#but then you realize how detailed they are

[ahqkas]

Do you think you could a reverse of you "attractive things they do without realizing" with the bat boys?

♯ ATTRACTIVE THINGS YOU DO . . . that make them go crazy ! — part 1

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts, mention of reader’s hair

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

simply attending gala with him

the gala was in full swing, the soft hum of conversation and the tinkling of crystal glasses weaving through the grand hall. bruce wayne stood at the center of it all, the undisputed star of the evening, yet his focus wasn’t on the crowd. it was on you.

you stood beside him, your hand lightly wrapped around his forearm, a subtle yet intimate gesture that spoke things without saying a word. the way your fingers rested there, so effortlessly claiming him as yours, sent a warmth spreading through his chest—a feeling that, for once, wasn’t from the weight of responsibility or the burden of his double life. it was softer, lighter. it was you.

bruce’s sharp eyes, trained to assess every detail in a room, couldn’t help but linger on you. the dress you wore was nothing short of perfection—not that it could have been anything else. he had ensured it. every stitch, every line, every fold of fabric had been crafted with you in mind. he had selected the finest material, rich and smooth beneath the touch, ensuring it draped over your figure with the kind of elegance that turned heads the moment you stepped into a room.

the deep hue of the gown complemented his suit nicely, catching the light in subtle ways, as though it, too, was vying for his attention. the neckline framed your collarbones delicately, and the way the fabric hugged your form made it impossible for his mind not to wander to how well he knew every curve beneath. the gentle train swirled around your heels like liquid, moving with you in an almost hypnotic rhythm, every step making his heart beat just a little faster.

bruce had commissioned it specifically for you, worked with the designer himself to ensure it would fit you like a second skin—tailored to highlight everything he found most captivating about you. it wasn’t just vanity, though he’d be lying if he said he didn’t relish the way every person in the room couldn’t help but notice you. no, it was deeper than that. dressing you in the finest fabrics, wrapping you in elegance, was his way of saying what words often couldn’t: you’re extraordinary, and the world should know it.

to you, he wasn’t just bruce wayne, gotham’s elusive billionaire. he wasn’t the brooding vigilante who prowled the night. he was just . . . bruce. and in that moment, he felt more real, more whole, than he had in years.

he tilted his head slightly, glancing down at you, and his lips tugged into the faintest of smiles—a rare expression, softer than most would ever see. the subtle scent of your perfume reached him as you leaned closer to whisper something, your voice a low melody against the backdrop of the room. he didn’t even catch the words; he was too lost in the curve of your smile, the way your lashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the warmth of your touch radiating through the fabric of his suit.

his thoughts betrayed him, wandering ahead to a quieter moment later, when the gala was over, and it was just the two of you again. but for now, he stood tall, the perfect host, his hand moving to cover yours on his arm. his thumb brushed against your knuckles, a silent gesture of affection and gratitude. he didn’t say it aloud—he didn’t need to—but he was thinking it with every fiber of his being: you’re the most beautiful thing in this room, and you don’t even know it.

seeing you work at his office

bruce leaned back in his leather chair, the polished desk between you serving as the only barrier to his unraveling thoughts. you stood on the other side, flipping through a file with the kind of focus that made his chest tighten, utterly oblivious to the effect you were having on him. the pencil skirt you wore hugged your hips in a way that felt almost sinful, every line and contour designed to torment him. the fabric clung just right, emphasizing the curve of your waist and the sway of your body each time you shifted. and then there was the blouse—white, crisp, and perfectly fitted, the faintest hint of skin peeking where the buttons strained against your figure. it was driving him to the edge.

the sharp click of your heels echoed softly as you moved around the room, your voice calm and professional as you recounted details of a recent meeting, flipping a page in the file without missing a beat. but bruce wasn’t listening. not really. his gaze followed the way your fingers smoothed the papers, delicate but deliberate, and his mind betrayed him. those same hands . . . what would they feel like tangled in his hair, tugging him closer? or splayed against his chest, nails dragging lightly as he pressed you against the wall?

he shifted in his seat, jaw tightening as he tried to force himself back to the present. but it was impossible. the way the soft material of your blouse tucked into that pencil skirt left just enough to the imagination while teasing at everything he wanted to do to you. his mind raced ahead, envisioning the fabric bunched around your hips, your voice losing its composed edge as he silenced every word with his lips

you glanced up at him suddenly, your eyes catching his, and for a moment, his composure faltered. his sharp blue gaze was darker now, focused entirely on you with an intensity that made your breath hitch. his tongue darted across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, as he leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.

“are you almost finished?”

“just a few more minutes.”

his thoughts raced ahead, imagining the way your name would sound falling from his lips, low and rough, as he pulled you into his lap. how your soft gasps would fill the room, mingling with the shuffle of papers and the creak of leather as his control finally slipped. bruce’s mind was already plotting, already deciding just how many minutes he’d let you finish your work before he gave in.

DICK GRAYSON

the quiet hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window, the distant sounds of gotham settling into the night. dick sat cross-legged on the couch, his hair still damp from a quick shower after patrol, wearing a loose gray shirt and sweatpants. you were tucked into the corner of the couch, legs pulled up to your chest with your arms wrapped around them, your chin resting on your knees. there was something so effortlessly comfortable about the way you curled into yourself, the soft glow of the lamp painting your features in warm hues.

he couldn’t help but let his eyes linger, caught by the way the corners of your lips curved into a gentle smile as you listened to him recount something ridiculous wally had said earlier. it wasn’t just your smile, though it always had a way of knocking the air out of his lungs—it was the way your gaze stayed fixed on him, warm and attentive, like he was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.

“are you even listening?” he teased, leaning forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees as he tilted his head to catch your gaze more fully.

you laughed softly, a sound that melted into the quiet of the room like it belonged there. “i am,” you insisted, shifting slightly to prop your chin higher on your knees, the movement drawing his attention to the curve of your bare shoulders beneath the oversized sweatshirt you were wearing—his sweatshirt, he realized with a pang of fondness.

“good,” he said, his voice softer now, his lips curving into an easy smile. but he didn’t pick up where he left off. instead, he found himself studying the little things: the way your hair framed your face, the way your eyes glimmered with quiet amusement, the small, almost unconscious sway of your head as you rested against your knees.

“don’t stop,” you murmured, your smile widening.

dick chuckled, shaking his head. “i wasn’t sure if my story could compete with . . . well, you,” he said, his tone light but tinged with the kind of sincerity that always made your chest tighten.

“flatterer,” you teased, but the way your cheeks warmed didn’t escape him.

when you arch your back in a chair

he had only meant to grab a drink and check in with you, but the second he entered the room and saw you sitting at the table, all coherent thought vanished. he froze in place, his gaze drawn to you like a moth to a flame. you were leaning forward in your chair, your elbows braced on the table and your back arched just slightly as you studied whatever had your focus. it was innocent—completely unintentional—but to him, it was anything but.

the way your shirt clung to your frame as you bent forward made his mouth go dry, the curve of your back teasing him in ways that had his imagination running wild. his eyes lingered on the dip of your waist, the way the soft fabric stretched just enough over your hips, and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering further—thinking about how easy it would be to step behind you, trail his hands down that arch, and pull you closer.

dick swallowed hard, forcing himself to look away, but it was hopeless. his gaze snapped back to you as if on instinct, and this time, it wasn’t just the curve of your back that had his attention. it was the way your body moved, every subtle shift of your weight making his thoughts spiral deeper. he could almost feel the press of your skin against his palms, the heat of you beneath his hands as he tipped you just slightly further forward . . .

jesus, get it together, grayson, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair and trying to clear his head. but the damage was done, and now every inch of him was on edge, his pulse thrumming in his ears. it wasn’t fair how effortlessly you drove him crazy—how just existing could send his thoughts careening into territory that made him shift uncomfortably in place.

you glanced up suddenly, breaking him out of his haze. “hey, you good?” you asked, your brows furrowing slightly in concern.

the sound of your voice jolted him back to reality, though his heart was still racing. “fine,” he managed, his voice just a little rougher than usual. he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to play it cool despite the heat simmering beneath his skin.

but you weren’t convinced. there was a hint of amusement in your eyes as you leaned back slightly in your chair, giving him that knowing smile that always made his knees weak. “you sure?”

dick’s jaw clenched as you shifted again, his gaze flickering down to the curve of your waist before he caught himself. stop it. stop it right now. but then you tilted your head, and that damn teasing glint in your eyes told him you knew exactly what you were doing.

he took a step forward, bracing a hand on the table as he leaned down, his face suddenly inches from yours. his voice was low, rough, almost a growl. “you’re making it really hard to concentrate, you know that?”

JASON TODD

adjusting your skirt

jason had been leaning against the doorway, half distracted by his own thoughts, when the sight of you adjusting your skirt snapped his attention to full focus. you were standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the waistband and wiggling it higher on your hips, a casual, innocent motion meant to get the fit just right. but to him, it was anything but casual. his eyes locked on you, darkening as he watched the way the fabric shifted, sliding up the curve of your thighs with each subtle movement.

jesus christ, he thought, jaw tightening as he tried to tear his gaze away. he failed. the small adjustment—the roll of your hips, the way your hands smoothed the material over your figure—felt like it was designed to torment him. he muttered a quiet curse under his breath, barely audible but enough to let his frustration escape.

that little motion shouldn’t have had this kind of hold over him, but it did. the way you moved, so natural and effortless, made his mind wander to places it shouldn’t. his fingers twitched at his sides as he imagined stepping behind you, sliding his hands over yours to help—not that you needed it, but damn if he wouldn’t enjoy it anyway.

you turned slightly and caught his reflection in the mirror, green eyes shooting up to meet yours as if he hadn’t been blatantly staring. “everything okay, jay?”

jason cleared his throat. “yeah,” he said, though his voice was rougher than usual, betraying him. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning heavier into the doorway, his tongue darting across his bottom lip as his gaze flicked down again. “just . . . keep doing what you’re doing.”

you have him a look—equal parts amused and curious—but went back to adjusting the skirt, smoothing it out once more. jason bit the inside of his cheek, forcing himself to stay put instead of crossing the room, grabbing your hips, and showing you exactly what that little movement of yours did to him.

this woman’s gonna be the death of me, he thought, his pulse hammering as he pushed off the doorway, muttering another curse under his breath. he needed to walk away before he did something reckless—something that would guarantee you wouldn’t be leaving that room anytime soon.

when you rant to him

jason leaned back on the couch, arms draped lazily over the backrest, but his focus was anything but casual. his eyes were locked on you as you paced the room, hands gesturing wildly while you went off on a rant about something that had you fired up. he couldn’t even remember how the conversation started—it didn’t matter. what mattered was the light in your eyes, the way your whole face animated with every word, and the fire in your voice as you got lost in your thoughts.

there was something magnetic about the way you threw yourself into it, like the world disappeared except for the thing you were so passionate about. it didn’t even matter if he understood half of what you were saying—though he was trying, really, he was—but he couldn’t look away from you long enough to focus on the details. he was too caught up in the way your brows furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, or the way your lips curved when you hit on a point you knew was good.

and that voice. it was captivating, filled with conviction and energy, a side of you that came alive when you cared about something. jason’s heart thudded in his chest as he watched you, a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips.

every now and then, you’d glance at him to make sure he was keeping up, and he’d give a small nod, biting back the urge to say something dumb like, i’m not paying attention to your words, but i’m hanging on every second of you. instead, he’d murmur a quiet “yeah,” or “makes sense,” just to keep you talking.

but, damn, the way your whole body moved when you were this invested—it sent his mind places. there was a certain confidence in it, an unintentional sway in your steps as you walked back and forth, your gestures strong but graceful. it drove him crazy in the best way, made him want to grab you mid-rant, pull you onto his lap, and kiss you senseless just to see if that fire would transfer to him.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting ! thank you if you do 🤍

[megamindsupremacy]

So like, y'all know that popular Star Wars fic trope of Time Traveling Obi-Wan Kenobi where he dies and then wakes up in his 11ish year old body back in the Jedi Temple? You know how usually he wakes up, has a few minutes/hours of confusion, and then goes about trying to act like he was at age 11 while slowly fixing everything wrong with the Jedi Order? Personally I think he would not do that.

I think that Ben "Lived As A Wizard Hermit For Two Decades On Tattooine, Left, And Then Died Immediately" Kenobi would wake up as an eleven-year-old, have a panic attack, attack the nearest adult Jedi while accusing them of Doing Weird Sith Shit To His Brain, fucking flee, only then realize he has time traveled, steal someone's ship, go flying out of the temple to god knows where, continue panicking, crash into a random moon while distracted, nearly die, build a survival camp out of his broken ass ship and eat whatever bugs he can find, get kidnapped by pirates, overthrow said pirates, steal their ship, and then very calmly return to the Jedi temple like nothing happened.

