astris said,catching Rhaella's attention. "How would you like to proceed?"

Rhaella thought for a moment. She required more information before throwing herself into certain death.

"That brothel harlot," Rhaella stated, her violet eyes darkened. "I want to see her."

[void-chara]

@mcytblrholidayexchange gift for @irrealisms !! you had lots of prompt ideas for writing, but not for art, so i hope you're happy with eclipse federation misery and agony compilation, plus song lyrics

lyric credits: Temporary - Chase Petra / Stranger - The Mechanisms / Easier - The Crane Wives (appears four times) / Two Birds - Regina Spektor / Little Soldiers - The Crane Wives (appears twice) / Heretic Pride - The Mountain Goats

feel free to ask if you want me to adjust some text to make it more readable or something, i think it looks fine but i know different peoples eyes and devices are different, and if i had more time i would definitely have spent more time messing with the colors on everything

speaking. of time. im really sorry i took so long ._. i kind of suck at estimating how long projects will take and how much time i have. thanks for being so patient!!

oh, also, some lyrics and drawings have story reasons for being grouped together, and some went where they looked good. uh. ideally id make sure everything had reason for its location, but this is one area where i did correctly estimate my time, instead of getting stuck in the planning phase.

also in the process of typing all this ive already gone back twice to change stuff in the images and re-add them to the post lol

OH also!! the part where vitalasy jumps off to his death! is as far as i can tell NOT canon accurate!! all the footage shows him jumping off the prison, since thats where he respawns. i didnt think to check this until after id already drawn most of the stuff, and already had the prison drawn, and i didnt want to reorganize the drawing. im telling myself that we only see a few of the later deaths and so theoretically the first one could have been jumping off a grassy ledge somewhere but its still bothering me and i needed to mention it.

anyway yeah really hope you like it i tried some new stuff with this one im not sure how well it turned out and thanks again for being so patient!!

EDITING TO ADD SOME MORE WORDS!!! i love talking about my art! so first, all the text on signs and stuff i did go back and look at videos and vods to make sure was entirely accurate, and i wrote all the words entirely by myself. for the lyrics and other text(death message and DELIVERANCE), i used a text tool first to make sure the words would be neat and where i needed them, and then traced over that on a new layer and deleted the original text layer. my handwritting fucking sucks always no matter what, this was a very necessary step. also! this is officially the first thing i have drawn entirely on my phone, rather than on my ipad like i used to do! also i dont use a stylus of any type i just draw with my finger lol.

[archangeldyke-all]

Hi baby, Im super like not myself lately and my writing has been suffering for it (I haven't touched my laptop since last week 🫠). Just wanted to pop in, say hi, I love you and I'm gonna be lurking and rereading fics on your page tonight for my own personal comfort. Also whenever you feel like it, I've been thinking about black vamp reader and sev going out for their first hunt together, that's all 🥺🥲 Kisses if you want them ladybug 😚

marsssss a million kisses for you baby i'm sorry you're in a funk <3. i love you so so so much i hope you feel better soon! also, yes, lets do it!

disclaimer!! i'm white-- so i'll try to make it an obviously black reader-- but if i make any mistakes just lmk and i'll change it asap!!

men and minors dni

sevika's nervous-- you can tell.

she hasn't let go of your hand since you arrived, and each time someone walks beside your hiding spot-- a dark little alcove in the alley behind a bar-- she gasps.

you squeeze her hand. "relax." you whisper. she huffs.

"can't we just eat more rats for a while?" she asks. you giggle.

"do you want to eat more rats?" you ask. she hums.

it took her a while to adjust to her new life as a vampire. she loves flying-- and even now, a month in to her transformation, she still giggles every time her feet leave the floor.

she's got beef with your little bat friend now that she can understand it-- and the feeling seems to be mutual, since he's always lunging at sevika and making her scream when he comes to visit you. they're both jealous-- possessive of you and your attention. you think it's cute.

when it comes to feeding though, sevika's still a little hesitant.

it's not the killing that puts her off-- hell, she does that anyways.

it's just that sevika became familiar with feeding with you, her acting as the blood bag. she thinks of it as something inherently intimate-- something that's meant to bond two people, something vulnerable.

and while it can be that, most of the time it's much more brutal and much less sexy-- and sevika's had some trouble wrapping her head around it.

but you've gotten tired of draining rats with her-- you miss the full bodied taste of human blood. and she's not really a fan either-- the fur tickles her too much for it to be enjoyable.

which leads you to now.

"what about him?" sevika asks as a drunk man stumbles by your hiding spot. you snort.

"he's not drunk enough." you say. sevika huffs.

"how long do we have to wait?" she whines, tugging your hand in hers. you giggle and press a kiss to her cheek. she relaxes at the press of your lips on her skin.

"as long as it takes, babe." you say. she sighs.

