#hes like half flirting half an awkward mess

[matt-murdockk]

I can fix him (no really I can)

They shake their heads saying, "God help her" When I tell them he's my man But your good Lord doesn't need to lift a finger I can fix him, no, really I can And only I can

college!matt murdock x fem!reader | fluff— a whole lotta fluff | sorta friends to lovers? | fic from reader's pov, then a pov switch to third person

Matt Murdock famously doesn't stick around for longer than a month, tops. You were determined to change that.

Pre-law golden boy with an aura that exudes confidence, Matt was the person everyone either wanted to be, or wanted to be with. He knew that, and his faux modesty only made it worse for the masses desperate to get a piece of him. Am I one of—? Please, I'd fuck a tree before I fuck Matt Murdock. Not that I hate him or anything. I'm just not on the bed anyone with abs and a personality bandwagon. Good for him for all that attention he's getting, but my ties with him start and end in class. He's just a classmate.

Okay, maybe not just a classmate.

We share notes. Sometimes. Only when he forgets his, which is rare, because apparently being hot and capable is a combo this man insists on wielding like a goddamn weapon. Once, he offered to buy me coffee as a thank you and I made the mistake of saying yes. We ended up talking for an hour. One hour. And somehow I left that conversation knowing his middle name, his favourite diner his dad used to take him to, and exactly what kind of espresso he drinks before a big exam.

It was fine. It’s fine. People have conversations all the time. I’m not spiraling.

We became friends. Real ones. That was the problem.

Because here’s the thing: Matt Murdock is a disaster.

Not on paper. No— on paper, he’s perfect. He’s top of the class, charming when he wants to be, a little cocky, but in a way that makes you laugh instead of wanting to push him down the stairs.

But spend enough time around him and you start to notice things.

Like how he never lets anyone get close. Like how he flirts with half the campus but every single one of his flings ends in vague silence and awkward glances the next day. Like how he knows exactly how to listen to someone but refuses to let anyone hear him.

It’s not a red flag. It’s a goddamn red parade.

So of course I did what any completely normal person with an ounce of self-preservation would do.

I caught feelings for that bastard.

Of course, it's the emotionally unavailable mess with enough red flags to decorate a fucking carnival that catches my attention. Just my goddamn luck.

And, in a moment of sheer lunacy, decided I could fix him.

No really, I could. Just needed time. And patience. And maybe a crowbar for emotional extraction. Whatever. I’ve done harder things. If I can survive Mr Vasquez's class, I can survive whatever this is.

I just have to make sure he never finds out I like him. And also make him like me back. And maybe heal years of trust issues in the process.

Easy, right?

Well, it wasn’t.

Because what started as some deranged attempt to break into the fortress that is Matt Murdock turned into something else entirely. We became friends. Real friends. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about fixing him and started being about just… being there.

And God help me, I think he needed that more than anything.

It wasn’t just me and Matt anymore, either. Foggy came into the picture fast— bright-eyed, effortlessly funny, with an incredible ability to sniff out bullshit in under five seconds. The three of us? Unstoppable. Study sessions, lunch breaks, late-night coffee runs before an exam. They were my people.

So yeah. The plan backfired. Spectacularly. But I had friends for life now, so I couldn’t exactly call it a failure.

It didn’t mean it stopped hurting, though.

Matt’s life… it wasn’t easy. I could see it in the way he shut down when he was overwhelmed, how he buried himself in work instead of letting anyone in. Some nights he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, but he’d still crack a joke just to make Foggy laugh.

And when he was with other women— when he flirted like it was a language only he spoke— it hurt. Even when I told myself I didn’t have a right to feel that way. He wasn’t mine. I made sure of that.

I’d smile through it. Tease him, even. Make some stupid quip about his tragic taste in women and let the ache settle where no one could see it.

Except Foggy noticed.

He always does.

One afternoon— study session turned snack break in our usual booth— Foggy caught me staring too long. Matt was across the room talking to a girl from one of our electives, charming smile and all.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging me with his elbow.

I blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure? Because that definitely wasn’t your ‘fine’ face. That was your ‘I’m swallowing feelings and pretending to be emotionally stable’ face.”

I sighed, resting my chin on my palm. “He’s not doing anything wrong.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I turned to him. “Foggy, I’m not gonna pull a dramatic ‘what are we’ in the middle of a group project. Matt may be a lot of things, but you really cannot force him to be something he doesn’t want to be.”

Foggy frowned. “But do you think he doesn’t want—?”

“Matt would probably suck at relationships,” I said, more tired than bitter. “Like, actual long-term ones. He likes the chase, he likes the moment. And that’s fine. He’s allowed to live how he wants. I just… I’m happy being his friend. Genuinely. Give it time. I’ll get over it.”

Foggy was quiet for a second. “That was… wildly mature.”

“Yeah well, personal growth is a bitch.”

He grinned. “Still. If it helps, he’s not as smooth as he thinks.”

I snorted. “No, but he is absurdly pretty. That makes up for a lot.”

We let the topic die after that. I figured that was the end of it.

I didn’t know Matt had heard.

—————————————————————————————————

Third Person POV

Matt had only come back for his notebook.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He hadn’t meant to hear that.

But he had.

He stopped just shy of the hallway corner, heart thudding loud in his chest. The way her voice dropped when she said “I’ll get over it.”

The words hit harder than he expected.

She thought he’d be a bad boyfriend.

Worse— she didn’t even think he was worth trying.

And Matt knew— he knew— he hadn’t been great. He had a lot on his plate, a whole goddamn feast of mess, but he never once thought she saw him like that. Not undeserving.

She didn’t know he stayed up wondering what it’d feel like to kiss her. For real. Without laughing it off or playing it cool. She didn’t know how often his fingers hovered near hers and didn’t reach. How badly he wanted to.

But if she thought he wasn’t capable of it? Of loving her the way she deserved?

He had to change that.

Not just for her. For him. For the version of himself he wanted to be—the kind that could love someone, openly and fully, without messing it up.

“Jesus,” Foggy muttered when he saw Matt later that night. “You look like you saw a ghost. Or rather... felt a ghost? I don't know, man.”

“I heard something,” Matt said, collapsing onto his bed, voice low.

“Define ‘something.’”

“(Y/N) said I’d be a bad boyfriend.”

Foggy blinked. “Okay. Context?”

Matt dragged a hand over his face. “She was talking to you. In the booth. Earlier.”

Foggy raised his brows. “You, uh, you were there?”

“I forgot my notebook.”

Foggy held up his hands. “Alright, okay. First off— she didn’t say you’d be a bad boyfriend. She said you’d probably suck at steady relationships. Big difference.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, because you’ve never tried a steady relationship. Which is kind of the point.”

Matt groaned. “I need to fix this.”

Foggy stared. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to walk me through your version of fixing this.”

Matt sat up. “I’m gonna prove her wrong.”

Foggy blinked. “You’re gonna… ask her out?”

“No,” Matt said quickly. “I mean— yes. Eventually. But first I need to become the kind of guy she thinks could be a good boyfriend. You know. Change her mind.”

Foggy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jesus Christ. Just fuck already.”

Matt frowned. “What?”

Foggy threw his hands in the air. “You like her. She likes you. I have seen you two. Why do you think you want her to stay longer after we're done studying? Why do you think you linger? Why do you think you bring her coffee and save her a seat and remember her deadlines better than your own?”

Matt opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“She fell first, you fell harder,” Foggy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know the drill, man.”

Matt stared.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. My brother in Christ, you’re in love.”

Matt exhaled.

“…Shit.”

——————————————————————————————————

Matt didn’t sleep that night.

He lay awake, headphones in, a lecture playing that he didn’t hear, the words echoing over and over again in his head.

“She fell first.”

“You fell harder.”

He didn’t even realize when it happened. Somewhere between her snorting at his awful Latin puns and handing him half her sandwich because he forgot to eat again— he’d fallen. And now she thought he was incapable of loving her the way she deserved.

It felt like a punch to the chest.

But instead of wallowing, he decided to do something.

Starting now.

The next morning, Matt showed up to your apartment with coffee. Your exact order. No text beforehand. No heads-up.

You opened the door in pajama shorts and a hoodie, one sock on and a pen still tucked behind your ear.

“Matt?”