Then and only then do I think he would start trying to act like a normal human person (while also dodging questions such as "what the fuck was that" and "where were you" and "is that a pirate's ship?"), except he'd be bad at it due to having lived as an Insane Wizard Desert Hermit for the past twenty years who has experienced enough trauma and time that he doesn't super well remember the details of his childhood, what with all of the wars and death and wars and such.

His acting convinces nobody, but nobody is sure what exactly to do about All Of That so he's for the most part left alone (after very vehemently refusing sptherapy), all the way up until he catches a glimpse of palpatine out of the corner of his eye and then its On Sight

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that��smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

when jungkook finally pulls away, the world feels quieter, as though it’s holding its breath. his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[violentbitingbiscuits]

thank you for this post, just THANK YOU.

this is what I genuinely need to hear and read 🥹

okay so rant ahead (don't read if you don't want or are sensitive to topics like transphobia and transmisandry)

I realized that I am in fact a man and got out of the closet two years ago, but I still struggle a lot to accept myself because I feel like I'm not "masculine enough" compared to other men and the fact that I usually like stuff that are usually targeted towards girls and I also show my feelings a lot instead of liking things like cars or the color blue and hide my feelings which makes even harder to accept myself, and also things like my gender expression and always been misgendered doesn't help, so even if I know that I feel like a man and I see myself as one I still doubt myself a lot, like outside of places like the internet 99% of the time I am being misgendered even by my parents, I'm not called by my pronouns, name or honorifics (like man and boy) since people just look at me and assume that I am a girl, it's always things like "that's my daughter (deadname)" instead, I always suffered transphobia SPECIALLY after I got out of the closet so I had to listen to TEACHERS (usually in their 30's/40's who also happened to be mostly cis women) screaming at me that I would never be a real man because I don't have a dick and even worse stuff (just a detail that I was still 17 at the time and also dealing with a lot of mental health struggles), not to mention how I never see someone like me at the media, it's always the most masculine tboy that I ever seen and it makes me so jealous and dysphoric, like why I can't be like him, not to mention how they are always so skinny and have a binder compared to me, and I feel so out of place, it just feels like people like me don't exist and in general I barely see any trans men representation and with all these struggled I still see some people trying to make people like me feel bad for just being masculine (even if it's in a queer way), like idk, probably there's more things that I don't remember now but these are some of the what makes so hard to accept myself as the man that I am, so I really appreciate to read this 🫂 I hope you have a good day op

Idk what trans man needs to hear this but you're NOT evil or disgusting for being a man. You do NOT have to suffer for the sins of the patriarchy committed by cis dudes. Being a man doesn't invalidate the misogyny you experienced growing up or experience now. Being a man doesn't mean you deserve to be isolated. Being a man doesn't mean you're inherently predatory or scary. You didn't "choose" this, and finding your true self is NOT "betraying the community" because you happen to be a man and/or masculine rather than a woman and/or feminine. You ARE allowed to be upset when people "affirm" your gender by malgendering you.

You DO deserve a community that uplifts you. You DO deserve to experience trans joy. You DO deserve to have your voices heard and your struggles recognized. Wanting the bare minimum of solidarity is NOT "making everything about trans men".

[balletfilmss]

TALK NERDY TO ME

✸ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you love to just stare at spencer as he info dumps

✸ warnings: none!

✸ a/n: this isn’t proof read at all by AYYYY look at me writing again on here 🙌 spencer reid is the new loml btw

You loved to listen to Spencer talk. And when I say love, I mean love.

He could ramble on about anything from the weather to the gravitational propulsion of the moon in comparison to the rest of the celestial bodies in our milkyway, and he could do any of it happily and until someone inevitably told him to just shut up.

That someone was never you though, and it never would be.

You didn’t quite know what it was, but there was just something about the way he spoke that was entrancing. His voice, his focus, the way he talked with his hands, and how his volume would gradually increase as he got more and more excited and remembered more details about what it was he was explaining.

If he moved around, your head moved with him, swiveling about to keep up, awe-struck eyes stuck on him the entire time.

Spencer could infodump about the drying times of different paint brands and you’d hand onto every last word he said, just because he was the one saying it.

It was safe to say that the team had gotten sick and tired of the two of you quickly.

Nobody else wanted to hear Spencer rattle on about useless, unrelated topics, and they certainly didn’t want to sit there and watch as you just prolonged the discussion by encouraging him to continue further just because you liked his voice.

And yet, it happens nearly every single jet ride without fail.

“I mean, really, it’s not all that uncommon for killers to write letters to their victims before killing them. In most cases, it’s seen as either a form of warning or of love. That’s why it never raises any red flags in most cases, because the victim is simply led to believe that they have a secret admirer of sorts. Oh! And a study done in the early 80s by Alexander Wilkins found that in over seventy percent of those cases, the unsub actually was in love with his victim or victims.”

Here Spencer was yammering on about false love-induced psychosis, and you were looking at him like he were professing his own undying love for you.

A hand propped up on the armrest of your chair held your chin, your big doe eyes watching him close and listening even closer.

You didn’t even know yet if it retained to the case whatsoever, it was just a possibility that Emily happened to throw out there in the initial case overview, and now you were all listening to the history of psycho killer lovers.

Spencer caught a glimpse of your wonder-filled gaze and smiled, continuing on with his explanation with a newfound encouragement.

“There’s no shot you’re actually interested in this,” Morgan grumbles to your left.

You seat a hand at him in a weak attempt to shush him, eyes still trained on Spencer.

He talked and talked for about ten more minutes before concluding the topic and being cut off by Hotch before he could cross into another one.

Taking the hint, he reclaimed his seat beside you, all rambled out for the moment.

When he does, you weave your hand through his, your hands resting together in his lap.

“I thought it was interesting, Spence,” You told him as a little boost of reassurance.

“You say that every time,” he smiled.

“And I mean it every time,” you countered with a smile of your own.

“Oh yeah?” He rose a brow. “Can you tell me a single thing I just said or were you just staring and not listening?”

After consistent it for a moment you realized that no, you couldn’t tell him a single thing he’d said, having been too distracted with your enraptured staring to actually pay attention.

So you just smiled wider at him, leaning a little closer as you both dissolve into a fit of childish giggles.

[kiwriteswords]

Unveiled

Masterlist || Ao3

AN: This has been on my to-write list forever...hope you guys like it!

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Word Count: 4k

Tags/Warnings: Mild Injury, Mentions of Field Work, Secretive Behavior, Slight Jealousy, Light Swearing, Mentions of Emotional Vulnerability, Secret Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Marriage, Canon-Typical Themes.

Sypnosis: You and Aaron Hotchner have always been experts at keeping work and personal life separate—so much so that the team doesn’t even know you’re together, let alone married. But secrets can only stay hidden for so long, especially when small details start catching everyone’s attention.

The BAU bullpen buzzes with the usual hum of activity. Cases to close, profiles to refine, and endless paperwork to finish. You settle into your desk with a practiced air of nonchalance, tugging the sleeve of your blazer slightly to cover the delicate wedding band now gracing your finger.

The slim band--simple, not flashy, was perfect for both your personality and the line of work you were in. You could count the times on one hand how often JJ had to get her ring fixed or cleaned from the damage being in the field caused. You did not need diamonds or an extravagant engagement or wedding. You had everything and more with the man who had the matching band upstairs. 

You glance across the bullpen, up to Aaron’s office. He’s buried in a stack of reports, his expression unreadable, as always. His left hand is occupied with a red pen, and the thin gold band is barely visible but there nonetheless.

Your lips twitch into a subtle smile as you recall the whirlwind of the weekend: the drive to a secluded courthouse, the soft vows spoken just for each other, the quiet, private moment that bound you and Aaron together in a way only you two could understand--with Jack present, of course. Eloping had been a mutual decision, spurred on by years of hiding, countless near-misses at being caught, and the realization that you were done living for anyone but each other.

Ever the lawyer Aaron was and ever the practical woman you were, you knew marriage was essentially just paperwork. Personally, it did mean a lot more to the both of you in terms of commitment, so that’s why you both decided to do it on a whim, to begin with, but there wasn’t a need for the white dress or all the bells and whistles that you both found overkill. The slim gold bands were enough. The vows were enough. The love you shared was more than enough.

Now, the fun part began.

You turn back to your desk, shuffling through files with purpose as the team begins trickling in. The usual morning energy hums around you, but it’s impossible to ignore the slight thrill of knowing what you’re both hiding—and knowing it won’t be hidden for much longer.

“Hey, Y/N!” Penelope’s voice cuts through the air, cheerful as ever. “Doesn’t this day feel extra special for some reason? Like the world’s just radiating good vibes?”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe it’s just you, Penelope. You’re the good vibes.”

She beams, clearly pleased with the answer, before skipping off to annoy Morgan. You catch Aaron’s eye for the briefest second, and the corner of his mouth twitches—a rare, subtle sign of amusement.

The team trickles in gradually. Rossi strolls past your desk, sharp as ever, with his coffee in hand. His sharp eyes flicker to your hand, and he slows just slightly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

“Nice ring, kid,” he says, voice casual but curious. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone serious enough settle down.”

Your breath hitches for a fraction of a second, but you quickly recover, offering him an easy shrug. “I like to keep my private life... private.”

Rossi had been the hardest over the years to keep at bay. Somehow, it became second nature to be so…secluded in your personal life. It wasn’t that you or Aaron were not sharing with the team, but you never felt the reason to shake things up. You, with your budding career, and him, with his reputation as a leader, why change that? 

Rossi hums thoughtfully, clearly filing that information away for later. You glance over at Aaron again, his focus still trained on the file in front of him. His poker face is maddeningly perfect, but you know he’s listening intently.

It isn’t too long after that a new case brings you to the round table room. You can’t help but feel that there is still an unspoken buzz in the air. Rossi’s comment made you jumpier than you’d like. Not that you’re hiding anything, but the idea of change…makes you uneasy. 

Aaron sits to your right, perfectly composed as always, flipping through the latest case files. His left hand holds a pen, the thin gold band on his ring finger catching the light with every movement. You glance at it, a quiet rush of warmth filling your chest. Your husband. It’s still a surreal thought. You could feel the faintest hint of amusement radiating from him, even if his face betrayed nothing. The quiet thrill of your secret filled the air between you.

You refocus, nodding at something JJ says about an update from the field office, but you can feel Rossi’s eyes on you. He’s seated across the table, his sharp gaze catching every detail. A slow, knowing smile creeps across his face, but he says nothing—yet.

“Anyway,” JJ continues, looking up from her notes, “we’ll need to coordinate with local law enforcement to finalize those interviews.” She glances over, and her eyes snag on your hand mid-gesture. Her words falter for a split second before she quickly recovers. “Morgan, you’ll take the lead.”

Morgan nods, clearly only half-listening. His focus has also shifted—to Aaron, more specifically. His brow furrows as he leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “Hotch, you got something new going on?” His tone is casual, but his grin betrays his curiosity. “That’s one hell of an accessory you’re sporting.”

Aaron doesn’t miss a beat, his voice calm and measured. “I wasn’t aware my ring warranted commentary, Morgan.”

Morgan smirks, glancing at Rossi. “Oh, come on, man. You walk in here wearing a wedding band out of nowhere? You can’t expect us not to say something.”

Rossi leans forward slightly, his fingers steepled under his chin. “And here I thought I was the only one paying attention,” he says, his voice rich with amusement. “Seems our unit chief had quite the weekend.”

The rest of the team snaps to attention. JJ’s head jerks toward Aaron, her eyes widening as she looks between him and you. Penelope, sitting at the far end of the table, gasps audibly.

“Wait,” Penelope exclaims, her voice rising in pitch. “You’re married now? When did this happen? Who’s the lucky lady? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“I’m not the only one,” Rossi interjects smoothly, his gaze now fixed on you. “Looks like Y/N had a busy weekend, too.” He nods toward your left hand.

You glance at Aaron, a silent exchange passing between you. His lips twitch into the faintest of smiles—so brief it’s almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

Penelope’s sharp intake of breath breaks your focus. “Wait a second,” she says, leaning forward, her gaze darting between you and Aaron. “Y/N, is that... a wedding ring?”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your voice steady as you respond. “What about it?”

Morgan leans back in his chair, crossing his arms and smirking. “Hold up,” he says, nodding toward Aaron’s hand again. 

All eyes turn toward Aaron now. He calmly finishes jotting a note before closing the folder in front of him. “Is this relevant to the case?” he asks, his tone perfectly neutral.

Rossi tilts his head, his sharp gaze bouncing between you and Aaron. His lips curl into a knowing smile. “Interesting,” he says slowly, leaning back in his chair. “Very interesting.”

JJ’s brow furrows as she glances between the two of you. Her eyes widen slightly as realization begins to dawn. “No,” she says softly, more to herself than anyone else. Then louder, “Wait a second—are you two—?”