"you didn't tell me being a vampire would be so boring." she groans. you giggle.

"i did, actually." you say. sevika pouts. "c'mon, you don't have any enemies you wanna drain?" you ask. sevika huffs.

"i already told you! i don't have enemies-- at least not for long. i took care of 'em all already." she says, pouting again. you snort.

"so we're stuck here until you make a new one or someone comes stumbling by wasted." you say. she sighs. you kiss her to placate her again, and she hums against your lips. "it's not all bad." you remind her. "i never had a companion with me on my hunts-- this is fun."

"oh, have i been demoted to companion now?" she asks, glaring at you. you giggle.

"well, i don't see a ring on my finger." you say, teasingly wagging your fingers in front of sevika's face. she growls.

"you proposed to me! i don't need to get you a ring!" she cries. you laugh, reaching forward to fiddle with the ring that you pushed on her finger a month ago.

"i'm just saying-- until we say our 'i do's, legally, you're just my roommate."

"you're the one who won't let me take you to the courthouse--"

"they're up top and only open in the daytime! we can't get burnt on our wedding day sev!"

she grumbles, and you lean forward to kiss her again. she sighs against your mouth, wrapping her arms around your waist and pulling you against her body. you run your hands through her hair and tug, pulling a moan out of her.

just when she starts shoving a thigh between your legs, something down the alleyway clatters. you both look up and watch as a burly man doubles over and vomits behind a dumpster.

"hmm." you say, licking your lips as you examine the man. he's big enough for you to both get a decent drink from him, and drunk enough that he won't remember it in the morning. sevika nudges you.

"him?" she asks. you shrug.

"dunno. it's your first hunt, you tell me." you say.

you watch as sevika's eyes flit up and down the barfing man, her pupils widening and her tongue coming out to lick her lips in hunger.

"he... he's pretty drunk." she says. you nod.

"blacked out, probably." you say. she bites her lip. "can you smell him?" you ask. sevika sniffs the air, and her stomach rumbles. you giggle.

"f-fuck." she whispers.

"better than rats, right?"

"way better." she whispers.

"so?"

"i think it's him." she says, nodding at you. you smile.

"you wanna take the lead or just watch on your first hunt?" you ask. sevika shrugs.

"you go first-- i wanna see you in action." she says. you smile, kiss her cheek, then duck out of the alcove.

instinct takes over pretty quick. in a flash, you're in the air and flying over toward the man. you wait for the perfect moment, when he stands back up from vomiting, and then move in a flash.

your hand clamps over his mouth and your limbs wrap around his torso as you sink your teeth into his thoat from behind.

there's a muffled gasp and then a bit of a fight, but in a few seconds, he goes limp and falls to the pavement below him. you take a few big gulps from his artery, then pull off his neck and look over to where your fiance is watching you from her hiding spot.

"c'mere!" you call. she slowly walks over.

"'s a lot more scary when you're not doing it to me." she says. you chuckle.

"yeah, well, i wasn't as gentle and loving with him as i am with you." you say as sevika kneels on the other side of the man between you. you gesture at him. "go ahead." you encourage her.

sevika licks her lips as she looks down at the man beneath her, and then she leans down, lines her teeth up to the puncture wounds you'd left in his throat, and starts drinking.

"fuck." you whisper. she hums and looks up at you from where she's drinking, groaning at the taste. "that's so hot." you say. sevika laughs through her nose.

the blood in your body is filling you with strength and magic, and something warm starts bubbling in your stomach as you watch sevika drink from the holes you'd made in your victims neck.

it's hypnotizing. her throat bobs with each sip, there's a sweet furrow in her brow, and the little hums and grunts she lets out with each sip are incredibly tantalizing.

she's still new to it, and she's incredibly messy as she drinks. blood's covering her chin and cheeks, dripping slowly down her throat, and when she pulls away from him with a gasp, you nearly cum in your pants at the sight of your lover grinning and satisfied and covered in blood.

you launch yourself over the man between the two of you and tackle sevika to the pavement. she grunts as she lands, but quickly starts to laugh as you start licking up the blood covering her skin and grinding down against her thighs.

"fuck." you grunt. "you're so fucking hot." you whine.

"shit, i feel so..."

"warm?"

"yeah." she says, giggling-- a little high from the euphoria of finally drinking human blood. you grin then press your lips against hers. after a minute of making out, sevika pulls away with a gasp. "i want you." she says. you moan.

"you can have me."

sevika pushes you off of her then drags the two of you back into your hiding spot, quickly pushing both of your shirts under your armpits and pulling your pants down to your knees.

it's clumsy and messy and sticky with blood, but neither of you care as you grope and lick and kiss one another anywhere you can reach.

you're both high on blood, giggling and euphoric as you clumsily collide. it's a blur of brown skin on brown skin-- blood on fingertips and spit on lips as you grind and grope each other mindlessly.

you cum together, gasping against each other's mouths and shivering in each other's hands, and when you catch your breath, the first thing you say is "oh, i fucking love you."

sevika huffs and smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

"i love you too." she says, laughing. "i'm glad we still fuck after eating-- i was sad to let that go when you turned me." she says. you giggle.