He held up the coffee like it was a peace offering. “You mentioned your 9 a.m. was with Vasquez today. I figured you’d need a hit of caffeine and a minor miracle.”

You blinked. “…That’s weirdly thoughtful of you.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working on that.”

And then he left. Just like that.

No flirting. No lingering.

Just… left.

You stared after him, cup in hand, completely thrown.

It didn’t stop there.

Matt started walking you to class. All the time.

Not just when you happened to be heading the same direction. On purpose.

He’d show up at your building with some excuse— “I needed air,” or “Foggy wasn’t ready yet”— and fall into step beside you like it was routine.

Then came the favors. Printing your notes when the Wi-Fi was down. Fixing the broken strap on your bag. Letting you drag him to that awful late-night diner when you were too wired to sleep.

You didn’t get it.

This wasn’t how Matt Murdock operated.

Matt Murdock flirted, ghosted, and moved on.

This? This was effort.

It was also torture.

Because the more he did it, the more you started to hope. Stupid, dangerous hope. Maybe he did like you. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided after all.

But every time you thought about asking, about saying something— he’d flash that same unreadable smile and change the subject.

So you kept your mouth shut. Kept watching. Waiting.

Hoping.

Meanwhile, Foggy was losing his mind.

“You can’t just— Matt, you cannot boyfriend her without telling her.”

Matt frowned, folding his arms. “I thought this was the part where I prove myself.”

“To who? To her? She already likes you. You’re not proving anything except that you’re allergic to communication.”

“I’m building a foundation.”

Foggy looked pained. “You’re building a bad sitcom plot. Just tell her.”

Matt hesitated. “She said she didn’t want that. She said she’d get over me.”

Foggy sighed so hard, his soul probably left his body.

“Matt. Listen to me. She said that because she didn’t think she could have you. You have ghosted every girl before her, remember?”

Matt winced. “Not every—”

“Every.”

“…Fair.”

Foggy ran a hand down his face. “You’re gonna lose her if you don’t speak up.”

Matt didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he knew it was true.

——————————————————————————————————

It started with Foggy texting you.

Which was already suspicious, because Foggy never texted first unless Matt was—

foggy: hey can you swing by the quad after class?

foggy: matt’s planning something

foggy: i’m scared :,)

Now, when someone like Foggy— sweet, unshakeable, usually-down-for-anything Foggy— is scared, you listen. You changed your route and headed toward the quad.

And promptly stopped dead in your tracks.

Because what the hell were you looking at.

Matt Murdock stood on a bench.

On a goddamn bench. In broad daylight. Holding what looked like a beat-up portable speaker above his head like he was channelling John Cusack in Say Anything.

Button-down rolled to the elbows. Hair tousled like it’d been run through about seven too many times. Foggy was standing off to the side looking like he was actively regretting every life decision that brought him here.

“Oh no,” you whispered. “Oh no.”

A group of students was already watching, phones half-raised. Matt didn’t seem to care.

You watched, frozen, as he raised a hand and cleared his throat. Actually cleared his throat. Like he was about to deliver a valedictorian speech. You saw Foggy mutter don’t do it, like a prayer.

Matt did it anyway.

“I, uh… I know this is weird,” he began, voice carrying over the quad, “but I have something to say. Something important.”

The crowd murmured. A few giggles. One guy yelled “Murdock, you proposing?” which earned a sharp shut up from someone else. Foggy, probably.

Matt ignored it. His face was dead serious. “There’s someone I’ve been an idiot about. Someone smart and stubborn and too good to waste time on someone like me. But she did anyway. She does. And if she’s here—” his head turned slightly “— I want her to know I’m sorry. And that I like her. A lot.”

You blinked.

Foggy made frantic eye contact with you from the sidelines and mouthed stop him.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Matt continued. “I was scared, okay? I thought I’d ruin it. Ruin her. But then I realized I’d rather screw up trying to be with her than let her go without even trying. So, (Y/N),” he called, voice way too confident for a man committing this level of social suicide. “This one’s for you.”

A soft click, followed by the unmistakable synthy intro of Truly Madly Deeply by Savage Garden.

Savage. Fucking. Garden.

You clapped a hand over your mouth.

Someone nearby went “What is happening?”

Matt? he looked hopeful.

And you— stupid, stunned, wildly endeared— were just about to take a step forward when—

Cue the sprinkler system turning on.

Every. Single. Sprinkler.

They sputtered, then blasted to life across the quad like a synchronized ambush. A collective scream rose as people scrambled away, books and phones held over heads.

Matt? Got hit square in the chest, earning a strained Jesus from him.

Foggy somewhere in the periphery muttering “I told him” like a man in mourning.

You? Soaked. Wide-eyed. Laughing.

You actually had to cover your mouth, you were laughing so hard.

Matt stepped down, water dripping from his sleeves. He looked around like he was being personally smitten by the gods. It was like the universe waited for maximum dramatic tension just to drop the punchline.

The song cut out with a strangled sputter as the speaker died a wet, heroic death. Students screamed. Matt cursed under his breath as he was immediately soaked. Foggy, who had clearly seen this coming, was already power-walking toward the nearest tree, muttering “I’m too pretty for this.”

You stood there in shock as water poured down on everyone.

And then— you burst out laughing.

You couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop it. You doubled over, drenched, laughing so hard it echoed louder than the chaos around you.

Matt stood on the bench, blinking water from his lashes, the speaker dangling uselessly from one hand. He looked like a wet, confused puppy. A hot wet confused puppy. Weird analogy. But still.

You pushed your hair from your eyes and walked over, completely soaked.

“This was your grand romantic gesture?” you asked between giggles.

He ran a hand down his face, sopping. “It was supposed to be better.”

You looked up at him, the pathetic speaker still crackling faintly in his grip. “It was absolutely ridiculous.”

A pause.

You smiled. “It was perfect.”

Foggy squelched up behind you both. “Okay, you’ve both had your romcom moment, can I go home now? My socks are... squishy.”

Matt turned to him, still trying to catch his breath. “Thanks for… whatever part you played in this.”

“I want that thank you in writing,” Foggy muttered. “And a refund for emotional distress.”

You turned back to Matt.

“Do I get to keep the boombox?”

He grinned. “It’s mostly water now. But sure.”

You took a slow step closer. “So… boyfriend material yet?”

He reached out— careful, gentle— and brushed a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “Getting there.”

And then you kissed him.

In the middle of the quad. Soaked to the bone. Surrounded by students who definitely started applauding and whistling, because of course they did.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, Foggy just shook his head.

“Seriously. I hate you both.”

You smiled at him. “Love you too, Fog.”

And Matt?

Well, he didn’t run.

Not this time.

a/n: alright so the fic took a detour from what i had originally planned, it was going to be angst, reader was going to be fwb with matt, and well it's a whole thing, a lot of changes happened but i didn't change the title because well i got attached. i know it doesn't really make sense now with how the story turned out, but i'm leaving it in the story anyway, hope you liked it!

[sixeyesonathiel]

RED STRING OF FATE m.list

— alternative universes, same lovestruck idiots.

a collection of love stories woven through time and fate, where every twist and turn leads you back to him—gojo satoru. from childhood bonds to fleeting encounters, soulmates to strangers crossing paths, each moment is tied together by an invisible thread. no matter the distance or detours, love always finds its way home, and satoru is the heart of it all.

♡ generally fluff + happy ending 𔓘 some gn / mostly fem reader-insert

♡ satoru gojo being obnoxiously in love with you <3

♡ different aus, same red string

codes. path = oneshot. routes = series. completed = navigated, ongoing = navigating. word count = miles. personal faves = stellar. fan favorite = landmark.

── .✦ FATE’S ITINERARY

♡₊ path #001 ⌇ free throws and figure drawings

⤷ satoru gojo is a basketball star, the campus menace, and undeniably the best-looking guy in any room—but he’s definitely not a model. so when you, a quiet, intense art student with nothing but a flyer, ask him to pose for a painting, he laughs and says no. but when you mention paying him? suddenly, he’s reconsidering—because easy money might just turn into something far more complicated. <– navigated, 22k miles. stellar, landmark.

