#but they know how to do that one thing. and it's cool and memorable if it happens once.

[doujinshigirlai]

Closer than ever <3

It's been a while 😭🫶🏻✨

Sypnosis: random drabble about enha confessing to y/n (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡

Pairing: ot7!enhypen x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, acquaintances to lovers

Warnings: none!!!

Enjoy my pookies 🫶🏻✨💞

⋋⁠✿Lee Heeseung✿⁠⋌ You’re standing by the vending machine in the office break room, staring blankly at the rows of snacks, your mind too cluttered to decide on anything. The soft hum of the machine is drowned out by the sound of a familiar voice behind you.

“You’ve been eyeing that granola bar for the last two minutes. Is it really that good?”

You turn around to see Heeseung, his signature playful grin already tugging at his lips. You’ve known him for a few months now—he joined your department not long ago. Though your conversations have mostly been surface-level, there’s something about his relaxed confidence that always gets under your skin.

“It’s not about the granola bar,” you reply with a sigh, pressing the button for a random snack. “I’m just... distracted.”

Heeseung tilts his head, his eyes softening. “Work stress?”

“Among other things,” you admit, clutching the snack as if it’s a lifeline. You’re not sure why, but you feel a strange urge to confide in him, even though you’ve barely scratched the surface of who he is.

“Here,” he says, leaning against the vending machine. “I’ll trade you five minutes of bad jokes for a smile. Deal?”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You really think your jokes are that good?”

He smirks. “I think I can make you laugh. And I’m not leaving until I do.”

True to his word, Heeseung starts spouting the cheesiest, most ridiculous puns you’ve ever heard. It’s impossible not to crack a smile, and by the end of his impromptu comedy routine, you’re laughing so hard you nearly forget why you were stressed in the first place.

“See?” he says, his eyes twinkling with satisfaction. “Mission accomplished.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest lingers. “Fine, I’ll admit it. You’re not the worst company.”

“Wow,” he teases, pretending to clutch his heart. “The highest praise I’ve ever received.”

From that day on, Heeseung seems to pop up everywhere—whether it’s during lunch breaks or late nights at the office. The more you talk, the more you realize how easy it is to be around him. He has this uncanny ability to make you forget your worries, to make you feel seen.

One evening, after yet another long day, he walks you to your car. The cool breeze carries the faint scent of his cologne, and for a moment, the world feels a little less heavy.

“You know,” he says softly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “I never thought I’d look forward to work so much... until I met you.”

You freeze, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. His usual teasing tone is gone, replaced by something deeper, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“Heeseung—”

“I mean it,” he interrupts, his gaze meeting yours. “You make everything better. And I think... I think I want to be the person who does that for you, too.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning. For once, you’re at a loss for words, but the way he looks at you—with so much hope and vulnerability—tells you all you need to know.

So you take a step closer, letting your walls crumble just a little. “You already do.”

His smile is slow, genuine, and when he takes your hand in his, it feels like the start of something you never saw coming—but everything you’ve been waiting for.

Rest of the members under the cut ✨✨✨

⋋⁠✿Park Jongseong✿⁠⋌ It starts on an ordinary Tuesday, with you standing in line at the campus coffee shop. The line is slow, and the cold draft from the door doesn’t help your mood. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, checking the time. You’re already running late.

“I’d suggest the caramel latte,” a smooth voice says behind you. You turn to see Jay, his dark eyes studying the menu as if he hasn’t memorized it already.

You know him in passing—a friend of a friend, someone who’s always in the background of your social circle but never quite in your orbit. He’s polite, even charming, but he’s always been... distant.

“I don’t think caramel’s going to fix my morning,” you reply with a sigh, crossing your arms.

Jay glances down at you, a small smirk playing on his lips. “No, but caffeine might.”

The barista finally calls your turn, and as you step up to order, Jay leans casually against the counter beside you. You don’t know why, but his presence is oddly calming.

“You’re not going to cut me in line, are you?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Relax,” he says, his tone amused. “I’m just here to keep you company.”

You scoff but can’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. After you order, Jay steps forward, surprising you by paying for your drink before you can protest.

“Jay—”

“Consider it my good deed of the day,” he says, his smirk softening into something almost kind. “You look like you could use one.”

You don’t have time to argue, nor do you have time to dwell on it. But from that day on, Jay seems to be everywhere. In the library when you’re cramming for exams. At the park when you’re trying to clear your head. Always there with a witty remark or a quiet offer of help.

At first, it’s annoying. Then it’s comforting. And somewhere along the way, you stop questioning it.

One night, after an exhausting week, you find yourself sitting with Jay on a park bench, sipping on hot cocoa he insisted you needed. The stars are out, the air crisp, and you can’t remember the last time you felt this... at peace.

“You’re different than I thought,” you admit, breaking the silence.

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Oh? What’d you think I was like?”

“Arrogant. Unapproachable. Too perfect to be real.”

He laughs, a low, rich sound that makes your chest tighten. “And now?”

You shrug, looking away. “Still too perfect, but... I guess I was wrong about the rest.”

When you glance back, Jay is watching you intently, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t realize how often I’ve thought the same about you,” he says quietly.

Your breath catches. “What do you mean?”

He leans closer, the space between you shrinking. His gaze flickers to your lips for just a moment before returning to your eyes.

“I mean, I’ve been waiting for an excuse to get closer to you. And I’m tired of waiting.”

Before you can process his words, he closes the gap, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it feels like a question. Your heart races, your hands instinctively gripping the edges of your coat, but when you feel the warmth of his hand against your cheek, the world around you fades.

It’s Jay who pulls back first, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. “Too perfect now?” he murmurs, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “No. Just... perfect enough.”

And as he takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, you realize you don’t need coffee, or cocoa, or anything else to fix your day. Because for the first time in a long time, everything feels exactly as it should.

⋋⁠✿Sim Jaeyun✿⁠⋌ The late summer evening breeze sweeps through the campus courtyard as you balance a stack of books in your arms, cursing yourself for not grabbing a bag. You’re halfway across when a familiar voice calls out from behind you.

“Need some help there?”

You turn to see Jake, his golden hair catching the fading sunlight. He’s leaning casually against a nearby bench, his ever-present hoodie slung over one shoulder. You know Jake well enough to say hello in passing—your mutual friends ensure that your paths cross more often than not—but your interactions have always been polite, nothing more.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, adjusting the books.

Jake raises an eyebrow, his lips curving into a smirk. “You sure about that?”

Before you can respond, he’s already stepping forward, taking the top half of the stack from your arms. His fingers graze yours briefly, and the contact sends a jolt through you that you quickly dismiss.

“Really, I was fine,” you insist, trailing after him as he starts walking toward the library.

“Clearly,” he teases, glancing over his shoulder. “You looked totally at ease, struggling not to drop an entire semester’s worth of reading.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no bite to it. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Didn’t need to,” Jake replies smoothly.

The two of you walk in silence for a moment, the tension between you both oddly palpable. It’s not the first time Jake’s gone out of his way to help you, but something about this moment feels different—like the weight of unspoken words is pressing down on the air around you.

When you reach the library, Jake sets the books down on a nearby table, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “There. Crisis averted.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, feeling suddenly self-conscious under his gaze.

Jake doesn’t move, his eyes studying you like he’s debating something. Finally, he takes a step closer, the playfulness in his expression replaced by something more serious.

“You know,” he begins, his voice lower now, “you’re really bad at asking for help.”

You cross your arms, trying to mask the way your heart is suddenly racing. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.”

“It’s my business,” Jake says, his tone firmer now, “because I care about you.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and unmistakable. Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at you—like he’s been holding this in for far too long—or the fact that your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest.

“Jake...” you start, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

“No, let me say this,” he insists, his voice softening. “I know we’re not close. I know I’m just that guy you see in passing, the one who cracks jokes and never seems to take anything seriously. But with you... it’s different. You make me want to be better. You make me feel like I can be more.”

You’re frozen in place, your mind racing as you try to process the sheer weight of his confession.

“I’ve been trying to tell myself I’m fine just watching from a distance,” he continues, his voice almost breaking.

“But I’m not. I’m not fine, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way about you.”

The tension between you is electric, the air so thick with emotion that it’s almost suffocating. Jake takes another step closer, his hand hovering near yours, as if he’s waiting for permission to close the gap.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. “I just... I needed you to know.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. “Jake, I—”

But before you can finish, the librarian’s voice cuts through the air. “Excuse me, but this is a quiet zone.”

The moment shatters, and Jake pulls back slightly, his lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Guess we’re causing a scene,” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

You shake your head, a small laugh escaping despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. “Yeah, we are.”

Jake looks at you for a long moment, his eyes still filled with unspoken words. “I meant what I said,” he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. Then, with one last lingering glance, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with your heart in your throat and your mind spinning.

And as you watch him disappear into the stacks, you realize that whatever this is—whatever it could be—you’re not ready to let it slip through your fingers.

⋋⁠✿Park Sunghoon⁠✿⁠⋌ It’s late, and the campus quad is eerily quiet except for the sound of your boots crunching against the frosty grass. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, regretting your decision to stay in the library until closing. The dim glow of the streetlights casts long shadows, and you quicken your pace.

"Walking alone this late?” a familiar voice calls out from behind you.

You turn sharply, heart skipping a beat, only to see Sunghoon leaning casually against a nearby lamppost. His breath forms a faint mist in the cold air, and his hands are shoved into the pockets of his black coat.

“Sunghoon?” you say, your voice tinged with surprise.

He straightens up, falling into step beside you. “Relax. It’s just me.”

You’ve known Sunghoon for a while now, mostly through shared classes and mutual friends. He’s always been polite, reserved even—though his quiet confidence and striking looks have earned him more than a few admirers. Still, your interactions have always been brief, nothing that would explain why he’s here now.

“What are you doing out so late?” you ask, glancing at him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he counters, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to walk around alone at night?".

You roll your eyes. “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

“Maybe,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “But now you don’t have to.”

The two of you walk in silence for a while, the tension between you humming like a live wire. There’s something about the way Sunghoon moves—so self-assured yet unassuming—that makes it hard to look away.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you say after a while.

“Do what?”

“Play the hero,” you reply, glancing at him.

He stops walking, and you’re forced to stop too, turning to face him. His expression is unreadable, but his dark eyes hold yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken.

“You think I’m doing this to play the hero?” he asks, his voice low, almost dangerous.

You hesitate, suddenly unsure of yourself. “I don’t know. Aren’t you?”

Sunghoon takes a step closer, closing the distance between you. His presence is overwhelming, and you find yourself rooted to the spot.

“I’m here,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “because I wanted to see you. Because every time I see you, it’s harder to walk away. And I’m done pretending that it’s not.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you like a tidal wave.

“Sunghoon...” you start, but he shakes his head, silencing you.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me, and I’ll walk away.”

You don’t say anything, your mind racing, your heart pounding. And then, instead of speaking, you step closer, bridging the gap between you.

That’s all the confirmation he needs. Sunghoon leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s both soft and electrifying, like the first rush of a winter storm. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his touch warm against your chilled skin, and for a moment, the rest of the world ceases to exist.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cold night air.

You smile, your heart still racing. “What took you so long?”

Sunghoon chuckles softly, his eyes glinting with a mixture of relief and something deeper. “I guess I needed to know you wouldn’t push me away.”

You shake your head, your smile widening. “Not a chance.”

And as the two of you stand there under the dim streetlight, the frost on the grass glittering around you, it feels like the start of something neither of you can—or want to—turn back from.

⋋⁠✿Kim Sunoo⁠✿⁠⋌ The campus is quiet, the kind of stillness that feels unnatural. You’ve been in the library for hours, buried in notes and textbooks, your mind drifting in and out of focus. It’s been a long day, and you’re ready to head home, but as you step out of the building into the evening chill, you’re met with an unexpected sight—Sunoo, sitting on a bench under the dim light of a streetlamp, his eyes trained on the starless sky.

You stop in your tracks, unsure if you should interrupt him. You’ve never been particularly close, and yet, for some reason, you always find yourself caught in his orbit. He’s always been kind, that easy smile never far from his lips, but there’s something about him that feels distant—a warmth that’s almost unreachable.

He notices you standing there, and his expression shifts, that usual playful grin softening.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask, your voice breaking the silence.

Sunoo looks up, his gaze locking with yours. “More like couldn’t stop thinking,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual.

You hesitate, moving closer to the bench. “About what?”

Sunoo shifts to make room, patting the spot next to him. You sit down, careful not to let your shoulder brush his, though it feels almost impossible not to.

“It’s... complicated,” he says after a long pause, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

You turn to face him, the tension between you thickening. You know he’s been quieter lately, as if something is weighing on his mind. There’s a softness to him now, an unspoken vulnerability that draws you in even more.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” you offer gently.

Sunoo smiles faintly, shaking his head. “No, I think... I think it’s time I said it.”

You wait, your heart beginning to race as he looks down, as if trying to find the right words. His usual confidence is replaced by uncertainty, and it’s unsettling to see him like this.

“I’ve been holding back,” he starts slowly, “because I didn’t want to make things complicated. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this way.”

You swallow, unsure if you want to hear what’s coming next. The air feels charged, like something big is about to happen, but you're unsure if you're ready to face it.

“I think I’ve liked you for longer than I realized,” Sunoo confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I was scared. Scared of what it would mean. Scared of ruining whatever we have.”

Your breath hitches, the words sinking in deeper than you expected. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. It’s almost too much to process. Sunoo, always the cheerful and outgoing one, the guy who can make anyone laugh, is standing there—vulnerable and open in a way you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he says, looking at you earnestly. “I just... needed you to know.”

The weight of his confession presses down on you, and you can feel the tension between you like a palpable force. His eyes are wide, searching yours for a reaction, and for the first time, you realize how much you’ve been holding back as well.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

Sunoo nods, a small, bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just needed to tell you.”

You both sit in silence, the night growing colder around you, but you don’t move. The quiet between you now feels comfortable, as though you’ve just crossed an invisible line that neither of you can go back from.

Finally, Sunoo stands up, stretching his arms above his head. “I’ll see you around,” he says, his usual carefree tone returning, but there’s still a tenderness in his eyes.

You nod, watching him walk away, your heart a tangled mess of emotions. But as the silence settles in once more, you realize that his confession has changed something between you. It’s not just the words; it’s the way you feel the truth of them, how everything suddenly feels clearer, even if it’s still uncertain "I like you too!!!", you shout. He turns, grinning widely and genuinely.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s the beginning of something that neither of you are ready to define yet—but both of you know will be impossible to forget.

⋋⁠✿Yang Jungwon⁠✿⁠⋌ The early morning sun casts a soft golden light across the campus as you step out of the dorm, a cup of coffee in hand to start your day. The campus is quieter than usual, the early risers having already started their routines, and the air is crisp with the promise of a new day.

As you make your way toward the main building, you spot Jungwon sitting on one of the benches by the fountain. The sunlight catches in his hair, giving him an almost ethereal glow, and for a moment, he seems completely absorbed in the world around him. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jacket, and his gaze is focused on the morning sky, his features soft and contemplative.

You pause for a moment, unsure if you should interrupt his peace, but then you find yourself walking toward him anyway.

"Jungwon?" You call out, voice hesitant

He blinks, looking up with a slight surprise before his lips curl into a small, genuine smile. “Hey, you’re up early,” he says, his voice still carrying the remnants of sleepiness but also warmth.

You offer a small smile in return, shrugging. “Yeah, I’ve got a busy day ahead. I thought I’d grab some coffee before the rush.”

“Smart choice,” he says, patting the space beside him on the bench. “Want to sit for a bit?”

You sit down beside him, wrapping your hands around the warmth of your coffee cup. There’s a calmness in the air now, the world slowly waking up around you. And for a moment, you simply sit in silence, the sound of birds chirping and the faint rustle of leaves the only noise.

“You’ve been quiet this morning,” you remark, glancing at Jungwon, who’s still staring off into the distance.

He shifts slightly, as if he’s just now realizing how still he’s been. “I guess I’ve just been thinking a lot,” he admits, his voice softer than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “About what?”

Jungwon’s gaze drifts to the ground for a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his jacket. There’s a hesitation there, a vulnerability in his posture that you don’t often see.

“It’s... about us,” he says quietly, his voice carrying an honesty that you’re not used to hearing from him.

Your heart skips a beat at his words. “Us?”

He turns his head slightly to face you, his eyes catching yours. “Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “I’ve been thinking about you. A lot more than I should, probably. I wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but... I think it’s time I do.”

You feel a knot form in your stomach, the air between you thick with unspoken tension. Jungwon, who’s always been so composed and in control, now seems different. There’s a vulnerability to him now that makes your heart race.

"I don’t want to make things complicated,” he continues, his voice almost a whisper. “But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way. I think about you all the time, and I just... I need you to know that.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. Jungwon has always been the calm and collected one, the friend who makes everyone feel at ease. But this side of him, the side that’s unsure and uncertain, catches you off guard.

You turn to face him, the warmth of your coffee forgotten in your hands. “Jungwon, I—”

Before you can finish, he’s already leaning in, his eyes searching yours for a hint of whether you’re okay with this. There’s no hesitation this time, no second-guessing. Jungwon closes the gap between you, and his lips meet yours in a gentle, tentative kiss. It’s soft, barely there, but it holds so much meaning. A confession in the quiet of the morning, the warmth of his lips lingering even after the kiss is over.

When he pulls back, there’s a faint blush on his cheeks, and he looks at you with wide, uncertain eyes. “I hope that wasn’t too much,” he says, his voice soft, like he’s afraid of pushing you away.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing in your chest, and smile softly. “No, it wasn’t. It’s just... I’ve been thinking about you too.”

His expression softens, a genuine smile slowly spreading across his face. “Really?” he asks, his voice filled with quiet relief.

You nod, feeling the warmth spreading through your chest. “Really.”

Jungwon lets out a breath of relief, his smile widening. “I’m glad. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but this is definitely better than I thought.”

You laugh softly, feeling the weight of the tension between you ease. “I think we’ve both been a little unsure of how to handle this, huh?”

“Yeah,” he admits, chuckling lightly. “But I’m glad it’s out there now.”

And as the two of you sit together on the bench, the sun rises higher in the sky, you both realize that whatever comes next, it’s the start of something new—something neither of you were expecting, but both of you are willing to embrace.

⋋⁠✿Nishimura Riki✿⁠⋌ The morning sun spills through the windows of the campus café as you sit by the large glass wall, the warmth of the light casting a soft glow over your book and coffee. You’ve been coming here a lot lately, needing a quiet escape from the chaos of classes and the constant buzz of campus life.

Today, however, something feels different. You glance up from your book as the door chimes open, and in walks Niki. His usual carefree energy is a little more subdued today, and the way his eyes scan the room before locking on you is enough to make your heart skip a beat.

Niki doesn’t usually come to this café in the mornings; he’s more of an afternoon kind of person, where his energy seems boundless. But today, he steps toward your table, hesitating for a moment, like he’s trying to decide whether to say something.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, his voice quieter than usual. You notice the way his eyes avoid yours for a split second, a hint of uncertainty in his usually confident demeanor.

“Of course,” you reply, your heart inexplicably racing. You shift your things aside to make room for him, and he sits across from you, his usual grin missing, replaced by a soft, thoughtful expression.

For a few moments, there’s an awkward silence between you. You’re used to Niki being playful, always cracking jokes, always full of energy, but today, he seems almost... hesitant.

“You okay?” you ask, unable to ignore the change in his vibe.

He looks up at you, his lips curling slightly, but it’s not his usual carefree smile. It’s almost as if he’s considering something deeply before he answers. “Yeah, just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff?” you raise an eyebrow. “What kind of stuff?”

He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the table as he seems to lose himself in thought again. “Just... everything, I guess. People. Life.” His voice is softer now, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “And you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel the shift in the air. Niki doesn’t usually speak like this, especially about you.

“Me?” you repeat, trying to keep your voice steady, but the way he says it makes your heart race even faster.

He nods, his gaze lifting to meet yours again. This time, it feels like he’s looking at you in a way that’s different—more intense, more meaningful. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. About how you’re always there, and how I’ve always been able to talk to you. You’re... different, you know? I think I’ve started feeling more than just the friendship thing.”

Your stomach flips, and your words get caught in your throat. You’ve always had a soft spot for Niki—his charm, his humor, his way of making everything feel effortless. But this... this confession feels like it’s pulling you into something much deeper than you expected.

“You’re telling me this now?” you ask, trying to keep your voice light, but your heart is pounding in your chest.

Niki looks at you for a long moment, as if he’s debating something in his mind. Then, he leans forward slightly, his hands folding on the table. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced by something more raw, more vulnerable.

“I know I’ve always acted like I was the one who had it all figured out,” he says, his voice quiet, but his eyes focused on you. “But the truth is... I’ve been a little scared.”

“Scared?” You lean forward, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. “Scared of what?”

“Scared of how much you mean to me,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Scared of how I might mess things up. I don’t want to ruin what we have, but I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The air is thick with tension now. You feel your heart beat faster, not from fear, but from something else—something electric.

“Niki, I—”

But before you can finish your sentence, he reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. The warmth of his touch is enough to make your pulse spike, and your words falter as you meet his gaze.

“I don’t want to hide this anymore,” he says, his voice steady but full of the emotion he’s been holding back. “I like you. More than just as a friend. And I had to tell you, even if it’s scary.”

You sit there for a moment, the world around you seeming to slow down. Niki, the guy who’s always been the center of attention, always so full of life, is now sitting in front of you, vulnerable and open in a way you’ve never seen before.

And in that moment, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been feeling the same way.

You don’t need words anymore. Without thinking, you reach for his hand, your fingers intertwining with his. It’s simple, but it feels like everything you’ve been too scared to say is being communicated in this single, quiet touch.

Niki’s eyes soften, and a slow, genuine smile spreads across his face. “I was worried you wouldn’t feel the same,” he admits, his voice a little breathless.

You smile, squeezing his hand gently. “I think we’ve both been scared of the same thing.”

And as you sit there, hands locked together, the morning light shining through the window, you realize that this is the start of something new. Something that doesn’t need words, but something you’re both willing to explore together.

HOPE YOU ENJOYED POOKIESSSS 💞✨💞

Taglist: @fangirlingobsessed @ilovebtsomgie @ayakananodesu @leftx1imaginesrenji-yanagirebel @axxftergl0w @astro-des @han-doolsetnet @ssungiverb @itsanaaa22 @bonsai-maze @graciiwestlake @lezleeferguson-120 @sovlidago @callistomk @ottokenta @ikeulove @fredneo17 @dprvivi @emisoftly @puppymyunjae @gven-takn @whitediamond778 @leipforggy

[puppppppppy]

i feel like. theres designing a character with certain themes and motifs in mind, and then theres making a gijinka for the water bottle on my nightstand

[lilacerull0]

my mom: i feel like you don't even like pasquale, it's just that the spite and the complaining registers at the same frequency as your own

me: *speechless*

[crookedteethed]

18+ -mdni

ᥫ᭡. Soft!Rafe Headcanons (but oh, it turns dark)

At first, he doesn’t seem like the other guys on Kildare. Everyone knows Rafe Cameron as the kook prince: arrogant, troublemaker, sometimes violent. But when he first meets you, there’s this quiet charm to him. He stumbles over his words, blushes when you catch him staring too long, and fumbles with his sleeves nervously. It’s almost sweet—almost like he’s a different Rafe entirely.

Soft!Rafe who insists on driving you everywhere. He’d show up outside your house at random times with this stupidly proud smile, like he’s already won just by getting to see you. He always opens the car door for you, fingers grazing the small of your back a little too long. And he drives slow—too slow—just to keep you in his car for longer.

He buys you little things constantly. A bouquet of flowers just because. Your favorite iced coffee. A gold chain with a tiny charm that you offhandedly mentioned once. “It made me think of you,” he’d mumble, soft voice barely audible. But he always watches intently as you react, cataloging every smile or laugh.

Soft!Rafe whose obsession starts with him memorizing every detail about you. The exact shade of your nail polish. The way you like your coffee. The perfume you wear. He swears it lingers in his car after he’s dropped you off, and he secretly takes the long way home just to breathe it in.

Late-night texts turn unsettlingly consistent. At first, it’s cute—“you up?” or “i can’t sleep. thinking of you :)” But soon, it turns into long, rambling messages about how he misses you even though he just saw you. “Do you think of me the way I think of you? I can’t get you out of my head, it’s killing me.”