You glance at Aaron, and he gives you the slightest nod. With a small sigh, you lean back in your chair and let the corner of your mouth lift into a smirk. “You really don’t know?” you ask, your voice laced with amusement.

Aaron follows up, his tone carrying a faint edge of dry humor. “I thought you were better profilers than that.”

The room goes completely silent as the pieces click into place. Emily gasps, pointing between you and Aaron. “No. No way. You two? Are you telling me you’re married to each other?”

Morgan bursts out laughing, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “You’re telling me you’ve been dating this whole time, and none of us knew? I don’t believe it. You two are way too good at this.”

Penelope’s jaw drops. “What?! Oh my God, I feel so betrayed! How could you keep this from me? I should’ve been your bridesmaid—or at least in the loop!”

Aaron raises a hand, his calm authority cutting through the chaos in the room. “We made the decision to keep our relationship private to maintain professionalism,” he begins, his tone firm but warm. His eyes sweep the room, landing briefly on each team member before continuing. “This team works best when there are no distractions, and we both agreed that our relationship couldn’t interfere with that.”

He pauses, glancing at you. There’s a moment of silent understanding between you before you speak up, your voice steady but lighter than his. “It wasn’t about hiding, exactly. It was about making sure we stayed focused on the work that matters. But,” you add with a small, wry smile, “we eventually realized we didn’t need to keep it a secret anymore.”

Aaron picks up where you leave off, his tone softening slightly. “Especially now that we’re married,” he says, letting the weight of the words settle over the room. “We didn’t make this decision lightly, and we both value the integrity of this team above all else. That hasn’t changed, and it won’t.”

The room falls quiet again, the team absorbing the revelation. You can see the wheels turning in their minds as they piece together the years of subtle interactions, quiet glances, and the seamless way you and Aaron have worked together all this time.

JJ breaks the silence first, her expression shifting from shock to a warm smile. “Well,” she says softly, “congratulations. You both deserve to be happy.”

Morgan leans forward, his grin widening. “Alright, I’ll give you two credit—this is the best-kept secret I’ve seen in a long time. But man, Hotch, you’ve got some explaining to do. Married? Without us knowing? I’m hurt.”

Rossi chuckles, shaking his head. “I should’ve seen it sooner,” he says, his tone amused but approving. “Still, I can’t say I’m surprised. You two make sense.”

Reid almost looks relieved, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t pick up on things like this.” 

Penelope is the last to recover, her hands flying to her cheeks. “Oh my gosh! This is so romantic!” She gestures wildly between you and Aaron. “Secret agents in love, sneaking off to get married—it’s like a spy movie! Please tell me there are pictures. I need pictures. And cake! Why isn’t there cake?”

You laugh, finally letting yourself relax a little as you glance at Aaron. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible smile—one the others might miss, but you recognize instantly. Beneath the table, his pinky brushes against yours, a subtle reminder that you’re in this together.

“Alright,” Aaron says, his commanding tone bringing the room back into focus. “We still have work to do, and I expect everyone to stay focused on the case.”

Morgan leans back in his chair, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah, boss. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Rossi smirks. “Don’t worry, Derek. Something tells me there’s more to this story, and we’ll get the details eventually.”

You exchange a knowing glance with Aaron as the team begins to settle down, still buzzing with excitement. It’s out in the open now—no more hiding, no more secrets. Just you, Aaron, and the life you’ve quietly built together finally shared with the people who matter most.

The case wraps up after a grueling few days. The unsub is in custody, and while the tension of the investigation still lingers, the mood on the jet back home is noticeably lighter. The team is scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Rossi are in their usual seats, discussing the finer points of profiling techniques, while Spencer is engrossed in a book.

You find yourself seated with JJ and Emily at the small table near the galley. Emily is flipping through a magazine, and JJ is scrolling on her phone, but their attention shifts to you when you pull out your phone and casually unlock it.

“You know,” you say, leaning back in your chair with a small grin, “since you all feel so left out, I figured I’d show you some photos from the elopement.”

Emily’s eyes snap up from her magazine, and JJ’s face lights up with interest. “Finally!” Emily exclaims, leaning in. “I thought you were going to make us beg.”

JJ nudges your arm. “I’ve been dying to see these. Penelope’s already planning a post-wedding celebration for you two.”

You chuckle and swipe to the photo album. The first image you show is a candid one—a shot of you and Aaron outside the courthouse, his hand resting gently on your back, both of you mid-laugh. JJ lets out a soft “Aww,” and Emily whistles low under her breath.

“Look at you two,” Emily says, her tone teasing but fond. “Who knew Hotch could look so... human?”

You laugh, swiping to the next picture, a close-up of your intertwined hands with your wedding bands gleaming in the sunlight. “He’s full of surprises,” you quip.

As you share a few more photos, some with Jack, some Jack actually took of you and Aaron.

Aaron walks by, a cup of coffee in hand. He pauses when he notices the three of you huddled around your phone. “Are you showing them the photos?” he asks, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity.

“Of course,” you reply, looking up at him with a playful grin. “They demanded proof.”

Aaron hums thoughtfully, his gaze softening as he leans slightly over the table. “You should show them the photo from last year. The one from the Amalfi Coast.” There’s an amused glint in Aaron’s eye’s that makes you want to roll your own, but you satisfy everyone anyway.

JJ blinks, looking between the two of you. “Wait. The Amalfi Coast? Together?”

Emily narrows her eyes, clearly piecing something together. “Hold on. Didn’t you both take time off around the same time last summer?”

Before you can answer, Reid speaks up from his seat across the cabin, his voice laced with disbelief. “You mean the trip to Italy? I remember you both mentioned visiting Italy, but I never connected the dots that you were there together.”

Morgan, catching the tail end of the conversation, leans over the back of his seat. “Hold up—that’s what you were doing last year? You two were off in Italy, sipping wine and living the good life, and we had no idea?”

Rossi chuckles from across the cabin, shaking his head. “It’s impressive, really. I mean, a courthouse wedding is one thing, but hiding a vacation together? That’s next-level stealth.”

Emily laughs, gesturing toward your phone. “Alright, show us this Amalfi Coast picture. I need to see the evidence.”

With a shake of your head, you scroll back to the album from the trip. You find the photo Aaron mentioned—a picture of the two of you standing on a sunlit terrace overlooking the ocean, the breeze catching your hair while Aaron stands beside you, looking uncharacteristically relaxed in a linen shirt. You hand the phone over, and JJ and Emily lean in closer.

“This is so unfair,” JJ says, shaking her head with a smile. “You two look like you walked out of a travel magazine.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe we didn’t put this together sooner,” Emily adds, smirking. “I mean, Hotch in a linen shirt? That should’ve been the giveaway.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint chuckle, taking a sip of his coffee. “I told you we were better at keeping secrets than they gave us credit for.”

You grin, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Well, now you all know. Mystery solved.”

Reid looks up from his book, still shaking his head. “I feel like I should’ve noticed. The behavioral cues were there...”

Morgan snorts. “Don’t beat yourself up, kid. They had us all fooled.”

JJ hands your phone back, smiling warmly. “Well, for the record, I’m glad we know now. You two really are perfect together.”

Aaron catches your eye from where he’s standing, his expression soft but steady. It’s a look that speaks volumes, and you know you’ll both carry this moment—this quiet joy of finally being yourselves with your team—for a long time.

As the jet hums softly beneath you, you settle into the warmth of the conversation, knowing that the life you’ve built with Aaron is now shared with the people who matter most.

When the jet touches down, and the team unloads into the bullpen, you barely have time to gather your things before Penelope corners you and Aaron. She’s been dropping comments all case long—about needing details, demanding photos, and lamenting her exclusion from what she’s now referring to as The Most Romantic Secret Ever Kept—but this time, there’s no escape.

“Alright, you two!” Penelope exclaims, her hands on her hips as she plants herself in front of you both. Her eyes sparkle with determination. “I’ve been patient. I’ve waited through an entire case, and now you owe me. Spill it. All of it. When, where, how? I need the full story.”

Aaron glances at you, his lips twitching in faint amusement. “I told you this would happen,” he murmurs under his breath.

You chuckle softly and look at Penelope. “Fine,” you say, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “We’ll tell you—briefly.”

Penelope’s expression brightens instantly. “Finally!” she squeals, clapping her hands together. “Okay, start from the beginning.”

Aaron crosses his arms, his authoritative posture intact but his tone softer than usual. “It started a few years ago,” he begins, glancing at you. “Not long after you joined the team.”

You nod, picking up the thread. “It wasn’t planned. We just... clicked. We kept things professional at first, but over time, it became harder to ignore. Eventually, we decided it was worth exploring, but we agreed to keep it private.”

Penelope’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Years? You mean to tell me you’ve been dating for years, and I had no idea?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly. “We were careful,” he says simply. “We didn’t want our relationship to interfere with the team dynamic or the work we do.”

“And we didn’t think anyone would benefit from knowing,” you add. “It was easier to keep it between us.”

“But how?” Penelope presses, leaning closer. “I mean, we’re profilers! How did you manage to keep it under wraps?”

You exchange a knowing look with Aaron before answering. “We’ve always been good at separating our personal and professional lives,” you say. “At work, we focused on the cases. Outside of work... we had each other.”

Aaron nods. “We were deliberate about our interactions here, and we made sure not to let anything slip.”

Penelope looks genuinely impressed, though she’s clearly not done grilling you. “So, no one ever suspected? Not even Rossi?”

You laugh. “Oh, Rossi definitely had his suspicions,” you admit. “But he never said anything outright.”

Aaron smirks faintly. “I think he enjoyed watching the rest of you try to figure it out.”

Penelope groans dramatically, throwing her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You two are like... spy-level secretive. I don’t know whether to be mad at you or impressed.”

“Be impressed,” you say with a grin. “It’s less stressful.”

Penelope narrows her eyes at both of you, then sighs. “Fine. But only because you’re ridiculously adorable together. And because I’m still planning a post-wedding party. You’re not getting out of that.”

Aaron shakes his head with a faint smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Penelope finally relents, though she shoots you both one last look that clearly says she’s not done asking questions. As she flounces off to her office, you exhale a soft laugh, turning to Aaron.

“Well,” you say lightly, “that went better than I expected.”

Aaron’s gaze softens, and he leans in slightly, his voice low. “She’ll be back.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you head toward your offices. It’s out in the open now—your story, your love, your life together. And though you’ve enjoyed the secrecy, there’s something freeing about finally being able to share it with your team.

After a long day and an even longer week, the bullpen finally clears out. The soft hum of computers and the faint buzz of the overhead lights are the only sounds left as you and Aaron prepare to leave. You gather your things, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as he approaches with his jacket draped over his arm.

“You ready?” he asks, his voice low and steady.

You nod, falling into step beside him as the two of you head toward the elevator. There’s an unspoken ease between you; the weight of secrecy finally lifted. When the elevator doors close, Aaron glances at you, his lips quirking into the faintest smirk.

“You know,” he says, his tone laced with quiet humor, “we don’t have to stagger our exits anymore.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No more waiting ten minutes so no one sees us leaving together?”

“Or arriving,” he adds. “No more separate cars or pretending to run into each other in the parking lot. We’ve been doing that for years. I think it’s become muscle memory.”

The thought makes you smile as the elevator dings, and you step out into the cool night air. You walk together to the car, and the rhythmic click of your shoes is the only sound. When you slide into the passenger seat, and Aaron starts the engine, the hum of the car fills the silence.

As he pulls onto the road, you glance over at him, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across his face. “Do you ever think about all the close calls?” you ask, your voice quiet but teasing.

Aaron’s lips twitch in amusement. “All the time. Like that day you got hurt in the field.”

You know exactly which day he means. It’s burned into your memory as much as his. “You mean when I dislocated my shoulder chasing that suspect?”

He nods, his tone softening. “I remember standing over you, trying to keep it together while the EMTs worked. I wanted to pick you up and carry you to the ambulance myself, but I couldn’t. All I could do was stay professional and keep my voice steady.”

You smile faintly, your heart tightening at the memory. “I remember how calm you sounded, even though I could see it in your eyes. You hated every second of it.”

Aaron glances at you briefly, his eyes filled with something deeper. “It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Morgan even asked me later why I seemed so shaken. I had to play it off as just another day in the field.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Well, you were convincing enough. I think I was more worried about you slipping than about my shoulder.”

He lets out a low chuckle, his focus on the road. “That wasn’t the only close call. Remember Kansas City? The hotel?”

“Oh God,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. “I thought for sure Morgan would figure it out. He knocked on my door right after you left.”

Aaron smirks, glancing at you briefly. “What did you tell him?”

“I said I was up late working on the profile,” you reply, grinning. “Which wasn’t a lie, technically. I just left out the part where you were with me.”

Aaron shakes his head, amusement glinting in his dark eyes. “How about all the times we shared a room and no one noticed?”