♡₊ path #002 ⌇ roses bloom the prettiest in ruin

⤷ as the princess of a fallen monarchy, you were raised to uphold tradition, while satoru gojo, the son of the prime minister, was taught to rule. your families have always been at odds—yours clinging to the past, his shaping the future—but satoru has never cared for politics when it comes to you. despite the lines drawn by power, satoru’s never been one to follow the rules, and from the moment he met you, he knew your story wasn’t meant to end in polite distance. <– navigated, 8k miles. stellar.

♡₊ route #003 ⌇ love comes in small sizes

⤷ you and satoru have always been something—never labeled, never defined. from jujutsu high to stolen rooftop kisses, your bond is a tangled mess of healing hands, half-confessions, and his irritating habit of getting hurt just to keep your attention. but when pride and loss tear you apart, you walk away—until six years later, fate (and a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace) drags you back into his world. <– navigating, 19k miles. landmark.

♡₊ route #004 ⌇ a guide to ditching the world’s most persistent nerd!

⤷ gojo satoru has been the bane of your existence since kindergarten—rejecting your chocolates, choosing studying over playtime, and making you think he was boring. years later, he’s the smartest, richest, greenest green flag at your elite university, and when you're paired for a 60% project, you think you can coast—until he drags you back to work at every exclusive club. you flirt, he humors you; you push, he pulls, and suddenly, you're falling for him in a way you never expected. <– navigating, 41k miles.

♡₊ path #005 ⌇ love thy neighbor

⤷ you’ve known satoru gojo since childhood, raised in a neighborhood where your moms’ lawn wars were as fierce as their friendship, and your dads? best friends. every morning, it’s the same—banter over the fence, competitive watering, and a rivalry you didn’t know would grow into something so much more. from your first awkward exchange to stolen glances over the years, he's the one constant you never saw coming. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #006 ⌇ bake me up, buttercup

⤷ after a grueling gym session, satoru’s thumb lazily scrolls through his feed, only to pause on a reel of the most captivating pastry he’s ever seen. it’s not just the mouthwatering treats your making—it’s the way you smile at the camera, a quiet warmth that gets to him more than he cares to admit. despite his best efforts to stick to his diet, he can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to steal a taste of your sweetness, too. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #007 ⌇ dazzle me, darling

⤷ at school, you and satoru gojo are academic rivals—always competing for the top spot in every subject, exchanging snarky remarks, and trying to one-up each other at every turn. however, when satoru gets into trouble one fateful night, a mysterious magical girl swoops in to save him, leaving him utterly enchanted by her grace and power. what he doesn’t know is that the magical girl he's falling for is none other than you, the same person he can't stand in class. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #008 ⌇ behind the lens

⤷ satoru gojo is the biggest heartthrob of his small town, a high school golden boy with a secret crush on you—the sweetest model in the industry. when he finally gets scouted, he expects to be the bad boy to your nice girl, only to discover you’re a lot more dangerous than he ever imagined. now, caught in a whirlwind of photoshoots and blushing, he can't decide if he’s terrified or completely hooked. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #009 ⌇ name slips, heart skips

⤷ you walk into your favorite café, but today, something’s different. the new barista keeps misspelling your name on purpose, and it’s too adorable to ignore. the more you brush it off, the more you realize it might not be a mistake after all—he’s clearly up to something. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #010 ⌇ boardroom chemistry

⤷ you’ve always kept it professional, flexible, and discreet with your side gig as a fake girlfriend—until your newest client turns out to be none other than your unbearable CEO. now you’re stuck pretending to date the man you despise, all while trying not to let your growing attraction ruin everything. if only he’d stop being so damn charming, maybe you could keep it together. <– coming soon.

♡₊ path #011 ⌇ no one else needed to notice

you answered a quiet jujutsu forum post to escape a restless kyoto night. late-night messages with a stranger turned into playful banter and warm voice calls. his laugh became your tether, cutting through the monotony of sorcerer life. when he suggests meeting, it feels fragile but real. something steady sparks where you least expected it. <– navigated, 6.4k miles.

more destinations to be added.

tag list : @akeisryna @esotericsorrow @prettilyrisse @cherrymoon55 @linaaeatsfamilies @k0z3me

comment to be added on the tl xx. whole collection or specify what fic.

unreleased fics might be subject to change.

[alyakthedorklord]

Batman the Playboy

Justice League, not quite early days but before proper identity reveals, though everyone knows Batman knows theirs, bc he has Opinions™ and Constructive Criticisms™ on their secret-keeping.

The issue is brought up on random occasions. The most notable incident- the Justice League, including Batman, being Drunk for Bonding, (or hit with some kind of drug while out saving the world) and Batman, in a fit of paranoid good intentions because he CARES about these idiots, damnit, why must they be so careless, starts insulting them.

Batman, leaning heavily on the table: “GL, you’re a mess, I don’t even know where to start with you. And Arrow! Your goatee is so distinctive, it’s a wonder no one has called you out on it-“

Green Arrow, also drunk: “Alright, there’s no need to insult my awesome facial hair-”

Batman, in despair: “It’s so ugly.”

Green Arrow: (offended noises)

Green Lantern: “Okay, the only reason you know our secret identities is because you’re a rude nosy bastard who needs to know everything about us like a creepy stalker who needs an ego boost! We’re not stupid, Spooky, we’re just polite. We could figure you out easily if we wanted to. Superman can see right through your mask!”

Usually, Batman would have a good response to that. Something smart and reasonable like “villains won’t care for your privacy, I’m testing you,” or something cutting like “I don’t care enough about you to go digging, I set your secret identity as a training exercise for Robin.”

However, Batman is Drunk, because for some reason imbibing drugs that dampen higher brain function is socially acceptable and often, for some reason, expected, because it’s “team bonding” and “come on just loosen up a bit.” (Also for him, drunk=Brucie)

So what Batman ends up saying is: “I could kiss you full on the lips in my secret identity and you wouldn’t know a thing.”

Superman, plucking the glass from Batman’s hand: “Aaaand that is enough alcohol for you!”

Batman nods. Thank God. He wants to go home and sleep. But first: “Superman, yours is so stupid it’s almost impressive-”

———

Of course, Green Lantern has smelled a challenge. And Green Lantern must annoy Batman. It’s his true superpower. So, the next time they meet (sober) he brings up the issue again.

GL: “So about what you said at the party… the part where you could kiss us full on the lips without us knowing. You still confident in that without liquid courage, Spooky? Bet you your real name you can’t do it.”

Batman, regretting the fact that alcohol has ever passed his lips: “I could do it, but I will not.”

Flash, curious: “Why’s that?”

Batman: “Informed Consent. I will not risk making any of you feel violated, or manipulated, for the sake of a stupid bet and my ego.”

GA, still offended by the goatee comment, trying to back Batman into a corner: “So if we give consent, we’re fair game? Try me, Batman. Even you can’t pull this off. Anyone else game?”

Some of the Justice League laughs, raising their hands.

Flash: “Come get me, hot stuff! I’ll call you out!”

Wonder Woman: “It could be amusing.”

Martian Manhunter: “I would be far too difficult a target.”

Green Arrow: “Not just you. C’mon, Spooky, flirting well enough to get a kiss from me? I’m a classy lady.”

Black Canary: “D-class, maybe.”

Superman, wants a kiss in on the fun: 🙋🏻‍♂️

“So that’s it then!” Green Lantern says smugly. “Batman, if you can kiss… how many people raised their hands? Ah yes- HALF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE, without anyone realizing it’s you, then you win.”

Batman scoffs and walks out, leaving the Justice League in stitches at their joke. Because- Batman? Being good enough at flirting to land a kiss on half the league, without it being forced or awkward, without them recognizing his body language, his voice, his build? How ridiculous!

The Batman is Autistic. The Batman does not understand jokes, especially not ones that are half truths. The Batman has consent, and something to prove.

And Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, and sexy DILF, has targets.

(Please tell me how you think he gets each League member.)

Edit: there have been a bunch of awesome additions in the notes! My own take here.