Soft!Rafe who worships your body. When things inevitably escalate, he’s almost reverent. Every kiss is lingering, every touch is careful—like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. “You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin, breathless. He’ll spend hours between your legs, murmuring praises like it’s his purpose to make you fall apart under him.

Soft!Rafe whose sweetness starts to seem... off. He tells you how beautiful you are a little too intensely. There’s a quiet desperation in his voice sometimes, like he’s trying to convince you to stay. “No one could ever love you like I do.” And when you pull away? His sweet smile falters just a little too long.

He keeps things that remind him of you. The sweater you let him borrow once—it’s folded neatly under his pillow. A lipstick you accidentally left in his car sits on his desk like a trophy. He’s even saved your voicemail, replaying it late at night when he’s alone in his room.

Soft!Rafe who loses it the first time you mention another guy. At first, he plays it cool—laughs it off with that forced smile of his. But his hand tightens around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. Later that night, you get a slew of texts: “He doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even know you like I do.”

He starts showing up uninvited. Outside your job when you get off. At parties you didn’t even tell him about.“Just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. But his eyes are dark—there’s something possessive behind them that you can’t ignore anymore.

Soft!Rafe who makes love to you like you’re his religion. His touches turn frantic, kisses bruising as he whispers, “Mine. You’re mine, aren’t you?” over and over again. There’s something in the way he holds you—almost desperate—like if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

The shift is slow but terrifying. One day, you notice how eerily quiet he gets when you don’t give him all your attention. His soft demeanor doesn’t falter, but there’s a shadow of something unhinged in his eyes when he tilts his head and asks, “Who were you with earlier?”

Soft!Rafe who convinces you he’s harmless. Even when you start to get uneasy, he pulls you right back in with his charm. “You’re the only good thing in my life,” he whispers, voice trembling as he cups your face. And suddenly, you feel guilty for doubting him. After all, he’s sweet Rafe—he wouldn’t hurt you... right?

a/n-emptying out my drafts, yuh.

as always, comments, likes, and reblogs all keep me motivated. 🫶🏾

[diamonddaze01]

fleeing feelings

pairing: hvc x fem!reader | best friend!seungkwan genre: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, university au wc: 9.6k warnings: alcohol consumption (pls drink responsibly!!) a/n: for @k-vanity 's “falling for you” event! My prompts were London Fog (“You said what to who now?! Why?!”) and Pumpkin Spice Latte (“Excuse me, but is this seat taken?”) // enormous thank you to @cheolism for the most gorgeous banner // and thank you to my lovely betas @lovetaroandtaemin and @tusswrites

summary: so you might have told vernon you loved him while drunk – now all you have to do is avoid him. forever. 

The headache is real.

It feels like someone decided your skull was the perfect canvas for a jackhammer. Each throb sends waves of pain coursing through your brain, and even the soft hum of the world outside your window seems like an assault on your fragile state. If it wasn’t for the fact that you’re pretty sure your last memory was of collapsing into your bed after a night of regrettable decisions, you’d swear you were dying.

You blink up at the ceiling, groaning as sunlight streams through the blinds, slicing through the dim room like a guilty conscience. Your eyes ache at the brightness, and you throw a hand over your face in an attempt to shield yourself from the assault. The cold sheets are a welcome contrast to the fire that’s raging inside your head.

You wish for sleep, but it doesn’t come. Instead, you're greeted by an annoyingly chipper voice, too loud for a Sunday morning at 11 a.m.

"Morning!" Seungkwan chirps, a little too cheerfully for someone who clearly has no understanding of the term hangover. He's holding a glass of water, like it’s the most exciting thing in the world, and you can't help but squint at him through half-closed eyes. He’s got that same gleeful smile on his face, looking way too awake for someone who shares an apartment with someone who just wants to die right now.

"Seungkwan, please... It’s too early for your brand of happiness," you croak, your voice hoarse and barely audible. Your throat feels like you swallowed sandpaper, and you barely have the strength to sit up.

"Well, it’s already late enough for me to help you feel better," he says with a grin that’s too wide to be genuine, handing you the glass of water and an aspirin like it’s some kind of miracle cure. "You don’t want to end up like last time, do you?"

You roll your eyes, trying to sit up but the world tilts dangerously. You clutch the glass like it might actually save you, your fingers trembling from the effort. "Last time?" you mutter, still a little too disoriented to make sense of anything. “I barely remember last night.”

Seungkwan’s grin stretches even wider. "Oh, last night was a memorable one," he says, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he’s got the best secret in the world.

You squint at him, struggling to keep your eyes open. "What do you mean by that?"

The moment it leaves your mouth, the memories come rushing back, one after another, like a broken dam finally giving way. You and Vernon had gone outside for some air, the cool night breeze refreshing against your skin. You remember the conversation turning quiet, the alcohol still buzzing in your veins, the way the breeze ruffled his hair, and then...

Oh god. Oh no.

You freeze, the blood draining from your face as your stomach drops. Your heart stutters in your chest as you try to piece it together. You had told Vernon you loved him. In your drunken haze, it had slipped out, but now? Now it feels like the kind of thing you would never, ever do if you weren’t so far gone on cheap whiskey and bad decisions.

You look at Seungkwan, your face crumpling in embarrassment. "I... I told Vernon... I told him I love him."

Seungkwan blinks at you, the shock clear on his face. For a second, it seems like he doesn’t even know how to respond. Then, his eyes widen comically, and a burst of laughter bursts from him. "You said what to who?!" He takes a step back, as if the sheer magnitude of your confession has physically knocked him off balance. "You confessed? To Vernon?" He cackles, his laugh loud and echoing in the quiet of your room.

You slump back against your pillow, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. You wish the floor would just swallow you up. "I didn’t mean to! I was drunk—okay?" you mutter, your words barely making it out.

Seungkwan is practically vibrating with laughter. "Oh my god, you actually did it," he says between fits of giggles. "That’s so—wait, wait. What did Vernon say back?"

And that’s when the panic sets in. You stare blankly at Seungkwan, your brain spinning. You want to remember, you need to remember what he said back, but it’s a complete blank. The memory of his face, his expression, even his words—they’re gone. As if it never happened. You feel a new wave of nausea rising in your stomach.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to speak. "I don’t remember," you confess, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Seungkwan stops laughing, blinking at you like he’s just realized you might be serious. "What do you mean you don’t remember?" he asks, sounding more confused than before.

You press the heel of your hand to your forehead, trying to steady your dizzying thoughts. "I... I can’t remember what he said back. And that’s worse than not hearing anything at all."

Seungkwan’s face falters for a second, then the teasing glint returns in his eyes. "Well... you have to face him, right? He’s literally just down the hall," he points out, his voice softening as he sits on the edge of your bed. "And you’re gonna have to talk to him eventually. You can’t avoid him forever."

You frown, looking at him as if he's spoken a foreign language. "And why the hell not?"

Seungkwan leans in, his finger counting off the reasons like he’s been preparing for this moment his whole life. "One: he’s our best friend. Two: he lives down the hall, not in another universe. And three..." He pauses, dramatically. "He’s your BEST FRIEND."

You groan, rolling over and burying your face into your pillow, desperate to block out the light, the noise, and Seungkwan’s well-meaning logic. "You already said that," you mumble into the fabric, wishing the pillow could swallow you whole.

"I’m emphasizing," Seungkwan replies, sitting back in a huff. "Emphasizing that he knows you like the back of his hand, stupid. He’s not gonna let you avoid him."

You moan into the pillow. "I can’t even think about facing him right now, Seungkwan. Not today."

"Tough. You’re facing him eventually, whether you like it or not," Seungkwan says, but his voice softens, his hand brushing your back comfortingly. "But hey, I’m your best friend. I’m here to support you through whatever happens."

You just grunt in response, curling back into the pillow like it might somehow shield you from reality. "Great. As long as you’re here to watch me suffer."

Seungkwan grins, his voice full of mischief. "That’s the plan."

You can feel the weight of your poor life choices pressing down on you as you sit in the overpriced, over-crowded coffee shop, nursing the lukewarm disaster that is your latte. It's one of those days where everything tastes like regret—coffee included. Your laptop screen blurs as you try to focus on your prelab. You're supposed to be working, supposed to be productive, but all you can do is mentally list everything that went wrong in your life in the past 48 hours.

The lab professor? Completely useless. Your grade? Already plummeting. And as for the whole Vernon situation? Yeah, let's not talk about that.

You can feel the throbbing pain in your temples as your mind drifts back to that night—the confession that slipped out of your mouth when you were way too drunk. The look on Vernon’s face... God, you're so embarrassed. If there was a hole to crawl into, you’d dive right in and never resurface.

Beside you, Seungkwan is breezing through his own prelab, the same one you’re supposed to be working on, but it seems like he’s in a completely different world. As usual. He taps away at his laptop, his fingers moving in a rhythm like he’s been here for hours—when in reality, he probably hasn’t even started yet. You scowl at your laptop as the blinking cursor mocks you for not getting anything done.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together. "God, I hate this class. And I hate that professor," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "Why did I even sign up for this? Why is life like this?"

Seungkwan doesn’t look up from his screen, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. "Because you're a glutton for punishment. You're just mad because the only thing you're getting out of this lab is the overpriced coffee."

You huff, sloshing your latte around in its cup in a way that makes you wish you could just drown in it. "Yeah, well, I’m about to drown in this lab report if I don’t figure it out soon."

"Should’ve taken easier classes," Seungkwan snorts, and you shoot him a glare. He knows you better than anyone, and he knows you're not the type to shy away from a challenge. You don’t even have the energy to argue, so you let him win this one.

The door chimes as someone enters, and your focus breaks. You glance up, hoping it's just some random student walking in to grab their iced coffee, but no.

Of course not.

You hear that low, familiar voice, the one that makes your heart do a little flip. "Is this seat taken?"

No. No. Fuck.

There, standing by the table, looking like he belongs in some glossy magazine for college students who know how to look effortlessly cool, is Vernon. The guy you still haven’t figured out how to face after that monumental fuck-up of a confession two days ago. And now? Now he’s standing there, staring at you and Seungkwan with a hesitant smile, probably wondering if it’s safe to sit down or if you’re about to sprint out of here like a coward.

Seungkwan, the absolute bastard, beams at Vernon. "Oh no, it’s totally free," he says, too eager. He's so happy to make this as awkward as possible. You could almost feel the smugness radiating off him. "Come sit, Vernon. We could use the company!"

Your heart sinks into your stomach as Vernon takes the seat across from you, not missing the subtle shift in your posture. He looks at you with those eyes of his, eyes that are both too warm and too intense, and you feel a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You can’t look at him. You can’t.

You force a smile, but it feels like you’re pushing your lips together with a crowbar. "Uh, yeah. Just working on it," you mumble, barely even aware of what you just said. Your brain is too busy doing its best to not short-circuit. You take another sip of your latte, hoping the caffeine will somehow pull you together. It doesn’t.

Seungkwan, the little devil, doesn’t help at all. He’s practically radiating glee, enjoying your discomfort far too much. "Yeah, Y/N here is just dying to finish her part of the report," he says, clearly trying to get a rise out of you. "But it's okay, she’s doing just fine! Aren’t you?" He shoots you a wink, but Vernon doesn’t catch it—thank God.

Your eyes flick to your screen, looking for any excuse to not talk to Vernon right now. You just need to not look at him. "Actually, I forgot something," you blurt out, standing up abruptly, not even thinking it through. "I just... I need to grab something. I’ll be back in a second."

You don’t wait for anyone to respond. You don’t even look at Vernon as you grab your bag and make a hasty retreat to the counter. Your heart is pounding in your ears, and your breath feels shallow. This was a terrible idea. Why did you invite him to work on the prelab in the first place? Was it because you wanted an excuse to spend time with him? To not feel so much?

You don’t know.

You leave the cafe altogether, your mind racing, and find yourself walking aimlessly for a few minutes, trying to cool off. The cold air outside stings your cheeks, but it’s a welcome distraction from the heat of embarrassment still flushing through your body.

You pull out your phone, needing something to take your mind off everything. It pings almost immediately with a message from Seungkwan:

Boo 🍊: so... how long are u gonna avoid him

You laugh weakly, but it’s more from disbelief than anything else. You text back quickly:

Y/N: i’m not avoiding him

Y/N: i’m just

Y/N: strategically distancing myself until i can look him in the eye without dying of shame

Boo 🍊: ur not gonna go back to the cafe because its too much?

Your phone dings again in quick succession. 

Boo 🍊: u realize ur only making it worse right

You squeeze your eyes shut, biting your lip to suppress a groan. Oh god, Seungkwan, shut up.

Y/N: i’m already halfway across campus

Y/N: oh well, can’t exactly go back now

Boo 🍊: he looks like you kicked him in the nuts and then ran away btw

Boo 🍊: i’m keeping him company 

Boo 🍊: ur not getting away with this btw i’m never letting u live this down

You exhale loudly, already feeling the weight of your decision in the pit of your stomach. What did you think would happen? You’ve messed this up royally. Again.

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Boo 🍊: no u don’t !  you’ll see him again soon. probably tomorrow

Y/N: fuck you

Boo 🍊: love u too! don’t worry i’ll handle this 

Boo 🍊: good luck with that prelab see u at home <3 

You slump your shoulders in defeat, staring at the screen of your phone. There’s no getting out of this. You’ve somehow managed to make this even more awkward. Of course, Seungkwan would drag it out. You wouldn’t expect any less from him.

You drag yourself back into the apartment, the weight of your failed escape attempt still heavy on your shoulders. The door slams behind you, and you sigh deeply, almost as if trying to shake the embarrassment off your body. You kick your shoes off and leave them by the door, your bag slung over your shoulder like a dead weight. You’re so done with everything.

The apartment feels like it’s mocking you—seemingly quiet, except for the hum of Seungkwan’s obnoxiously loud voice floating from the living room. You hear the faint click of his phone screen as you shuffle toward the couch. You can practically feel him smirking at your impending doom even before you see him.

Sure enough, when you walk into the living room, he’s lounging on the couch, sprawled across it in his usual dramatic fashion. He’s scrolling through his phone, one leg thrown over the side, looking like he hasn’t had a care in the world since he woke up. 

You throw yourself onto the couch next to him, feeling the familiar softness of the cushions sink beneath you. The weight of the last few hours presses down on your chest. It’s so comfortable here, but you can’t fully relax. Not with him sitting right next to you, clearly enjoying the aftermath of your spectacular mess.

“Don’t even say it,” you groan, pushing yourself into the cushions like they might swallow you whole.

He doesn’t even glance up from his phone. Instead, he lets out a small, knowing laugh. “So... how’s the avoidance game going?”

You just close your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to disappear. “I’m never leaving my room again. Ever.”

Seungkwan bursts into laughter, the sound filling the small apartment and bouncing off the walls. It’s enough to make your skin crawl, but you can’t help but feel a bit of a tug at your own lips. He’s genuinely enjoying your misery, and you hate it. “I mean, it’s been two days, and you’ve already chickened out at the café. That’s a solid record.”

You groan dramatically, rolling your head back against the cushion. “I didn’t chicken out. I just... needed a moment to not make eye contact with him, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” Seungkwan says, his voice laced with sarcasm. “That’s why you bolted out of there like a squirrel avoiding a hawk.”

You push his shoulder weakly, your fingers brushing over the soft fabric of his hoodie. “Shut up, Boo. You have no idea how embarrassing it was.”

“Of course I do,” he says smugly, setting his phone down on the coffee table with a soft thud. “I was the one trying to hold a conversation with Vernon while you were having your little meltdown across campus.”

“Can we please not talk about it?” You bury your face in your hands, muffling your groan of embarrassment.

Seungkwan’s voice is dripping with amusement. “Well, you better figure it out soon. You invited him to our café session, and now you’re running away from your own mess. It’s hilarious.”

You sit up, rubbing your face in exasperation. “I’m never going to be able to look him in the eye again.”

Seungkwan shrugs, his grin still wickedly satisfied. “Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice. I mean, unless you’re planning to live in that room of yours forever?”

You lean back against the couch, the soft fabric cool against your skin. You feel the weight of your thoughts settle in again, and with it, the overwhelming desire to hide from the world. “I can’t,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s gonna know I’m avoiding him on purpose.”

“Yeah, he’s not that dumb,” Seungkwan says, flipping through his phone lazily. “But you know what? You could avoid him for a while. You just need to avoid... everything you’re supposed to do, forever.”

You turn your head slowly to look at him. “That’s your solution? Run away?”

“Pretty much,” Seungkwan says, completely unfazed. “But you have to be more creative. Maybe pretend you’re dead? Or like you have the plague?”

You snort, despite yourself, the idea so absurd that it almost lightens the mood. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just start wearing a sign around my neck: Please, don’t talk to me. I’m a walking disaster.”

Seungkwan grins, his eyes lighting up mischievously. “Honestly, I think it’s a good look for you.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t hold back a laugh. “You’re the worst.”

Seungkwan stretches out, his grin wide and smug. “Look, I saved you today, but don’t expect me to keep doing this forever. At some point, you’re on your own.” He reaches for his phone, ready to return to his lazy scrolling.

You sit up, the absurdity of the situation hitting you in waves. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out... eventually.”

Seungkwan gives you a side-eye. “Sure you will. But for now, enjoy the free ride, disaster queen.”

It’s just your luck that, of all people, Vernon is your lab partner today. The second your professor calls your name, you feel your stomach twist into knots. You swear your internal groan echoes in the hum of the fluorescent lights above you. Why him?

Across the lab, Vernon’s already tugging on his gloves, eyeing the instructions on the counter like he’s got his shit together. You can’t help but stare at him for a second, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead, the way he moves like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The thought of having to work with him makes you feel like you’ve been thrown into a pressure cooker, and you’re about to explode.

You try to focus, really, you do. But it’s impossible. Your brain keeps wandering back to him. His fucking hums. His stupid little smile. The way his dark eyes flicker up every now and then to make sure you’re still there. It’s like he knows exactly how much he’s fucking with your head, and the worst part? He’s probably not even trying.

A Bunsen burner hisses in the background, and the sound almost makes you flinch, like it's too loud in the otherwise quiet lab. You try to focus on the beaker in front of you. Try to just get through this. But it’s hard when all you can feel is the weight of his gaze on you.

“Got it, Y/N?” Vernon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s leaning against the counter now, watching you with a lazy grin, like he knows what he's doing to you.

Your face flushes involuntarily, and you shoot him a tight smile, hoping to play it cool. “Yeah, got it,” you mumble, though your mind is a jumbled mess. Your hand shakes slightly as you pick up the pipette, and you swear he notices, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s even worse. You hate how easy it is for him to get under your skin.

It’s bad enough that you’re stuck with him, but now you’ve got to get through an hour-long experiment without combusting. The tension is palpable, and it’s making you want to crawl out of your skin.

But then, just as you’re about to lose it, you spot Seungkwan strutting back from the fume hood. You swear you can feel the relief hit your chest like a tidal wave. Perfect.

Seungkwan doesn’t seem to notice you until you’re already walking toward him, your feet moving on their own accord, desperate to make the switch. When he looks up, his gaze flickers over you, and that smirk creeps onto his lips. The one you know too well. The one that says, I’m going to fuck with you now.

“What’s up, Y/N?” he asks, popping his gum. “Need help with the chemical equations? Or is it more of a personal emergency?”

You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I need to switch lab partners, Seungkwan. Like, now.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. “Really? What’s wrong? Does Vernon’s inability to mix chemicals properly scare you, or are you just that tired of looking at his face?”

You grimace, frustration bubbling in your chest. God, why’s he gotta make it worse? “No, it’s just… I can’t focus with him staring at me every five seconds.”

Seungkwan’s smirk widens, and you can see the wheels turning behind his eyes. “Oh, so that’s what it is, huh? You’re not focused because Vernon keeps looking at you like you’re his personal chemistry experiment?”

Your heart rate spikes. Fuck off, Seungkwan. “Shut up, I’m being serious,” you mutter, but you can hear the hitch in your voice, and it makes you want to punch yourself in the face.

Seungkwan doesn’t let up, leaning in closer with that same cocky grin, looking far too pleased with himself. “Is that why you’ve been staring at him for the last five minutes, then?” he teases, and you swear you can hear the little giggle in his voice. “I didn’t realize we were doing that kind of experiment today.”

Your blood goes hot. “Stop it!” you hiss, but you can’t keep the embarrassed flush from spreading across your face. “I just need you to switch with me, Seungkwan. That’s it.”

Seungkwan chuckles lowly, clearly having way too much fun with this. “Oh, okay. So you want me to switch with you just because you can’t handle the heat, huh?” He taps his chin, like he’s thinking about it, but it’s obvious he’s already decided.

“Fine,” you say, voice low but firm. “But only if you actually want me to send that video of you drunkenly crying about chickens to the entire friend group. You remember that one, right? The one where you were saying, ‘Those chickens are my babies, I love them so much’?”

Seungkwan’s eyes widen, and for a second, you swear you see a flicker of panic. You almost smile, but you hold it in. Gotcha.

“No,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to backpedal. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would,” you reply smoothly, crossing your arms. You can feel the smug grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “So, how about it? You switch with me, or I make everyone’s day a little more interesting?”

Seungkwan looks around the room, clearly considering his options. He’s not stupid enough to let that video go public. “Okay, okay, fine. You win, Y/N. But you owe me for this one, big time.”

You give him a sweet smile. “Deal.”

Seungkwan walks over to Vernon, throwing his hands up dramatically. “Vernon, buddy, looks like you’re stuck with me as your partner today.”

You barely suppress a laugh as Vernon’s head jerks up in surprise. “Wait, what? Really?”

You take that as your cue and grab your stuff, moving toward Chan’s station. You’re feeling lighter already, knowing the rest of this class won’t be nearly as awkward. Chan’s a great guy—easygoing, level-headed, and most importantly, not Vernon. 

You set your bag down on the counter and look over at Chan, who’s already elbow-deep in his notes, completely unaware of the chaos you just caused. “Hey, Chan,” you say, forcing a cheerful tone despite everything. “Looks like we’re partners now.”

He looks up with a bright smile, oblivious to the fact that he’s been dragged into your mess. “Oh, hey, Y/N! Sounds good to me.” He’s so sweet and always so positive, but… well, the thing is, Chan could not for the life of him keep track of chemical reactions if his life depended on it. This could be the worst decision you’ve made today.

You sit down, a little defeated, as you adjust your gloves and open the instructions. You’re partnered with Chan now, but nothing feels quite right. As sweet as he is, chemistry might as well be a foreign language to him. You glance back over at Vernon’s lab station, which, of course, is conveniently located just a few feet away. You can hear the familiar sound of Vernon and Seungkwan’s voices drifting toward you, but you’re so not ready to face them just yet.

You feel your chest tighten as you try to ignore it, but then Vernon speaks again. “I don’t bite, Y/N,” he teases, his voice cutting through the air like a soft command. It’s casual, playful even, but it does nothing to stop the heat that floods your face.

You swallow hard, praying the blush on your cheeks isn’t visible. This is not the moment. Not the perfect moment to have him distract you. Your pulse picks up at the sound of his voice again, and you can almost feel his gaze on you. You don’t look back, but you know he’s probably waiting for a response.

“Y/N?” Chan says softly, his voice pulling you out of your mental spiral. “Are you okay?”

You quickly look away, feeling that familiar heat creeping up your neck. “I’m fine,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m fine.”

Your stomach flips as an idea strikes you—fake sick. You’ve done it before, and it’s a perfect way to buy yourself some time away from Vernon, maybe even the entire day.

Just get through this, and then you can run away forever.

Your body starts to tremble slightly as you put a hand to your forehead, doing your best to sound miserable. “Ugh, I don’t feel so good...”

Chan immediately rushes to your side, concern flashing across his face, and you can hear Seungkwan's snort of disbelief. Vernon looks at you with a furrowed brow, clearly not buying it. But he’s too polite to say anything. “You sure? You look kinda green.”

That’s your cue. You make a dramatic move, leaning over the lab counter, your hands gripping it as if you're about to collapse. Your stomach gives another exaggerated roll as you close your eyes. “I think I’m gonna be sick,” you say in a voice that’s so over the top, it sounds like it came straight out of a soap opera.