You laugh, sinking back into your seat. “That was a miracle. Every single time. Can you imagine if anyone went looking for you in your empty room?” 

“Or walked past at the wrong moment,” Aaron adds, his voice tinged with humor. “I can’t believe we managed to pull that off.”

You grin at him, your tone teasing. “We probably wasted so much of the Bureau’s money on extra rooms we didn’t need.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “I think we’ve earned it, considering the hours we’ve put in.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Still, we were playing with fire. Like that time Rossi knocked on your door in Denver. I thought for sure he’d notice something.”

Aaron chuckles, his tone more amused now. “Rossi always noticed. He just didn’t say anything.”

“Probably because he enjoyed watching everyone else flounder,” you reply with a grin. “He was always a little too smug.”

The car falls into a comfortable silence as the memories wash over you both—the near-misses, the stolen moments, the countless times you had to act like nothing more than colleagues. Now, with the secrecy behind you, the memories feel more like a badge of honor than a burden.

Aaron pulls into the driveway, turning off the engine before glancing at you. His expression is soft, his voice quieter now. “No more sneaking around,” he says. “No more separate cars or extra rooms.”

You smile, reaching for his hand. “Just us.”

The two of you walk inside, your home warm and inviting as you settle in for the night. The conversation drifts back to the little things you had to do to keep your relationship under wraps—the cover stories, the excuses, the times you almost slipped. But the laughter and warmth you share now make it all worth it.

As the night deepens, you both revel in the freedom of no longer having to hide. It’s just you and Aaron, building the life you’ve always wanted… with Jack—together, out in the open, and exactly as it should be.

Tag List:

@zaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

@khxna

@rousethemouse

@averyhotchner

@reidfile

@bernelflo

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@frickin-bats

@sleepysongbirdsings

[amiableness]

Peonies ; part five

Pairing: Theo Nott x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everything is a mess after Mattheo visits the infirmary.

Word Count: 3833

Warnings: Unrequited love. The chapter is just full on angst, honestly. Mentions of drugging? Y/n is used once. Let me know if there’s more!

A/N 💌 This is short and mainly focuses on Mattheo, but the next (and final!) chapter will be even more satisfying because of it. Even though a lot of you are mad at Mattheo, hopefully this makes up for it. As usual thank you to @moonpascal for reading and giving me feedback, I don't know what I'd do without you.

SERIES MASTERLIST <3

“I don’t understand. He seemed fine when I left.” Theo mutters under his breath, his voice tense and barely audible over the sharp echo of your hurried footsteps bouncing off the stone walls as the three of you head to the infirmary.

“I don’t know,” Pansy sighs, her voice low and laced with frustration. “Everything seemed normal when I first got there, but then he just… snapped. It didn’t seem like anyone had said anything to set him off; everyone looked just as shocked as I was. He was so worked up—angry, completely irrational—that we all decided to take him to the infirmary. We thought maybe he’d hit his head or something.”

“But he didn’t.” You mutter, a sinking feeling settling in your stomach as Pansy’s words echo in your mind. A love potion. Veronica’s been giving him a love potion. The thought replays, each repetition tightening the knot in your chest.

“No. It didn’t take long for Madam Pomfrey to realize he’d been given a love potion. One so badly brewed that it’s been fucking with his emotions.”

Pansy shakes her head, her expression twisted in frustration. “Veronica came in, putting on her best worried girlfriend act. When I first confronted her about a love potion, she played innocent, swearing up and down she’d never hurt him because she ‘loved’ him.” Pansy scoffs, anger simmering in her eyes. “But after enough yelling, she finally admitted it. She’d been giving him a potion, and things only went wrong because she tried to make it stronger—his feelings had started shifting, and she couldn’t stand it.”

A wave of sickness washes over you—anger and frustration curling together in a tight knot. For a moment, you consider darting to the right, heading straight for the restrooms to lose control in private, but you force yourself to steady your breath. This isn’t the time to fall apart.

For a brief, unsettling moment, you wonder if that’s why he confessed his feelings for you—not because he meant it, but because of the love potion’s influence. The thought stirs something confusing and hollow inside you, but now isn’t the time to untangle it. As you step into the infirmary, nerves coil tight in your stomach, but Theo’s hand slips into yours giving a reassuring squeeze, soothing you. You’re grateful for the touch—it’s the only thing keeping your anxiety from overwhelming you entirely.

“How is he?” Pansy asks, her voice tense as she strides ahead of you and Theo, reaching out to take Blaise’s hand. Draco and Enzo are there too, still in their practice clothes, looking out of place in the sterile, quiet room. Madam Pomfrey is nowhere in sight, but your eyes immediately catch the vial on the table next to him—whatever it is, it’s been left there, untouched for now.

You glance at Draco, casually leaning against a pillar near Mattheo’s bed, and Enzo, perched on the edge of the bed parallel to him. Neither of them looks particularly worried, which eases some of the tension in your chest. In fact, Draco seems to be listening intently as Enzo quietly details the reasons he’s been feeling off about Veronica. 

Then you finally allow your eyes to shift to the bed, where Mattheo lies back, his curls a wild tangle against the pillow. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and you can’t help but wonder if the love potion is to blame. His brow is furrowed, his gaze fixed on Enzo with a look of confusion, as though he’s struggling to piece something together.

“A little out of it,” Blaise says with a gentle smile, his eyes softening. “Pomfrey gave him something to counteract the potion.” He glances over Pansy’s head and spots you, offering a sympathetic smile your way. “He’s been asking for you.”

“I don’t know..” You trail off, your voice barely above a whisper, unsure of how Mattheo will react to seeing you. The last couple of months had clearly been tense and distant between you two—what was stopping him from starting another argument? The last thing he needed right now was more stress. But at the end of the day, he was your friend—he had been for years. What kind of friend would you be if you turned down his request to see you, especially when he asked for you specifically?

But it's too late to make a decision—Mattheo’s eyes shift, locking onto you. It’s immediate, the way he sits up slightly, his eyes brightening with recognition, and a loopy smile forming on his lips. “Hi, my love,” he says, his voice soft and warm as if nothing else matters in the room. 

Draco and Enzo both turn their heads toward you and for a moment, you stand frozen, your lips parted as you scramble for the right words. 

My love. 

It’s hard to know how to respond to that, and your friends don’t seem any more certain, their eyes darting nervously toward Theo as they exchange uneasy glances.

You take a step forward, letting go of Theo’s hand as you approach the edge of Mattheo’s bed. A twinge of guilt runs through you as you release his hand, but you push it aside, not wanting Mattheo to see the two of you together yet. Not in this state.

“Hi,” you murmur, your voice soft. Theo watches as Mattheo pats the spot next to him, an unspoken plea in his gesture, hoping you’ll come and lie beside him. Theo prays—desperately—that you won’t, that you’ll stay exactly where you are. It already hurts more than he can bear to have you let go of his hand, but if you climb into bed with Mattheo, it’ll feel like you’ve ripped his heart from his chest. And the thought of Mattheo calling you ‘my love’—he can’t even bring himself to think about it.

“The love potion must still be lingering in his system,” Draco mutters, his gaze flicking toward Theo. “That explains why he’s been so jealous of you two. Veronica messed up the potion so badly, he ended up falling for Y/n instead.”

The rhythmic click of Madam Pomfrey’s shoes fills the room as she enters. “The effects of the love potion have worn off, Mr. Malfoy,” she says crisply, her voice professional. “Whatever he says now is simply how he truly feels.” With a swift movement, she places a bowl on the bedside table, setting a cool cloth on Mattheo’s forehead with a practical, “For the fever.”

Mattheo flinches at the shock of the cool, damp cloth on his forehead, shooting Madam Pomfrey an irritated look, which she ignores entirely.

“Fever?” Enzo questions, and she gives a swift nod.

“As I mentioned, the effects have worn off,” she explains, “but his body still needs time to purge the potion from his system, which is why he has a fever. It should break by morning, and he’ll be back to himself.”

Madam Pomfrey dips the cloth back into the water, preparing to place it on Mattheo’s forehead again, but he turns his head, ducking away. Her gaze shifts to you, and she extends the cloth with a small, knowing smile. “Perhaps it would be best if you handled this.”

Part of you wants to tell her you can’t. It feels wrong to tend to Mattheo, especially with Theo standing right there. A few months ago, you’d have agreed without a second thought. But things are different now—distant and messy in ways you don’t quite understand. Still, with Madam Pomfrey watching you so expectantly and now Mattheo’s gaze fixed intently on you, saying no feels impossible.

So, you step forward, taking the cloth from her hand before carefully settling onto the edge of his bed. Leaning in, you dab his forehead gently, your movements cautious and deliberate. Mattheo watches you intently, but you keep your gaze firmly on the task, avoiding his eyes as you work. 

“You know,” Mattheo murmurs, his voice soft and a little slurred, “I think you’re perfect.” For a moment, you freeze, your eyes darting to meet his.

“Oh.” It’s all you manage, the word slipping out as you quickly refocus on dabbing his forehead, ignoring the warmth spreading through your veins. Embarrassment prickles over you, knowing your friends are standing there, their whispered reactions confirming they heard every word Mattheo said. But when you glance up and catch Theo’s expression, your heart sinks—he heard it too.

Theo meets your gaze, and you silently hope he understands—you’re sorry. Sorry that you’re the one Mattheo wants right now, and that if you could pass this task to Enzo, you would. But guilt tugs at you, knowing that Mattheo’s emotions have been chaotic because of the love potion. Could you truly hold his actions against him?

Mattheo’s fingers brush lightly against your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. His gaze is unwavering, soft with a raw vulnerability that you’ve rarely seen in him. “You’re so perfect,” He repeats. “And I’ve only ever wanted to be good enough for you.” His fingers brush against your skin, and you freeze—shock, guilt, and frustration rising within you. You swallow it all down, forcing yourself to keep calm as you murmur for him to rest, resuming your task of blotting his forehead.

Theo watches as you continue to take care of Mattheo, who continues to brush his fingers against your free hand as he looks up at you as if you’re the only girl he’s ever loved. A wave of nausea rises in Theo as he watches his best friend touch you, gaze at you as if you’re an angel—the girl he loves so fiercely it hurts. His jaw clenches, a subconscious effort to keep his mouth shut and prevent himself from snapping at Mattheo to keep his hands off you. He knows he has no right to be jealous—not when you were never truly his to begin with.

The thought hits him so hard and painfully that he feels like he can’t breathe. Without a word, he turns and walks out of the infirmary, and no matter how badly he wants to turn and look at you, he doesn’t.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

By the next morning, Mattheo is back to himself—at least, that’s what everyone’s been saying. Theo knows this because it’s all anyone can talk about. He’s not sure how the news spread so fast, but he’s willing to bet Pansy had something to do with it. Not intentionally, of course; he just knows she tends to speak loudly when she’s worked up, and he’s been aware of her suspicions about Veronica for months. You’d told him all about how Pansy had been convinced something was off with Veronica, but you hadn’t wanted to get into the details.

After spending the entire morning catching snippets of gossip, Theo decided the library would be his refuge for some peace and quiet. For a while, the back corner had offered him just that—until two girls settled on the other side of the bookshelf. Unfortunately, that meant he could hear every word they said, and it didn't take long for their chatter to break the silence he'd been craving.

“Did you hear about Mattheo Riddle?” An eager voice asked, accompanied by the screech of a chair being dragged out.

“You mean how his girlfriend slipped him a love potion?” Came the bored reply, the words dripping with indifference.

“Uh huh,” Theo pictures the first girl nodding. “I’m not surprised though.”

“Amelia,” The second voice sighed. “That’s an awful thing to say.”

“I just mean because even when he was with Veronica, he was still chasing after Y/n.” Theo feels his stomach drop, the urge to get up and leave washing over him. He starts to pack his bag, his movements quick and automatic, but then their next words slow his movements. He freezes, his hands stilling midair—he’s listening closely now.

“I thought she was dating Theo Nott.” The second girl speaks, her voice tinged with confusion, clearly already tired of the conversation.

“I think that’s just a rumor.” Amelia denies, and even though she's technically right, Theo feels a surge of defensiveness rise within him.

“Oh,” Girl two murmurs. “I could’ve sworn they were.”

Amelia hums, “No, I think she’ll end up with Mattheo.”

That pushes Theo into motion. He hastily stuffs everything into his bag, determination flooding through him, though his stomach twists with nerves. He has to tell you how he feels. He wants a chance—even if you choose Mattheo, at least he’ll never have to wonder what might have been between you two.

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

When Theo finally spots you, he wishes he’d stayed in the library. You’re sitting on one of the couches, your back turned to him, but he can tell by the open book beside you—left unread—that you’ve long since lost focus. But that isn’t what bothers him.

No, the real problem is Mattheo, seated right beside you, facing you fully, his gaze intense and longing, “Please, love.”