[wolfiesmoon]

The world in my hands

Riddle, Leona, Idia, Malleus x fem!reader (seperately)

hello twst community did u miss me😍

this is a request hehe!! the prompt i was given is yuu says "i may not be able to use magic but i can hold the entire world in my hands" and then holding the guy's face

i had no clue how to write lead-ups to this type of fic so they will be either very minimal or not there at all😭

i feel like my writing is SOOO rusty omg😥

✧･ﾟ: Leona Kingscholar

"Get out." Leona didn't look all that happy to find you laying next to him in his bed. You decided that as his girlfriend, you now have the right to sneak into Savanaclaw at night and then sneak into his bed, too. With the great hearing all the beastmen in his dorm have, you wonder how no one caught you. Or maybe they just don't wanna mess with you.

Regardless, you're not one to disrespect your partner's wishes, so you get up and walk around the bed to be right by his face, just off the bed this time. You thought of doing that randomly last night because you couldn't fall asleep. Both the sneaking into Savanaclaw and the thing you're about to do.

He seemed a bit flabbergasted while looking at you from his bed and honestly, you can't really blame him. You would say you'd feel the same way if Leona appeared in your bed in the morning but knowing his habit of falling asleep on you, you wouldn't even count it out.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked in an accusatory tone.

You cleared your throat dramatically before placing your hands on both of his cheeks, making his face scrunch up in half surprise half annoyance. It's a funny expression on him.

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can do something even better." you didn't even let him respond, quickly adding on "Because I can hold the entire world in my hands."

Leona's wittier than he seems at first glance and you can tell he understood what you meant instantly by his facial expression. But all he does is grunt and gently remove your hands from his face, then fall back on the bed.

After a few seconds of silence, he asks "Are you gonna join me or not?" while tapping the side of his bed a few times.

"Oh, but I thought you didn't want me in your bed?" you placed your hands on your hips, replying with the most sass you could muster. You're not sure what kind of reaction you expected from Leona, but it kind of seems on par with him. He's not one to get flustered by cheesy flirting, you suppose. But letting you on his territory, on the other hand...

"...Just get in here before I change my mind." he grumbled and you joined him without another word. As soon as you did, two strong arms wrapped themselves around you.

You also felt something touch your forehead. A kiss?!

"Leona, did you-"

"Shut up before I kick you out." and he just squeezed you tighter. Hm, maybe he enjoyed it after all.

✧･ﾟ: Riddle Rosehearts

"You know, I may not be able to use magic, but I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled at Riddle knowingly before gently grabbing a hold of his face. You invited him over today, but were struck with the idea to pull this on him randomly. You like him best when he's blushing, after all.

He seemed a bit lost, if anything. His eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking at your lovestruck grin with confusion.

He's happy that you can still be happy despite your lack of magical abilities. But why are you randomly telling him about this now? While holding his face? There's no need to do that since he can pay attention to you perfectly fine.

Is that a thing lovers do?

"That's great to hear." He saw the way your face dropped when he replied like that and felt even more stumped than before. That wasn't the correct response, it seems.

"Could you explain what you meant?" He started after a short silence. Your hands are still warming his cheeks and he doesn't want it to end. It's a nice feeling.

"You know... I can hold the world in my hands because, uhh, you're my world..." you realise just now how awkward it is explaining flirty jokes. Well, you suppose it isn't exactly a joke. You're being completely serious.

"Oh." He seemed to finally realise what you meant, because his entire face went scarlet red.

"That is..." he seemed at a loss for words. He never thought a girl could affect him the way you do, but life is full of surprises.

"Hehehe, I prefer you when you're all red from being flustered, not from being angry." you gently kiss his nose, which only elevates the amount of red on his face. His eyebrows furrowed slightly at your teasing, but could he really get mad at you when he's getting kisses?

"I never realised you thought so highly of me." you felt that his face was getting warmer through your palms. And you wouldn't want it any other way.

✧･ﾟ: Idia Shroud

"Would you turn away from that game for just one second?" you chided, hoping your boyfriend would finally listen to your pleas. He groaned in response, not intent on listening to you anytime soon.

Okay, seems you have to do this the hard way. You didn't want it to come to this, but there's no other choice. It's the conscequence of having a gamer boyfriend, after all.

You walked up behind him, swiftly turning him around on his spinny chair. He gasped in surprise and then his expression quickly shifted to one of annoyance. "Why are you so insi-EEK!"

Before he could even finish his complaint, you grabbed his cheeks. A little more roughly than you intended, looking back on it.

"You wanna know something?" you asked it like he had an option to say no, but the determined expression on your face made Idia think you're not giving him much of a choice. "U-Uhm, yes?"

"I may not have the ability to use magic, but, I can hold the entire world in my hands." you smiled awfully innocently compared to how determined you looked just seconds before. He seemed a bit lost, so you added on "I'm doing it right now, actually."

The reaction was instantaneous. It's like a chemical reaction occured because the entirety of Idia's face immediately turned red. The ends of his flaming hair began to burn in a pink color as well. Honestly, you think he might be at his cutest when he looks that way.

"Y-You.. That's dangerous!" he yells overly dramatically, swatting your hands off of his face. "I know, it's a dangerous skill to have. Does critical damage to Idia Shroud, apparently." you shrug.

"H-How do you... how do you expect me to defend myself against that?!" he shoved his face in his hands out of embarrasment.

"That's the thing, I don't. The point is to leave you all defensless and flustered." you smile mischeviously, even though you know he can't see it.

"I knew it was a bad idea to get a girlfriend... my poor heart..." he mumbled under his breath, almost unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"UM- Nothing!" you're kind of worried he might pass out from all the blood travelling to his face.

✧･ﾟ: Malleus Draconia

To be honest, you knew that you had to do as soon as you saw that video pop up on your Magicam feed. Considering your boyfriend's frequent surprise visits, you'd assume it wouldn't be hard to find him and catch him off guard with something like that.

And you definitely know he hasn't seen it before, considering his... lackluster grasp of technology.

"Greetings." you almost fall out of bed, quickly turning off your phone to hide the evidence. Does he have to pop up at the most random times? You suppose you wouldn't have it any other way, though.

"Oh, hello there, Malleus." you quickly got up from bed and walked up to him. He wrapped an arm around you like it was second nature.

"I have something to tell you." you told him in a sweet, playful tone and he immediately seemed intrigued. He's excited when you're excited, after all. "Go on. I will always listen to you."

"I may not be able to use magic..." your arms slipped up towards his face... "But I can hold the entire world in my hands."

"Oh..." he thought about what you just told him for a few seconds before finally realising what you meant. Flirts with Malleus are hit-or-miss usually, sometimes he gets it, sometimes he doesn't, but you're glad he realised it this time. "Oh, I see what you mean, dear." his silly lovesick smirk was now mirroring yours.

"That makes me tremendously happy." he squeezed you in his hold. "I feel the same way. You too are my world." he kissed your cheek happily. You noticed his cheeks were a pretty pink color, one of the loveliest sights you can possibly witness in this world. He even gave you a peck on the lips for good measure.

You know, your original goal was to fluster him, but somehow, you get the feeling that you're the one getting flustered right now.

[midnightwriter21]

jjk hcs: the jjk boys as boyfriends

characters: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, yuta okkotsu

warnings: none (i think?)

AN: if there’s anymore boyfriend hcs that you’d like to see lmk!! read gojo & nanami as boyfriends HERE

YUJI ITADORI

oh girl i am JEALOUS

he can be a little air headed at times but he’s the sweetest bf ever

i say he’s air headed but he’s actually very attentive

you get half an inch trimmed off your hair?

he notices immediately

“babe your hair looks great!”

notices everything about you actually

from your favorite color

to the brand of PENS you prefer to use

who tf notices the brand of pens people use?!?

yuji does

yk the tiktoks of boys picking entire BUSHES of flowers for their girlfriends

that’s him.

he straight up rips a whole bush out of the ground from the front of jujutsu high to give to you

principal yaga was not amused

gojo was tho

HE PRINTS OUT YOUR INSTAGRAM PICTURES TO REPLACE THE POSTERS OF MODELS ON HIS WALL

he’s so proud that your his girl fr

oh and he’s gotta hella pet names for you too

they’re all super basic

babe, sweetheart, cutie, etc.

he flirts w u like y’all aren’t together

awful pickup lines and everything

“do you have a mirror in ur pants? cause i can see myself in them.”

if u don’t think he’s the cutest then u can go argue with the wall bye

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

he has me in a chokehold

anyways

at the beginning of y’all’s relationship he’s awkward as fuck

but he eases up pretty quickly

veryyyyyy private with y’all’s relationship

if you somehow get him to hold your hand in public let alone give you a kiss?!?