"not regretting it after your first real feed?" you ask, tugging your pants back up over your ass and helping sevika button her own. she scoffs.

"hell no-- that was amazing. does it always taste that good?" she asks. you smirk and nod.

"of course, he's got nothing on your blood-- but i think that was more of a love thing than a taste thing." you say. sevika giggles.

"fuck off-- i taste amazing."

you grin. "yeah, you do." you say, shoving your thigh against her cunt. she gasps, then giggles.

taglist!

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[whentherewerebicycles]

Hi! I love your blog, I love reading about your life and specially Owen updates! I'm also a teacher. It's been eight years. I started with teaching English language and literature at a school to O1 and O2 students. After a couple of years I was offered a course by my supervisor at the university since I was also enrolled in M. Phil. I taught there as a teaching assistant but it's a contract based job and you can only continue that for 3 yrs. The contract doesn't renew after this limit. I've been teaching as visiting faculty after that but it doesn't pay well so finally I've decided to go back to school teaching and have a permanent job. Now I seem to have two options and this is where I want your advice. One option is that I go back to the same school where I started. They'll easily give me the same role and likely promote me after a year or two. The second option is that I get a job at another school in my area which pays better but right now they only have vacancy for grade 7. This option means that I'll have to adjust my teaching methods and all to the needs of a younger audience. Im not the least excited to teach kids this age since there won't be much room for critical thinking and discussion of complex ideas. Also there will be no guarantee of a promotion. One of the perks apart from a good salary there would be that if I'm appointed I can have my kid study at this expensive school for free. Which option do you think is better? Is there anything I'm overlooking here? I'll be really grateful for your help!

hello! honestly, it sounds like both options are good and it might come down to which of these factors are most important to you / best for your quality of life, work satisfaction, and long-term plans. so school 1 is same school teaching older kids, school 2 is new school teaching younger kids.

i think if you are not really excited about teaching younger kids at school 2 (and if there doesn't seem to be much potential to do that for a bit then switch back to teaching older kids at school 2), that might be a sign to go with your gut and choose school 1 since oyu already know you find the work fulfilling. i'm also curious: if you go back to school 1 and get promoted within a year or two, is there any chance the promotion would come with a pay increase that would bring your salary closer to what school 2 is offering? if so, then it might not matter that much overall that school 2 offers an initially higher salary, if you're going to be stuck at that salary without an option to move up. but if pay is likely to remain the same at school 1, maybe that's a wash, and you will just have to decide how much that salary difference matters to your overall financial security/quality of life. i took a $13k annual pay decrease to leave my previous (government) job and take my current job, and that was a big adjustment, especially with a kid! it also means i have to work a second job tutoring to cover my expenses. ultimately making the change was worth it to me because i find the work in my current role so much more fulfilling... but in your case, if the work is going to be about the same and making more money would materially improve your life/ease financial strain, that's worth taking into account.

the perk re: your kid enrolling at the school 2 is also something to think about. if you didn't take the job, would your kid attend a (free) public school or would you have to pay for a private school? if you'd have to pay school fees elsewhere, then it might be worth it in the long run to choose free tuition even if you are a little less thrilled with the work. if your kid would have free schooling regardless, then that doesn't matter quite as much.

another thought: if you do go with school 2 for financial reasons, you might be surprised to find you enjoy teaching younger students! it would obviously be different and would require some upfront work in terms of adapting your pedagogy or rethinking your curriculum, but i've found that working with students across different ages gives me a more nuanced understanding of the longer arc of child development / learning. also, if google is correct, it sounds like year 7 is about equivalent to middle school in the US (around age 11-12ish). the middle school teachers i know here LOVE teaching middle school - there are a lot of challenges but they report that the kids are hilariously quirky and weird and hormonal and awkward and sweet, and you might discover that you can do engaging work there even if it's quite different than working with university students or advanced high school students.

ok and last thought: you know what school 1 is like and it seems like school 1 would be delighted to have you back. so if you wanted to try school 2 (to see if you like teaching younger kids, or to see if the pay bump makes a meaningful difference in your life), you could do that for a year or two and then return to school 1 the next time they have an opening. i have found that when i'm making big life decisions it helps me to remind myself that i'm not necessarily making a decision about what the whole rest of my life/career will look like - i'm usually just deciding what the next couple years will look like, and i can always pivot if it turns out the change wasn't what i wanted.

i hope that helps!! i honestly don't think you can go wrong here (and neither choice is necessarily permanent), so good luck making the decision!