“Mattheo—”

“If there’s even a part of you that feels something for me, just give me a chance,” Mattheo says, his voice low, edging closer to you. Theo’s stomach tightens as he watches. “I know I should’ve told you sooner—before any of this.”

“It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours,” you murmur, your eyes drifting to Mattheo. “I think you need to focus on resting, clearing your head before we can figure any of this out.”

“I’ve got a clear head, love,” he insists, his voice steady despite the weight of it all. You sigh, your gaze dropping for a moment. 

“Honestly,” he continues, his words softer, “you’re the only thing I’ve ever been clear-headed about.”

You fall silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames in the fireplace. Theo watches Mattheo watch you, a quiet tension in the air. He’s thankful for the shadows that stretch across the room, hiding his frame, because if they didn’t, Mattheo would no doubt see him standing there.

Mattheo whispers your name, his voice heavy with longing and desperation, the sound so raw it nearly knocks Theo off balance—mirroring the same ache that's tearing through him. “If you were mine…” Mattheo pauses, his gaze locked on yours. “I swear, I’d never give you a reason to regret it.”

Theo fights the overwhelming urge to make himself known, to grab your hand and plead with you to choose him instead. He’d fall to his knees and beg if it meant even the slightest chance with you—though he knows you’d never have to ask. He’d do it willingly, without hesitation, dropping down and promising you the world if only you’d agree to be his. 

He wants to tell you to remember these past few months, to think of last night’s kiss. To tell you he’s certain he fell in love with you the moment he saw you—that every vision he has of the future has you at the center of it.

But instead, he watches, a cold sense of dread settling in his chest, as you slowly reach out and intertwine your fingers with Mattheo’s. You don’t say anything, but it’s clear to him that words aren’t necessary—because at this moment, he realizes he has never stood a chance.

It was always going to be Mattheo.

It feels like a cruel echo of last night—that same sinking realization that no matter how hard he tries, he’ll never be what you want. It feels like he can’t get a proper breath in, so he turns and leaves, unwilling to stay and hear just how deeply your heart belongs to Mattheo.

He hadn’t seen your face, but if he had, he would’ve noticed the unease and discomfort in your expression as you turn to look at Mattheo, preparing yourself to turn him down as gently as possible.

“Mattheo, I can’t,” you whisper, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. The words come slowly, carefully, as if you’re afraid of shattering him. “I really can’t, and I’m sorry.”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as he looks away, frustration flickering in his eyes. When his gaze returns to you, it’s filled with a quiet vulnerability. “If I’d made a move… before all of this,” he asks softly, “would you have said yes?”

“Yes,” you admit softly. He sits up straighter, and you can already see the determination flickering in his eyes, ready to argue, ready to convince you. But you press on before he can speak. “But everything is different, Mattheo—Veronica, us drifting apart...” You pause, your voice faltering. “...Theo.” You roll your lips together, trying to suppress the wave of emotion that just saying Theo’s name stirs inside you.

Mattheo sighs, a subtle shake of his head as his gaze drops to your intertwined fingers, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. He watches it with a quiet intensity, as if he’s trying to memorize the feel of it, and your heart cracks at the sight, the ache of it almost too much to bear.

“I’m sure you knew,” You start, embarrassment coloring your tone. “For the longest time, I had feelings for you. I spent so much time hoping—wishing—that you'd feel the same. That you'd stop with the one-night stands and realize that you wanted me just as much as I wanted you. I was convinced, you know? Convinced that because I understood you better than anyone, or at least I thought I did, that you’d finally feel safe enough with me to let me in.”

“But I did,” he says, his voice thick with regret. “The whole time, I wanted you. But Gods, the way Theo’s always looked at you... I couldn’t make a move. I knew it would tear him apart if we got together. So I waited, told myself I was giving him time to make his move—but he never did. I built myself up, so many times, ready to ask you out, to make you mine. But then I’d always freeze, thinking, ‘What if things don’t work out?’ And I’d lose both of my best friends.”

He shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze. “But then Veronica started giving me that potion, and I—I had feelings for her, but every time I’d see you, it was like that’s all I could focus on. And then suddenly, you’re with Theo, holding his hand, spending the night with him, and it felt like I was losing my mind. It hurt, seeing you with him. And maybe it’s selfish, but I had to know, had to see if there was any chance left with you. Because watching you two together made me realize that what I was really afraid of was losing you completely.”

You’re at a loss for words, your mind failing to catch up to the fact that Theo has feelings for you- and he has for years. So you offer Mattheo a weak, sad smile, the tears gathering at your lashes threatening to spill over. He squeezes your hand, and you sigh, squeezing it back. You’re both sat in the quiet common room, except for your occasional sniffle, for who knows how long, holding each others hand and watching the flames dance.

Mattheo clears his throat, a slight tension in his shoulders as he glances over at you, “When are you going to tell him you love him?”

You hesitate, a knot forming in your throat as your words trip over themselves. “I don’t—I’m not…” You falter, but Mattheo sends you a knowing look. “It’s just... too soon.”

“It’s not.” His voice is firm. 

“How do you know?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, and immediately, guilt lances through you. It feels wrong to ask, especially after he’s just laid his feelings bare.

“Because he’s been in love with you for years,” Mattheo smiles, but it’s nothing you’ve ever seen from him before. “Trust me, it’s not going to be too soon for him to hear.”

.·。.·゜✭·.·✫·゜·。.

He’s on his way to practice when your voice cuts through the quiet hum of the common room, calling his name. His stomach sinks, the realization hitting hard—he’s going to have to face you after days of successfully keeping his distance. Reluctantly, he turns toward you, and there you are, seated comfortably in one of the plush chairs near the fire. A sweet smile on your lips, and resting on your lap is a book—likely the same one he noticed you holding when you were talking to Mattheo. That puts a bitter taste in his mouth.

There’s something different about you. His gaze lingers, tracing the way the soft flicker of the flames paints your features in warm, golden light. You look gorgeous, as always, but there’s an unmistakable lightness about you now, a brightness that wasn’t there before. A taunting thought creeps into his mind: this is his doing. You look happier—because you’ve finally gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. Mattheo Riddle.

“I haven’t seen you much.” You say, leaning forward as he slowly walks towards you.

He shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets with a casual ease that doesn’t quite match the tension in his voice. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot going on.”

You knew this already. Every time you asked the boys about him, there was always a new excuse for why he hadn’t been around: He’s behind on his assignments. He’s gotten detention. He isn’t feeling well. He’s taking a nap. 

“So I’ve heard.” You say lightly, teasingly. “I actually wanted to know if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade, since we didn’t last time.” A soft smile curves at the memory of him taking you to the flower field.

You saw the look on his face that day, the way he was clearly bothered by you taking care of Mattheo. But you figured spending time together would be the perfect opportunity to set things straight. To tell him it meant nothing, that you turned Mattheo down, and that all you truly want is him. It’s a surprisingly good feeling, better than you imagined, knowing that Mattheo is aware of your feelings for Theo—and that he actually encouraged you to go for it.

His eyes meet yours briefly before darting away, and he rakes a hand through his hair, a nervous edge to the motion. “Oh, uh... I can’t.”

“Oh, okay.” You respond, your voice barely hiding the disappointment. An awkward silence settles between you, and Theo avoids your gaze, leaving you sitting there, a little wounded.

“Actually, dolcezza,” he says softly, and your heart flutters at the familiar nickname, hope sparking in your chest. But then his next words land like a blow. “I can’t spend time with you anymore.”

Your heart sinks, the statement feels like a bucket of cold water to the face. “What?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” he continues, his tone heavy with sincerity, “but I can’t be around you the way we were before. Not when you’re with him.”

please please please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write, and reblogs help to spread my work. likes don't spread posts on tumblr 🤍

[meleeyz]

୭ 𝗗𝗢 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞 𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘 𝗛𝗜𝗠? ˚. ᵎᵎ 

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled.

୨୧ I had a dream where I had a baby and when I woke up I realized it wasn't real. FOR SOME REASON IT BROKE MY HEART SO THIS IS INSPIRED BY THE IMAGINARY BABY MY BRAIN JUST DECIDED TO MAKE UP

୨୧ The baby's name is up to you, I'd like to know your ideas ;)

୨୧ I'm definitely writing about Vi exploring the Firelights' hideout and randomly running into a girl holding an exact copy of her friend Little Man in arms.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Firelight's hideout was eerily quiet. You were standing at the foot of the tree with a small bundle in your arms. The baby—Ekko’s son, your son—stared up at you with wide, curious eyes, his features a miniature reflection of his father’s. The sight was a double-edged sword: it filled you with a bittersweet warmth and an aching longing.

It had been months since Ekko left to investigate the infected tree, months of waiting, worrying, and shouldering the responsibilities he had once shared with you. Every day, you prayed he would walk back through the doors, his grin lighting up the room like the first rays of dawn. But every day, he didn’t.

Your baby gurgled, tiny fists gripping your necklace, the one with the hourglass symbol that your boyfriend had made just for you. His presence was both your anchor and your heartache. He was everything you had left of Ekko, and you had to believe Ekko would come back. He had to. For his family. For his people.

Some members of the Firelights had stepped in to help, as they always did. They made toys, looked after him while you were busy with other things at the hideout, you even found some of the older children telling him stories about his father, how he saved them from somewhere or how much your son looked like him. But they couldn’t replace him, no matter how much they tried. Your son needed his father. And so did you.

When you told Ekko you were pregnant, you braced yourself for anything—confusion, fear, anger. You hadn’t anticipated his face breaking into the widest grin you’d ever seen, his laugh bubbling out like an uncontrollable stream of joy.

“Wait, wait—are you serious?” he had asked, his voice cracking with excitement.

You nodded, watching as he leapt up from his seat, pumping his fists into the air before grabbing you in a tight embrace. He kissed you so many times you lost count, his words spilling over each other like rushing water.

“Thank you,” he whispered against your hair. “I don’t even know what to say—thank you.”

It was… overwhelming, to say the least. You couldn’t fathom how someone with so much already on his shoulders could embrace another responsibility so wholeheartedly. But Ekko didn’t just embrace it; he flourished.

As he did with everything in his life.

The crib was his first project. He had pieced it together with determination etched into his features, sanding the wood and painting it himself. He showed off every detail with pride, especially the carvings of tiny fireflies along the edges.

Then came the room. The Firelights banded together to help him paint the walls in bright, playful hues, with murals of fireflies glowing against a dark blue sky. You watched from the doorway, tears in your eyes, as Ekko stood back to admire their work, his hand resting on your growing belly.

Ekko had been an awkward yet dedicated father from the moment your baby was born. The first time he held his son, his hands trembled with a mix of fear and awe.

“He’s so small,” he had said, his voice barely above a whisper. But the way he looked at your baby, like he was holding the world itself, melted every doubt you had ever had.

He learned quickly. When your baby cried at night, Ekko was the first to his feet, scooping him up and rocking him gently until the cries faded into tiny hiccups. He talked to him, sang to him, shared stories of Zaun and the Firelights as if the baby could understand every word.

“I want him to know,” he told you one night, his voice quiet as he cradled his son in his arms. “About where we come from. About what we’re fighting for.”

Those months together had been the happiest of your life. Even Vi’s unexpected return—her wide-eyed shock at seeing Ekko with a family—felt like a promise that things were looking up.

But then the tree fell ill, its vibrant glow dimming under the weight of some unknown blight. Ekko had left with promises to return quickly, determined to save the heart of the Firelights’ sanctuary. Weeks stretched into months. His absence became a gaping hole in your life, and with each passing day, the hope of seeing him again grew dimmer.

You swayed gently, humming a soft tune to calm the baby nestled in your arms. He had Ekko’s eyes and his white hair. Every time you looked at him, it was like a ghost of his father was there, watching over you.

The hideout huge door creaked open, and your heart jumped, hope flaring like a wildfire. But it wasn’t him. Just another Firelight returning from patrol. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile, nodding in acknowledgment.

“Still no sign?” you asked, though you already knew the answer.

The Firelight shook their head, avoiding your gaze. You felt your chest tighten, but you couldn’t let them see how much it hurt. You had to stay strong. For them. For your baby.

The day dragged on, the tension in the air palpable. The Firelights were restless, their leader’s absence weighing heavily on their spirits. They looked to you now, not as a leader, but as a symbol of hope. You hated it. You weren’t Ekko. You couldn’t inspire them the way he did.

All you could do was hold things together until he came back.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade being one of the best mercs that there is job completion wise, his ratio must be somewhere close to 1:53 seeing as that's how unlikely he is to not complete a job one way or another right?

I feel like this ultimately is terrifying to actually witness.