girl count ur blessings fr

and it’s not bc he’s embarrassed of your relationship or anything no ma’am

it’s bc he would NEVER hear the end of it from gojo, nobara, and yuji

valid excuse

but when you two are alone?

oh girl it’s like he’s glued to you

when i say clingy? i mean it

also

king of nap time!!

he’s kidnapping u, bring you to his dorm room, dropping u on the bed, and laying completely on top of you

swear it’s his solution to everything

ur tired? it’s nap time

sad abt something? it’s nap time

a curse beat ur ass? it’s nap time

gojo is being annoying? it’s nap time

nap time cures everything ong

he’s not too crazy w the pet names

in private he’ll call you babe

in public you’re lucky if he adds a -chan to ur name lol

he’s so pretty boy

also can we appreciate his gorgeous luscious eyelashes?

no? okay

YUTA OKKOTSU

i would give my first born to make him feel happy, safe, and loved

KING OF MY HEART

he’s so baby

he’s the type of bf that no matter how long y’all have been dating he still gets flustered over you

y’all been together for an hour? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a week? he’s blushing when you give him a kiss on the cheek

y’all been together for a year? he’s BLUSHING WHEN YOU GIVE HIM A KISS ON THE CHEEK

HE. IS. BLUSHING.

which is so incredibly endearing and innocent

but don’t get me wrong

mess with this man too much?

oh he’ll snap

he has the patience of a saint. but when it runs out?

oh ur in for it miss gurl

period.

teasing him a lil too much tryna make him flustered

when he finally snaps he is switching that dynamic up real quick

now he’s the one smirking and feeling all smug while you’re the one with the bright red face

ahem…

anyways

yuta’s love for you is very intense

now don’t start thinking HE is intense cause no

i mean yuta loves you so much that he might just crawl up inside ur body and live there

that type of intense

you occupy his mind 99.9% of the time

he’s on a mission and has time to stroll through the mall

“oh y/n would like that” aND HE’S BUYING IT

he’s chit chatting with inumaki and panda

best believe he finds a way to bring you up in conversation

“oh! that reminds me y/n said something the other day about…”

he is the softest ever when it comes to pet names

sweetheart, my love, princess, etc.

i’m so soft for him he deserve the world

[bluesunss]

Bad movies lead to bad decisions Choi Su-bong x F! Reader

Bad movies part 1

part 2 part 3

summary: "wanna make out?" "sure." in which -> two great friends decide making out is more interesting than watching the crappy movie playing on screen.

warnings: none, make-out session?, no game au

word count: 1.2k

a/n: enjoyy

The movie was garbage.

Se-mi was the first to warn you: it was new, the poster looked amateur, and the director had a bad reputation. You hadn’t really listened. She turned down the invitation - though you had a theory she just wanted to see her girlfriend.

Min-su rarely went out without Se-mi; she was his protector of sorts, and he absolutely feared Nam-gyu and Su-bong together. Gyeong-su had a blind date, and Nam-gyu actually did show up at one point - only to last about two minutes before saying, “Fuck this shit, I’m leaving.”

Which left just you and Su-bong.

It shouldn’t have been awkward. You’d known each other for a while, and he was more than goofy enough to carry the conversation. Except he was bored, and you had to admit, that was on you. You were the one who suggested this. Now, you regretted it deeply.

Su-bong wasn’t a patient man. He was holding back for your sake, but give it a few more minutes and he’d cave, just like Nam-gyu had. He had some empathy, but not much to begin with. And besides, he kept glancing at your skirt, which had ridden up to your upper thighs thanks to the uncomfortable seat.

Among the group, you were closest to Se-mi and Gyeong-su. Min-su was like a toddler or a kitten, too shy sometimes, always retreating behind Se-mi, making it hard to interact with him directly.

Nam-gyu was an insufferable little shit, but you tolerated him like an annoying little brother. And Su-bong… well. You’d gone to the same high school, even shared a class for a year. You used to hate him, he was the class clown, and you were a study freak, which made focusing ten times harder.

On top of that, you actually felt bad for the teachers. But over time, he grew on you, especially after that one evening when you were stuck on cleaning duty alone. That night, he wasn’t as talkative. You noticed bruises on his arm. But the second he caught you looking, he grinned and started flirting again, snapping the moment back to normal. After that, you decided to go a little easier on him.

After high school, you didn’t see each other again - until one night, walking down a random street, you spotted him with Nam-gyu in the middle of a fight. He was spitting insults at some guy over money, looking as feral as ever. You’d been with Se-mi and Jun-hee, a uni friend, when Jun-hee suddenly recognized her boyfriend in the mess and stepped in, effectively ending the brawl.

A few weeks later, the group had formed. Gyeong-su joined in, Min-su followed Se-mi, and Su-bong, for whatever reason, dragged Nam-gyu along.

Which brought you back to now.

The movie was utter garbage. No plot, awful cinematography, chaotic lighting, a soundtrack that made you want to gouge your ears out. Cliché. Half the theater had already walked out. Su-bong kept shifting in his seat, glancing over his shoulder planning the moment he’d eventually leave too - before his eyes inevitably landed back on your skirt. His breathing was heavier than normal, fingers hovering above his pocket as he wanted to reach for his vape but knew he wasn’t allowed.

“Girl, this is trash,” he finally muttered. “Like, I know you wanted this bad and I’m sorry to hurt your feelings, but I can’t. Plus, I wanna smoke or sum. My throat’s dry as fuck.”

When you did not respond immediately, he frowned slightly, looking at you properly for the first time in the past hour. “You mad, mama? I mean, I can buy you a soda or sum and wait for ya outside. But it’s hot as hell in here.”

You shook your head. “Nah, it’s shit. I agree.” You lowered the hem of your skirt slightly, only to realize he was still watching. You already knew he was dirty-minded - that was a given - but the poorly shot sex scenes in the movie had planted some less-than-pure thoughts in your own head, too. “Wanna leave?”

His gaze dragged up from your thighs as he ignored your question. “Why’d you wear that? It’s cold outside.”

You smirked. “Like you mind. You’ve been checking me out for the past thirty minutes.”

He grinned, unashamed. “Yeah, well. Your thighs’re more interesting than whatever the fuck’s going on up there.” He stretched his arms behind his head, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Ahh, bro. My neck hurts like a bitch. I’m so fucking bored.”

Without changing his position, he continued.

“Wanna make out?”

Your heart skipped. Maybe it was the dim lighting. Or the shitty movie. Or the over-exaggerated moaning sounds blasting from the speakers. But the thought didn’t seem so bad in the moment.

He wasn’t even expecting a response - just fished around in his pocket and popped a few candies into his mouth. “Want some, señorita?”

“We could.”

He didn’t get it at first. He was too busy trying to swallow, tongue pushing against his teeth to get rid of the candy bits. Then, he stilled. Blinked at you. “What?” He stared, confused. "M'sorry mama I got no clue how you answered 'we could' to wanting a candy."

You swallowed. “Not the candy. Before.”

Silence.

He stopped chewing altogether. His eyes flickered from your face to your lips and back again, mouth slightly agape.

“Aight. Bet.”

His fingers reached up, grazing the side of your face, finding a spot behind your ear, and you let go of your necklace to meet his stare. The back row was empty. The entire theater was silent, save for the occasional shifting of seats and the low hum of the movie. And you didn’t give a damn about the movie.

And… and he smelled fruity. Artificially so. A mix of his detergent and some cheap cologne. And… and he was close.

With no second thoughts, you closed the gap. Hesitantly, at first. Just a peck. But he knew his way around this - his teeth caught your lip, teasing, and his tongue pushed past before you could react. Cold rings brushed your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. What started slow quickly turned into a mess - sloppier, hungrier, his hands cradling your face as if he couldn’t get enough. Then, they dropped.

He found your thighs. Gripped. His fingers kneaded at the bare skin, pushing your skirt higher.

“So fucking smooth, señorita,” he murmured against your lips before swallowing them again.

It should’ve felt normal. Like any other make-out session in a club, with any other guy. But fuck. It was so damn different. His lips tasted like the candy from earlier, and your chest was burning, your pulse hammering out of control. Every touch scorched. You needed this.