You expect Vernon to panic, maybe grab your arm to steady you, but instead, he just stares at you, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Really?” he asks slowly, clearly unconvinced. "Or is it that you want to run away again?"

Oh my god. You freeze, horrified that Vernon might actually be onto you. You try to hide your terror behind your palm, rubbing your eyes like you’re just too tired to keep up the act. “No! No... I’m definitely sick,” you say with a cough for added effect.

But Vernon isn’t having it. He places his hands on his hips, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “You’re not even trying to hide it. Just admit you’re avoiding me. What’s the deal?”

You panic, fully aware that your ridiculous performance isn’t going to fool him for long. You grab your bag off the back of the chair with a look of pure desperation. “No, no! I just—uh, I need to go to the bathroom! I’ll be right back, promise!”

Before Chan can protest, you push past him, stumbling out of the lab with as much speed as your shaking legs can muster. You burst out into the hallway, nearly running into a group of students on their way to their next class. Too close. You force your breathing to steady as you walk briskly, acting like you haven’t just staged the most obvious escape ever.

You round the corner, ducking into the nearest restroom. You push open the door, locking it behind you, leaning against the cool tile wall as you try to gather yourself. What is wrong with you?

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seungkwan, of course.

Boo 🍊: i was joking when i said u should get the plague idiot

Boo 🍊: ur the worst actor i’ve ever seen

Y/N: i had to ok

Y/N: this is a nightmare.

Your phone buzzes again almost immediately. 

Boo 🍊: ur so obvious it’s kinda gross

Boo 🍊: chan’s gonna fail this lab for u. also. U NEED TO TALK TO VERNON AT SOME POINT

Y/N: not today!

It’s Friday night. One week since that confession. And honestly? All you want right now is a shot of shitty tequila, a cheap beer, and some damn good music to drown out the past seven days. You’re tired of thinking about it. You’re tired of pretending like last weekend never happened.

The second you and Seungkwan step through the door of Mingyu’s house, you're hit with a wave of noise. It’s too loud, the bass too heavy, but somehow, that’s exactly what you need. The house is packed, the kind of party that screams “let’s fuck up everything in the best way possible.” You spot Mingyu behind the kitchen counter, already wearing that signature smirk of his, mixing drinks for whoever’s brave enough to stand in line. But then—of course—your night has to take a turn.

Vernon.

He’s sprawled out on the couch, head bopping to some random SoundCloud rap, looking way too at ease in his flannel and backwards cap. Fucking perfect. You mentally groan. You’d hoped for at least a few hours of peace tonight, but apparently, that’s not in the cards.

Seungkwan nudges you, elbow digging into your side. “Well, well, well,” he says with that knowing grin. “Guess your worst nightmare is here.”

You shove him back, rolling your eyes. “Don’t make it worse.”

“Too late,” Seungkwan chirps. “Now, let’s get some tequila in your system.”

You head straight for the kitchen, not bothering with small talk. The music is too loud, the room too warm, and your head is already swimming with the thought of one thing: tequila. You pull the bottle off the shelf with the same speed as if it’s your lifeline, and without hesitation, you pour yourself a generous shot. No chaser. Just straight into your system.

Seungkwan eyes you carefully from the counter. “Careful,” he singsongs in your ear, his voice dripping with teasing. “That’s what got you into this mess in the first place.”

You shoot him a sideways glance, the corners of your lips twitching upward. “Shut up,” you mutter, then down the tequila like it’s water. The burn sears down your throat, and the warmth spreads through your chest almost immediately.

You reach for another shot when—just your fucking luck—Vernon walks into the kitchen. His eyes land on you instantly, like he knew exactly where to find you. You want to swallow him whole—no, just pretend he's not even here– but you know that’s not going to happen.

“Wow, look who’s getting to the good stuff early,” Vernon says, voice as smooth as ever. His gaze flicks down to your hand around the bottle, and then right back up to your face, and something in his eyes makes you want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

Seungkwan shoots you a sideways look, his smirk turning even more mischievous. With a dramatic sigh, he pushes himself off the counter, clearly done with this conversation already. “Alright, well, have fun with that,” he says in a sing-songy voice, clearly aware of how uncomfortable this is getting. Then, he makes his exit, blowing you a mocking kiss from the doorway before disappearing into the living room.

You roll your eyes at his back, shooting him a silent curse with your eyes, but the moment Vernon steps forward, all that annoyance evaporates into something else entirely. Your focus is back on him, and that damn smirk on his face.

“Didn’t know tequila was your thing,” Vernon says casually, leaning against the counter next to you. You move to pour another shot, but Vernon steps closer, cornering you against the counter with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face. The proximity is almost suffocating, and you feel your pulse spike in your neck, your heart pounding. You try not to make eye contact, your gaze fixed firmly on the bottle in your hand, as if it could somehow shield you from him.

Vernon’s smirk widens, and he leans in slightly. “Y’know, you need to look at me to make conversation,” he says, voice low and teasing.

Before you can even process what’s happening, his hand slides under your jaw, his fingers gently but firmly lifting your chin until you have no choice but to meet his eyes.

Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a second, you forget to breathe. His eyes are almost burning into you, and you can’t look away—not that you want to.

For a second, you forget about everything. Your entire focus narrows to the guy standing in front of you, the guy who’s been fucking with your head for over a week now. You try to focus, try to snap yourself out of it, but damn—he looks good. Too good. That stupid backwards cap, the flannel shirt that’s just loose enough, the way his jawline sharpens under the dim kitchen light. You swallow, trying to keep your cool, but fuck, he’s too close. Too damn close. You want to push him away, but the closeness has your body freezing, every nerve on edge.

It’s the same feeling you had last week. And it’s happening again.

Fuck. No. This is not how it’s supposed to go.

Your mind races, trying to think of something, anything, to get out of this. Then—like a miracle—Mingyu strolls by, not even realizing the chaos you’re trying to keep under control. You latch onto him like a lifeline.

“Mingyu! HI!” you shout, ducking under Vernon’s arm and making a beeline for him. You grip his arm with a little too much force, probably dragging him away from whatever conversation he was having with someone else. He looks at you, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, but you don’t even give him a chance to ask why you’re acting like a madman.

“Long time no see! Let’s catch up!” you practically drag him out of the kitchen before Vernon can say anything, and Mingyu shoots a glance over his shoulder at you. He looks confused, but soon the music envelops you, and he happily throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you onto the dance floor.

The music is a blur of bass and off-key notes, but the tequila in your system helps dull everything, smooths out the jagged edges of your thoughts. Mingyu is practically yelling in your ear, his voice way too loud for the volume of the song, but you can’t help but laugh at his unrelenting enthusiasm. He’s screaming the lyrics to some cheesy pop song—something from five years ago that you can’t even remember the name of—but he’s grinning, and you can’t help but mirror his energy. For a moment, the heat of the room and the chaos of the party become distant, fading into the background, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you forget about Vernon. You forget about everything.

Mingyu pulls you into a ridiculous spin, and you laugh, the sound lost in the music. His arm tightens around your shoulders as he twirls you back into his chest, but just as you feel yourself getting lost in the rhythm, your phone buzzes in your pocket. It’s Seungkwan.

You swipe the screen without thinking, still caught in the whirl of the dance floor.

Boo 🍊:  he’s staring at you

Your heart drops.

You freeze mid-spin, suddenly feeling too warm, too exposed, like you’re still back in that kitchen, caught between the tequila, the tension, and the pull of Vernon’s eyes. The phone screen flickers in your hand, but you don’t even need to read the message again to know what it means. You know Seungkwan’s been watching the two of you dance around each other, and you know who he is. Vernon’s watching you. He’s staring.

You glance over your shoulder instinctively, and there—across the room, leaning against the doorframe—is Vernon. That tantalizing smirk is still in place, like it’s carved into his face. His eyes are on you, not even trying to hide it, and that stupid look on his face says everything. The way he watches you makes your skin tingle, and the realization hits you harder than the tequila burn in your stomach.

“Yo, you good?” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the noise, pulling you back to the present. You swallow hard, still trying to shake the feeling of Vernon’s gaze on you. You force a smile and nod, but all you can think about is the way Vernon is watching you.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, grabbing his wrist, “I think I need a drink. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can protest, you make a beeline for the kitchen again, your feet moving quicker than you can process. You need space. You need air. The heat of the dance floor still clings to your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the suffocating feeling that’s starting to build in your chest. The tequila's starting to wear off, but your nerves are still shot, and you can’t get rid of the image of Vernon leaning against the doorframe, eyes fixed on you like he’s just waiting for you to make a move.

The kitchen’s quieter, the music a distant hum, and you’re almost grateful for the space, the absence of people. You grab the tequila bottle again, not caring if anyone’s watching. You pour yourself another shot, but before you can even bring it to your lips, you hear footsteps approaching. You don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“I think we should talk,” Vernon’s voice sounds closer than you expect. You try not to flinch, but you can’t stop yourself from stiffening. You move to step away, but then his hand is on the counter next to you, trapping you in place. You don’t want to look at him, not after everything that’s happened.

“I’m serious,” he adds, tone shifting just slightly. There’s a quiet edge to his voice, a softness you’ve never heard before, but it only makes you hesitate more.

You finally raise your gaze, and for the first time tonight, you meet his eyes. His smirk is still there, but there’s something else too—something you can’t quite place.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” you say, your voice lower than you intended.

Vernon’s eyes flicker for a moment, a flash of something unreadable crossing his face, but the moment’s gone too quickly. He chuckles lightly, not mocking, but with a sense of finality.

“Fair enough.” He straightens up, taking a step back, giving you a little more space, but still standing there. “But just so you know…” His voice softens again, the teasing replaced with something a little too sincere for your comfort. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Fuck. That’s it. You can’t be here anymore.

You spin on your heel, heading straight for Seungkwan, who’s been knee-deep in a Mario Kart championship with Soonyoung and Seokmin. The game is so intense that Seungkwan barely notices you storming up to him, too busy yelling at the screen as he tries to secure his victory.

“Time to go,” you say, your voice sharp enough that even Seungkwan can’t ignore it.

He looks up from his game, a little confused. “What? We just GOT HERE!”

“TIME TO GO, SEUNGKWAN,” you hiss, a little louder this time, unable to mask the frustration that’s bubbling up in your chest.

Seungkwan groans, annoyed that his Mario Kart dominance is being interrupted, but he stands up anyway, muttering something about the injustice of it all.

But then, like a fucking curse, Vernon appears in front of you, stepping into your path just as you try to make your exit. His presence feels almost too heavy in the moment, his gaze unrelenting as his lips curl into that same familiar smirk.

“Leaving so early?” he asks, voice laced with amusement, and his eyes lock on yours, steady and impossible to ignore. It makes your stomach flip, and you feel that heat in your cheeks you can’t seem to get rid of.

You avoid his gaze, turning your face just enough to escape the intensity of it. “Oh yeah, early morning,” you mumble, desperate to get out of there. “Lots of stuff to do, classes and all…”

Vernon tilts his head slightly, his smirk widening as if he can see right through your bullshit. “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” he says, voice matter-of-fact, as if calling out your feeble excuse is somehow amusing to him.

Shit.

You try to force a smile through it, but it feels like it’s made of plastic, fake and thin. You avoid his gaze like it’s radioactive. “Yeah, uh… just, you know—okay, bye!” You nearly shove Seungkwan out the door before Vernon can say another word.

The second the door slams shut behind you, Seungkwan bursts out laughing, his voice loud in the quiet of the carpark.

“You’re such a mess,” he cackles, still trying to catch his breath. “Did you seriously try to pull the early morning classes excuse? Like, no one knows tomorrow’s Saturday?”

You shoot him a middle finger, too tired to even care. “Shut up, Seungkwan. Just drive.”

He laughs harder, but at least he doesn’t push it further. Seungkwan’s car engine roars to life, and as he drives off, the weight of the night slowly lifts from your shoulders. But in the back of your mind, you can still feel Vernon’s eyes on you, like they never really left.

Dinner a week later is nothing fancy—just some ramen you scrounged up after dragging yourself through another shit show of a week. The kitchen, warm and dimly lit by the overhead light, feels like a small refuge, and for a second, you’re fine with being here. The steam rising from your bowl swirls in the air, and you twirl the noodles absentmindedly, trying to ignore the weight of everything slowly settling over you.

Seungkwan’s sitting across from you, casually slurping his ramen, but there’s something in the way his eyes flicker up, a strange glint in them, that makes you pause. The silence stretches for a moment, the kind that feels like it’s waiting for something, and then, as if he can’t hold it in any longer, he drops the bomb.

“Vernon’s coming over later.”

You freeze, a piece of noodle hanging from your chopsticks, your eyes wide. “WHAT?” You nearly choke on the noodles, the shock making you forget to swallow. “Why the hell is he coming over? Are you—seriously?”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, lips curling into a grin that doesn’t match his feigned innocence. “Just to study,” he says, shrugging like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Our lab midterm is in a couple of days, and we can’t figure out the damn ratios for the prelab.”

Your mind stutters, trying to catch up with what he’s saying. Vernon, your uncomfortably charming classmate, is coming here. Of course he is. “Seungkwan, you know I—” You stop, frustrated, searching for words that aren’t quite coming. This is your house, your space, and you’re already struggling with the thought of being alone with him. The awkward tension from the last few days suddenly feels so much heavier now.

Seungkwan, not missing a beat, looks over at you with a teasing grin. “Haven’t you run away enough? It’s been, like, almost two weeks.” He’s got that smirk on his face again, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing all the right buttons to get you riled up.

You glare at him, trying to muster some kind of defense, but your words come out quieter than you expect. “I’m not running away,” you snap, though it’s weak. It’s been two weeks of exactly that. “I’m just—busy. You know, college stuff.”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, and you feel your resolve crumble under his knowing look. “Yeah, sure. College stuff. That’s totally why you’ve been dodging Vernon for the past week. Can’t blame you though—guy’s got a way of making things... uncomfortable.” He chuckles at his own joke, but there’s an edge of teasing that cuts too close to the truth.

You groan, rubbing your face in frustration. “Stop making this worse.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” Seungkwan shrugs, his grin widening. “Haven’t you thought about actually talking to him? It’s not like you’ve got that much time before he shows up.”

“Don’t remind me,” you mutter, then, more to yourself, “I didn’t plan this. He didn’t plan this. This is... This is all just—” You stop yourself, shaking your head, your words trailing off.

Seungkwan chuckles again, but this time, it’s softer, almost like he’s giving you space to breathe. “Look, I’m just saying, maybe stop running away for once. You’ll figure it out.” He slaps you lightly on the back, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

But before you can even gather your thoughts, Seungkwan’s phone rings. He picks it up immediately, urgency lacing his voice, and you’re taken off guard.

“Seokmin?” He pauses, listening. “What? Is the fish… what? It can’t breathe??” He gasps, standing up quickly. “I’ll be right there, man, I swear! I’m coming now!”

He hangs up, looking at you, his face twisting into exaggerated concern. “Emergency. Seokmin’s fish is dying.”

You blink, disbelief painted on your face. “You’re fucking joking. You’re actually leaving me with Vernon? Alone?”

“Yup!” Seungkwan says, already halfway to the door. “You’re on your own, Y/N! Don’t burn the place down!” His laugh echoes as he bolts out, leaving you standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring after him in utter disbelief.

Great. Just great.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rings. Your stomach does a flip, nerves bubbling in your chest. You almost consider pretending you’re not home, hiding in your bedroom until Vernon leaves. But that’s childish, and you can’t avoid this forever. With a sigh, you pull yourself to the door and open it, finding Vernon standing there, looking annoyingly comfortable with that goddamn grin on his face.

“Hi,” he says, voice teasing but warm. “So, Seungkwan tells me we’re doing some studying?”

You step aside to let him in. The last thing you want is to be rude, but the silence that follows as you both walk to the kitchen feels suffocating. You can practically feel the tension hanging in the air, thick with all the things you’ve been avoiding. His presence lingers, like it’s always been there, and yet it’s different now.

Vernon leans against the counter casually, and you busy yourself with rearranging things on the counter, anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t make yourself meet them. Every time you think about what happened, your heart races, and the words you said to him feel like a blur. But they’re always there, hovering on the edge of your thoughts.

Finally, Vernon breaks the silence, his voice softer than before. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

You freeze. The air in the room seems to tighten, and his words land with the weight of a trap you didn’t see coming.

“What?” You try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out rough, more strained than you intended. “Pshhhh nooooo.”

“You have.” Vernon pushes off the counter, stepping closer to you. His movements are deliberate, but there’s a softness in them as he closes the space. His eyes remain locked on yours, steady and searching, like he’s waiting for you to crack, to finally admit something. You can’t look away, your breath shallow, the pulse at your neck pounding hard. “And you can’t even look me in the eye. Did I do something wrong?”

His voice is gentle, almost too gentle, and it makes your chest tighten. You shift uncomfortably, your arms folding across your body, a silent defense against the intensity of his gaze. The room feels smaller now, every inch of space filled with the heat between you. You feel trapped, your heart hammering in your chest, yet there's nowhere you'd rather be—and that's the problem.

“No, Vern, I just—” You stop, sucking in a breath, trying to steady yourself. “I said something I didn’t mean the other night.”

Vernon’s eyes narrow, a flicker of something in them—recognition, maybe? The way his lips part slightly, a mix of confusion and understanding. “You didn’t mean it?”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your stomach twists. You want to take them back, but instead, you find yourself retreating into yourself, avoiding his gaze. “I—what?”

“Did you mean it?” Vernon presses, and you swear you can feel his gaze like a weight on your skin. He’s not backing off, not letting this go.

You’re caught. You open your mouth, but no words come out, and the silence between you feels like it’s suffocating. You feel the heat rising to your face, your hands trembling by your sides.

“Mean what?” you finally manage, voice quieter than you’d like.

He steps even closer now, his body inches from yours, and his gaze doesn’t falter. His lips barely part as he speaks, the words lingering in the air between you. “Don’t play dumb with me, Y/N. You told me you loved me.”

The room spins, the ground beneath you feeling unsteady. You blink, your chest tightening as the memory of that night rushes back, sharp and overwhelming. Your hands move restlessly, clutching at the counter as if it’ll keep you from falling.

“But I was drunk—” You stumble over the words, desperate to explain, but his gaze doesn’t waver. His eyes are steady, unwavering, and you can’t escape them.

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” Vernon says softly, his voice firm, but there’s no anger in it—only a certainty that rattles you.

“I just didn’t mean to put you on the spot—” You try again, but this time, he stops you, his tone more reassuring than you expect.

“You didn’t,” he says quietly, his hand reaching out, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face in a surprisingly tender gesture. “You didn’t put me on the spot.”

“Okay?” you ask, your voice uncertain. You can’t tell if you’ve just misunderstood everything or if this moment has shifted entirely. You blink at him, still trying to catch up.

Vernon smiles then, a soft, almost affectionate smile, and the air between you shifts. The tension eases just a little, but it’s still thick, like something’s hanging in the balance. “You don’t remember, do you?”

“No…” you whisper, the words coming out almost too quietly, but Vernon just laughs.

“I said I loved you too, idiot.”

You freeze. The words crash into your chest, and you feel the ground tilt beneath you again. This time, it’s harder to recover from. “You—you WHAT?”

Vernon chuckles, his grin widening, and this time, it’s teasing, almost mischievous. “Come on,” he says, stepping closer. His chest is almost brushing yours now. “I love you too. Can you stop running away now?”

“I WASN’T!” you protest, but the words fall flat, not convincing even yourself. Your body is tense, but his proximity makes your heart race in a way you don’t quite understand.

“You were,” Vernon says, his smirk softening just enough to catch you off guard. You feel your knees go weak at the way his gaze softens, like he’s pulling you into something you’re not sure you’re ready for. “But it was kinda cute, y’know?”

Before you can even think of a response, he's right there, too close—like, uncomfortably close. His presence feels like it’s swallowing up all the space between you, and suddenly, you’re backed up against the counter, like he’s somehow managed to get you cornered without even trying. It’s all too familiar, too much like that night at the party. You can’t help but stiffen, but it’s not bad, just... intense.

You can feel the heat radiating off him now, like it’s pulling you in, and the way he’s leaning in just enough that you can’t help but tilt your head to meet his eyes—your heart starts hammering in your chest. Too close. Way too close. Your body wants to take a step back, but you don’t, mostly because you’re pretty sure you’re not even sure where to go from here.

And he knows it. You can see it in the way he’s standing, like he's completely unbothered, like it’s no big deal that he’s got you backed up into a corner. Your shoulders feel tense, but your feet just stay planted where they are, like they’ve been glued to the floor. His gaze locks with yours, and you can feel that pull, that thing that makes it hard to breathe—like your chest is getting tight and you’re not sure if you want to run or stay.

There’s this low buzz in the air between you two, and you don’t know how much of it is him or how much is just your heart freaking out. His breath is right there, close enough that you’re aware of the way it catches every time you look at him. And you can’t even tell if you’re annoyed at how close he’s gotten or if your mind is too distracted by how nice it feels to have him this near.

You’re trapped, but you’re not sure if you mind it. It’s like your chest is about to burst from the tension, or maybe it’s going to stop completely. Either way, you're not entirely sure which one you're hoping for.

“No more running,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, eyes never leaving yours. There’s no doubt in his tone, no hesitation, like he’s already made up his mind. The space between you two feels charged now, the air thick with the unspoken.

“No more running,” you echo, the words slipping out before you can stop them, and for the first time, they feel right. You’re not sure why, but you believe it.

And then, Vernon leans in, his lips brushing against yours.

The kiss is slow, soft at first, like he’s giving you space to catch up. His lips are warm and a little sweet, tasting faintly of mint from the gum he’s been chewing earlier. You inhale through your nose, catching the subtle scent of his cologne—fresh, with a hint of wood and citrus—that wraps around you like it’s always been there, like it’s familiar. Every part of him seems to make the world outside feel distant, unimportant. The tension, the uncertainty, the past few days—they don’t matter anymore. 

The pressure of his lips increases, more certain now, and the warmth of his mouth sends a flutter through you. You lean in, responding, your hand instinctively finding the chain around his neck, pulling him closer, as if you can’t quite get enough of him. It’s slow, deliberate, like he wants to savor it just as much as you do. For the first time in days, everything feels like it’s in its right place.

When he pulls back, it’s just enough to speak, his lips still lingering on yours. “Y’know,” he says with a playful grin, “We could’ve been doing this two weeks ago if you weren’t so emotionally constipated.”

You laugh, breathless, pulling him closer by his chain. The heat creeping up your neck is almost unbearable. “Shut up,” you protest, half-smiling. “You can’t blame a girl for what she says when she’s drunk.”

“I won’t,” he agrees with a smirk, kissing you again, this time a little more urgently. “But I can’t make any promises about Seungkwan.”

From the hallway, you hear Seungkwan’s unmistakable voice, a triumphant cheer echoing from the door.

[sistertotheknowitall]

Masterpost

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

Part one

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Eight

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Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven

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A/N: I think I went too hard on this, but I also feel like it wasn't enough. I really wanted to play around with dialogue more. I was going to have the Bats hit Smalltown in this, but I think it would be best if the confrontation(s) had it's own chapter. Let me know what y'all think!

A/N: This is my longest writing yet. Just a heads up. Hope that's all good!

Warnings: Yandere themes, alluded murder, platonic bed sharing, OC usage.

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The way the raindrops on the windshield seemed to chase each other didn't even registered to you as your heart continues to palpitate in your chest. Your hands shaking on the steering wheel as the numbers on the mile markers continued to change, and they weren't growing any steadier with each passing one. The way the excitement to gyrated inside your chest as the old truck continued on the patch-work road made you feel lightheaded. Not in a bad way, but in a way you could get addicted to.

It didn't stop the nausea curdling in your stomach, but you chalk that up to this being your first true act of rebellion. Even if you felt it was justified. It wasn't like they were going to chase after you, though. They had made their priorities clear. Clear as Gotham's smog filled skies. You weren't going to allow yourself to waste away in that manor filled with more secrets than people when there was a life outside of it that you had once been a part of.

It wasn't until you were certain a full day had past that the storm had finally dissipated, both over Gotham and over your mind. The trepidation in your belly at long last fading into a sense serenity. Even if it was only a fleeting thing. Water rarely stays still for long when the storm comes.