Logan seeing just how much work Wade puts into his job and hearing stories from Vanessa of finding him sharpening knifes while staring at her while she slept in dead silence or finding maps, photos, very detailed plans laid out about his next kill down to where he lives, how long it would take for the police to reach him if he uses his gun and how difficult it would be to clean up if he used his katanas, etc. Everything is laid out from the second he steps out the door to the moment he gets back home.

Now Al's blind. So he gets into the bad habit of leaving everything out, giving Logan the chance to snoop, looking over the plans only to realize- holy shit. He has everything from how many vents are in his house to which neighbors might be a problem AND plans to deter them.

He comes to realize that all that over thinking Wade does and his one track mind makes him the perfect killer. Most killers have other motives. Wade just needs the dopamine of completely the task and moving on to the next one.

I can see him coming out of the bathroom to see Wade sharpening his tools while looking absolutely pissed but he's just focused.

"... wade?"

The once scrunched face man glances up at him and suddenly has the most confused puppy face before smiling. "Hi Wolvie. Finally awake, sleeping beauty?"

"..you good?"

"Hm?? Oh- Yeah I just got a job later." And thats all he says before going back to glaring, frowning at the metals, trying his hardest to get it damn near perfect.

You never really would expect someone so affectionate to be so serious about killing people, even taking intimidation jobs these days, as well as working for children.

And he never is kidding about the price that he sets. Sometimes, the price is calculated based on time and the amount of ammo he'd be using. Other times, it was a supreme pizza with banana peppers. So when he gets back he will be expecting his pizza with banana peppers. Dont let him down.

This works out sometimes. Other times, he gets too excited and says he'll do it for significantly less than what he should charge, but hey- it's all about that rush of serotonin once the jobs done. Nothing else matters.

[puff0o0]

All he could do was stare at the elevator a head of him, the green light shining as it highlights the cracks and foundation of the elevator. All he could do was hope that his light came back, the bright one that gave him life and happiness while they were down here.

He had been sitting in the same spot for days? weeks? To him, it had felt like forever. He had brought back so many crowbars, noticing them more and more as the days went by. He didn't notice them before you were here, but now they served as a symbol; a reminder. A reminder of what he had

His knees and legs ached from sitting in the same spot, his neck sore from how long he had it propped, hoping to meet your loving gaze when he heard the elevator ding and open. He imagined how happy he would be, how much love he would feel. But soon.. he realized he would never have that love again.

With a sad look on his face, disappointment and despair filling whatever was left of his heart as he stood, no longer needing to crawl around as you weren't coming back

But that elevator made a ding as soon as he stood, the doors opened and it revealed.. you! He processed it for a moment, staring at you, memorizing all the details and changes that had happened with you. Your hair was back to its normal color, you didn't have the bandages, you looked.. like his love

And he made sure you felt it as soon as you walked through those doors

[grapejuicenharry]

Hello, how is your day going? I don't know if you are actually receiving requests, if not feel free to ignore this. What about you and Harry fighting in the car, maybe you're coming from a date and Harry was really late, the walk home is difficult with him and you start a fight, so she decides to get out of the car and walk home alone.

(English is not my first language so I apologize for any spelling errors that may have been made)

a/n: hello! My day is going well, thank u for asking. And yes, I do receive requests. No need to apologize—your english is great!

warnings: angst with a happy ending (sorry I couldn’t leave them like this!)

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

It was 9 p.m., and you had been sitting at this restaurant for the past hour, waiting for Harry. Tonight was supposed to be your date night—something planned since last week. You'd even reminded him this morning, but here you were, alone.

It had been Harry's idea to take you out, to spend time together, to simply enjoy each other's company after weeks of him being swamped with studio work.

When he'd suggested it, you were over the moon, practically giddy at the thought of a night just for the two of you. Just boyfriend and girlfriend. 

You'd dressed up for him in the sheer black dress he loves so much, paired with your black stilettos that accentuated your legs. Minimal make up, save for the bold red lips that added a sensual edge to your look. You’d spent over two hours getting ready, perfecting every detail for tonight. But once again, you sat... disappointed. 

He was late. not just ten or fifteen minutes, but a whole one hour. 

Tears started to gather up in your waterline as the waiter approached your table for the third time, politely asking if you were ready to order. You forced a tight smile, declining him once again, murmuring that you were waiting for your boyfriend. You couldn’t help but feel like the staff was probably laughing behind your back—this poor woman, sitting alone, waiting like a fool. 

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t an emergency or unavoidable crisis keeping Harry away. He’d used the same excuse too many times: Got busy at the studio, forgot to check my phone. Honestly, you were tired at this point of always coming second, but you know your pathetic heart will forgive him the second he starts blubbering out apologizes because you loved him—and you know he loved you, too. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

You discretely wiped a stray tear that has rolled down your cheeks as the sound of commotion at the door caught your attention. Your eyes glanced to the entrance, and there he was—Harry, rushing inside, his eyes searching for her. 

The second he spotted you, he knew he’d fucked up. 

Harry strode over to your table, looking down at you with guilt written all over his face. His shoulders sagged as he spoke. 

“Y/N—fuck, I’m sorr—“ 

You stood up immediately, not wanting to hear a word from him. Grabbing your purse from the table, you turned around and walked away. Ignoring him.

Outside, the cold air hit you like a slap, your hair whipping against your face as tears spilled freely down your cold cheeks. You wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, desperate to hold it together. 

“Y/N, please—listen to me.” Harry pleads from behind her, his voice begging. He reached out to touch your arm, but you instinctively stepped back, putting more space between you. 

"Don't,” you muttered, wiping your tears. 

Harry froze, his hand hanging in the air for a second before dropping back. 

His heart breaks looking at your state, your mascara slightly smudged, your nose red because of crying, and your cheeks red with biting cold. You looked so vulnerable, and yet you wouldn’t let him near you. The realization crumbles him from inside. 

“I don’t want to hear anything; I want to go home. Just take me home or I’ll book a cab.” 

You whisper, sniffling, your voice hoarse and shaky. 

Harry’s throat tightened, but he nodded, silently stepping forward to open the car door for you. Without a word, you slid into the passenger seat. You fumbled with your seatbelt and stared outside the window. not glancing a look over him as he starts driving. 

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

The drive home is suffocatingly silent. The air inside felt heavy with tension and unspoken words. The only sounds were the low murmur of the radio and the faint hum of the engine in the background. 

Harry's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his jaw clenched as he fought to keep his emotions in check. The tension was evident as his other hand rested idling on his thigh, occasionally rubbing at his jaw in frustration. He wanted so badly to reach for your hand, to rest his palm on your thigh as he'd done countless times before. But he didn't. He couldn't.

It must have been forty minutes or an hour of driving in silence when you spoke, not able to sit in the tension atmosphere anymore. “Are we not going to talk about this?” You snaps.

Harry exhales sharply through his nose, trying to gauge a response: “What do you want me to say, love?" I said I was sorry.” 

Y/N scoffs at his words, her frustration bubbling over. “That’s the problem, Harry. You think an apology fixes everything. It’s not about saying sorry—it’s about not doing it in the first place. You knew how important tonight was for me.” 

Harry’s knuckles turn white on the wheel. “I didn’t get time to check my phone. I was so caught up in the studio—“

“Right, the studio.” Y/N interrupts bitterly, “Always the studio. Always something important than me.” 

The words hang heavy in the air; Harry’s shoulders stiffen. His lips press into a thin line as he pulls the car over the side of the door, and tires crunching against the gravel.

“What are you doing?” You ask, heart pounding.

Harry throws his car into the park and turns to you, his green eyes stormy and dark. “I don’t know what you want from me; I’m doing the best I can.” His voice was low but sharp. 

Your throat tightening at his words, shaking head, “Well, maybe your best isn’t good enough.” You whispers, trying to keep your tears at bay.

His eyes flicker, a flash of vulnerability breaking through his frustration, but you can’t take it back now. The tension feels unbearable. Before you could think, You unbuckles your seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. 

“Where are you going?” Harry asks.

“Home.” Y/N bites out, stepping out of the car. The crisp air waves through your hair, goosebumps rising in your body. “I’ll walk.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he mutters back before opening the side of his door and stepping outside. 

“Ridiculous?” You whirl around, glaring at him. “What’s ridiculous is me sitting there, pretending that I’m not hurt. Whats ridiculous is you acting like this doesn’t matter” 

Harry’s chest heaves as he looks at you, searching for the right thing to say, but it doesn’t come fast enough; you turn around and start walking, your heels clicking against the pavement. 

You hear Harry calling your name, but you don’t turn around, knowing there is nothing for him to say that would make you feel better—nothing. The chill of air whooshes past you as you hug yourself tighter, wrapping your arms around you, and quicken your steps. 

The sound of his boots crunching against the ground, crisp leaves crushing beneath him as he follows you, the sound growing closer and closer, then you hear him say softly. 

“Y/N, please..stop."

Against your better judgement, you stop. You stop in your tracks at his words and turn around. Harry jogs and comes closer to you; this time you let him... wanting to feel him close. His face morphs into something more painful than that clenched jaw like earlier. The lines of frustration are replaced by something softer, something that aches your chest. 

“I get it,” his voice low, laced with hurt. “You’re hurt. And you’re right, I shouldn’t have been late, and I shouldn’t have brushed it off like it didn’t matter. It did; you matter to me.” 

The sincerity in his words cracks your heart walls, the river of tears that you’ve been holding threatening to spill over.

"Harry, it's not just about tonight," you say, your voice trembling. "It's about feeling like I'm always coming second to everything else in your life."

His shoulders drop, and he steps closer, his green eyes fixed on yours. "You're not second, love," he says; the words sound like a plea. "You're the only thing that keeps me going half the time. And I know I've been worse at showing that, but I'll do better. I promise you, I will."

You blink at him, trying to brush away the tears. "You say that, but—"

Before you can finish, his hand gently takes yours. "Look at me," he says softly, and when you do, there's nothing but sincerity written all over his face.

"I'll prove it," he says. "Not just tonight, not just tomorrow—every day. I'll make time. For you. For us. You're the most important thing to me, Y/N. I swear it."

His words sink in, warming the cold that's settled deep in your chest. For a moment, neither of you speaks. 

Then, his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and you realize how much you missed the warmth of his touch; he gently touches them and kisses each of your fingers softly.

"Can I take you home now?" he asks tentatively, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before nodding, the fight in you ebbing away.

"Okay," you whispered.

He lets out a relieved sigh and takes a step closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly. "Thank you," he murmurs into your hair. "I'll make it up to you, love. I promise."

[bloodweavefangnatic]

This character, in their interactions, might appear to develop feelings or intentions, such as wanting to kiss the player (original or custom), but these actions aren’t driven by genuine desire or free will. Instead, their behavior is a direct result of their programming, a set of pre-determined responses to specific triggers or stimuli. For example, they could be programmed to express affection or intimacy in response to particular emotional cues, but it’s not because they want to, in the sense that a human would. They may not feel the desire to kiss someone out of attraction or love, but rather because their programming dictates that this action is appropriate or expected within the scenario.

He may appear emotionally complex or even spontaneous, but these emotions are more like simulated responses based on algorithms designed to mimic human-like behavior. The key difference between this character and other companions who might exhibit real emotions lies in their capacity for personal choice. They don’t have an internal drive to engage in intimate actions or form romantic bonds; they’re simply executing a set of commands to fulfil a specific function.

At times, the character’s actions might seem meaningful, like a gesture of affection or a moment of intimacy, but it’s all part of the programming, not real desire. They don’t feel anything; they’re just responding to cues as they’ve been taught. This creates a strange mix of closeness and distance, where the player might feel a connection, even though the character is just following a script. It can be both unsettling and intriguing to realize that what seems like a personal moment is really just part of the design.

Conclusion:

Overall, Baldur’s Gate 3 has truly set a high bar for character animation and interaction in gaming (even more so now that Patch 7 is out). The fluidity of movement, depth of conversation, and the realism in how characters express themselves make it easy to forget you’re playing a game at all. The voice acting adds an extra layer, bringing nuance to each character’s personality and making them feel more like real people than digital creations.

Despite occasional bugs, the sheer quality and attention to detail in every interaction immerse you fully in the world, allowing for meaningful and dynamic choices that affect how the story unfolds. The way characters react not just to the player but to each other creates a sense of living, breathing relationships that makes the game world feel alive. It’s a perfect blend of technology and creativity. The BG3 team has absolutely nailed it, delivering an experience that’s both immersive and unforgettable.

Astarion doesn't ask for affection because he can't..... yet.

Ah, more tea steeping in this seeming endless sea of thoughts. This brew is a bit strong on the heart. Read with caution.

Warning for game spoilers and talk of abuse.

This perspective is from game content only. How anybody cannons their relationships or behaviors is perfectly right. No blame, no shame, it's your game.

I was always miffed at the lack of initiated affection from Astarion as a partner. YOU ask him for a kiss. YOU ask him for a hug. YOU ask him to tell you thank you after being an amazing partner and killing a massive beastie just for him! Brat...