And when you tilted your head slightly, giving him more room to move, he lost it completely - grabbing your waist, lifting you onto his lap. Straddling him, your legs squeezed tighter, and the friction between his pants and your bare skin sent sparks through your nerves. The theater didn’t exist anymore. The people coming and going didn’t exist. Just the sloppy noises of your mouths, his breath against your skin, the way his hands roamed over every inch he could reach.

Your fingers found his hair, tangling. His fingers dug into your thighs. And beneath you - you felt him.

He needed you just as badly.

Halfway through a kiss, you both froze at the same time.

Light. Doors opening. Voices. The screen dimmed. The movie was over.

Reality hit like a slap to the face.

You broke apart, breathless, wide-eyed. He ran a hand through his hair. You scrambled off him, smoothing your skirt, trying to shake off whatever the hell that was. He grabbed his jacket.

Neither of you said a word.

As you stepped into the cold night air, Su-bong just did his usual quick handshake you like usual. Neither of you spoke.

Of course, he wouldn’t mention it. He said goodbye after calling you an Uber and left.

The movie really really was garbage.

guysss lmk what you think or if you want a part 2!!

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

I just found your blog and I feel like I finally found a home, a place I can come to for comfort. What you do is art.

If you can and want to. I'd like to ask you for a Yandere fighter x Reader. A martial arts fighter and boxer, the typical man that all men dream of being and that women dream about.

X a reader who is nothing special, in fact, they has self-esteem issues, and when a rich, strong, handsome giant shows interest in them they doesn't believe it and thinks the guy is just pulling their leg. Because, why would someone like him be interested in something like they? And the guy, he's not just in love, he's obsessed.

I don't know if you like the idea, if you like it (just in case you like it a lot) maybe you could even make it a series?

Thanks for your work, I really love it

Yandere Boxer x Reader

AN: I LOVE this idea! I hope I did it justice—this is my first time writing something based on someone else's idea... : ) Also, you're such a sweetheart! Thank you so much for the support!!!

You’re wiping down table twelve when the bell above the door jingles.

It’s not like you’re expecting anyone special. Just the usual lunchtime crowd—construction guys with calloused hands, tired-looking moms with strollers, maybe the occasional old man who tips in quarters. You’re invisible here, just another uniform and a weak smile behind cracked lipstick. No one looks at you twice, and that’s fine. You don’t want them to. Attention only makes things worse.

But today, the air shifts.

You don’t even look up at first. You murmur a half-hearted, “Sit anywhere you like,” and keep scrubbing the table even though it’s already clean. It’s not until silence falls—unnatural, heavy—that you glance over your shoulder.

And then… you see him.

He doesn’t belong here. Not in this washed-out diner with its flickering neon sign and sticky floors. He’s too clean, too sharp, too big for this world. He has to duck slightly to get through the door, and his frame fills the entryway like a shadow cast at sunset—broad shoulders under a tailored black coat, muscles straining against fabric, the kind of body that looks like it was built to destroy and worship all at once.

You freeze, rag clutched in your fist, heartbeat stuttering like a skipped record.

He’s beautiful in a way that’s violent. Square jaw, dark eyes that flick up and down your body in one sweep—and not the gross kind, not the kind you’ve seen a hundred times before. No, his gaze is clinical. Calculating. Like he’s already taken you apart and figured out where every piece fits.

You look away quickly. Pretend you didn’t notice. People like him don’t look at people like you. You’re not stupid.

He slides into a booth by the window. Doesn't pick up a menu. Doesn’t need to. Just watches you.

You swallow and force your legs to move. Feet dragging, heart sinking. You grab your notepad like it’s a shield and shuffle over to him, plastering on a tired smile.

“Uh… hi. What can I get you?”

“What’s good here?” he asks, eyes never leaving yours.

You blink. “Honestly? Nothing. But the coffee’s cheap.”

A pause. Then—he smiles. Not big. Not showy. Just the curve of his mouth, a flicker of approval. It makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t like.

“I’ll take that, then,” he says. “And whatever you’d eat, if you were sitting with me.”

Your throat tightens. You laugh, awkward, nerves sparking under your skin. “I—I don’t eat here.”

“Then what do you eat?” he presses, voice low.

You stare at your notepad, cheeks burning. He’s messing with you. Has to be. Guys like him don’t flirt with nobodies. You don’t even wear makeup most days. You haven’t bought new clothes in months. You're tired. You’re small, forgettable.

“I’ll just get you the coffee,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before he can say anything else.

But he keeps coming back.

Every day, like clockwork. Sometimes twice. He never eats much, just drinks the coffee and watches you work. Sometimes he brings a book but doesn’t read it. Sometimes he asks questions—your name, how long you’ve worked here, if you walk home alone. You lie, of course. Say you’ve got roommates waiting, a boyfriend, pepper spray.

None of it scares him off.

His name, you find out eventually, is Leon. No last name. Just Leon. You think it suits him—simple, unbreakable, like iron.

You Google him one night, when you’re sure he’s not just a figment of sleep-deprived delusion. And what you find almost makes you drop your phone.

Leon Myles. Heavyweight champion in multiple leagues. Mixed martial arts prodigy. A fighter who went undefeated for five years straight before vanishing off the radar. Wealthy. Dangerous. Worshipped.

What the hell is someone like him doing here?

And more importantly—what does he want with you?

Weeks pass. His obsession seeps into your routine like ink bleeding into paper.

You start to feel him before you see him. His presence looms. His shadow stretches long. He waits outside sometimes, even when his car—sleek and black and too expensive for this neighborhood—isn’t anywhere nearby. You catch him watching you through the diner’s window, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Once, you swear you see him talking to your manager. The next day, your schedule changes. Fewer hours. Easier shifts. You ask why and get no answer.

You start finding gifts in your locker. Nothing huge—just little things. A necklace with your birthstone. A book you mentioned offhand. Lip balm in your favorite flavor, even though you’re sure you never told him what it was.

You don’t take them home. You leave them behind, thinking maybe he’ll get the hint.

He doesn’t.

Instead, the next time you pass his booth, he grabs your wrist.

Not hard. Just enough.

His fingers are rough—calloused, scarred—and they dwarf yours completely. Your breath catches.

“I saw you threw away the necklace.”

You try to pull your hand back. He doesn’t let go.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“I know,” he says, and his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them. “But I wanted you to have it.”

You look away. “Why?”

Silence. Then, in a voice like smoke and steel:

“Because you belong to me.”

Masterlist

[hamzahsblunt]

BAGS

▍ preview.

“y/n, hey, c’mon,” you stir, groaning at the voice disrupting you from sleeping peacefully. if you didn’t immediately recognize the voice, you probably would’ve ignored it. but it was hamzah’s, so of course it caught your attention, even while being asleep.

you groan, swatting at the hand shaking your shoulder. when you finally open your eyes, you’re met with, what some people would dream of waking up to — hamzah.

he’s already dressed for the airport, but his bed head is still evident. you almost smile at the sight of his messy curls, until you remember it’s 3am and you’re being woken up.

“five more minutes,” you mumble, already turning to tuck yourself back into your hamzah’s comforter. “please.”

“no, i already gave you an extra fifteen. you have to get up now or we’re gonna miss our flight,” he sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed.

you both decided it’d be easier for you to stay the night so you could leave together for the airport. and it wouldn’t be a sleepover if you didn’t share the bed. besides it wasn’t weird to you two, not anymore atleast. hamzah used to be awkward about it, until he realized it was more of an anxiety thing for you.

you don’t like sleeping alone pretty much anywhere but your own home.

the realization that you’ve already slept in an extra fifteen minutes dawns on you. and it wakes you up real quick.

“what?” you fling the covers off of your body, sitting up and grabbing your phone. squinting at the brightness being turned up, you blink to adjust your eyes. 3:15. “shit.”

you don’t waste anymore time, scrambling out of bed and running to hamzah’s bathroom. you have about ten minutes to get dressed, do your hair, and some skincare.

after fixing up your hair and tending to your skin, you throw on a hoodie hamzah’s again (specifically the nap queen one) and sweatpants. you make sure you have all your belongings before being rushed out the door by hamzah.

luckily for you, hamzah already put your luggage in the car while you were still asleep.