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Back in Gotham the family had finally dragged their bone-weary selves back to the cave. Some collapsing in the nearest got. Some dragging themselves upstairs for their comfort of their bed. But, surprisingly, it's Damian that drags himself to your room. The past two days had worn him down and he just wanted his sibling, even if it meant disturbing them. Even if they were mad at him.

It doesn't register to him that your bed is empty. That some of your things are missing. He crawls under the covers and curls into the pillow like a temperamental cat. Resting his eyes temporarily he says. You're his sibling, you shouldn't mind. (He had heard you laughing on the phone about how your other little brother used to do this on occasion. He wants to know what that’s like)

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As everyone rest their heads back home, unaware that the worse was yet to come even after the lighting had passed, you start to turn down familiar roads. Roads you had memorized every bump of once. The roads that lead you towards a home you had missed and things you used to know.

There's a few new bumps and pot holes that you don't recognize, but you're too excited to see them as the warnings they were.

As you pull into the driveway of Nana and Grand Daddy's house, you can see Nana standing outside. Waving for you in front of the two-story bedroom house Daddy had designed and built for them years ago. The place was well cared for despite the creaky steps on the front porch that you had spent many hot summers on. Blowing snow across the yard to keep cool.

When you finally park the truck and hop out Nana's already rushing towards you with surprising speed for her old age. Already your arms are opening for her when she suddenly scoops you up and locks you in an tight embrace.

"I missed you." You mumble into her shoulder. Trying to fight back a few tears as the scent of her bitter perfume fills your nose.

"I missed you more. We all missed you more, sugarplum." You hear the gravel in her voice as she gives you one last squeeze. Holding you so tight that for a moment you feel you can't breath. But, before you need to gasp for air, she pulls back slightly. Her aged brown eyes looking you over appraisingly. "You sure ya' don't wanna rest up a bit? You look thin, sweetpea."

A soft noise escapes your lips in a puff.

"I'm sure. Still too wired from the drive." You reply as you wipe those few stray tears that somehow trickled down your cheeks. Your best efforts to keep them contained failing.

Everything around you feels different. It's home, but there's something about it that is different. The smells are the same, the sights are the same, even the sounds are the same. But, you chalk it up to the way the Gotham air still clings to your skin and the silence of the manor that has left your ears sensitive to the slightest shifts in change.

"I… I kinda feel bad about leaving how I did." Comes your immediate confession as she continues to hold you like you're made of soft gold.

Even if it seemed unnecessary to say, it felt nice just to blurt out how you were feeling to someone who actually listened. Besides, Nana had always made you tell her what was bothering you if there ever was something. It was a habit to tell her things by now.

"Leaving Gotham, I mean…. running away in the night without warning, Nana."

"Nonsense, baby." Already she's brushing your cheek and trying to soothe the worry and fear. Holding your face between her hands so all you can focus on is her.

"You ain't done not a thing wrong. They was being unreasonable. Besides, you can just call them later and tell them your alright." For a moment, you feel like she's lecturing you. Like she used to when you where little. About being safe and staying near her at all times when you went out into town with her. But, now you're grown and she still does it.

"Are you sure, Nana? Because I know You, and Momma, and Daddy used to get on to me about asking permission before doin' things-"

"Ah-ah," She irrupts your before you could finish, "This is one of those incidents where it's better to ask for forgiveness, I promise. Besides, I know you asked first. Not your fault they was being unreasonable. Not your fault at all, baby." Nana's voice going from stern to a soft coo as she starts to lead the way into the old house.

You take a breath of the place, smelling the seasonal candles that you usually had lit this time of year. Noting the slight changes in decor. Projects that Nana probably had Grand Daddy completing while you were gone. There's even more pictures on the walls. Some more of Momma and Daddy, and even more of you. Nana had even printed out the ones you had sent her on your phone while you where in Gotham.

It was nice she missed you so much that she made you the center piece of the picture gallery, but still it felt odd. You had been hoping to see more pictures of your brother, Jean Luke. To actually see what memories he had made without you. But, you don't comment. You just head towards the kitchen. Sitting in your usual spot at the counter to continue talking with her.

You can smell her cooking. Nana really wasn't the best cook, but she went all out making a few of your favorite dishes with as much effort as she could muster out of her bones.

"So, how's Lukie been doing?" You mean to start conversationally, but your tone drifts to sounding more concern when the reminder about the lack of pictures on the wall crosses your mind and the thought that maybe he actually hasn't been coping well since you’ve been gone pops into your head as well. "I know what he tells me. That he's doin' fine when we’re on the phone, but how is he actually doing, Nana?"

"He's doing better." She replies while checking the oven, a slight sigh in her voice. She caught your tone of concern. "Still misses your Momma and Daddy. Bless. But, he's doing better. He'll probably feel ever better now that your back." She gives you a grin before sliding you a cutting board and a knife.

Already you fall into step, peeling and chopping the things she hand you.

"I'm not actually back, back." You mention, biting your lip when you catch her freeze.

"What you mean, baby?" Her soft voice doesn't match her tense shoulders. The lines on her face growing taunt.

"Well, it's just I kinda feel bad about how I left things with Bruce and 'em. And, I still gotta finish high school." You start to explain. It is true. You had a whole day to try to think about your actions. Getting out of Gotham had helped you process your feelings about the place. You still didn't like Gotham, but you'd been told all your life that family was important. You just didn't know that the family that had told you that wanted you to put them before all others.

"Oh, baby, you won't be needing none of that. Besides this is where you belong. We need you here. Them city folks just don't understand you, baby." You're about to protest when she continues on just before your lips could part to speak.

"Besides, Tanner's really been missin' you. He about turned himself into a frog when Mae showed him a picture of you in that pretty little outfit she made for ya’. The boy about croaked." Nana gives you that meddlesome look you knew to well. The one she gave you when she spoke about her church friend's grandson's. The one that always made you bush.

It was a clever distraction, and not at all a lie. Nana had watched Tanner turn green with envy at the sight of you in that dress and with your date. And, he about sang when he heard about your date's death right after. The town all had to forcefully stop him from driving back to Gotham to just to comfort you.

"Nana, you're being silly again. He don't like me like that." You brush off the flush with practiced easy, giving her a stern look of your own.

"Things change, baby. You're grown now. Everything's gonna be different, but just the same." She muttered that last part so low you could hardly hear it. Just as your about to question that statement, she changes topic once more.

"Now, you wanna stay we me and your Grand Daddy tonight?" The question stunning you for a second. You hadn't even thought about where you were going to stay when you started your way back here. But, the longing creeps back into your chest once more.

"Actually, I want to stay at the old house. I- I miss my own bed." You once again find yourself confessing, though it goes much deeper than that. Nana likes it when you let her see even surface level things, usually she's able to draw the proper conclusions from them. However, this time Nana tenses for the briefest moment, but then relaxes almost instantly after. You nearly miss it.

"Of course, baby. Of course. Take Lukie with you. It'd do him some good and I'd hate for you to be alone all up in there. The loneliness might get to ya." She seemed to place a bit too much emphasis on bringing your brother with you. But, you weren't going to complain.

After all, "It already got to me, Nana. It already got to me." You whisper to yourself before letting Nana regale you with all the latest town gossip.

It's not long until you're making plans to help set up for your brother's and by extension your own birthday tomorrow. Happily chatting away until Grand Daddy and Jean-Luke walk in the door.

Instantly, receiving a soft kiss on the forehead from Grand Daddy along with a tight grip on your shoulders and a firm, "Missed you, sugarplum." Before he slowly lets you free to help Nana and quite speaking to her.

You turn to your brother, little Jean-Luc, and reach for him with the swiftness of a breeze. He seems to hesitate before returning your hug with an almost intense ferocity that strangely makes you think of your last hug with Dick. Like he doesn't want to let go. Like he's almost scared to let go.

You let him hold you a good long while, standing there in the kitchen. It should feel like a relief to hold him again. Yet, you have the sudden urge to carry him away. Something that makes the winds inside your chest tell you to flee. You mange to swallow it down, but not the tears. Those freely pour down your cheeks as you both whisper about how much you missed each other back and forth. You notice how oddly quite he is. It's easy to blame that on the grief you both still feel, but it's different.

Sitting at the table and enjoying the meal feels different. Everything is different. Including the way Jean-Luke grips your hand when you tell him your going to stay at the old house and how he can come if he wants.

You almost want to laugh at how fast he leaps into the front seat of the truck. The grin on his face the most genuine you've seen since you got here.

Driving up to the old house made you ache. A deep ache that you felt from you chest to your palms. The dirty from the buried grief you felt being disturbed. As you glanced at your little brother’s face, the one that looked so much like Momma’s, you could tell he felt it too. Which bothers you because he shouldn’t have had to bury his grief like you did yours.

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Back at the manor, in the short time it had been since Damian rested his head on your pillow. He noticed it was too still. You were always moving in the manor. Always breezing through the halls. Yet now things had gone still. Not just in your room, but through out the manor.

His green eyes had opened, and sharpened. You should be here resting with him. Where were you? He hadn't bothered to keep track of your belongings before, but some things felt out of place. After a brief scan of the room, he made his way towards the cave. His senses on high alert for you. Straining to overhear your usual chattering on the phone or your pattering feet on the carpeted halls.

But, there was nothing. Most everyone was asleep or dozing and the stillness bothered him. The cooling realization filled him with each step as he walked down into the cave.

Sitting at the computer, Bruce goes over the footage of the previous nights. The storm was suspicious, and the churning in his gut and the way his hair stood on end didn’t help those suspicions. But, when Damian had entered the cave, those suspicions went from whispers to screams.

"Damian, get everyone to the cave. Now."

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"Missing? What the hell do you mean missing?" Dick was the first to respond to the news, standing at attention and livid despite having recently been woken up by an anxious Damian. Well, as anxious as Damian would physically allow himself to be in front of anyone.

"Damian brought it to my attention and the truck is gone from the garage." Bruce replied. Normally, this would sound like his usual paranoia flaring, but no one questioned him this time. Just the grim look on his face and the way his shoulder's tensed let everyone know that this was a completely serious matter.

Exhaustion immediately melting form everyone as the mission suddenly shifted.

"Barbara, pull up the manor security cameras from the night first night of the storm."

She speedily rolled her chair over to the computer and started pulling up the footage. It was only because she had years to develop her self control that her fingers didn't shake as she typed on the keys.

I should have been watching them. I should have checked on them.

The footage begins to show the exact moment that their sweet sibling left their room with a large bag of their shoulder and a excited grin on their face.

Why are you smiling like that? Why are are you happy to be leaving them? Why are you leaving? Why are you leaving?

A million thoughts flash through each of their heads. All filled with variations of despair and worry. Those are quickly amplified when the camera video finally goes out due to the multiple lighting strikes that hit the manor and the generators.

"They left right when the manor's and cave's generator were hit." Tim jumps in into detective mode right away, not wanting to linger on the disparaging thoughts in his head. And, the budding anger in his chest for allowing this to happen. And, for you leaving them. Him.

"Why are their eyes glowing?" Duke points out, coming out of his head finally when his eyes catch the flicker of a glow on the screen. It was a blessing that the cameras were so state of the art.

"What?" That snaps everyone else out of their heads. All of them moving behind Barbara to see what he's talking about.

"Their eyes," He bends forward of the keys, lightly pressing his finger to where you face is on the high definition screen. "They're glowing."

"Babs…" Dick murmurs into her left ear, his eye's never leaving your frozen smiling face.

"On it." She nearly hisses right back. Fingers actually shaking this time as she zooms into your face and changes a few setting of the camera to see the light waves that were captured.

And, right there on the screen, was the hint illumination in those large eyes of yours.

"Holy shit, you're right." Stephanie is the first to speak. Stumbling back as she starts running a million different scenarios through her head. The other's following. Some still sitting enraged or worried about what this might possibly mean.

Possible hypothesises start being blurted out.

Mind Control?

Hypnosis?

Magic?

God, I hope not.

Aliens?

Even worse than the magic.

"Maybe someone from that town manipulated them?" Cassandra suddenly suggests, having silently watched the footage of you play over and over again. You looked excited, genuinely excited, and it broke her heart that you did. But, there was a part of her that was still hopeful. That maybe you left because you didn't know any better. Didn't realize how much they adored you. They'll fix that. They fix that as soon as they get you back.

"Was anything tampered with when that asshole dropped off the truck?" Jason grumbles while rubbing the bridge of his nose. Of course he is livid. You fucking left. Sure, he liked putting the fear of God into you and could even tell you were unhappy at times, but you're an idiot if you think it's safe out there. And, you need to come home. Fuck, he'll even apologize and make up for scaring you. Please, just come back.

"No." Tim knows this because he made sure to check. Bruce may not have wanted to touch the truck and forbid them from messing with it. But, that didn't stop Tim from snooping on you at the very least. He just wanted to pretend he was in your fondest memories. Only until he could help you make newer better ones.

"Maybe a drug? Some chemical compound?" Duke eventually suggest, praying it isn't so.

"We could run a test? Just to check." Already Barbara begins pulling up the programs necessary, while Tim sets up the lab equipment. Dick is already running up to your room to grab any strand of hair he can find that might have been left behind. And, maybe checking to see if they were all wrong and you really didn't leave them. Him.

"Run them all."

That draws everyone's attention back to Bruce. The man had been standing stoically in silence. Brooding in silence as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

You left him. You left because of him. This wasn't some disagreement on how he did things as Batman. This wasn't because you were trying to get back at him. You left him willing because of what he had done as your father. No one has ever willing left him like this before. Not his children. Not his parents. Not anyone he has ever allowed himself to actually care for. It makes him mad, but more than anything it makes him want to collapse in on himself. He won't. Obviously. But, he's going to bring you back home. He's going to fix his mistake while he has the chance and you will give him that chance.

"Bruce… That includes a DNA test."

"I said all of them."

"What?" It's Damian who finally speaks up. For the first time since he alerted the other's of your disappearance. "Why would you do that? It's unnecessary."

It's a betrayal, he thinks. Not on your part. You may be too soft and too kind and too fragile and too simple minded. But, he knows you’re his. He may have gotten over his obsession with the blood in his veins, but the blood in yours connects you to him in a way none of his other siblings can have. He doesn't even think to question it. Doesn't want to. And, for a moment, he feels utter betrayed by his sire for thinking to doubt it.

"Damian."

"NO. It is unnecessary." He doesn't glare, but the anger is plain on his face. How dare father question?

Regardless of what Damian wants, Bruce nods to Barbara and Tim when a downtrodden Dick reenters the cave with a hairbrush in hand. You really were gone.

"Do it."

"Father-"

"Damian. They are our family, regardless of the results."

Bruce will love you regardless. He did a DNA test all those years ago. He knows your his, but he needs to make sure your still his. That something didn't change you or take you from him.

For Damian it's a tense minute. He knows you'll be family. No matter the results. But, he wants to share something with you that only an exclusive few people on this Earth or in this life ever will.

"Fine."

After that, it's silence for the next forty-three minutes. The programs running on the BatComputer dinging softly as each one is completed. Barbara's fingers rub together as she watches each one.

Tim doesn't bother looking, too anxious to sit around and wait. Already, he is on a spare computer looking into God knows what. Whatever it is, the rest of them can tell it's about you. Just by seeing the way his pupils are blown wide and darting about his screen.

Dick stands tense. Normally he would move about. Pace or do something. But, it seems wrong right now. The discomfort in the stillness is nothing compared to his current distress at knowing you're gone.

Stephanie debates internally on ripping the spare computer away from Tim. Wanting to see what he's found on you. Wondering if he knows if you're alright or not. Wondering if he's just watching looped footage of you and not sharing.

Duke is thinking. Really, he's contemplating what's happening. This is going to spiral into something. He feels it. He might not be the most experienced or most trained, but he knows something is changing. And, for once, he's not scared of the idea. Mostly because he knows by the end of this you will be back home. They won't allow you to stay lost.

"DNA test shows their a match to you, Bruce. And, we compared them to your old test of them too. Still a match."

Damian nearly beams, but manages to hide his relief under a smug smile.

"I told you, father."

"I didn't doubt." And, it is true. He never doubted you were his. But, he is still searching for an explanation.

"No drugs. No anything in their system that would register, but-" Barbara stops when she notices the screen. The anomaly on it. The one test that triggered. A question being possibly answered from the result and a million more arising if true.

"Oh."

"What is it?" Jason breaks the silence that's once again gone over everyone. The sense of unease bubbling through them all.

"I ran their DNA through all the usual test, and there was one single positive one."

"Which one?"

"Meta gene. And…"

Oh.

"It's active."

"Son of a bitch."

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As your brother and you start getting settled in for the night in the old house, airing out the stale air, pretending the dusting isn't there, you wonder around a bit. Similar to how you would back at the manor. Only this time there's no historical paintings on the wall. Just pictures of your own history laid out before you.

You'd never been more grateful for all the photos taken by you mother. All the times she would chase you down with a brush or comb in hand yelling at you, "You need to make sure you have nice hair for the picture. Or, the one's with terrible hair will be the one's that forever."

"But, what if I want them to last forever?" Your voice had been young and cheeky then.

"What if I just want them to last a little bit longer?" Now that voice was older and much more solemn.

Quickly, you shake the thought from your head. Setting your bag back in your old room for the night. A quick glance at the old space shows that someone's been in it recently. Probably your old friend Mae, judging by the amount of clothes spilling from your closet and dresser. She was always stuffing things in here for you. It makes you smile fondly to know that she missed you despite your phone calls early every day.

As you walk back down the hall, you find Jean-Luc standing outside your parent's old room.

"You wanna come with me to see them?"

"Yeah." The word soft, full of unshed grief as you both walk out to the back. There's an old live oak with Spanish moss out there, and two dead people that were loved and buried underneath it.

"Daddy always liked it when you made it rain when it was sunny out." Lukie whispers, recalling all the times you won the water-gun fights.

You remember the summer showers. The snowy Christmases. The way you used to blow the pollen away. The hurricanes you tamed. The tornadoes you saved the town from . The memories make causing the rain difficult. But, when you walk through the slightly overgrown grass towards the two stones the tears fall easy while the rain falls hard.

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"I pulled up all the weather patterns for that region and the theory is starting to look more factual by the second." Tim's already taken the helm, old weather radar scans on the screen. Files on Smalltown and it's people pulled up for display.

And, an entire screen dedicated to you. You. You. YoU. yOU. YOU? YOU

"So, it's confirmed they caused the storm. But, why?" It's Stephanie that asks while pacing back and forth next to the all of gear. Her worry and disbelief illuminated by the display lights.

"Princess was probably pissed." Jason says while cleaning his guns. The parts neatly laid out on the table while he shines and greases each piece. Twice. Thrice. Over and Over.

"But, why?" Dick is finally in motion, tapping his foot as impatiently. He knows they need all the information and a plan before they can get you back. But, the wait is straining him.

Barbara gives him a single look in reply. One that they've all shared often enough to know the meaning of.

"They hid it pretty well." Duke mushes. Strangely enough he's happy with this information. Everyone else in this family is technically a normal person, just with maxed out skill stats and trauma. Now, you two can both be normal childhood bros and meta buddies together.

"Cass, did you suspect anything?"

"I didn't ask." Which translates to, she knew, but didn't want to say anything that would drive you away. Seems kind of pointless now that you're gone, though.

The bitter silence reigns once more, before Tim speaks up.

"Incoming. The Asshole is getting a call from Nana." A few clicks and they're listening to the sound of your old childhood crush and your dearest Nana speak. The topic? You.

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That night you curled up with Jean-Luc in your parents old bed. Like you both used to when nightmares made cowards. You had to dig the old bedding out of the storage. The scent of the detergent Momma used to use faint on them. But, the two of you burrowed underneath the duvet like you were trying to hide from the world.

"How you feelin'?" You whisper to him, the room only illuminated by the stars in the window and the faint bathroom light.

"It's weird without Momma and Daddy. Everythin' is weird now and scary." He mutters in reply. He practically plants himself into your side.

"I know. I feel that way about it too."

"No, I mean… here. In town it's weird. Eveybody be actin' weird since you left." There's something in the way his voice shakes that makes you think he's not making this up

"What do you mean about everyone actin' weird, hun? I thought you were spendin' time with everyone. Nana said you were hanging out with Mae and Tanner. I know Mae is odd, but-"

"Nana's being weird too. And, Grand Daddy. She don't let me do nothin' fun at all these days. Says everything's to dangerous, and if somethin' happened to me you'd be upset." The child interrupts, sounding remarkably like his age with his complaints. But the low sound of his voice sounds less like mutterings and more like a cautious whisper.

"Well, that's cause Nana loves you. She don't want nothin' to happen to you, baby." You try to reassure him, as you've always done.

"But, she's always going on and on about you. She's almost as bad as Tanner." The way he says that name makes you pause. Tanner's been mention quiet a lot since you've been back. And, you've only been back for a couple of hours.

"Tanner's gone on about me?" You try to sound bashful, try to sound like its a compliment. But, the blush doesn't come.

"Yeah." Lukie practically roots himself into your chest where your heart is beginning to pound. "Always going on about you and the future and ranting about Gotham. He… he's kinda scary. I saw him and Grand Daddy a few months ago dragging something into the swamp. It looked… it looked about as long as a gator, but it wasn't a gator. It had clothes on."

"Baby, what do you think it was?" You somehow keep your voice steady as your arms wrap around him. Clinging to him and shielding him.

"I don't think I wanna remember. I just want everything to go back to normal."

After that, you let the wind outside the house howl. The way it blows through the trees with your fear keeps you up. Eventually you force the rain once again. Trying to lull Lukie-boy and yourself to sleep. For a brief moment, a flicker of a thought before you drift off into an uneasy slumber you think...

Should I have stayed?

And, your not certain if your talking about here or Gotham.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I'd say there's about two more parts of this left, then we'll be really focusing on Pregnant!Reader for a bit. Got a blurb list in the works for it and a few ideas. And, I really really really need to clean out my ask box. Oops.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist

@starsdotalk @sleepyghoster @maicenitas @box-of-kinderjoy @yandereheros @skwunkler @cl0esblogg @delias-stuff @rosecentury @lilyalone @addie-r-u-ok @space1crow @imaginarydreams @dhanyasri @rosalietodd013 @rissareader @rando2509 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @interobanginyourmom @heyitsaloy @myanyan-me @animegoddess15 @resident-cryptid @schaarfyx @skwunkler @erikasurfer @enchantingarcadecreation @redkarmakai i @be3b0o @couldeatthatgirlforlunch @ratchetprime211 @labryel l @kawaii-cakes @linaisadream @vanessa-boo @m0063576 @oooof-ifellforyou @minkyungseokie @theseustimes @the-ruler-of-death @blueberry19000 @ghostdoodlen @victxria024 @nebulousmoon3990 @bad4amficideas

[juleswritesstuff]

Pieces

Just Theo losing his mind over a tiny, little dress

theo nott x fem!reader

warnings: smut (this one's filthy, y'all)

The music blasting through the Slytherin common room was not only filling your ears, but your whole body too. It was running through your veins, every muscle and nerve consumed by the slow rhythm of the bass.

You were moving to the beat without a care in the world, lost in the flow, surrounded by warm bodies moving along the same melody.

Until a pair of hands found place on your hips, a presence making itself known behind you as your back collided with his chest.

You would've recognized that scent everywhere. A smirk grew on your lips.

Bingo.

“Are you trying to kill me, bambolina ?” his smooth voice reached your ears through the loud banging of some song you didn't quite recognize. (babydoll)

His hands were scorching hot on your hips, feeling them through the flimsy fabric of your dress. The way they wanted to touch, to feel, to own.

The grin on your lips widened.

Oh, he was so easy to tease.

You turned around, meeting his eyes. Their usual sky blue had become deeper, a storm in full swing. They were dark, hungry, and yet you could still find that glint of cockiness that never left his gaze.

Theodore Nott was as beautiful as he was devilish.

Good thing you knew how to take him. Metaphorically and physically speaking.

“Don't know what you're talking about” you said, swaying your hips to the sultry rhythm and morphing your expression to one of fake cluelessness.

“Really ? I'm pretty sure you do” the grin on his face was teasing but you could see the light clench of his jaw.

Trying to keep it cool, to keep control.

Unfortunately for him his eyes scanning every inch of your body betrayed him and his illusion of a collected behavior.

“You don't like my dress ?” you asked, getting closer and circling his neck with your arms.