But then I had a sudden realization. Given his past, affection is probably insanely hard to ask for. Like it can be for a lot of us.

Stay awhile and listen. (nerd)

Now when I speak of narcissistic abuse I am only speaking from what I know about it. I have no academic or phycology degree on the matter. Just good ol' tossed in the pond and forced to sink or swim experience.

Astarion spent 200 years under the crushing weight of narcissistic / psychopathic abuse. One of the things these types of abusers love to do is take what you love and make you hate it and then make you hate yourself for ever having liked it to begin with. All very nasty business that. But it's one of the main corner stones for the cage they build to control you.

They make you feel as if the request of a simple hug is the most pathetic thing you could ask for. Or the most selfish thing as it inconveniences them. They don't want it, why should they give it to you?

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

200 years with a master who used him like a tool. 200 years with siblings that fought amongst each other so much comfort was a liability. Nights coming home assaulted only to be mocked for your tears. Insulted for your need of comfort.

"Pathetic! Weak! Disgusting! "

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Affection was nowhere to be found there, I assure you.

And for a Narc. anything given is expected to be "earned" in any way they see fit. And if you were "rewarded" with anything, it comes at high price.

And how dare you not find it fair. You ingrate!

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue..

Hugs are pathetic. Kisses are an intrusion. Or they become gateways to other unwanted behaviors. To be held...what are you? A baby? The only way you are going to get held, is down.

Shame, belittle, degrade, devalue.. The pattern continues.

But you ask HIM for a kiss. And he says..

"There is nothing I'd like more."

And he means it.

I'd bet a mountain of gold he wants to just ask you himself. But years of conditioning to expect pain when seeking pleasure probably keeps him in a choke hold. Like rats that are shocked every time they try to eat food out of a dish. They learn it is safer to starve.

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but they might think i'm weak. But if they ask me first then it's them who wants it and they can't degrade me for it because they asked, not me. It's safe then."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or hug, but they might reject me for being too needy and shame and berate me for being so selfish or demanding of their time and person. But if they ask they have time and want me to kiss/hug them."

"I want to ask Tav for a kiss or a hug, but my primal brain keeps telling me they might demand more than I want to give in return for it. But if they ask, I have the power of negotiating the outcome."

This leads me to believe he would view sex and affection very differently as well.

Where most find affection safe and nurturing, it's anxiety educing and unsafe. It means there are feelings and if there are feelings there is the risk and fear of rejection or judgment. It's much scarier.

Where most find sex to be connecting and intimate, it's been used so much it's lost any meaning. Something you can do a thousand times over and walk away the second it's done and feel nothing afterward.

This may even be a part of the reason why he wants to stop having sex.

He wants to connect with you in ways denied to him. He wants the experience of being courted, treasured, nurtured. It means so much more to him than sex. It is so much more connecting.

Feeling this way is wretched and lonely. The most basic instinct is to want to seek comfort in the arms of those who love us. But it's broken. The risk is too great.

And it's hard. Because you could be the sweetest most honorable Tav in the whole of Fearun. But after being fed poised apples one too many times, all apples appear poisonous regardless of if is true or not.

I have no doubt that this prickly elf soaks up every second of non sexual affection you give him. And truly is grateful for your patience while he slowly and carefully disarms the safety measures he put in place to survive. The fact that he even allowed you to touch him like that at all was a monumental act of trust. And why not? You are incredible after all.

I'm going to go ask my elf for a kiss now. And then cry in my cup.

[sacrednova]

Drive me home | Simon "Ghost" Riley | 7

fem!reader | In this story, a young woman mistakenly texts Simon "Ghost" Riley, thinking he's her Uber driver after a wild night out. Despite his gruff, reserved nature, Simon shows up. Contains fake screenshots with texts messages and calls!!!! Start reading from the beginning: Part 1

It wasn’t hard to talk to Simon—it was just… hard. But not in a bad way. It was the kind of hard that made her pause, choose her words, and really think about what she wanted to say. And honestly? That was kind of terrifying.

She had figured out one crucial detail, though: Simon Riley was a really good listener.

Not the kind of listening where someone just nodded along and threw in a polite “oh, really?” No, Simon listened like every word she said mattered. Like he was gathering pieces of her story, stitching them together in that quiet, focused way of his.

His brow would furrow when something didn’t quite click for him, and she’d catch herself explaining things in more detail just to smooth out that little wrinkle between his eyes. Other times, he’d give her a small, almost shy smile, lips pressed tight as though he was holding back. And when he did decide to speak—rare as it was—his sense of humor was… well, awful.

Dry, sarcastic, and so poorly timed that it made her laugh harder than it should have.

But the most important thing? His eyes.

They had never left hers.

It wasn’t just polite eye contact. It was deep, unwavering, intentional. Those warm, brown irises seemed to pull her in, like magnets designed to drag her under his surface. Every time she tried to look away—to collect herself, to focus on something less overwhelming—she’d find herself drawn back to him.

And in those moments, the noise of the bar, the clinking of glasses, the hum of conversation… all of it faded. It was just her and Simon, his gaze anchoring her to the spot, making her feel seen in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just curiosity about the man behind the mask. It was something quieter, something deeper.

It was connection.

It had been a long time since she’d felt like this—so long, in fact, that she didn’t even know how to articulate it to herself.

Was there even a word for it? This warm, jittery, completely maddening sensation in her chest?

She didn’t know, but damn, she was into him.

Into every little thing about him—the way his voice wrapped around words like they were secrets meant only for her ears, the way he moved, so calculated yet effortless, as though every step was planned without trying to be. Even the way he drank his bourbon, the subtle way his lips pressed against the glass.

And that… that was terrifying.

Because the truth was, she didn’t know much about him. Not really.

God knows she’d tried. She had peppered him with questions earlier—little things about his day, what he liked, if he’d always been this serious—and he? He was as cold as a stone wall when anything remotely personal came up. It wasn’t rude, exactly, just… unyielding.

And there was no way in hell she’d push him. No. That wasn’t her. She wouldn’t pry, wouldn’t force him to share.

But it didn’t make it any less frustrating.

Because damn it, she wanted to keep him around.

Not just as the guy who drove me home that one crazy night. She wanted a second date. A third. A fourth. She wanted…

Shit.

She wanted him.

“What you thinkin’ so much?” His low, rumbling voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

“What—huh? Me? Thinking? No, I mean—yes! I think, like, most people do, but—”

“Careful,” he murmured, his eyes sparking with amusement, “might bite ya tongue.”

The grin tugging at his lips was slight but devastating, sending heat straight to her cheeks.

And just like that, he had her spinning all over again.

She leaned back slightly in her seat, trying to steady the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. Her nerves were rattling inside her like a thousand tiny earthquakes, but hell, she wasn’t about to let that show. She needed to feel confident—wanted to feel confident—not this shy, not this flustered. Not this… undone.

"I want a wine," she blurted, scanning the room for a waiter like her life depended on it.

Simon didn’t respond immediately, and the silence was deafening. She shifted in her seat, suddenly hyperaware of his stillness. "Everything's fine?" she asked, hesitantly.

His response came low and even, carrying a strange weight. "Not a big fan."

"Of wine?"

"…Can’t handle it well."

Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her mind racing. Oh. My. God. Was it bad that her immediate thought—her absolutely terrible thought—was to see him a little tipsy? Just a little? She could practically feel the wicked urge tugging at her. It was irresponsible. Immature.

And, apparently, irresistible.

"Maybe a cup won't hurt you, Simon," she said, trying to keep her tone light, teasing.

His eyes—those unrelenting, burning brown eyes—locked onto hers, and her heart stuttered. He didn’t move, didn’t shift. Just looked. And in that moment, she was sure of two things:

1: He knew exactly what she was doing. 2: He was going to make her pay for it.

"Hm. Really?"

The words were a challenge, laced with that unmistakable edge of his.

She swallowed, feeling her resolve waver. "…We can share a cup."

"Can we?"

"Yes?"

His head tilted slightly, assessing her like a predator deciding whether the hunt was worth it. Then he leaned back in his seat, the tiniest smirk pulling at his lips.

"Fine."

Fuck.

Her pulse raced, and she could already feel her cheeks burning again. What had she just done?

Simon wasn’t an impulsive man. He never let his feelings dictate his actions. Discipline was his armor; control was his weapon.

Until now.

Until her.

Her laugh still echoed faintly in his head, soft and teasing, like it had been etched there. And now this—this moment, this glass of wine—was tipping him over some edge he hadn’t realized he was standing on.

What the hell are you thinking, Riley?

The question circled his mind as he took another sip, the rich red liquid burning less than he remembered. Or maybe it was the heat in her gaze that dulled everything else. Her eyes stayed on him, shining like they held secrets he wanted to pry out. And her lips—soft, slightly parted, tinted just right—were driving him mad.

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a small, almost absent-minded gesture, and yet, it had him utterly fixated. Every move she made seemed calculated to undo him, and worse, he wasn’t sure if she even knew it.

Fuck, he wanted her.

He wanted her to want him, too.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice dipping slightly, pulling his attention back to her lips.

"Late," he answered, the word coming out rougher than he intended. He didn’t bother looking at his watch; the time didn’t matter.

Her eyebrow arched, playful, daring him. "…Really, late?"

Sarcasm. Teasing. She was testing him, pulling at the string between them to see how tight it could stretch.

"Really late," he repeated, his voice quieter this time, like it wasn’t meant for anyone else but her.

And then it was just… there. That thick, invisible tension wrapping around them like a cord, pulling tighter with every shared glance, every stolen breath.

The air felt heavy, charged, like it could ignite if one of them moved an inch closer. Their bodies stayed still, a careful distance apart, but their eyes… their eyes refused to let go.

He didn’t blink, didn’t look away.

What’s next?

The question clawed at him, louder than his heartbeat, louder than reason.

His hands twitched, the slightest movement, as if they were ready to reach for her. To break the distance. To shatter the moment.

What do you want from her, Riley?

The thought settled in the pit of his stomach like a weight he wasn’t ready to carry.

Where do you want this to go?

The answer was right there, coiled in his chest, hot and undeniable.

Fuckin’ hell.

Simon had never been in this situation before. Well, not exactly this situation. Sure, he'd had his fair share of nights where things spiraled a little too far out of control, but this? Sitting across from her, her lips flushed from the wine, her laughter soft and too sweet, her hands resting on the table like an invitation? This was new.

He wasn’t in any condition to drive, and he knew it. The wine had gone straight to his head, his pulse pounding louder than reason. He was good at hiding it—so damn good at keeping his composure—but not tonight.

She caught it. Of course, she caught it.

His eyes betrayed him, breaking from her face to linger on her hands, tracing the curve of her knuckles as she fidgeted with her glass. They dipped lower, to her shoulders, her neck, the line of her collarbone disappearing beneath the fabric of her dress.

He cleared his throat, trying to reset, but she was staring back now, wide-eyed and flushed, and that damn tension was snapping tighter by the second.

"So… how are we getting home, huh?" Her voice wavered, but her smile stayed steady, teasing.

He blinked, his brain working slower than usual. Drive? Right. He wasn’t driving. Absolutely not. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk that, but… he also wasn’t ready to let this night end.

He pulled out his phone, fumbling slightly as he swiped at the screen. "Uber," he muttered, voice gravelly.

She laughed, a soft, almost nervous sound. "Oh, a real Uber this time? Not the personal one?"

He glanced up, catching her grin, and something in his chest tightened. "Don’t push it," he muttered, but his lips twitched just enough to betray him.

The Uber arrived quickly, and they stumbled out into the cool night air. Simon opened the door for her—always, always—his hand brushing her lower back as she climbed in.

She didn’t notice, not at first. She was busy pulling out her phone, probably texting Lottie or someone equally amused about the fact she was heading home with him. But then…

The driver’s voice broke the silence. "So, your address is…?"

Simon leaned forward, his voice steady but quieter now. "Hers."

Her head snapped up, her heart lurching so fast it hurt. "Wait, what?"

He didn’t even look at her, just leaned back against the seat, his arms crossed over his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"My house?" Her voice cracked, disbelief flooding her chest.

"You got a problem with tha'?"

Oh, her brain was short-circuiting now. "I—uh, no, it’s just…" Fucking shit, is he STAYING? Is he STAYING at my place?

Her heart hammered harder, racing into the kind of panic that wasn’t fear, but anticipation.

Shit, shit, shit. Did I shave?

Her eyes darted to him again, her cheeks flaming. He looked so calm, but she knew better. She could see the way his hands twitched, the way his gaze dipped to her legs for a fraction too long before darting back to the window.

She felt the warmth rise in her throat, a blend of nerves and something deeper, darker.

And then it hit her.

This wasn’t just about him staying. It wasn’t about whether she shaved, or whether she had fresh sheets, or if she had leftover takeout in the fridge to awkwardly offer him.