“your hair is a mess,” you reach across the center console from the passenger seat, taking a hand to run through his curls.

hamzah, not too big on touching, doesn’t even bat an eye at this. if anything, he leans in closer, finding comfort in the act.

“you can’t tame these curls. i’m telling you,” he says, letting out a yawn and shooting you a sideways glance.

“well, i like them like this anyways,” you smile softly, gently pulling on a curl before ruffling his hair. “they’re cute.”

“noted. i’ll just quit my curl routine now,” hamzah jokes, smiling to himself when you laugh at his weak attempt at flirting.

the rest of the drive is mostly silent except for the soft music coming from your phone connected to the car. it’s a comfortable silence, one that you bask in because truly, any time spent with hamzah meant something to you.

you two meet up with mandy, martin, claire, and chase at the airport. hamzah helps you by lugging around two out of the three suitcases you packed, along with his own luggage. you promise to buy him breakfast in return, which he can’t say no to.

your first stop out of the month getaway would be venice italy for five days, which you were beyond excited for. you guys rented a beautiful lake house near a small town, somewhere you were sure would be perfect.

you all lounge around the airport for a good half an hour, mostly scrolling on your phones and talking here and there. you were all excited, just beyond tired and trying to prepare yourselves for the flight.

the flight would be around ten hours long and with you, mandy and martin’s fear of flying — that was equivalent to being held at gunpoint. you try to engage in conversation to distract you from it, but the thought is inevitable.

hamzah, sat beside you, can tell you’re nervous. he’s had to fly with you before, and sitting next to you came with the responsibility of comforting you.

that’s part of the reason he always sat next to you. one, because why wouldn’t he? you were his best friend, his girl, so of course he’s always finding himself sitting or standing right next to you. but secondly because it makes him feel special, it makes him feel needed by you.

he was the one that got to comfort you. the hand you reached for, the fingers you played with to avoid picking at your own. he was the one who got to share headphones with you during the flight. he was the one whose shoulder you always rested your head on. it was always him.

so, when you board your flight and split into pairs, of course you’re with hamzah. claire and chase end up together because there was no way mandy and martin weren’t sitting together. you’re sat in rows, with mandy and martin in front of you and chase and claire behind you. hamzah takes the window seat, so you don’t give yourself a panic attack by looking out the window.

he doesn’t even wait for you to reach for his hand, placing his own in your lap. he avoids looking at you, staring out the window as you take his hand in yours.

he wasn’t that good at showing affection, yet he always tried for you.

“thank you,” you say softly, leaning over the arm rest to be closer to him.

“yeah. i got you, girl,” he smiles, finally actually looking you in the eye. he didn’t realize it before, but now he notices the hoodie you’re wearing, his hoodie. “hey, you know that’s my favorite hoodie.”

“i know.. but it’s my favorite too. so, i guess we have to share it,” you shrug your shoulders, easing into the conversation and forgetting you were even anxious.

“not like i have a say in this anyway,” he sighs, knowing you had an attachment to the hoodie. with the amount of times you’ve taken it, he might as well just let you have it.

“you’re right. for once too,” you tease, moving to lean your head on his shoulder while sticking an airpod in. you hand the other one to him, “clairo good?”

“clairo’s great,” he nods his head. he wasn’t really familiar with her until you, but you definitely put him on.

you don’t say anything else, turning up the volume. despite being on a plane, being with hamzah was more of a comfort.

you’re even able to fall asleep during the flight, something that rarely happens. but with your head shoved into the crook of hamzah’s neck and his hand in yours, it was possible.

▍note — first part!! so sorry that i made r an anxious girl but i am so.. had to add it in lol. please lmk what you guys think or want to see, byeee

[agentstarkid]

ART OF THE GAME ✦ LN4

✦ DEBRIEF: Lando walked in with a plan—cool, confident, effortless. Then he saw her, and just like that, his plan didn’t stand a chance.

✦ TRACK LIMITS: AU; art school boyfriend!lando; female!reader; attempt at flirting; she's so cool and bro is struggling.

✦ CHECKERED FLAG: 3.4K words.

✦ MAY'S RADIO: happy first race of the season! 🤪 i've seen a couple of posts with thoughts on lando being so art school bf coded and i've had brain rot ever since so i wrote this (target audience: me) 🫡

< back to general masterlist

Lando had every intention of playing it cool. He'd walked into the little art supply shop with a practiced ease, hands shoved into the pockets of his paint-stained jeans, eyes scanning the shelves with mock interest. He didn’t actually need anything—not today, at least—but he needed an excuse. And what better excuse than pretending to browse resin pigments when the girl he had been utterly, stupidly infatuated with for months was standing behind the counter?

He had been standing in front of the resin pigment shelf for a solid five minutes, pretending to debate between two shades of blue. In reality, his brain had short-circuited the second he walked in and saw her sitting behind the counter, twirling a pencil between her fingers, completely absorbed in whatever she was sketching.

He wasn’t even sure why he was so nervous. It wasn’t like they were strangers—they shared a few classes, exchanged the occasional nod in the hallway, even worked on a group project together once. But she was just… cool. The kind of effortless cool that made Lando feel like a dumbass every time he tried to talk to her. And he wanted to talk to her. Badly.

Except every time he got the chance, he chickened out. Whether it was after class, in the library, or just passing by in the hallway, he’d always come up with some reason to keep moving before the conversation could go beyond a casual “hey.” He’d bail with some half-baked excuse or pretend he was suddenly in a rush, kicking himself afterward for being such a coward. 

It wasn’t that she was intimidating—not in the usual way, at least. It was just that she had this way about her, like she saw right through him, and he wasn’t sure he’d survive whatever came after that. But she was always nice, never calling him out on his awkwardness, never making him feel like an idiot for it. Sometimes, he even caught a hint of amusement in her eyes, like she was waiting to see if he’d ever stop running and actually work up the nerve to stay.

So, he decided today was the day.

Against his better judgment, he grabbed the closest thing he could find—a tiny jar of iridescent resin flakes that he definitely didn’t need—and walked up to the counter. She looked up as he placed it down, her gaze flickering over him before she scanned the jar.

“Fancy,” she mused. “Didn’t know you worked with resin.”

“Oh—yeah.” He nodded quickly, shifting on his feet. “Started with, um, custom vinyl stickers when I was younger, but, y’know… expanded a bit. Epoxy stuff now.”

The words tumbled out in a rushed, jumbled mess, and he immediately regretted how breathless he sounded. He wasn’t even sure why he was rambling—okay, maybe he did. She was looking at him, actually interested, and it threw him off completely. His brain scrambled to catch up, but all it did was make him more nervous, his fingers burying deeper in his pockets as he tried to appear casual.

She hummed in acknowledgment, turning the jar in her hands. “Do you wear a mask when you work with it?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a kid getting scolded. “Sometimes.”

Her brows lifted. “Sometimes?”

“…Rarely.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “You’re going to kill your lungs, Norris.”

He chuckled, shifting on his feet. “That’s what my mum says.”

“She’s a smart woman.”

Silence settled between them, and Lando’s mind raced for something—anything—to keep the conversation going. But the longer she looked at him, the harder it became to think straight. His mouth opened before his brain could catch up.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before,” he tried.

She smirked. “That’s funny because I’ve definitely seen you here before.”

Lando’s ears burned. “Right. Uh. Yeah.” He coughed. “Well… you come here often?”

She blinked. “Well, considering I work here, yes.”

Lando groaned, running a hand down his face. “That was awful. Ignore that. Please.”

She tilted her head, amusement dancing in her eyes. And she was laughing now, and God, he really liked the sound of it. “That’s your go-to line? Really?”

He sighed dramatically, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. “In my defense, you make me nervous.”

Her laughter softened, and she tilted her head, eyes flickering with something he couldn’t quite place. “I make you nervous?”

Lando swallowed. “A little.”

Her lips curled slightly, as if she was debating whether or not to tease him further. “Well, I can’t say I expected that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she reached for the jar of resin flakes he’d placed on the counter. Scanning the barcode, she shot him a knowing look. “You don’t even need this, do you?”

Lando hesitated. He could lie. He could play it off, insist that he totally needed more iridescent flakes for a project. But something about the way she was looking at him made his brain short-circuit again.