His hands were on your back, traveling up and down, tracing your skin through the fabric, memorizing every nook and curve of your body.

A shiver ran down your spine as he pulled you closer to him, chest to chest.

“You have the nerve to ask me that ?” he uttered, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

A chuckle left your lips.

“You sound so affronted, Nott” your hand slipped through his hair, combing them lightly while your bodies kept swaying to the music.

He closed his eyes in bliss, feeling your gentle fingers brush through his brown locks.

And then you pulled. A bit harsher, a bit rougher. Exactly how he liked it.

Theo groaned, his eyes snapping open as the grip on your hips became tighter. 

His forehead touched yours as he leaned closer and closer.

“Oh, you want to play with fire I see” he breathed mere inches away from your lips.

“Maybe I do” you grinned, your tone challenging.

“And what happened to ‘I wouldn't touch you even if you were the last man on earth’, dolcezza ?” he asked teasingly, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. (sweety)

Your cheeks warmed up the slightest bit.

Yes, you and Theo hadn’t started off in the best of ways.

But things changed.

Especially after the most completely unexpected and undoubtedly best fuck of your life, courtesy of a very heated arguement between the two of you that ended with him buried deep inside of you while you basically chanted his name like a prayer.

You wished you could say it was a one time thing, a mistake.

But it wasn’t.

Because soon you found out that no one made you feel better than him.

Your body craved his touch, you couldn't help it.

“Well, I didn't know the wonders that your mouth and your cock were capable of at the time, can you really blame me ?” you asked back, lifting an eyebrow.

“So that's why you chose the tiniest, sexiest dress you own ? Cause you wanted to get your guts rearranged ?” he teased with a shit-eating smirk.

“Who knows” you shrugged your shoulders as a smug smile grew on your lips.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“You'll be the death of me, bambolina” he mouthed right on your lips before leaning in. (babydoll)

And, fuck, that felt both like heaven and hell.

His mouth was soft and rough at the same time. Hungry, needy, pure fire that was consuming you. The taste of nicotine and alcohol mixed with a sweetness that you couldn't quite pinpoint, but it was there. And it was addicting.

You wanted more. You always wanted more when Theo was involved.

His tongue teased yours, playing his dirty little games.

Your mind went blank.

“Your room or mine ?” you asked, millimeters away from his lips.

“Whichever is the closest, I don't care” he said hurriedly “Non vedo l'ora di strapparti questo cazzo di vestito di dosso” (I can't wait to rip this fucking dress off of you)

You didn't understand a single thing of the Italian coming out of his mouth as he was busy leaving a trail of eager kisses down your neck, going so slow that your brain started to melt.

You had no idea of how you managed to arrive at your dorm, too engrossed in the feeling of having him so close to you.

But now there you were.

The door closed with a click, and after a second you felt him everywhere.

His hands in your hair, on your face, your neck, hips, thighs. Fucking everywhere.

Your back collided with the wall as he kissed you like he needed air and you were pure oxygen filling his lungs.

“You’re a vixen, you know that ?” he whispered “making me lose my fucking mind moving your hips like that” 

His lips were still on yours, his hands kneading the plush skin of your ass, making you hiss in pleasure.

“Didn’t know I only needed a dress to make you go ballistic, Nott” you muttered with a chuckle as he decorated your throat with slow, wet kisses. 

“I couldn’t give less than a shit about the dress, Y/n. You are the one making me go fucking feral, not this stupid piece of fabric” he groaned against your skin.

“Then rip it the fuck off of me, why don’t you ?” you said, whimpers leaving your mouth as Theo found the most sensitive spot on your neck, starting to tease it with his tongue, his teeth and that sinful mouth of his.

You felt his smirk right on your skin.

“As you wish, bambolina”

 In a heartbeat you heard cloth being torn, shredded to pieces.

The air suddenly hitting your skin made goosebumps appear all over your body.

Your eyes snapped to his. The fire in them almost burned you, matching your own.

Lust and hunger filled every cell of your being, seeing the poor dress resting in pieces on the floor.

Because Theo had literally ripped it off.

You didn’t think this man could get any hotter. Guessed you were fucking wrong.

“Cazzo, sei una visione Y/n'' he whispered breathlessly. (Fuck, you're a vision Y/n)

His eyes ran all over your figure, taking in every curve, every inch of your body, imprinting it in his memory forever.

Then he began his journey of torture.

He started with his lips on yours, nibbling and sucking slowly, seductively, proceeding along your jaw, traveling down and reaching your neck, kissing the skin that was already turning a dark red from his previous attentions.

He stopped briefly at your shoulder, delicately removing your bra as the pads of his fingers brushed your skin tenderly.

He left his marks all over you.

On your shoulder, your collarbones, on your breasts teasing your sensitive nipples with his tongue before sucking gently, grazing them with his teeth and sending bolts of electricity throughout your entire body.

His lips were soft, but they left a burning path everywhere they touched.

Moans and whimpers left your mouth with each and every caress of his skin on yours.

He kept giving attention to every single centimeter of your figure, going down and down until he sank on his knees.

The sight of him kneeling in front of you with that deep, dark look in his eyes turned you on like nothing ever did before.

“This might be my favorite angle of you, you know ?” you confessed, your fingers combing through his brown waves.

You felt him grin against your hip bone, kissing it right after.

“Is it ?” his tone was teasing, playful, as he traced your skin with his lips “when I’m on my knees ?” another kiss lingered on your hip “right at your mercy ?” 

“Shit- yeah” you choked out a whimper as his mouth got closer and closer to your core.

The grip on his hair tightened and he let out a deep moan.

“Well, that’s good to know, princess” he said simply “cause this is my favorite place to be. Right between your thighs” and then he left a soft kiss directly on your clothed heat before sliding your panties down your legs.

A needy moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect” he whispered in awe, completely drunk on the sight of your naked body.

“Theo…” you whined.

“Yes, baby ?” 

Fuck, that word made your stomach churn in the best way possible.

“Just fucking get to it” you said urgently.

A cocky smile appeared on his face as he started to slowly get up, placing kisses here and there, making his journey back to your lips.

You whined, missing the feeling of his mouth lingering on your most sensitive spot.

“You’re needy” he whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

“You’re torturing me” you bit back, breathless and impertinent.

“Oh, so you can tease me in front of our whole House, but I can’t have my little fun when it’s just us ? Seems a bit unfair, tesoro” he mocked you lightheartedly with the most irritatingly hot smirk. (darling)

“Wipe that smug little smile off your face Nott, I can't stand it” you said, the annoyance in your tone as clear as the lust in it, too.

“Can’t stand it ?” he asked sensually, his breath tickling your ear before looking you in the eyes with that sinful grin that made you go feral “then why don’t you sit on it, bambolina” 

His gaze was dark, the blue of his eyes completely swallowed up by blackness.

The breath got knocked out of your lungs. Hot liquid desire filled your veins.

Your entire body was consumed by him, every single cell screaming his name.

And who were you not to listen ?

“Lay down then” you said with a devilish grin, pushing him backwards until his knees hit the bed frame, forcing him to sit down.

You wasted no time and straddled his hips, your naked body flashed aginst his still clothed one.

“Fucking hell” he mumbled on your mouth as you dived in to kiss him hungrily, tongue brushing his in a filthy dance.

His hands gripped your lower back so tightly you were sure there would’ve been bruises in the shape of his handprints the following day.

And you couldn’t wait to fucking see them.

 “Something wrong, pretty boy ?” you taunted, coating his neck with kisses, swiping your tongue over the skin and making him groan in pleasure.

“I have you naked on my lap, Y/n, nothing could be more right” he said, looking at you directly in the eyes with a smile and his usual cocky attitude.

“Why don’t you take off some clothes too, mh ?” you muttered, breaths away from his lips "Preferably all of them"

“Get rid of them, then” he answered you with a challenging glint in his deep blue eyes, and a sardonic smile.

You smirked, fisting both sides of his shirt and pulling harshly.

Buttons flew everywhere as you ripped the shirt open, finally exposing his perfectly chiseled chest to your eyes. Your hands ran all over his torso, tracing every hard and soft surface with fleeting touches.

God, Quidditch practice really had its benefits.

“Now we’re even” you said, kissing his lips again, referring to the dress he had shredded to pieces not too long ago.

Then your fingers traveled down, reaching the hem of his pants and brushing his half hard cock playfully through the fabric.

He hissed in pleasure, but as soon as you tried to unbutton them he stopped you.

“That can wait, baby. I need to taste you first” he purred in your ear before laying down completely, his back colliding with the soft mattress of your bed.

“Impatient, are we ?” you mocked him lightheartedly, but as soon as you felt his hands on lower back, massaging the soft skin, urging you to crawl on his body and come closer until your core was right in front of him, glistening with desire, the smile on your face was replaced by a moan.

“When it comes to you ? Always” he smiled, leaving a trail of steamy, open mouthed kisses on the tender skin of your inner thighs.

A pathetic sob left your throat.

He was going so achingly slow you were starting to lose your goddamn mind.

“Seems to me that you’re taking your sweet fucking time, instead” you snapped impetuously.

He was teasing you mercilessly, and you couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll take all the time I need if it means that I get to see you being a needy mess before my tongue even touches you” he sneered against your skin, mouth getting closer and closer to where you needed it the most, but never close enough.

“Theo, please” you cried as your hands swiped through his brown locks, spread on the pillow like a halo, eliciting him to do something, anything to give you at least some sweet relief.

“Sei così bella, cazzo” he whispered as his eyes shined with an earnestness that you had never seen in them “e sei tutta per me”. (You're so beautiful, fuck)(and you're all mine)

And then finally, finally he stuck his tongue out dragging it over your folds to get a long awaited taste.

The groan that came out of his mouth sent delicious vibrations to your clit, making your whole body squirm.

“Oh fuck” you moaned as he started to devour you messily.

He ate you out like he had been starving for weeks and you were his first meal, like he was born for it and his place was right there, between your legs. He licked and kissed and sucked all over your sensitive core, pleasuring you like no one else ever could, making you feel everything.

You writhed above him. 

Loud, shaky whines left your lips as he made out with your cunt shamelessly and sloppy, coating his face with your essence and feasting hungrily.

When his lips wrapped around your clit you whailed.

The whole castle probably heared you even through the music of the party that was taking place downstairs, but you couldn’t care less.

Because Theo was beneath you, eating you out so perfectly and filthily that all you could think about was his mouth on you.

“So sweet. You taste so sweet, Y/n” he said right against your throbbing core, making you shiver. Your hands on his hair tightened their grip, using it as leverage to move your hips back and forth faster, desperately.

“Theo- shit, baby-” you couldn’t even talk.

You were close. You were so close that you felt the familiar tension building up, ready to explode.

And apparently he did too, because his mouth started to work faster, licking and lapping at an unforgiving pace.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess on my face” he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time and he sucked, sending you over the edge.

The coil in your tummy snapped, your vision turning white as waves of pleasure washed all over you, making your ears ring and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

The moans coming out of your mouth were dirty, raw.

The movement of your hips slowed down as Theo kept dragging his tongue over your folds slowly, carefully, licking you clean and paying attention not to overstimulate you, but not letting even one single drop of your sweet essence go to waste.

Once you got down from your high and your brain started to regain its ability to form coherent words you shifted your gaze downwards, finding Theo looking at you while his hands caressed your legs tenderly.

“There you are. I thought I broke you for a second” he smiled, teasing lightheartedly.

You huffed a sneer as you crawled backwards with shaky legs, going back to straddle his hips rather than his face.

“Don't get too confident, Nott. It's not a good look” you bit back with a smile that matched his.

A chuckle left his lips as he lifted his torso to sit up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He kissed you softly, delicately, making your stomach flip.

“Everything ok ?” he asked on your lips while he tucked a rogue strand of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

And there it was, the thing that made you so confused about Theodore Nott.

It was in moments like these when you forgot that the guy in front of you, who gave you the best head of your life and was an actual fucking excellent lover was the same guy you used to have daily insulting sessions with.

Muggles had a saying, you heard.

‘There's a thin line between hate and love’

And you were sure that that line had been all kinds of blurry since Theo had put his lips on you for the first time.

Or, maybe, even before. You didn't want to think about it. 

The possibilities of that revelation being true made your stomach knot up.

So you put them to the side, and focused back on him.

“Yes” you answered, your fingers buried in the hair at the base of his neck, massaging reassuringly “I’m ok. More than ok, even” 

“How about your legs ?” he asked, placing soft kisses on your shoulder.

“Is this some new way to ask me if I still have some remaining strength to ride you ?” you teased, narrowing your eyes mischievously.

“Would you believe me if I said it isn't ?” he questioned playfully, lifting an eyebrow and tightening his embrace on you.

“Not really, no” you said unconvinced, your face opened up in a smile.

“Guessed so” he shook his head in amusement, his eyes glinting in the dim light of your room.

“Unfortunately for you my legs are sore, so no riding” you admitted, your smile turning smug “but that doesn't mean that you can't fuck me in any other position know to man”

His hands on your hips tightened their grip.

“Is that so ?” he taunted, his eyes turning hungry again, the fire in them reaching the deepest parts of your soul “then tell me bambolina, how would you like me to take you apart tonight ?” 

“However you want” you smirked, leaning in to kiss him again, swiping your tongue on his lower lip before biting the plump skin provocatively “go ahead pretty boy, make me cry on your cock”

His eyes got impossibly darker, hungrier. Ravenous.

“Then get on all fours for me, princess” he rumbled lowly, looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

You wasted no time as you kept your mouth glued to his, getting off his lap and flipping your positions. You crawled backwards a little, Theo following you as he chased your lips until you were completely laying down with him above you.

His hands caressed your hips, moving down to trace the skin of your thigh, making goosebumps appear all over your body.

Your fingers traveled everywhere, feeling the heated skin against your pads. They caressed his chest, his shoulders, his back, until they reached the hem of his pants, unbuttoning them with a swift move.

“Impatient, are we ?” he teased you, using your own words against you.

His lips latched to your neck, one hand on the mattress holding his weight and the other sliding his trousers down together with his underwear.

“Less talking and more undressing, Nott” you urged as your hands went to his hair, massaging his scalp, making him groan.

He pulled away from you just enough to take away his pants completely, leaving him naked.

Your eyes took in his perfectly sculpted lean body, and you clenched your legs unconsciously at the sight of his hard cock.

He didn't say anything to you eyeing him up like you wanted to swallow him whole, he just smirked. But the look in his eyes told you that he knew every naughty little thought you were having in that moment.

Your cheeks heated up, and you turned around facing the mattress propped up on your elbows, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you that flustered.

You had seen him naked countless times, and yet his body still had that maddening effect on you.

The bed dipped with every move he made, getting closer to you again, until you felt his breath on your ear, chuckling.

“Going shy on me now, tesoro ?” he asked playfully, leaving a kiss on that sensitive spot that made you squirm. (darling)

“Shut up” you said weakly, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth leaving a path of steamy kisses along your back, causing your whole body to shiver in pleasure.

He stopped right over the little dimples on your lower back, kissing them tenderly.

“Ready ?” he asked to make sure.

You didn't answer him, you just lifted your ass up, bending your knees and arching your back in the most sinful way you could master.

“Ready” you confirmed with a smug smile, hearing him groan in pleasure.

You turned your head a little, enough to see him stroking his cock at the sight of your exposed cunt, right at his mercy.

“You and your perfect body will be the death of me” you hear him whisper before feeling his hands on your ass.

His tip teasing your entrance made you moan pathetically.

He went slow, so achingly slow that you wanted to cry, feeling him burying himself deeper and deeper inside of you, inch by inch. Until he bottomed out completely, head to base, filling you up so good that you wanted to scream.

“Fuck-” you moaned “fuck, fuck, fuck” broken sobs left your lips as you felt him throbbing inside of you.

“Shit- baby, you're tight” he said through gritted teeth, feeling your warmth around him and trying so hard not to cum on the spot, hearing all the filthy sounds you were making.

“Move” you practically begged “Theo, please. Just move” 

As soon as the words left your mouth his hips started to thrust, setting a slow and steady pace, making you adjust to his size without hurting you.

The head of his cock brushed your cervix with every prod, sending bolts of electricity to every nerve of your body.

But it wasn't enough.

You wanted more. You needed more.

“Harder” you blurted, half begging and half demanding “I'm not gonna break, Theo. Fuck me. Harder” 

Not a word left his mouth, but suddenly you saw stars. His hips snapped ruthlessly inside of you, knocking the air out of your lungs, making you scream his name.

You buried your face in the pillows, trying to muffle the sound of your wails. But then you felt Theo’s chest colliding with your back and his arms around your torso, pulling your upper body up with him while he still fucked into you mercilessly.

“Voglio sentirti” he whispered in your ear, breath rugged and broken by the intensity of his hips plunging inside of you “voglio che l'intero cazzo di castello sappia chi è che ti scopa così bene” (I want to hear you)(I want the whole castle to know who's fucking you this good)

You didn't understand a single word coming out of his mouth, but you knew it had nothing to do with the language he was using and everything to do with his cock splitting you in half.

Your body was on fire, every muscle and nerve consumed by pleasure, corroded by lust.

You were close again.

Your arm reached behind you, pulling Theo’s head closer.

The position was awkward, making the kiss even more filthy, a mess of tongues and teeth.

“God- Theo, I'm close” you moaned against his mouth.

One hand holding your body flashed against his, the other going to tease your clit with slender fingers.

You were right there, his fingers drawing circles on that little bundle of nerves faster and faster.

“Cum for me, bambolina” was what he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling your skin as your orgasm hit you.

The world stopped, every single thing ceased to exist except for the exploding pleasure in your veins and the feeling of Theo’s heated and sweaty skin on yours.

The clench of your cunt squeezing his cock sent him over the edge too, painting your walls white while a strangled moan escaped his lips.

Getting down from your high you collapsed on the bed.

With your breath labored and short, your body numb and your head in the clouds you placed your head on Theo's chest as his arm wrapped around you.

Was it weird to cuddle with the guy who used to get on your nerves more than anything else ? Most definitely.

Was it also weird to fuck said guy and wanting to sometime still punch his ridiculously handsome face at the same time ? Absolutely.

Did you care ? Not one bit.

“You owe me a shirt” he blurted out after his breath turned back to normal again, stroking your hair absent-mindedly.

“You owe me a dress” you retorted back, feeling his heartbeat slowing down right under your ear.

“Shopping at Hogsmeade next weekend ?” he asked nonchalantly, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on you.

Your eyes widened beyond measure.

“Pardon ?” your voice went several tones higher than usual, in complete disbelief from the words that had just reached your ears.

“Calm down, bambolina. No need to get all flustered” he chuckled, but rather than mocking it seemed endeared “you'll buy me a new shirt and I'll buy you a new dress. Deal ?” 

You had no idea what to answer.

But in the end you accepted.

“Deal” 

It wouldn't be weird...right ?

He lives in my mind rent free, I can't help it.

Hope you enjoyed 💗

[sinecosinewheel]

urgh. im gonna vent about smth stupid to avoid my actual problems

[joemama-2]

┊ ❛ ❛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 ❜ ❜ ┊

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: as an ambitious journalist, you’re determined to keep your cool while interviewing Gojo Satoru, the entertainment world’s most magnetic star. but his playful smirks and flirtatious banter make it impossible to ignore the spark simmering between you. when he leans in and invites you to his private room, you tell yourself it’s all part of the job—until the dressing room door closes, and the air grows heavy with unspoken possibilities. his touch is casual but lingers just long enough to make your pulse race, and his whispered promises are as intoxicating as the man himself. tonight, you’ll learn there’s a difference between getting the story and being part of it.

wc: 9.9k

tags/warnings: smut, slight praise, vaginal penetration, pussy eating, cursing, missionary, nipple sucking

Tonight’s a night of luxury, fine wine, expensive clothing, flashes, kisses being shared, awards handed out, and best of all…the interviews. 

You’re up and coming, still considered a newbie in the world of journalism even though you have been doing this for almost a year now. But compared to your other counterparts who have years of experience, you understand why. A bright, young face with a compelling aura that just draws people in. Every celebrity you’ve met has come up to you afterward to just rave on about how nice it was talking to you, how authentic it felt. And that’s what you aim for all the time. 

At the end of the day, these are real people and a lot of the media seems to forget that. When you’re interviewing them, you don’t want it to seem like a forced meet-up with an intrusive journalist. No, you want it to be like they’re talking to a friend. You want things to just flow smoothly—naturally. You’ve even exchanged numbers with a few of them, waving and delivering a small hug as they pass you on the red carpet to pose for pictures. 

It’s a strategy that’s worked wonders for you, and tonight, you’re counting on it to carry you through what might be the biggest interview of your career. Gojo Satoru, the golden boy of the entertainment industry, is notoriously hard to pin down—charming one moment, evasive the next. The man oozes confidence, with his piercing blue eyes and a devil-may-care attitude that has the world wrapped around his finger. A brilliant actor, dancer, and singer. A literal triple threat. The man is good at everything he does. And he looks damn good while doing it. 

Your editor’s words echo in your head as you adjust your press badge: “Get something different. Something memorable. Everyone’s heard the same old answers from him.” Easier said than done when the man is practically untouchable, his responses carefully curated to keep people guessing. You would’ve assumed his media training would be on point, considering he’s been a household name since he was just an infant. 

A true nepo baby. 

There’s a microphone in hand, your camera man, Ito, stood beside you. You glance at him, having to lean in slightly over the buzz of other chatter, photographers telling whatever celebrity to move right or left, other interviews being conducted, the whole sha-bang. “You ready for this?”

The younger man nods with a goofy smile and throws a thumbs-up. “You know it.”

“Remember, get my good side.”

“Every side is your good side, Ms. Y/N.”

You wave him off and swivel your head back around. Titling it as you lift up on your tip-toes for any sign of the snowy haired man. Nope, not here yet. You sigh and drop back down to normal height, anxiously twirling the microphone in your hand. You’re wearing a simple, but elegant black dress. Silk with no sleeves and the back is cut out—still modest enough to now outshine the real important people of tonight. You’ve paired it with gold jewelry, your hair down and tamed, with tiny black heels. Fine makeup with a red lip to top it off. 

“He’s not here yet. Let me guess,” you murmur to Ito, keeping your voice low. “He’s going to be late, sweep in like he owns the place, and flash that million-dollar smile that makes everyone forget they’ve been waiting.”  

Ito snorts, adjusting the camera. “You mean the Gojo Satoru trademark entrance? Yeah, sounds about right. At least he’s consistent.”  

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of nerves in your chest. You always get nervous but this time, it feels a little extra. He may not even stop for you, don’t get your hopes up.

Gojo’s reputation precedes him, and while you pride yourself on keeping your cool, you’re not immune to his charm. The last thing you need is to fall into the same trap as every other reporter who’s walked away from an interview with stars in their eyes and nothing of substance to show for it. 

Scanning the area, you catch sight of a commotion near the entrance, the buzz growing louder. And then you see him.  

He’s impossible to miss, standing tall and radiant in a custom black suit that hugs him in all the right places, his albino hair tousled just enough to look effortless. His sunglasses—because of course he’s wearing sunglasses to a fancy event—sit perched on the bridge of his nose, only barely hiding those infamous blue eyes. He’s laughing at something someone said, his presence magnetic enough to pull all attention his way without even trying. His manager, Nanami Kento, walks with him. Occasionally muttering something in Satoru’s ear with his certified stony expression. 

“Showtime,” Ito mutters, lifting the camera.  

You take a deep breath, straightening your posture. You got this, you got this. He’s not the only charming one. Plastering a big, warm smile. You begin your stride over, hellbent on capturing his attention. 

He and his manager are walking down the carpet, already ignoring the reporters that call out his name like he’s some sort of god. Satoru occasionally smiles for a few of the cameras as most of the other actors are silently making room for him on the red carpet. Once he’s done with his pictures, he’s heading inside the venue. Then you’ll lose your chance. So, you have to catch him before he does. 