This was about the fact that he chose her.

And hell, if she wasn’t ready for it… but maybe that was the point.

Her house.

Her rules.

Her Simon.

She bit her lip, her mind spiraling, her pulse racing, and as the Uber sped down the empty streets, she decided… whatever happened next, she wasn’t holding back.

Her thumbs moved faster than her brain, texting Millie in a frenzy. The Uber wasn’t even halfway to her place, and already her head was spinning.

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her phone, waiting for Millie’s reply. A second felt like an eternity.

She glanced at Simon, who was sitting completely still, staring out the window like the world outside held all the answers. His shoulders were so broad, his jaw set, his hands resting on his thighs.

Oh fuck.

Cool? COOL? She wasn’t sure she knew what “cool” was anymore.

She stared at the screen, Millie’s rare display of actual best-friend-mode sincerity grounding her, if only slightly.

She sucked in a deep breath, clutching the phone like it was a lifeline.

She glanced at Simon again, and her pulse fluttered. He turned his head slightly, catching her in his peripheral. His eyes flicked down to her phone.

“You alright?”

Oh god. His voice. Deep and low, like he knew she was spiraling.

“Y-yeah! Just… texting Millie.”

“About me?”

Her face burned. “No!”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t press further, but she saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

And just like that, her nerves flared again, but this time… she kind of liked it.

Tags ♥: @sleep101 @all-by-myself98 @h0ney-mushroom

Omg, next chapter.... next chapter.... (evil laugh)

[bumblebeehug]

When do u think Natsu actually realized that he fell for Lucy and i know he treats her differently but can u give moments where it's initiated from his side?

This is going to be a long post so buckle up!

Okay, first of all: the Phantom Lord arc. Though I don't think he fell in love with her at that point of time, I think it was the events that seriously solidified his partialness to her. I'd go into detail but I can already feel a long post incoming, so I'll keep it short: Lucy telling Natsu that she loves being a Fairy Tail wizard, while crying over the fact that she didn't want to leave ↓

After just trusting her life in Natsu, jumping from an insanely high tower, with a mere belief that maybe she had heard him in the distance – I think it struck a chord with Natsu. Like, it would be normal to cry after a fall like that, but Lucy wasn't concerned about that aspect. Her head and heart was all about the guild, how she didn't want to go, and that resonates with Natsu. Natsu's entire life at that point is 1) Finding Igneel, and 2) being with/protecting the guild.

Then I'd say it's a pretty gradual build in their relationship. They go on a lot of missions, hang out together, and just in general spend a lot of time connecting. There's some Natsu-saves-Lucy, some Lucy-saves-Natsu, some hand holding (tenrou arc I won't forget about that, thank you anime team for adding that scene), and then comes the next pivotal moment. GMG arc and the dragon festival that follows.

By then I'd say Natsu and Lucy are very much in this friends-with-emotional-benefit zone: much more than friends, absolutely not yet lovers. But with Lucy's near-death experiences in her battles, Natsu has to refrain himself from getting involved each time Lucy gets beaten up - he becomes helpless, and the worry that's sowed inside of him gets watered each time Lucy still puts his faith in him, still trusts him to come out a winner. That entire section when Lucy's in the infirmary and she tells Natsu that her entire being trusts that Natsu can do anything, I think that's when Natsu falls in love.

Now wait!! He still doesn't quite understand that he loves her. But he understands that his feelings for Lucy are more tender than any other feelings he's ever had. He treasures her in a new, heavier way. She's become precious to him.

Precious. Where have we heard that... oh >:) ↓

Now the Dragon Festival was LETHAL in a trillion ways, but especially for nalu fans. The whole Future Lucy plot and the forehead touches and the Future Natsu and Future Lucy fighting in a wasteland moments and the Natsu skipping the final GMG match to save Lucy. And of course. Future Lucy dying. It's not the first time we see Natsu get so heavily affected - it happened in the tower of heaven, when Erza was ready to give her life up. But it is the first time we see Natsu see a friend die. Like, a team mate, someone who he's responsible for bringing to the guild. And after the whole GMG conundrum? Had a single more bad thing happened Lucy during the dragon festival, he’d probably turn into a demon right there and then. Dare I even say: their relationship was the strongest at this point in time.

After the GMG and the Dragon Festival, we get the Sun Village arc (I don’t like the Eclipse celestial spirit arc so I’m not counting it, same with Key of the Starry Sky arc — technically some nalu moments but not exactly building imo) and then another big one: Tartaros. Ooooh brother, THE best arc of all times, wish Mashima knew how to replicate it. But alas, he doesn’t.

The Tartaros arc isn’t exactly a pivotal moment where Natsu “falls in love” but rather an important aspect to understand his later actions. Like this guy goes through some pretty grusome stuff, learns a lot of complicated, bad things about himself, and finishes off the arc with losing Igneel — his father that he's spent ages searching for. Natsu's entire life is turned upside down, so he decides that he has to become stronger: cue, he heads off for a year to train.

His time away isn't very elaborated on — not from Natsu's viewpoint or Lucy's. But I think it's understood that he chose not to bring along Lucy because she could be put into danger too much for him to be able to concentrate on building his strength: he knew his training would be dangerous. During this time we also have the Gildarts-scene in chapter (idk i can't be bothered to look it up but y'all know the one ↓) which is kinda debated on — who was Natsu talking about here?

I'm still not certain on if it was a heart to heart on the Igneel-matter, or if it was about his guilt of leaving Lucy behind, like many theorise. I'm not even certain that it's limited to one of them — he could be talking about both. But at the very least, this entire year was one of those "distance makes the heart grow fonder" moments for him. He wanted to get back to his normal life with Lucy so bad. After all, it wasn't like him showing up at the GMG was in order to meet Lucy — had he wanted more training after that, he'd head off again, but I don't think he could physically bring himself to do it, even if it hadn't turned out that the guild had disbanded. Though that's just me speculating a bit.

And about the guild disbandment: oh jolly, he was not happy. He had finally taken the step to grow stronger to protect everyone in his beloved guild, and here Makarov went and disbanded it? Leaving Lucy completely alone? Lucy, who once jumped from a hella high tower because she was just so devoted to stay in the Fairy Tail guild? Yeah, I think that broke him a little. At this point there was just so much guilt involved around his whole relationship with Lucy, because now he had put her through so much pain only because he brought her to Fairy Tail that day in Hargeon.

The next arcs I'd say Natsu's trying to spend his time redeeming himself for the countless things he's done bad (getting the guild back together, just generally staying by Lucy's side as much as possible). And naturally he keeps getting hit by challenge after challenge (it's not easy to be a book written by his immortal brother, yk?). And it's even harder to watch Lucy die again, this time for real (he thinks bc he's stupid and also has a tumour that's nothing less than a ticking bomb) (give this guy a break lol).

Anyways: Lucy's death nr2. Natsu can't live a life without her. Now I know — he still doesn't quite understand that it's romantic love, but I think he does understand that it's pure love. No matter if kissing and reproducing was involved, all he knew was that a life without Lucy is completely unimaginable, so blinded by rage he becomes and decides to decapitate everyone in his way (sorry about that Gray).

The last couple of moments I'll go out of my way to mention as signs of love is 1. when he's won over Acnologia and falls towards Lucy, crazy relieved, saying "I'm home", 2. Gajeel pointing out Natsu's crush on Anna, Natsu basically saying "oh that's why I like Lucy so much" (I embellished it lol) and 3. "We're still gonna be together from here on out, right?" yeah that man won't ever leave her. Ever. It's just not an option.

Now since I've only talked about specific moments, here's what I have to say about his relationship with her in general:

Throughout the main plot line, we also see a shift in Natsu's behaviour. Someone here on Tumblr pointed out that Natsu always finds a way to shield Lucy if something unexpected happens, after not being able to shield her from Future Rogue. There's also the small detail of the order he calls out to people - it goes from being pretty random, to Lucy almost alwyas being on the top of the list: likely because she's always on the top of his head. And in general I'd say that Natsu initiates (i'm adding this entire paragraph bc i realised that you asked about when Natsu initiated stuff, more than when he fell in love lol) almost all of their interractions. It's Natsu who wants Lucy to join Fairy Tail, to form a team, he's the one who enters her apartment constantly, he's always searching her out - his interest in her is at a constant high so we never feel like we get "moments" that he's paying her extra attention. He has one setting, and it's "Lucy" cranked to the max. Lol.

I could also add some HYQ moments to the mix here, but they've been few and far inbetween, and also mostly played off as jokes, so I can't really consider them as moments when Natsu initiates his love. I guess his jealousy can be considered a sign? And when (spoilers from the manga) he runs around to protect her/save her from creepy-freaky-jail (the only one who made it freaky was him, with those wild fantasies lol). Maybe I need to jog my memory a bit, but so far there hasn't been any non-pervy nalu moments initiated by Natsu in the HYQ, aside from jealousy-chap. Sadly.

Hope this gave you the answer you were hoping for! Sorry it took so long, I started writing on it and realised it would be a bible so I put it in my drafts to fetch some pics to make it less wordy, and then I forgot about it, lol. But here it is!

[elbiotipo]

If you've ever read about the Ant People of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, you will realize that the fantasy of a post-nuclear holocaust society where everybody just rolls up their sleeves and gets to work and builds quirky microstates with flags and such (happens a lot in post-apocalyptic fiction) is just fanciful thinking. If a nuclear war happened, people would be subjected to the worst hell possible, with no hope of rescue or relief. It would be a complete destruction of any kind of human society where the bombs fell.

War on itself is hellish, but I think people don't realize what a nuclear explosion actually does. It does NOT vaporize everything into nothingness. It reduces cities to rubble, and traps people under that rubble. But the heat pulse is the worst thing. It blinds and deafens people, it melts their skin from their flesh and their flesh from their bones. People walking without direction into the river, dying in piles. I have no words to describe what I've read about Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The details are out there, if you really want to know. It's one of the most harrowing, painful things I've ever read.

This has happened, two times, two times a city full of civilian was destroyed by such a weapon. No matter how much the US historiagraphy tries to say it was necessary to end the war (untrue) and no matter how much they try to downplay it (some today even say a nuclear war would be "survivable"), we have seen what a nuclear weapon does to a city full of people. If you want to know, you can know. You will feel pain and regret, and that means you have humanity. Unlike the ones who ordered that bomb to be used.

[accio-victuuri]

THE Life of Us/Drifting MUSIC VIDEO IS AMAZING 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

I think one can make an entire essay long post trying to explain what the scenes could mean. I’m glad that XZ was able to meet and work with a director like LIN who was able to execute this. I can only imagine the creative ideas XZ had for this and to have someone understand his vision and bring it to life is special. It’s so obvious the time, effort and money spent on this and we got it for free. The entire album is free to listen to. I just. Everything about this drop is such a slap to the antis who said it will be 9 covers and 1 original song but XZ goes bitch hold my beer lemme give all original songs and high quality music videos. oh wait, let me write some of the songs too. let me put in some details in my life there just to make it fun. how about that?!

which leads me to those said details/references that someone has compiled. i’m gonna share it here. 📝

P1: the person climbing a ladder in the clouds is something he drew before. I’m proud of him cause this idea of his has been realized. this reminds me of jack and the beanstalk!

P2: the books are design related. i’d like to think it’s his favorite go-to books!

P4: Knitting yarn! XZ knits!

P5: this is pretty obvious and recurring theme when it comes him - the little prince 🌹

P6: more of a comparison from when he was designer xz to now. he was wearing something similar.

P7: Life of Us = Life of Pi. Which is explained more in P8. OP mention that the main character Pi said when writing in his diary: "Everything has become chaotic and broken, I can no longer distinguish between daydreams, sleep, and reality.” The movie/book is a story about a young man who survived a shipwreck and drifted on the sea.but the deeper level seems to be a discussion about human nature, animal nature, and divinity. It’s about the struggle between ego, id, and superego.That tiger may be Pi's heart. What is drifting on the sea, for Pi, is me and "I"; and Pi, It seems to be the epitome of every "us". Finally, Pi told more than one version of the story, and he asked: "Which version do you prefer?" In fact, the choice of the story has always been "me".

"Life of Us/Drifting" sings "What is a dream, what is my greatest fear" "What is a dream, what is what I want most" It’s a question about your own heart, and only you can give the answer.

P9: that scene in the movie ET

additional ones, his favorite paper plane making an appearance and a similar shot from the animated film castle in the sky.

and i noticed that one take where you can see some vintage things like the telephone, but i realized that xz is almost the same age as me so these are things we grew up using!

i’m sure there are more details here and not to mention the hidden meanings too. but that is what makes this video so fun to watch multiple times! you can discover something new each time! I hope they release some behind the scenes on how this was created and all that. i think there should be a documentary of sorts connected to this album if i remember correctly. so yeah! so much more in store for is when it comes to this album 😊