You quicken your pace, moving with purpose. Weaving through the small crowd as Ito is practically stumbling over his feet to follow you. Chin tilting up and raising your voice loud enough so he can hear. “Gojo Satoru, a quick word, please,” you call out, your voice carrying through the crowd, smooth and confident despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

And as if on cue, Gojo’s head turns ever so slightly in your direction. That was quick. Maybe it’s the fact that you reiterated your call out to him as more of a statement than an annoying plea. You don’t hesitate, smiling and judging Ito to begin filming. You can already see the glint of his pearly whites, the blue twinkle in his pearly eyes that makes women and men alike swoon. He lifts his glasses down slightly like he’s getting a better look at you. His manager is tugging a bit on his elbow to keep him moving, but he simply yanks it out his hold and strides over to you with that trademark grin. As he makes his way toward you, every step exuding confidence, you remind yourself of your goal: keep it professional, keep it memorable, and don’t let him get under your skin.  

Some of the other journalists must think they finally have their shot with him, only for their hopes and dreams to be shattered when he approaches you instead. You shuffle closer to him, sparing a quick glance at the camera to ensure it’s rolling before craning your neck up at the man himself. 

“Gojo Satoru,” you greet him, flashing your most practiced smile as he stops in front of you. “Thank you very much for taking the time to chat. How’s your night so far?”  

He tilts his head, the lopsided smile on his face nothing short of mischievous. “Even better now,” he says smoothly, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip.  

Oh, he’s good, you think, your grip tightening on the microphone. But so are you. So, this is how it’s going to be. Fine. You can play that game too. 

You force yourself to focus, keeping the conversation light and breezy despite the electric charge in the air between you. “Glad to hear that. I’m sure you’re used to all the attention by now, but do you ever get nervous before big events like this?” you ask, leaning in slightly as if you’re just two people having a casual chat.

He chuckles, a sound that almost feels too intimate for the public space you’re standing in. “I thrive on it,” Gojo replies, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze both teasing and intense. “You know, it’s all part of the game. The bigger the crowd, the more I shine.”

You smile, impressed by his confidence but careful not to let it throw you off your rhythm. “And yet, you still manage to make it look effortless.” You tilt your head slightly, playing along, knowing how easily the conversation could turn into one of those meaningless exchanges. “Is there anything you don’t do effortlessly?”

His lips quirk upwards, that signature grin spreading across his face. “Maybe one thing,” he says, his tone dipping lower, sending a shiver through you. He pauses, his eyes scanning you briefly before locking back onto yours. “But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

The air between you two thickens, the words laced with double meaning. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you refuse to let it show. He’s toying with you, but this is your interview, and you’re not about to let him steal the spotlight. Not just yet.

Clearing your throat, you switch the topic. “So, you’re being nominated Best Actor for your show ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the direction you’ve taken. “I wouldn’t say ‘nominated,’” he teases, his eyes sparkling with that signature arrogance. “I’m going to win, obviously. But it’s nice to be recognized by the industry.”

You nod, the banter light, but the tension lingering in the air between you two keeps your mind spinning. You can’t help but wonder if he’s as confident off-screen as he is in front of the cameras. Before you can ask him to elaborate on his confidence, Gojo steps closer, his proximity sending a wave of warmth through you. “So you believe you’ll win this award, no doubt?”

“No doubt.”

“That’s very confident of you.” You chuckle. 

Gojo’s lips curl into a smile, his blue eyes never leaving yours as if he’s savoring the moment. “Confidence is key but also very underrated,” he replies, his tone playful but with an edge of something more intense. He leans in just slightly, enough that you can smell the subtle cologne he’s wearing, clean and fresh with a hint of spice. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping lower, “when you’re as good as I am, it’s hard not to be confident. And I mean, a lot of people are too afraid to show they know what they’re capable of. But me? I’ve got nothing to hide. I know exactly what I bring to the table.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to let your smile slip into something more flirtatious. But his words have an effect—something in you shifts, intrigued and undeniably drawn to his arrogance. "So, you don’t think anyone’s competition?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, testing the waters.

Gojo's lips curve tighter into a knowing smile, a flash of teasing flickering in his eyes. "Competition?" he echoes, his voice thick with challenge. "There’s no competition when you’re in a league of your own.”

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure despite the growing heat between you. “I can see that,” you respond, your voice just a little steadier than you feel. “But what’s your secret? How do you manage to stay so… sure of yourself?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound smooth and low, as he runs a hand through his messy white hair. He looks around briefly, as though assessing the situation, before his eyes lock back onto yours. “It’s not about being sure of myself,” he says with a tilt to his tone, his words carrying an underlying promise. “It’s about knowing I can make anything work. Whether it’s acting, dancing, or…” He trails off, his gaze flickering briefly down your figure before snapping back to your eyes. He chuckles charmingly.  

The moment hangs between you two, the air crackling with an undeniable charge. You feel your pulse quicken, but you force yourself to stay focused on the interview. “Well, I’m sure a lot of people would love to know how you make it all look so effortless,” you respond, keeping your voice neutral. “Any advice for those of us who aren’t quite as… naturally gifted?”

Gojo’s grin widens, and for a brief second, you swear you can see a flicker of something more in his eyes. “It’s not just about talent,” he says, leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “It’s about owning the moment, owning the space you’re in. You have to make people believe in you, even if you don’t always believe in yourself.” His intonation is almost hypnotic, and you can feel the pull of his words.

Your breath catches, but you can’t let him see how he’s affecting you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation light. “How do you handle all that weight?”

Gojo’s expression shifts, his playful grin faltering for just a second, his presence overwhelming. “Pressure’s nothing,” he says, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. “If you’re not feeling it, you’re not doing it right.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a camera shutter clicks in the background, reminding you of the reality of the situation. You’re still in the middle of a crowded red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and the buzz of other reporters. But somehow, standing so close to him, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world.

His eyes soften for a moment, like he’s sensing the shift in the air between you. “But hey,” he adds, his tone playful again as he steps back slightly, breaking the moment, “don’t worry. I’ll make sure to win this award for the both of us. Maybe then you can interview me again… under better circumstances.”

You smile, lightly huffing a small chortle as Ito lowers the camera and stops rolling. Nanami begins tugging on Satoru’s sleeve again, attempting to urge the man to walk forward. But Satoru doesn’t budge, leaning down close to your ear. The suddenness causes you to gasp a little, body tensing before leaning closer to hear what he has to say. 

“I have a room nearby. Take a left at the end of the carpet, then a right past the VIP lounge, can’t miss it. If you want, I’d be glad to answer more of your questions once I have my award.”

He’s pulling back and looking away, strutting down the carpet before you can even process what just happened. Eyes wide and lips parted, you slowly look over at Ito who gives you an equally baffled expression. “That was…something. I felt the tension even behind the camera.”

You shake your head and regain your bearings, hitting his arm. He dramatically lets out a huff and rubs the spot. “Don’t be stupid, that’s just how he is.”

“Well, yeah. But it seemed extra with you.”

Your lips purse, eyes flickering over to where an enormous space has been made for the man himself to pose for every single camera aimed at him in every pose possible. If you didn’t find him attractive, you would’ve been annoyed by his arrogance—his cockiness. But maybe that’s what you like about him, in some weird way. At least he has the looks to go with his loud personality. “Are you gonna…go?” Ino asks. 

You hesitate, unsure of whether yes or no would be the most appropriate answer in this case. Hell, that entire little thing seemed the exact opposite of appropriate. You remind yourself that that’s just how he is. However, you still haven’t gotten a good enough word from him and that tiny, maybe two minute interview will no doubt be overlooked from your boss. 

Something different, something more. 

And so that’s how you’ve landed yourself in this precarious situation in the first place. It’s late—around twelve in the morning. And this supposed ‘meet-up’ feels more like a booty call than anything else. You won’t voice that thought aloud, of course. He’s sitting on the cuck chair in the corner of his…dressing room? It feels more like a five star hotel room. You’ve taken purchase on the edge of the bed inside, hands tucked into your lap. You’ve opted out of the dress you wore for the event, landing on a simple tee and jeans. Your recorder beside you, with your notebook and pen placed underneath your hands. 

He’s just been eating. 

Eating carelessly. 

It’s already been close to twenty minutes and you don’t know when you should bring up the whole reason you’re even here for. After a few more grueling seconds, the air having been filled with his loud chewing far longer than you have patience for. You clear your throat. “Um…Mr. Gojo? Do you mind if we—”

“Have you ever had Mediterranean food?” He cuts you off, jabbing his white plastic fork in your direction. 

Your eyes flick to the fork in his hand, then back to his face. The man looks completely unbothered, leaning back in his chair as though he has all the time in the world. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed casually at the ankles, and his tie is now undone, the top buttons of his shirt popped open. He’s the picture of relaxed arrogance, and it’s both infuriating and—annoyingly—endearing.  

“Uh, yeah,” you say hesitantly, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. “Once or twice.”  

He hums, jabbing his fork into another piece of grilled chicken and popping it into his mouth. “Then you’re missing out. There’s this place down the street? Incredible. You’ve gotta try it. I’ll have them send some up next time you’re around.”  

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. Is he really talking about food right now? After inviting you here in the middle of the night and keeping you waiting for nearly half an hour while he scarfs down a late-night feast? And is he trying to hint at another rendezvous? Yeah fucking right. Your fingers tighten slightly around your notebook, the patience you’ve been clinging to starting to wear thin. “Right,” you try again, keeping your voice steady, “I appreciate the recommendation, but I was hoping we could get back to the interview. So may we—”

“But you get it, right?” he says, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread out wider, his posture entirely too relaxed for someone in the middle of an impromptu midnight interview. “It’s addictive. This hummus? Unreal. Whoever catered tonight deserves an award more than I do.”

You thin your lips, unsure whether to laugh or remind him why you’re actually here. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you say diplomatically, gesturing to the plate in his hand. “But I was hoping we could, you know, get started?”

Gojo hums thoughtfully, scooping up another bite with his fork. “You’re right,” he concedes, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But here’s the thing—you can’t do an interview on an empty stomach. Or when the food’s this good.”

You sigh, biting back a retort as he takes another slow, deliberate bite, chewing like he has all the time in the world. “Mr. Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrects, grinning as he sets the plate down on the small table beside him. He wipes his hands on a napkin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he meets your gaze. “We’re not on the red carpet anymore. Call me Satoru.” 

His sudden shift in demeanor catches you off guard, the playful air taking on a more serious edge. You glance at your recorder, then back at him, your pulse quickening. “Alright, Satoru,” you say carefully, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Let’s make this count.”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to keep up. “Oh, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “I always do.”

You nod and fumble for a moment before flipping open your notebook. “Ah, well, I was hoping to dive a little deeper into your creative process—how you approach roles and what inspires you.”  

Gojo leans back again, the smirk never leaving his face. “My creative process, huh? That’s such a professional way of asking how I make the magic happen.” He chuckles, his gaze flicking over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “But I’ll bite. It all starts with... you.”  

You freeze, brows furrowing. You don’t know if he’s teasing you or if he’s just being his usual cocky self. “Me?” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure.  

“Not you specifically,” he clarifies, though the playful glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But someone like you. Someone intriguing, who makes me want to figure out what makes them tick. That’s where I find inspiration.”  

The air in the room shifts, the casual atmosphere taking on a sharper edge. You’re getting a little annoyed at the fact that he’s answering the question but also trying to throw you off balance. Either way, you’re determined not to let him see you lose composure.  

“That’s interesting,” you respond, forcing a smile as you jot something down in your notebook, “Is there any way you can elaborate?.”  

His laughter fills the room, low and rich. “Isn’t that what I just did?” he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. His fingers drum lightly on the arm of the chair as he watches you, a predator sizing up its prey. “I thought I was being pretty clear. Inspiration comes from people—complex, messy, fascinating people.”  

That sounds like an insult. You tap your pen against your notebook, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Right, but I was hoping for specifics,” you respond, doing your best to keep your tone professional despite his relentless charm. “How do you translate that into a character? What’s the first step you take when preparing for a role?”  

Gojo leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, and suddenly the air between you feels far too tight. “The first step?” he echoes, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “I find the humanity in them. Even in the villains, the assholes, the broken ones. There’s always something real there, something raw. That’s what I latch onto.”  

You nod, quickly jotting down his words even as your pulse quickens. He’s finally giving you something substantive, and yet the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to focus. “That’s... an interesting perspective,” you manage, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “So you try to connect with the character on a personal level?”  

“Exactly,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s like peeling back layers, you know? Finding the parts of them that no one else sees. The parts they try to hide.”  

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you can’t help but feel like he’s talking about more than just acting. You glance up at him, and the way he’s watching you—like he’s peeling back your layers—sends a shiver down your spine.  

“I see,” you say, clearing your throat in an attempt to break the tension, “that certainly explains why your performances feel so authentic. You make it sound almost... personal.”  

“It is personal,” he replies, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Every role I take on, every scene I play—it’s all personal. That’s why people connect with it. They see themselves in it.”  

You can’t help but be impressed, even as his words unsettle you. He’s infuriatingly good at this—at keeping you on your toes, at blurring the line between sincerity and seduction. But you’re not about to let him derail you. Not when you’ve finally gotten him to open up.  

“Do you ever find it difficult to separate yourself from the characters you play?” you ask, leaning forward slightly despite yourself. He sees this, scooting his chair closer subtly.   

Gojo’s smile widens, and for a moment, he looks almost amused. “Now that’s a good question,” he says, his tone laced with approval. “But the answer? No. I don’t separate myself from them. That’s the whole point. If I did, it wouldn’t be real.”  

His response leaves you momentarily speechless, and he seems to relish the effect he’s having on you. “Anything else you want to know?” he prompts, his grin turning devilish. “Or are you ready to call it a night?”  

Your grip tightens on your pen, and you force yourself to sit up straighter, refusing to let him see you flustered. “I’ve still got a few more questions,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re up for it.”  

“Oh, I’m always up for it,” he quips, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and captivating. “Hit me with your best shot.”

With another nod, you look up from jotting your notes to see him sliding his rings off his slender fingers. For a moment, you do nothing but focus on the paleness of the digits. You remember him saying in an interview how his fingers were six inches long. You thought he was joking no doubt, doing it all for his thirsty fangirls. But now that you’re looking at them in person…he was actually telling the truth. Your gaze slides up to his forearms that are revealed from his messy, cuffed-up sleeves. Then they travel down his fingers to his small waist, finally to his thighs. Mentally cursing yourself, you glance back at his fingers that flex freely once they’re free from the constraints of the metal. You gulp down the dryness in your throat, an intrusive thought sneaking way into your brain—wondering about what it would feel like if they were—

“A little shameless of you.” He chuckles. 

His voice snaps your eyes back up to his. You recognize the playful glint in them, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I—sorry. That’s inappropriate of me.”

Gojo leans forward for the nth time, resting his elbows on his knees as his lips curve into a smug grin. “Oh, don’t apologize,” he drawls, his tone oozing amusement. “I’m flattered, really. Most people just stare at my face—nice to know my hands are getting the attention they deserve.”  

You let out a nervous laugh, gripping your pen tighter to ground yourself. “Um…it’s not like that,” you protest weakly, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “I was just... lost in thought.”  

“Lost in thought, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as though he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. “Thinking about anything particular?”  

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, you forget how to respond. His gaze is too sharp, too knowing, like he’s reading the very thought you’d just shoved to the deepest recess of your mind. “Just about the interview,” you manage to say, your voice smoother than you expected. “I was trying to figure out how to phrase my next question.”  

“Sure you were,” he teases, leaning back again and sliding his hands into his pockets. The movement draws your attention to the way his pale blue button-up shirt stretches over his broad chest, and you quickly force your eyes back to his face before he can catch you staring again.  

“I was,” you insist, determined to salvage what’s left of your dignity. You clear your throat and flip to a fresh page in your notebook, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Now, about your approach to emotional scenes—how do you tap into those raw feelings on set?”  

Gojo chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re scrambling to regain control of the conversation. “Ah, so we’re back to work now? Alright, I’ll play along.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, the playful edge in his expression softening just a fraction. “Emotional scenes are all about honesty. You can’t fake it—not if you want the audience to feel it. You have to find something real, something that hurts, and let it bleed into the performance.”  

His answer catches you off guard with its sincerity, and for a moment, you forget your embarrassment entirely. “Something real?” you echo, bending forward slightly. “So you draw from personal experiences?”  

“Sometimes,” he admits, his voice lower now, more serious. “Other times, I imagine what it would be like to lose something—or someone—I care about.” His eyes darken briefly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face before it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky smirk. “But enough about me. It’s always about me, what about you, hm?”  

You blink. “About me? I’m sorry but… I only came here to ask you questions.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, scooting closer in his chair. “Exactly,” he says, waving a hand lazily. “It’s always about me. The questions, the cameras, the lights. Don’t you think that gets boring?”  

You tilt your head, once again caught off guard. “I... can’t imagine someone like you ever finding the spotlight boring,” you reply carefully, unsure of where he’s steering the conversation.  

He grins, a little too self-satisfied. “Fair point. I do wear it well, don’t I? But that doesn’t mean I don’t get curious. You sit here with your little notebook, all professional and serious. But who are you when the recorder’s off? What makes you tick?”  

The shift in focus has your defenses rising, and you straighten your back slightly. “I’m not the one being interviewed, Mr.—Satoru,” you correct yourself when his grin widens at your formality.  

“No,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a once-over that feels far too perceptive. “But doesn’t mean I can’t ask, does it?”  

You let out a nervous laugh, holding your notebook a little closer. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”  

“Rules are boring,” he replies smoothly, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you. His voice drops slightly, his tone more teasing than serious. “Come on, throw me a bone. A favorite movie, a weird hobby, your go-to midnight snack. Something.”  

You hesitate, his gaze pinning you in place. It’s not like you have anything to hide, but the sudden spotlight feels unnerving. “Midnight snack?” you echo, deciding to humor him for the sake of moving things along.  

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes lighting up like you’ve just agreed to a game only he knows the rules to. “You know, since you’re obviously not here for Mediterranean food. What do you eat when you’re burning the midnight oil?”  

You press your lips together, trying not to smile despite yourself. “Popcorn,” you admit finally. “Plain, with just a little salt.”  

“Popcorn?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued. “Huh. Kind of classic, but I can respect it. Guess I’ll have to stock up before our next late-night chat.”  

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm at his casual mention of a “next time.” “I wouldn’t count on that,” you say dryly, but he only smirks, clearly not taking you seriously.  

“We’ll see,” he says, leaning back again and waving a hand. “Alright, you’ve indulged me. Ask away again. I’m all yours.”  

The shift back to the original topic throws you off balance, but you take the opportunity and flip open your notebook, determined to keep the upper hand this time. “Great. Let’s get back to your latest role then—”  

“But popcorn, huh?” he interrupts, clearly not ready to let it go. “You don’t strike me as a plain kind of person.”  

Your pen pauses mid-note, and you give him a pointed look. “Do you always talk this much during interviews?”  

He grins, unapologetic. “Only when I’m having fun.”

You sigh, setting your pen down and narrowing your eyes at him, though the warmth in your cheeks betrays your annoyance. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a professional, you’re awfully good at derailing conversations.”  

Gojo smirks, he fixes you with that signature, infuriatingly confident gaze. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting.” His voice dips just slightly, low and teasing, and the way his eyes sweep over you feels more deliberate now, more pointed and slower. Like he’s appreciative. “But if I’m being honest… I don’t mind the view either.”  

Your breath hitches, his words make your stomach jump. “The view?” you manage, your voice more balanced than you. 

He cocks his head, his smirk widening. “You,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Sitting there, all serious and composed, trying so hard to keep this professional. But I see the way you look at me.”  

Your heart stutters, your cheeks flushing hot. “I’m not—”  

“Oh, you are,” he interrupts, his grin turning wolfish. “First my fingers,” he flutters his digits in a wavy motion.  “Then my thighs,” he pats his lap.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice, sweetheart.”  

Your jaw drops slightly, heat creeping down your neck. “I was not—”  

“Sure you weren’t,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair and stretching, his shirt pulling just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. His voice lowers, smooth as silk. “But if you want to keep staring, I won’t stop you.”  

You swallow hard, gripping your notebook like it’s a lifeline. “Mr. Gojo, I don’t think this is appropriate.”  

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And who’s being inappropriate? I’m just making an observation.” He leans forward again, his voice dropping to a near whisper, intimate and teasing. “Besides, don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You get to ask me all these personal questions, but I can’t ask any about you?”  

You shift in your seat, your pulse racing. “That’s not how interviews work.”  

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, his gaze darkening slightly as it locks onto yours. “But we’re not exactly following the rules, are we?”  

The tension in the room thickens, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. You glance at the door, a small voice in the back of your mind warning you to cut this short, but another part of you—one you’re desperately trying to ignore—is drawn to the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the way his voice wraps around you like a warm, dangerous promise.  

“I’m here to work,” you say finally, your voice firmer now, though it betrays a slight waver.  

“And I’m here to have a good time,” he counters, his smirk softening into something more intimate, more dangerous. “Who says we can’t do both?”  

You stare at him, your mind racing as you try to find the words to put an end to this—whatever this is—but he leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.  

“Tell me,” he says, his breath ghosting over your ear, “what’s the real reason you wanted to meet me tonight? Because I don’t think it’s just for an interview.” 

You force yourself to not visibly react and jolt from the way he’s reached into your personal space so nonchalantly. “Then you’re mistaken. Because I have no other reason to be here if you won’t comply.”

“Oh yeah?” He chortles, glancing down at his fingers that barely skim along your thigh. If possible, his smile widens at the little startled gasp that falls from your pretty lips. “You want me to comply? Comply in what way?”

“H-hey,” you reach out to grip his fingers, effectively stopping their ascent. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

When he pulls back enough, he stares into your eyes. It almost scares you just how blue they are up close. You don’t think you’ve ever seen something as majestic as them. Though saying that aloud will feed into his ego. 

He tilts his head slightly, his smile turning wicked, like a predator playing with its prey. “What do you think I’m doing?” he counters, voice dropping to a husky whisper. The air between you crackles, and despite yourself, your grip on his fingers falters, his warmth sinking into your skin like a brand.  

“Satoru,” you begin, your voice shaking ever so slightly, “this is highly inappropriate.”  

“Inappropriate?” he echoes, coming just a little closer, his lips quirking in amusement. “I was just trying to get comfortable. Didn’t realize I’d make you so flustered.”  

Your breath catches, his words striking a chord you’re not ready to acknowledge. “You’re awfully bold for someone who’s supposed to be answering questions,” you manage, your voice sharp despite the fluttering in your stomach.

“And you’re awfully composed for someone who’s blushing so much,” he counters smoothly, his eyes flicking to your cheeks.

“I’m not blushing,” you snap, your tone defensive.

“Of course not,” he replies, his smirk returning. “Just like you weren’t staring earlier.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you glare at him, attempting to regain control of the situation. “I’m not flustered either,” you retort, though your trembling fingers and flushed cheeks tell a different story.  

He chuckles, low and intimate, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. “If you say so,” he murmurs, leaning back slightly but never taking his eyes off you. His fingers slip free from your grasp, but the ghost of their touch lingers, a reminder of just how easily he’s unraveled your composure.  

“You’re impossible,” you say, your tone sharp despite the unsteadiness in your chest.  

“And yet,” he counters, his grin softening into something more dangerous, “you’re still here.”  

You open your mouth to argue, to remind him that you’re here for work, but the words catch in your throat as he shifts again, this time resting his chin on his hand, his gaze trailing lazily over you.  

“You’re fascinating, you know that?” he says, almost to himself. “All buttoned up and professional, trying so hard to keep me in line. But I wonder…” His eyes flick to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “What would it take to make you unravel?”  

You stiffen, the heat rushing through your body making it harder to maintain your composure. “You’re crossing a line,” you warn, though your voice is weaker than you’d like.  

“Am I?” he asks, his tone teasing but his gaze piercing, as if daring you to tell him to stop. “Or are you just afraid of what might happen if I keep going?”

Your eyes dart all across his face, heart rapidly beating, so much so you think it’ll pop out of your chest. And yet, you slowly look back down at the hand that was just touching you. You feel yourself giving in the longer you stare. 

He follows your gaze, then moves back up to your face. “You like them, don’t you?”

You nod, despite yourself. 

“Knew it,” he smoothly quips back. “Do you want to feel them again? Maybe for longer?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation, and you can’t seem to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your mind races, torn between the desire to pull away and the undeniable pull he has on you. His words—his voice—are like a drug, wrapping around your thoughts, clouding your judgment.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, but the intensity there makes it harder to keep your composure. “You’re... bold,” you murmur, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Gojo’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “Bold? Maybe. But I’m just asking what you want.” His tone is smooth, low, coaxing. “No need to be shy about it. You’ve been looking, haven’t you?”

Your eyes flicker briefly to his hand again before locking back on his face. His question seems almost too straightforward, too easy, and yet you can’t seem to lie. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the truth lingering just beneath the surface. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice a mix of hesitation and curiosity.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and his gaze sharpens. “Maybe isn’t an answer.” He leans in slightly, just enough to make your pulse spike. “Tell me, do you want to feel them again? Really feel them this time?” His voice drops to a near whisper, each word deliberate, measured.

You hold your breath, your entire body humming with uncertainty, but you can’t bring yourself to say no. The desire building within you makes your thoughts scatter, your defenses slipping away the longer you look at him. “I... don’t know,” you reply, the words barely audible.

Gojo watches you closely, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. “Mind if I find out for myself then?”

------

There’s a lot of things that you’ve never done in life. 

Skydiving, bungee jumping, going backpacking, and making out with an A-list celebrity who’s name holds so much power. Well, that last one you can cross off, actually. 

You really don’t know how things have changed so quickly and abruptly. One minute you’re writing down the answers to his questions and the next he’s on top of you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever made out with someone for this long. But it feels surpassingly really good. Maybe it’s the way he’s keeping things slow, but purposeful. His hands run along the sides of your body, occasionally gripping your hips or rising high enough to brush along under your breasts. His lips are expertly working your own, leaving you gasping for air when he pulls away for a few seconds before diving in like a starving man. His tongue prods inside your mouth, dancing along yours in a sultry dance. Rubbing it and sucking on it a few times. 

You feel him smile against your lips when the arms around his neck bring him in closer. 

The kiss deepens, and with each second, you're losing yourself more in the heat of the moment.

His body presses against yours, warm and firm, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you can't tell where you end and he begins. Every breath, every shift of his lips, ignites something inside of you that you can't ignore.

His hands are everywhere now, roaming with an insistent hunger, fingertips brushing over your skin like he's savoring every inch. The low groans he releases when you kiss him back only fuel the fire building between you. He's so confident, so sure of what he wants, and you're too far gone to stop him. The logical part of your brain—that small voice telling you to slow down—is drowned out by the intoxicating thrill of being here, of being with him.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, pulling it free from where it's tucked in, fingers trailing underneath and over the hard planes of his chest. You feel him tense for a moment, as if considering pulling away, but then his hands tighten around you, pulling you even closer. His lips are everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your ears—each kiss leaving a trail of warmth that burns deeper into your skin.

You gasp when his teeth graze your collarbone, a quiet moan slipping out before you can stop it.

That sound, that reaction from you, seems to drive him even further. "God, you taste really fucking good," he mutters between kisses, his voice thick with desire, making you shiver beneath him. “Almost can’t get enough.”

The weight of his body on top of yours feels right, too right. There’s escaping it now, no turning back. His touch is electric and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to remember what it felt like to breathe without him. 

With one final, hard press against your lips, he pulls back. Shifting to his knees, looking down at your sprawled out figure beneath him, cheeks flushed a beautiful red, lips kiss-swollen, dilated pupils that match his. He grins and works at the rest of his buttons with one hand. “What happened to that pretty dress you were wearing earlier?”

“I…I changed.” You shakily mutter out, oblivious to the hint of rhetoric in his question. 

“Yeah, I see that. But why?”

“Because it was uncomfortable.”

You attempt to sit up and help him, but he promptly guides you back down. Freeing his shirt, revealing a chest that looks like it belongs to a Greek God. It’s lean, but muscular. It’s perfect, you think to yourself. And you really want to run your tongue along it. “Uncomfortable?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“That sucks. I would’ve liked to taste you in it.” He’s working on his belt now. “Maybe next time? Wear it again for me?”

“I don’t know if there’ll be a next time.”

He laughs out, tossing the leather to the side and unbuttoning his slacks. It’s only then do you realize the obvious tent in his pants. Your eyes widen momentarily, if it already looks this big…how will it look once he’s naked? “There’ll be a next time.”

He hovers over you again, his fingers deftly walking at the button of your jeans, lips sucking a small mark into the side of your neck. His other hand on your thigh slides up towards your hip, grabbing the hem of your shirt and slowly starts to pull it up. “Now I wonder,” he murmurs, his lips leaving your neck and moving back towards your ear, “if I asked, would I hear a ‘no’ come out of you?”

You’re shivering, breathing labored. Your hands are holding onto his shoulders to keep you grounded. “…no.”

He smiles, kissing your cheek in a gentle manner as his hands simultaneously unbutton your jeans and pull your shirt up. “So, I don’t suppose I’ll hear a ‘no’ for getting a small peek at you, will I?”

“No,” you breathe out, shoving your face into his neck. 

With a soft coo and ‘shh’, he’s removing your shirt from over your head. Then working on ridding you of your pants. “I hate jeans, makes things so much harder.”

Your legs tense up once they’re exposed to the cold air. He places his palms to your knees, carefully widening them enough to make space in between. “Have you ever been ate out?”

The question makes you feel more embarrassed—more vulnerable. 

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest. The question catches you off guard, making your skin prickle with both unease and something else you can’t quite name. You hesitantly shift, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I have,” you manage to say, your gaze avoiding his as your cheeks flush. 

“Good?” He licks at the inside of your knee. 

Your face scrunches, brows knitting in the middle. “Y-yeah, somewhat.”

“Liar,” he chides, placing small kisses to the spot he just licked, looking up at you. “Can I try?”

And how could you say no? “Yes.” You reply quietly, watching his grin disappear behind your heated center. Eyes fluttering when he breathes warm air against it. Jolting your hips up, to which he holds them down in a gentle grip. 

A wet spot has already formed on your panties. Unbeknownst to you, it boosts his ego. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.” He takes a taste through the fabric, silently simmering with enjoyment at the way you  squeal. Licking once more before nuzzling his nose against your heat. He inhales deeply, like it’s a sweet flower bathed in honey. Once he’s satisfied, the speed at which he sparingly removes your underwear startles you. 

But so does his mouth. 

“Ah..!”

Your hand instinctively grips his snowy locks. He makes a noise of approval, lips locking around your puffy clit and giving a soft, but also harsh suck. The air practically removes your lungs, back arching off the bed. Mouth hung open, grip tightening around his hair. After a few seconds, he moves down to your fluttering hole. 

His thumb and pointer finger spreading your folds to see you clenching around nothing. His cock throbs in his pants, begging to be released. Not yet, however. You first. His tongue swirls around your hole, licking up every single remnant of juice before digging in. Feeling out every ridge with his wet muscle, eyes closing in delight. His hands bring you closer by your hips, shoving your pussy in his face. The tip of his nose is rubbing against your abandoned clit in a teasing way that makes you hungry for me. 

All you can do is gasp and moan out, pathetically rubbing against his mouth before his hands grip you back down in place. Forcing you to feel every amount of pleasure he can give to you. And god, does it feel heavenly. Your free hand is holding onto the sheets below you, crumpling under your fingertips. 

Lewd sucking noises are coming from him. It’s obnoxious, just like when he was eating his food from earlier. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose. His tongue does a certain move that has you seeing stars, moving in and out at a rapid pace, then circling up to and around your clit before plunging back to your needy hole. 

His thumb decides to partake, rubbing heated circles into your clit. “Nnn..nrgh…w-wai—” The words slip from you, just like your orgasm does. You don’t even know you’ve done it before he’s lifting his face up, revealing the pearlescent traces of your release. He doesn’t bother wiping it, instead leaning down to your lips. You taste yourself. 

It’s a new taste, one you’re not entirely excited about, but the thrill of it all is making your clench. Shaky thighs being groped by his wandering hands before looking straight down at you. “I’m kind of jealous, you know?”

You’re too fucked out already, half-lidded eyes and mumbling back a simple “what?” to him. 

He tsks and easily slips two fingers in. Keeling in on yourself, grasping his forearm for support. “Hey, don’t get all dazy on me now. I’ve just started.”

“I-I’m not…” you protest back weakly, your effort to meet his stare goes awry when you notice him frustratedly pulling the button off and zipper down, yanking the slacks down. With it goes his boxers and you’re shown a thin and curved cock. An angry red mushroom tip. A couple of veins run up his shaft, zig-zagging. He’s already leaking, pumping himself a few times. 

A small groan leaves him, placing a hand beside your head. There’s a cinch between his white eyebrows, his face red and a tad bit sweaty. His lips are downturned slightly. After some heavy breathing, he looks back down at you. Silent seconds take over, nothing but the feel of your body against his, your short breathing, the way you look so ready but nervous at the same time. His face softens. “You can take it, yeah?” 

His gaze is intense, but there’s something warmer in his eyes now—something that feels almost reassuring, like he’s giving you a choice. The way he watches you carefully makes your heart race, unsure of whether it’s fear or anticipation that grips you. You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, your fingers nervously clutching his shoulders. 

The room feels charged with tension, every muscle in your body taut as you process his words. You can feel eyes stuck on you, oddly tender, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in time. 

"Yeah," you finally manage, your voice a little shaky but resolute. "I can take it." 

His eyes soften further, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips, as if reassured by your response. “Yeah, you can. You’re not a virgin, right?”

“No.”

“Mm,” he hums, nodding briefly before glancing down at his hardened cock, achingly close to where it needs to be. “How do you like it?”

You ponder his question in your mind quickly, not trying to drag out the moment any longer than it should be. “I…I like it hard. Fast, but slow too. I just want it to feel genuine, not like you’re only seeking your own pleasure.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his lip perks up, rubbing his tip along your cum soaked folds. He laughs softly under his breath. “Funny, that’s how I like to give it. Maybe we’re a match made in heaven.”

The humor of his you once found annoying—well, still annoying—feels strangely wholehearted. Like he’s trying to make you laugh and relax your tense muscles. And you do, he meets your look again. Bending down with a soft, saccharine kiss to your lips. The kiss feels more tender than before, like he’s trying to convey some hidden emotion to you behind it all. Or maybe it’s because he likes feeling you moan into his mouth as he’s slowly sliding his cock in. 

He mirrors your whimper, moaning out in relief. You feel so snug around him, so tight. “So warm.” 

For a minute, he doesn’t move, just basking in your heat. It feels like a warm blanket, he almost—almost—thinks he might cum right then and there with how good you feel. Satoru has had pussy before, good and not so good. “Fuck…oh fuck….y-you feel…really good…”

One thing that makes you the most weak…a vocal man in bed. You tighten around him, his whine gets a little higher-pitched. If this were a different situation, you think you would’ve poked fun at him for it. “Ngh…I—I am?”

“Mmmmnghm.” Is all he can reply back with before he’s moving back slowly, then back in. 

Your nails are now digging into the skin of his back, legs locked around his waist. “Be careful, mkay?” 

“W-what? Why?”

“Because I might cum faster with you holdin’—fuck—onto me like this.”

You can’t respond before he’s pulling out with a greater force and driving back into you with a harder one. The motion alone jolts your body up, causing your tits to jiggle from beneath their cups. You see the way he’s eying them hungrily, so you do him the favor of pulling them down beneath your breasts. They spill out and he’s immediately on them. Sucking and twirling a wet path around your perky nipple before showing the other breast the same excitement. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes…”

“A-ah! O-oh! Mmmngh!”

You almost feel baffled. He’s moaning more than you are. 

His mind is filled with the warmth of you. “Fit like…a f-fuckin’…ring….!” He grunts out, followed by a broken laughter. “I think I’m obsessed.”

He’s leaving marks on your chest, but you don’t protest or even feel them. You’re solely focused on the way his cock is hitting every single spot in your pussy that you don’t even know could be reached. Eyes rolling back, clinging him closer. His tip kisses your g-spot repetitively. His balls slap against your ass, the sound is skin against skin with squelching noises fill the room. It’s erotic, completely provocative. But he’s actually living up to his word, and it seems like he’s more worried about making you finish for the second time tonight than reaching the line himself. 

As the minutes go by, he’s moving harder. Barely giving you any time to breath from the force of it, but you’re not complaining. 

“S-sat…oru…!” You whine out, biting on his shoulder in an attempt to keep your noises lower. 

All that does is spur him on even more, his moans getting louder. The grip on your hip and tit tightening as he pounds his cock into your pussy with complete ease. “So wet, so wet, yeah…oh god, fuck…”

He’s mumbling at this point, but so are you. Each of you is blinded by the pleasure you feel, the passion that’s being emitted and the marks on your bodies that are carved in. His cock twitches, his pace relentless. 

The look he gives you feels manic, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving up and down, nostrils flaring in and out. Your hair is messy, laid out beneath you. Mouth parted and dirty sounds exiting it. “I wish I could take a picture right now.” He comments slowly, feeling your thighs tighten. “It feels like your pussy is vibrating,” he chuffs. “Close?”

“Ngh…y-yes!” 

“Yeah, me too, pretty. You first, r-right…behind….you….”

You don’t need to hear anything else. Finally letting go, a whimper-whine coming with it. When he looks down and sees the white ring form around his cock, he’s done for. Quickening his pace, gripping your hips with both hands. “Yeah…yeah…yeah…” 

He moans in a pornographic way, an eruption of warmth fills you, leaving you in more of a blissed out state. A mixture of cum slowly dribbles out your spent pussy, he fingers it back in all the while his cock is still lodged between your folds. Slumping down on top of you, his face on your shoulder. 

The sounds of heavy breathing are heard next, no words. Your chest heaves against his and your legs are like jelly. Slowly loosening their hold from around his waist and falling down to the bed on either side of him. 

The silence is almost deafening, punctuated only by the sounds of your labored breaths. His hands move to your back, tender yet firm, as though he's holding onto the moment. The heat between you both is palpable, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of whatever just transpired. His thumb traces slow, soothing circles against your skin, and you can feel his breath matching yours.

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, but everything feels hazy, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

Your body feels like it's still vibrating from the intensity, each breath a little deeper than the last as you struggle to regain some semblance of control. He shifts slightly above you, pressing against yours in the most familiar way, a warmth that you can't quite pull away from.

Slowly, you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his with an unspoken understanding. He regards you with a tenderness, something different than before. 

His fingers lightly brush against your cheek, as if reassuring you that the silence, though heavy, isn't uncomfortable. "Are you okay?" His voice is low, rough, carrying more than just the weight of the question.

You nod, your lips curling into a small, uncertain smile as you lean into his touch. "Yeah, are you?" You don't know exactly what you feel, but in this moment, it's enough to be with him like this.

“Better than okay,” he proudly huffs, carefully sliding out of you, keeping aware of your facial expressions. “Stay here.”

He’s climbing off of you and standing up from the bed. His knees buckle a little, forcing the limbs to walk over to a cabinet in the other corner. His dick flapping as it softens makes you chuckle. When he looks over, you hide it with a cough. 

You hear him look for some things through drawers, glancing back over, it’s a rag that he wets under the sink with warm water. He comes back over, carefully opening your legs back up and cleaning up the sticky mess between them. He works gently and slowly, making sure his movements aren’t too hard or fast for you. 

A thought suddenly hits you. 

“Hey…” you take your time sitting up once he’s down, seeing him lick something off the tip of his thumb. “When you said you were jealous earlier, what did you mean?”

“Oh, that?” He leisurely asks, grabbing the water bottle nearby and taking a sip before holding it to your mouth. You oblige. “I meant I was jealous that someone else got to you before I did.”

“O-oh…” he swipes at the water drop at the corner of your mouth. “But…why?”

“Why?” He repeats, chortling. A sudden soft peck is placed on your lips. “Because I’ve seen you interviewing all those people and I’ve  been waiting for my turn. And if you didn’t already notice, I think you’re a very beautiful woman. Inside and out.” He pokes lightly at your thigh. 

You blink, as he’s once again managed to throw you off the railings. 

“So next time don’t bring all…this,” he lazily gestures to your notebook, pencil, and recorder, rolling his eyes. “Just yourself, that cute dress, and a smile. I’ll pick you up for dinner down the street.”

a/n: hope u guys enjoyed this :) i haven't written a smut piece in a while so im not toooo confident about my work in this. anywho, reblogs and comments are apprecaited <3 thank you all!

[mariasont]

My Assistant - A.H

a/n: im a little addicted to bimbo reader rn if you can't tell lmao

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

warnings: none? fluff, reader climbing a fucking book shelf and for what

wc: 0.8k

"Oh, biscuits!" 

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but frankly you didn't care. You were on your tiptoes, chest flush against a bookshelf. Spencer had asked for a book for the case they were working, and naturally, it was nestled on the top shelf.

Balancing precariously on your stilettos, you stretched as tall as you possibly could, your fingers skimming the spine that was an inch too far away.

You shifted your weight back onto your heels, planting your hands firmly on your hips as you considered the stubborn object just out of reach. Sure, Spencer would grab the book without hesitation if asked, and he'd do so with a smile, but you really liked feeling useful.

For over a year, you've been the one at Mr. Hotchner's beck and call--fetching coffee, filing papers, and attending to, basically, his every need (not the one you wanted though). To others, it might seem trivial, but you really liked it. Well, you really liked him. 

At first, you were intimidated--how could you not? He had a reputation. You heard the stories--a man who never smiled, his ever-serious nature, and Penelope's not so family friendly description of his sternness was enough to unsettle anyone.

But you considered his reputed severity to just be part of his charm, he was far from the figure others painted him as. He was a good boss, always fair, never once raising his voice at you or demanding too much. In your eyes, he was perfect. You might be biased. 

The idea of climbing the shelf was a gamble, especially in these shoes, and it seemed almost certain to end with a less-than-elegant fall. Still, you couldn't resist the challenge and hoisted yourself up anyway, the shelf wobbling perilously as you did so. 

You pressed on, climbing higher, the wood's groans of protest falling on deaf ears. If this was how you were going down, so be it.

"Almost there," you muttered to yourself, straining every muscle in your arm, you were sure.

And just as you almost had the book, your balance faltered and then found new footing, the sensation of falling dissipating. In its place, you found your ass delicately perched, nearly seated on someone's broad shoulder.

You honestly didn't even need to look to know who it was--embarrassingly enough--you had basically memorized the feeling of Hotch's hands. Though they had never been wrapped around your legs like they were now. His grip was warm and strong, sparking a wave of electricity that rippled through your whole body.

"Got it!" you cried out, your victory fist pump nearly launching you from Hotch's shoulder. But his hold on your thighs clamped tighter, securing you in place. "Thanks, sir."

You angled your head downward, locking gazes with Hotch--his eyes a rich blend of ember and molten chocolate that you really liked looking at.

His eyebrows were arched in a silent question on his well-defined face as if he really couldn't believe what you were doing. 

"Careful," Hotch murmured, his hands lowering you to the ground. There was a fleeting brush against your ass, surely accidental, yet it sparked a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. "In the future, just ask. I wouldn't want you hurt over something as trivial as a book."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, sir. I'm like, practically a pro at rock climbing when I'm not here." you said, letting out a bubbly giggle.

He regarded you with a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, clearly not convinced.

"Okay, not really, but wouldn't that be cool?"

"Well, rock climber or not, let's keep those feet on the ground, please," Hotch remarked, the slightest quirk of his mouth suggesting a suppressed smile. "It's less of a fall from there."

"Sure thing, sir!" you beamed, popping off a silly salute, noting his struggle not to roll his eyes. "But I did get the book, so it all worked out in the end, right?"

With a gentle nudge on your lower back, Hotch directed you towards the conference room.

"Yes, it did, but for future reference, Spencer's height makes him more capable of reaching those books himself."

You couldn't help the blush that colored your face, and you managed a flustered smile.

"Well, I mean, it is what I get paid to do, sir."

"No, you get paid to do my bidding, not Spencer's," he teases, giving a gentle squeeze to your side.

Your laughter rang out, a bit too high, a bit too bright, as his touch sent a delightful vertigo spiraling through you. 

"Well, yeah, okay, that's fair. But it's been pretty light on the to-do list from you today."

"And you're complaining about that?"

With the conference room in sight, you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key.

A rare laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt your knees buckle, you were sure you could have melted into a puddle right there and then. It was such a beautiful sound, and you desperately wanted to become familiar with it.

Spencer emerged from the conference room, his eyes landing on the book in your hands. "Is that The Selfish Gene?"

Hotch took the book from you, handing it to Spencer with a firm look. "Reid, I'd appreciate it if you didn't recruit my assistant for your library runs."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[bubbleddisasters]

I’m bored so DORM SET UP HEADCANONS!

———-

Heartstabyl:

-With the stairs constantly moving, most second and third years have somewhat memorized the patterns, yet never tell the first years.

It’s like a right of passage to figure it out for yourself.

-Similarly to how each of the other dorms has their special little extra area (Ex: Pomfieores Hidden Lab, Savannaclaws Colosseum etc) Heartstabyl has a literal courtroom that goes often unused, but sometimes if Drama or Arguments gets too much, they will have a court session to debate it, or just joke debates.

-Due to it nearly breaching capacity, the third years do not have their own dorms, but share with one other student, of their choice if mutual or random otherwise. Trey and Cater share a room, which has been jokily dubbed the Leprechaun room. (Clover suit with green hair and goldenish eyes + Ginger with soul sucking bright green eyes)

-There is a confiscation room that only Trey and Riddle are SUPPOSED to have access to. Unfortunately for them, Che’nya does exist and can be bribed into robbery with (good) cheese, (good) cheesecake, or cool trinkets as long as the confiscated item isn’t overly dangerous or too illegal.

-Ace and Deuce’s room is known for being the loudest and has received an unorthodox amount of noise complaints.

-Some students make the hedgehogs outfits and little hats.

____________

Savannaclaw:

——

-As it’s literally made of ROCK, there are many incidents and injuries from running into walls or tripping.

-If food goes missing, their is actually war fare and it is taken personally, but Ruggie has managed to escape suspicion for his entire stay so far.

-Not a goddamn vegetable in sight, Jack has a stash of them and is so far one of three students to do so.

-Dumbest dorm in the club with the highest drop out (usually for pursing a sports scholarship at another school) , expulsion and injury rates.

-Due to fights, sports and literal brain damage from being hit in the head with a discus one too many times, the dorm members are often at the nurses office.

-Sometimes gets ABO jokes from (mostly) Ignihyde students, and has literally no clue what they’re talking about unless directly explained. Jack didn’t say anything to the majority of the school for about a week after Ortho explained it to him.

-From what we see in Leonas Room atleast, all the windows are glassless, so some students will straight up jump out the windows or fall through them on the regular.

-There actually IS a vice housewarden, atleast on paper, since it was required, but nobody knows who it is, not even the vice themselves.

Leona picked a student from his dorms name at random, and Crowley never checked in with the student, and has been under the assumption they’re constantly busy or just neglectful thanks to Leona gaslighting.

The only thing he has told Savannaclaw is that he can confirm it’s not Ruggie, since he didn’t know he existed at the time.

-Rook has crawled through Leonas window ATLEAST ONCE to bother him, and after that he put up drapes so he had a better chance of hearing him coming.

___________

Octavinelle:

_____

-ALL the drama and ALL the blackmail. Literally a dorm of Regina George level dramatics. Pomefiore has nothing on them.

-Gaslighting and Manipulation extraordinares

-As Ursula herself is based on a Drag Queen (Divine), I imagine they have Drag Nights at the lounge, and they’re extremely popular.

-Alot of the non-mer students make jokes about drowning if the barrier ever gets removing, and as most of the mers likely blush blue instead of pink/red, usually many first year humans think their literally choking/ can’t breath for a hot sec.

Also alot of strange incidents and firsts for them, like finding out your roommate is bioluminescent.

-24/7 Elevator music in the lounge, so it drives them absolutely INSANE if played around the dorms too.

-The music was never actually turned off during Azuls OB, as Jade, Floyd or Azul himself probably had the key to the audio room, or was already locked into the bluetooth, so everyone was losing their shit whilst spa music was playing in the background. Sort of like that one Markaplier quote:

“If purple guy is the creator, then what does it all mean- CAN WE CUT THE CASUAL BONGOS?!!”

-I KNOW we see the beds aren’t this way from the Octatrios beds but I hate the basic ass design of Octavinelles actual inner dorm, so y’know what? Clamshell and/or Oyster beds that can open and close like the ones Ariel and her sisters have in the movies.

I’m also changing the color scheme because where the fuck dId they get MAJORITY WHITE AHD LIGHT FUCKING LAVENDER FROM?? URSULAS COLORS ARE BLACK, SILVER/PEARL AND PLUM??

So yea fuck you, Plum, Pearl/Silver, Black, Blue and dark teal color schemes with alot of corals, underwater cove and ocean themed furniture.

-If the dorm were to ever run out of transformation potions, things would get wild real quick.

-They have a pool that is basically just an aquarium you can swim in. Floyd was banned for a month once for trying to drown someone. (Jade was infact not only an accomplice, but the one who gave Floyd the idea in the first place, and immediately threw Floyd under the bus when Azul caught them)

-Azul has a secret private pool hidden behind a door wall thing.

-Jade has a Room of Shrooms that is locked off to the general students.

-Many of the students learn serving tricks to get extra tips.

-Will spitefully bring someone who came laters order first if you’re being a pain. Repeatedly if you really earned it.

-A student once brought heelies, and Floyd immediately jumped on the idea. So yes, some students will heelie over to your table for the sake of “convenience”

______

Scarabia:

—-

-Introverts: Welcome to hell.

-As another dorm with open windows, there are some falling issues.

-Jamil does that mom thing where internally he’s like “Nobody helps me in this fucking house” or will passively aggressively say something like “Well if you want to do this more often, maybe you could start helping out.” but when the dorm students actually offer to help 9 times out of 10 he’s like “absolutely not you’ll mess it up.”

-Schemers canonically but both negatively and positively. Like would say the most sweet and positive plans like their planning a mutiny.

-Like that one “If Antinious was actually a sweet guy” remix of Hold Him Down from Epic :

“Haven’t you noticed who’s missing? Don’t you know the prince is not around?

I heard today is Telemachus birthday, and I heard today he comes back to town so-

I say we gather near the beaches, I say we wait til he arrives~

I’ll slip away while you all distract him so I can go PREPARE THE SURPRISES.

Hold him down…While I’m in the kitchen~

Hold Him down…While I start to bake~

Hold him down while we slowly bring his buddies his family and Favorite Cakeeee~

Cut it down….into tiny pieces

For the prince…Serve it Alamode…

When the prince wonders what his gift is…ONLY HIS MOTHER AND I WILL KNOWWWWW”

Yea thats Scarabia student planning core.

-Steal one thing from this dorm and you can probably feed a family of four for a month.

-You can get a medical pass to be exempt from being in the dorm during the day if you’re sensitive to heat.

-Not all the students actually like the parties, but participate in them for the free food regardless.

-Its concerningly easy to lockpick most of the treasuries, but nobody has done it sheerly because they would feel bad if Kalim still forgave them.

-Its common for first years unused to the heat to straight up pass out before even making it to the dorm since from the map, its a concerningly long walk, so they had to install a mini secondary teleporter sheerly to avoid constant heat stroke.

_______

Pomfieore

——

-Smells like a Sephora and Bath and Body Works with a side of Chanel Perfume

-Many of them are very invested in celebrity drama.

-There is what has been nicknamed “The Garden of Death”, which is a small garden in the back of Pomfieore containing many poisonous plants used to create, and this may come as a surprise, poisons.

-Second highest drop out rate, mostly due to struggles with pursuing a budding career in the entertainment and/or artisic industry and balancing school aswell.

Vil usually does try to dissuade them, but unfortunately it is a good point that he was, even if he did his career work on his own, still had the Schronheit name behind him, creating a high bias with many directors and companies, so he already had higher chances then the average budding actor since the start, and I can imagine alot of the students pointing that out if they didn’t have the same.

-Some students, when they think Vil is not looking, will sit on the throne as a joke.

-The amount of makeup and mirrors in this dorm is crazy.

-Epel has, on more than one occasion, jumped out of windows to escape Vil/Rook, so 80% of the common area windows are locked.

-The walls and carpets in the main areas actually have very thin sheets on them to prevent makeup stains.

-As one of the chonkiest dorms, both in length and width, walking around can be hell if you’re in a rush. So many stairs, so little time.

-The Secret Lab has a Emperor’s New Groove like lever system that only the dorm students know which is which, but sometimes mistakes are made.

_____________

Ignihyde:

——

-When I say you can HEAR the electricity moving through the wires EVERYWHERE.

-Actually blinding to walk into at night due to the amount of screens.

-The kitchen is actually souped up and super clean because it’s nearly never used.

-They have Streaming Parties whenever a new season of a well liked anime or show among the students comes out, and on very rare occasions, Vocaloid Raves when a new album comes out.

These are the ONLY parties Idia attends and actually assists in the setup of, so you know it’s absolutely wild. Its a unanimous agreement that nobody is allowed to tell any other dorms about it (Ramshackle excluded)

-Ortho is the world’s nicest hall monitor at night when he’s bored and Idias actually asleep for once, but it can give students whatever the equivalent of FNAF is flashbacks.

-It’s a dorm joke to say “I’m tired, i’m heading home to Hell” or “I’ve got to catch the Ferry to the Underworld, see ya later”

-The projects the students are cooking up in this dorm makes Elon Musk look like a toy maker.

-These motherfuckers are also nocturnal sometimes. The main room is more active at night then during the day.

-They have a constant cat visitor that they’ve yet to realize or find out is Che’nya in a cat form. Trey once noticed Idia walking to a vending machine with a purple and pink cat on his shoulder and simply aggressively sighed.

-The Cat is lowkey pampered, and it actually started when Che’nya was making a getaway and accidentally ran into Ignihyde in his secondary form.

-Least Magic using dorm. Literally that one meme where it’s a few characters using normal weapons and then it’s a character from the same series with a gun. Ignihyde is that character.

The Genya of the NRC dorms.

________

Diasomnia:

——

-Will practically go into nuclear reactor evacuation if Lilia manages to get into the kitchen.

-They have an entire armory of everything but firearms. However there is a bazooka that Lilia donated for comedical reasons.

-Nearly everyone in the dorm despises Sebek for a multitude of reasons. It’s unfortunate but by god is it true. He is mostly unaware of this and the fact they were near ready to throw a party when he started hanging around Ramshackle more.

However, The only thing keeping Sebek from being literally mass jumped is the fact they don’t want to risk pissing off Lilia or Malleus and thats about it.

-Very Pointy furniture. Everything is VERY POINTY. Poke at your own risk.

-When leaving their room at night, their constantly on guard because of Lilias jumpscaring streak.

-The bridge is the worst thing ever if you have a fear of heights as it’s extremely cracky and thin.

-Some students genuinely think Silver is dead when they find him in random spots asleep.

-Lilia can turn into a bat and you cannot convince me otherwise, therefore alot of the students will eye bats on the ceiling with suspicion trying to see if A: Lilias among them. Or B: If they’ll snitch to Lilia if they’re doing something they shouldn’t.

-Sometimes they’ll polish the gargoyles and grotesques for Malleus.

_____

Ramshackle:

_______

-Yuu/MC has a string of Polaroid photos taken with the Ghost Camera in their room.

-Creakiest couch known to man, and everything within the dorm has some scorch or scratch marks from Grim Zoomies.

-The ghosts become cool Great Uncles, and Knit like crazy during october, since they can’t really touch things afterwards, so MC ends up with a pile of blankets, sweaters, scarves, hats and more.

-They also tell MC the tea with the other school ghosts.

-Skully actually haunts Ramshackle, but the secret area below it, which used to be the main dorm, but nobody dares go into the basement, so nobody really knows about it anymore. If MC were to find it, he would be BEYOND thrilled.

-Everytime a new idiot is initiated into the first year squad, they usually end up with their own “room”, since Ramshackle has way too many empty ones anyway.

-Originally Ace and Deuce just shared one since most of the rooms were broken down and they weren’t taking chances, plus there was only one next to MC and it would feel weird if they were an entire dorm apart.

-This came in useful during Book 5 because alot of their stuff was already kinda just…there anyway.

-Jack just uses his room for Cacti. Thats really it, since the last time he tried to store weights in there, it didn’t end well.

-Epels is excess Apple Storage and a Vil-Free Safe zone, which is often raided by the rest but mostly Grim since Apples.

-Orthos is just a charging port and some movies and games. It does look very strange compared to the rest with all the near SCI-FI theme going on.

-Sebeks is just more of a reading and training room now then anything else, and there are swords in there that Yuu/MC is permitted to use for self defense.

But it used to be, for awhile, jokily named the Room of Shame, because Ace consistently managed to trick him into going in and would lock the door when he made one too many human discriminative comments and wasn’t allowed out until he apologized.

-Ramshackles outer doors and windows actually use a super old enchanted lock with only 5 keys in existence (Yuu’s and the 4 extra you can give in the guest room) , so its unable to lockpick, to Rooks dismay, he’s banished to only looking through the windows

-Unfortunately, Ace did get his grubby little hands on one of the key’s at some point, so he is a constant B&Er of Ramshackle (truly best friend core) and often drags Deuce with him.

-Ramshackle has a themed mess of items, as many are gifts from the other dorms, a Kettle from Ramshackle, Rug from Savannaclaw, “Accidentally over ordered extras” of chairs and a table from Octavinelle, Silks and Culinary equipment from Scarabia, etc etc.

-Sebek did fall through the floor once because he was stomping around like he was kinda used to in Diasomnia, and overestimated the durability of Ramshackles Floors.

-This happened multiple times to Floyd aswell during their occupation of Ramshackle in Book 3.

-A ton of random trinkets from Malleus exist within the dorm, some found, some not.

-Lilia will sometimes follow Malleus and MC on their midnight walks as a bat, and Grim once tried to fight him, telling MC a random bat he saw on the porch was being fishy.

_______

I’m tired so thats about it.

Enjoy

[freebreadmoon]

is there anyway you can write a cute, fluffy little story for Walker Scobell?

YES OMG I HAVENT BEEN ACTIVE BC I HAVE MIDTERMS

warnings: fluff, reader plays annabeth (i love leah dont come for me), no use of y/n, reader and walker aren’t dating but are obvi crushing

requests are open!!

You and Walker were filming a buzzfeed puppy interview, sitting in the middle of the floor.

Walker sat with his legs crisscrossed, smiling wide at the brown spotted dog that nuzzled his leg. “Is it on? Oh, hi, I’m Walker Scobell, and I play Percy Jackson.”

“Hi,” you introduced yourself, “I play Annabeth Chase,” you picked up the fluffy fured black one that was by your foot, “and your watching buzzfeed!” You put a thumbs up at the camera, earning a laugh from the boy beside you.

“Wait I wanted to say it, I’m literally the main character—“

“But I’m the best character. Walker, you can say it at Vanity Fair.” He rolled his eyes at you, smiling slightly.

“Okay, moving on! um…what’s the question? What was your favorite scene to film…um…oh thats a hard one. I’m gonna say…either the fight with the Ares kids in capture the flag, or falling out of the arch. The harness thing was annoying to put on, but the other parts were fun.” Walker was only half paying attention, preoccupied by the dogs.

“I think the tunnel of love scene, or the one where Annabeth pushes Percy in the water, ‘cause I got to push Walker really hard.” You glanced at him, watching the smile curl onto his face.

“Yeah. We did like 15 takes of that because she kept laughing.” Walker laughed, shaking his head. “Actually, she laughed a lot. We had to retake lots of stuff ‘cause of her, especially the tunnel of love scene. The boat flipped and she wouldn’t stop laughing.” He shifted closer to you, messing with the puppy you’re holding.

“Oh! the next question…what’s your opinion on each other? Um…walker is the best blonde dude ever i think. like he’s literally my kid i swear, and he was honestly the best choice for percy. i think he’s the reason i even got to be annabeth, im really greatful for him. Aryan is super sweet and cool, he’s my best best friend, we do the stupidest things together, and I can’t imagine a world we aren’t honorary siblings.” You scratched behind a puppy’s ear, letting it lick you.

“Well I was just gonna say you’re awesome but…I guess I think we make a great team on-screen as well as off-screen. She’s a true friend. If it weren't for her, I don't know what I'd do, y'know? She’s like my very own real life Annabeth." He glanced up at you subtly, wanting to gauge your reaction, smiling in victory when he noticed the red tint to your cheeks.

“The…the next one says, how do you feel about fan support? is it overwhelming? Well, my answer is yes, sometimes. Especially with people who are really like into the book to the point where they hated the casting over looks.” You had started to speak a lot quieter as Walker drifted closer, trying to get the puppy off your lap.

“I don’t think much of it.” Walker shurgs. “Only really the edits that I see anyway, those are fun.” He smiles encouragingly at you , finally meeting your eyes.

“…Yeah. The edits.” You smile at him, referring to the ship edits. You’d talked about it in multiple interviews, and you had a favorites folder for them on Tiktok. You raised an eyebrow at Walker, who continued to move closer until his head was on your lap, giggling softly and starting pet his hair like you did the puppys fur.

“Okay, last question…have there been any memorable moments on set? Um…probably when i first met her. I just got the feeling she was gonna be Annabeth, she gave me this ‘what is he doing?’ Look, and it just clicked.” He stayed with his head on your lap, turning so his head is on your stomach when puppies come and attack him with licks.

“They think you’re one of them!” You push him off a little so the puppies can get to him. “And my answer…um…I think when Walker gave me the piece of banana that was in my hair in the show. He kinda just tied it in and left my set trailer, and it stuck. So if you guys wondered what the weird blue fabric in Annabeth’s hair was, it was not in fact a design choice, it was a Percy choice.” You turn so the camera can see the small braid in your hair with the bandanna piece at the end.

“And Percy’s got one too, if you look hard enough.” He lifts one of his feet, showing the vans he wore during filming, and the flimsy piece of bandanna tied through his top shoe hole. You shake your head, laughing at his insistence in staying with his head in your lap.

While you layed on his bed, you scrolled through your fyp, stopping when you see the familiar scene of you two in the buzzfeed room, with his head in your lap. Nodding your head to the song in the edit as you scrolled through the comments.

“IRL percabeth?” He questioned from beside you. You looked at him, not realizing he had started paying attention to you, jumping to get your phone from him.

“No, I’m commenting! And reposting!” He laughed, rolling away from you. You got off the bed behind him, giving up taking the phone and blinking when he simply commented ‘real’.

“Well, so much for ‘it’ll blow over’.” You rolled your eyes, knowing the dating allegations will only get worse after this. Walker smiled triumphantly, waiting for the responses to come in.

taglist: @persassyxo @diorlorenzo @ilovewalkerscobell @paytonthereader @platypusbearrr @kissatelier @riptidelor

[gguk-n]

Transition (Charles Leclerc x Driver!Reader)

Part 2 of Replaced

Summary- After being kicked out of Ferrari rather rudely, Y/N must try to find a seat in the ever changing driver's market in the craziest year at Formula One till date.

{Reader's POV}

After leaving our home in Monaco, I spent the next couple of months regrouping with my team. I visited my family to clear my head; my mother always knew what to do in a difficult situation. She was the brains of the family. After a long and deep talk with her I realised what I wanted with the future. Number 1, I wanted to race in Formula One until I was 60. Number 2, I wanted a team that loved, valued and respected me as their driver. Number 3, last but not the least, I wanted to be paid more than what Ferrari was paying me.

Every team on the grid was open for picking except McLaren. Mercedes was losing their star driver, RedBull had to negotiate with Checo; the two teams I was eyeing right now. If I knew Horner and if I played my cards right, having a female driver on his team would change the dynamic and bring more spot light on the team. If Toto signed me, he would be replacing one iconic person with another; enough to make headlines.

The first race of the season hurt, I couldn't believe the next 24 races would be my last time in red, I couldn't fake the smiles. It hurt every time I saw Charles. We met for the first time since I left a day before Bahrain's media day. He looked as handsome as ever but his eyes held this deep seated sadness, you could see it. "Been a while" Charles almost whispered when our eyes met in the hotel. "It has, I've missed you" I replied. "I've missed you too" he almost cried out wrapping me in his arms. "The last few months were torture. You'll come home now, right?" he asked still holding me in his embrace. "Charles" I began, he pulled away, tears visible in his eyes, "I'll come back soon, mon tout. I need time" I mumbled. "How long will that be, mon cherie?" he asked. I wiped the tear that slipped out of his eyes, "The day I sign a team, I'll move back. I'll know my future and I'll finally be able to look at you without jealousy" I said. "OK" he nodded, kissing me for the first time since we met. "Je vous aime" he stated. "Je t'aime aussi" I replied back.

I finished P2 in the first race of the season. All the media and commentary were going crazy. It felt nice to finish P2. Max was fun to talk to post race during the cool down. He was always the more level headed one in our friendship. Max asked me about how things were between the two off us away from the prying eyes of the media who had already started to announce an imminent break up between the two of us. "He's been shit, since you left" Max spoke. "I'm sorry" I apologised. "oh no, don't apologise to me. I was just stating the obvious." he shook his head. "I heard you're talking to Horner" he commented. "Yeah, we're discussing but like I'm discussing with a lot of teams, honestly." I replied. "As you should, I think it would be fun....if we were team mates." he replied thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind terrorising Charles in a RedBull" I laughed.

The next few races were quite memorable with me on the podium for every race. It was a proud feeling, a bitter sweet one though. Charles only saw me at race weekends but that was the nature of the sport, didn't mean that I didn't love him any less.

The talks with RedBull fell through since I wasn't able to bring in the kind of sponsors they wanted and the dream of driving in one too. Mercedes was very iffy, where Toto wanted to bring a new driver on the grid; while I was still effectively seatless. But Susie was a smart woman, she knew having me on the team after the void Lewis would leave, would do wonders since I was the first and only female driver on the grid in a really long time and having me would bring the similar kind of publicity, if not the same.

After months of back and forth, and negotiating; Toto agreed bringing a junior driver in too early wouldn't benefit anyone. I would race for Mercedes for the next 2 years and if the options opened up I didn't mind letting Toto have his little fantasy. My announcement would happen in Monza, the home of the tifosi. The perfect time and place. I had moved back in with Charles after the contract was signed. I did not tell him that I planned to announce it in Monza. Charles was just happy to have me back.

Mercedes made the announcement just before free practise, effectively ruining any plans the media had, it played in my favour and I had a ball. "You love drama don't you" Charles laughed. "What can I say? I have a knack for the theatrics" I laughed along. "Quoting Chandler are we?" Charles muttered kissing me as he said it. The days leading up to the race were crazy. As both me and Charles got ready to get into the car he said, "Can't wait to see you in black. You look hotter in black anyways" "Hope to be your teammate again in the future" I nodded as we put our helmets on. Charles won the team's home race. I missed the podium by a smidge, but knowing my future was secure didn't make the loss saddening.

As Charles got down from the podium to meet me, Arthur handed him something. "I thought, whether I finish podium or not I'd ask you this but as a 2 time Monza winner sounds so much cooler." he rambled. "What are you talking about Charles?" I questioned. He got down on one knee, the crowd went silent. "Will you Y/N Y/L/N do the honour of making me your husband?" he asked. I had tears in my eyes, "Yes" I nodded. Charles slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me. I could taste the champagne on his lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss while pulling his hair. We pulled away to a lot of hooting and screaming. "Wow" Charles exclaimed. "That's the hottest thing you've done till date, I think I'm hard" he said. "I'm staking my claim." I stated. "I'm always yours, now and forever" he replied. "Can't believe we'll have two Leclerc's on the grid next year." I commented. "Can't wait to race you Mrs Leclerc" he said kissing me again.

[geneviveleocardius]

ekko and his way of loving you

hehe

ekko is a passionate, vibrant lover, and when he’s head over heels for you, there’s no hiding it. his love for you radiates in everything he does—he’s attentive, playful, and fiercely protective in ways that make you feel like the center of his world.

ekko’s love is electric and full of energy, but also deeply intentional. he thrives on showing you how much you mean to him in both big and small ways. whether he’s hyping you up when you’re out or pulling you close when it’s just the two of you, his love feels like a constant pulse of excitement and devotion.

ekko’s kisses are as dynamic as his personality. he’s big on playful, teasing kisses that turn into something deeper and more passionate. he loves sneaking kisses when you least expect it—on your temple, your jawline, or even the tip of your nose when he’s feeling cheeky. when it’s serious, though, his kisses are slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the taste of your lips.

physical touch and words of affirmation are his main love languages. he’s always finding reasons to touch you—a hand on your back, brushing hair out of your face, or pulling you onto his lap just to hold you close. his words are genuine and full of fire; he’ll hype you up like no one else, calling you his queen, his world, his everything.

ekko isn’t possessive, but he likes to make it clear that you’re his. he’ll casually wrap an arm around your waist when you’re out, plant a kiss on your forehead in front of others, or call you “baby” in that smooth, confident tone that leaves no room for doubt.

ekko doesn’t get jealous easily, but when he does, it’s a quiet intensity. he won’t start a scene, but his arm around you might get a little tighter, or his smile will turn into a sharper smirk. later, he’ll make sure you know exactly how much he wants you with a lingering kiss or whispered words that leave you weak in the knees.

ekko’s favorite place to rest his hands is on your hips. he loves the way they feel under his palms and how easy it is to pull you closer to him. he’s also a sucker for holding your face when he’s kissing you, cradling your jaw with his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

your smile has him absolutely undone. it’s the first thing that caught his attention, and it’s what keeps him coming back for more. he’ll do just about anything to make you laugh or grin, and when you do, he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

ekko is playful by nature, so he’s always finding ways to make you laugh. whether it’s playfully poking your sides, challenging you to a dance-off, or pulling ridiculous faces to lighten the mood, he loves seeing you happy.

he’s fiercely protective of you, not in an overbearing way but in a “ride-or-die” way. if anyone so much as disrespects you, he’s quick to step in with that sharp tongue of his and a cool, dangerous smile that makes people think twice.

ekko’s love is vibrant, youthful, and full of life—it feels like a whirlwind of energy, passion, and loyalty that leaves no doubt in your mind that you’re his and he’s yours.

[gyudons]

During the last practice in Pittsburgh before the holiday break, Sidney Crosby brought cookies to the rink along with, of course, some banana bread – “his mom’s famous recipe,” Marcus Pettersson said with a grin. “He’s got a little addiction,” Kris Letang added.

Crosby bakes for the group periodically throughout the season, one of many thoughtful gestures the Penguins captain makes for his teammates – impressive from anyone, much less someone of his stature. During this season of giving, Pettersson and Rickard Rakell had been marveling at the captain’s generous nature that very day.

“Me and Raks were actually just joking around about how good he is with giving gifts,” Pettersson said. “I don't know if he has a thought behind it about when he retires, that he is expecting a lot of gifts back from everybody (laughs). But I don't think so. I think he’s just a great guy.”

Crosby goes above and beyond to mark occasions for the people around him, whether it’s a holiday, a career achievement, or simply a memorable experience. His capacity to do all of that, in addition to continuing to be an elite talent at age 36 and an unparalleled leader, is remarkable.

Evgeni Malkin, Crosby’s fellow franchise center and teammate for nearly two decades, said, “It’s almost like he’s the perfect player, perfect friend. Some guys win just one Stanley Cup, they think they’re like a god, you know? But Sid, never. You see everybody wants to play here, first of all, it’s because of Sid.”

Letang joked that he wasn’t going to use the word perfect, “because there’s nothing perfect,” he laughed. “But he always makes sure everybody is taken care of, and they’re having a good time. He loves to get to know people. For me, what he did for my dad last year… the banana bread stuff… it’s just a way of looking at things, you never want to leave some people behind. There’s not a specific gesture that comes to mind, because it’s such a daily thing for him.”

Tyson Barrie, was touched by something the captain did for his agent, Bayne Pettinger, who had previously worked for Team Canada. Pettinger had been sitting with Crosby at another one of those BioSteel camps, which was in Montreal. At the time, Pettinger had recently come out as gay and mentioned in passing to Crosby how he thought the Pride warmup jerseys were so cool.

“Bayner FaceTimed me a couple months later, almost in tears,” Barrie said. “The concierge at his condo called him and was like hey, there’s a big package here for you, can you come down and grab it? Turns out Sid had gotten a Pride jersey framed for Bayner. He wrote, ‘Bayner, proud of you.’ That’s the kind of guy he is. You'll never hear about any of this stuff. He's just always doing stuff under the radar. He’s just a special guy.”

merry christmas! here’s a sweet little story about canadian hockey star sidney crosby