“…Not really.”

She grinned. “So you just came in here to flirt with me, then?”

Lando opened his mouth, then immediately shut it. The tips of his ears were definitely red now. He cleared his throat. “Uh—”

She let him suffer for a second before laughing softly. “Relax, Norris. You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

His heart nearly stopped. He had to do something—say something—but all coherent thought had completely left his brain. So the first thing that came out was—

“Can you say that again?”

She raised a brow. “Were you not listening?”

“No, I was.” His lips curled into a smirk, confidence flickering back for a second. “I just like hearing your voice.”

For the first time since he walked in, he managed to catch her off guard. Her expression softened—just a little—and she shook her head, laughing under her breath.

Maybe he wasn’t totally hopeless after all.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a soft smile on her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, you’re still talking to me.”

She hummed, pretending to consider. “Maybe I just like watching you try so hard.”

Lando pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Wow. Brutal.”

Her laughter lingered between them, light and teasing, and he found himself gripping the edge of the counter just to keep himself grounded. He’d walked in here with the intention of playing it cool—maybe even charming her a little—but instead, he was standing there like a knob, pretty sure he was red in the face, his heart hammering like it had a mind of its own. And it was all because of her.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake the dazed feeling her words left him with. “So, uh… how long have you been working here?”

“A while,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter. “Just part-time between classes. It’s nice, though. Peaceful—except when guys come in and pretend to shop just to flirt with the cashier.”

Lando let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Okay, ouch.”

“I’m just saying,” she smirked. “You might be a good businessman, but subtlety isn’t really your thing.”

“That’s debatable.”

She raised an eyebrow, nodding toward the tiny jar of resin flakes. Then, with a playful tilt of her head and the slightest scrunch of her nose—way too cute for his sanity—she teased, “Oh? Is it?” 

“…Fine. Maybe not,” he admitted with a dramatic sigh, glancing around like he’d just now realized how obvious he’d been. He rocked on his heels before flashing her a teasing grin. “How do you know I’m a businessman? Have you been paying attention to me?”

For the briefest second, her composure wavered—just a flicker of surprise before she tilted her head, effortlessly brushing it off. “Oh, I don’t know,” she mused, propping her chin on her hand. “Maybe the fact that everyone on campus has owned at least one of your stickers at some point.”

His brows lifted. “You too?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

Lando grinned, tilting his head. “Which one?”

She tapped her fingers against the counter, feigning deep thought. “I had the little frog on a skateboard for a while.”

“No way.” His face lit up. “That was one of my best sellers!”

“Yeah, I could tell. I saw it on, like, half the laptops in the studio.” She shook her head. “It was honestly impressive. You had a whole empire running out of your dorm room.”

“What can I say?” Lando shrugged dramatically. “I see an opportunity, I take it.”

She laughed, and he swore his heart did a stupid little flip. God, he was down bad.

"Guess that explains why you’re so successful now," she mused. "Vinyl stickers to ‘Epoxy stuff’…" She mimicked his voice with an exaggerated impression, tilting her head dramatically. “Quite the business trajectory.”

Lando let out a sudden, stifled snort that turned into a breathy wheeze, shoulders shaking as he tried (and failed) to suppress it. A nervous giggle followed, his grin widening as he shook his head. "That was awful," he managed between chuckles.

"Accurate, though," she shot back, smirking.

He huffed, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I’m on an upward trajectory.” He leaned onto the counter slightly, eyes glinting with amusement. “Next stop: world domination.”

She snorted. “I’ll make sure to invest in your company before the stock prices skyrocket.”

Lando grinned, drumming his fingers against the counter. “Smart move.”

The playful energy between them settled into a comfortable pause, but as the silence stretched, he felt the nerves creeping back in. He didn’t want the conversation to end—not yet—but his brain was scrambling for something, anything, to keep her talking.

Lando opened his mouth, searching for another witty remark to keep the conversation going, but his mind came up frustratingly blank. Instead, he let out a small breath, rocking back on his heels as he drummed his fingers against the counter.

She seemed to pick up on his hesitation, amusement still dancing in her eyes as she reached for the small jar of resin flakes and scanned it. The beep of the register filled the brief lull in conversation before she slid the jar back toward him.

“That’ll be five pounds,” she said, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips, still clearly entertained by their little back-and-forth.

Lando blinked, momentarily distracted by the curve of her smile before fumbling for his wallet. He was stalling, and he knew it, but he wasn’t ready to leave just yet. As he pulled out a crumpled bill and handed it over, he cleared his throat, trying to shake the nervous energy settling in his chest.

“So,” she said, placing the money in the till, “what are you actually working on right now? Or did you just come in here for the fun of it?”

He huffed a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right, yeah—I do have a reason for being here. Other than, you know…” He gestured vaguely between them, hoping she’d catch the implication.

Her lips twitched. “Other than what?”

Lando groaned, his head dipping forward for a second before he sighed dramatically. “You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

She propped her chin in her hand, feigning innocence. “I have no idea what you mean.”

His grin softened as he shook his head. “Evil,” he muttered, before straightening up and running a hand through his curls. “Anyway, you know Max, right?”

“Fewtrell?” she asked. “The guy taking design as an elective class for some reason?”

Lando snorted. “Yeah, that one. He’s my best mate.” He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the counter. “Well, his brother, Theo, owns a barber shop.”

Her brow lifted in curiosity.

“I designed the logo for it a few months back—clean, kinda old-school but modern, y’know?” He gestured vaguely, as if picturing it in the air. “And now he’s commissioned me for a piece to go up in the shop.”

Her interest visibly piqued. “What kind of piece?”

“That’s the thing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still figuring it out. I want it to tie in with the whole aesthetic but also feel… dunno, unique? Thought resin could be a cool medium—give it some texture, maybe play with metallics, make it stand out a bit.”

She nodded, clearly intrigued. “That actually sounds really cool.”

Lando smiled, a little sheepish. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leaned slightly on the counter, studying him.

Lando shrugged, but the compliment made his ears burn. “Still working out the details, though.”

She crossed her arms, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You really do have a knack for making money off anything, huh?”

He rocked back on his heels, smirking. “What can I say? Some people knit, some people bake—I accidentally become an entrepreneur.”

She huffed a small laugh. “Accidentally? You mean to tell me you didn’t strategically market those stickers so well that half the campus ended up with one?”

His grin widened. “Okay, maybe a little bit on purpose.”

“A little?” She arched a brow. “Lando, I’ve seen professors with your stickers on their laptops.”

That earned a genuine laugh from him, one of those wheezy chuckles that made his shoulders shake. “Alright, fine. Gotta fund my questionable spending habits somehow.” He scratched his cheek, suddenly looking a little sheepish.

She slid his change across the counter but didn’t let go just yet, tilting her head. “Hmm, isn’t your dad a CEO or something?”

Lando let out a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—technically, yeah, but I’m trying to do my own thing.” He shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of the way she was watching him. “You know… prove I can actually survive without just riding the family name.”

Her lips twitched, but there was something warm in her expression, like she saw right through him. “I like that,” she mused. “I like guys who are independent. Handy, too.”

Lando’s brain stalled. He could feel his face heat up, the tips of his ears practically on fire. Did she just–?. “Oh—uh—yeah?”

She smirked, finally releasing his change into his palm. “Yeah.”

He cleared his throat, scrambling to recover. “Well, lucky for you, I’m, uh… very handy.”

Her smirk widened. “That so?”

He straightened up, forcing himself to meet her gaze with his best attempt at confidence. “Absolutely.” He tapped the tiny jar of resin flakes. “You’re looking at a man who owns a toolbox and everything.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “A real renaissance man.”

Lando grinned, rolling with it now. “Hey, I can even change a tire. Put up a shelf. Fix a leaky sink.” He paused for dramatic effect. “With only minimal supervision.”

She let out a soft laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Minimal, huh?”

“Gotta leave some room for improvement,” he quipped.

Her head tilted slightly, like she was considering him. “That’s fair.”

There was a brief pause—not awkward, just charged. He liked that. Liked that she wasn’t rushing to fill the silence, that she was still looking at him like she was actually interested in what he had to say.

Lando picked up the coins, turning one over between his fingers as he leaned on the counter again. He didn’t want to leave just yet, not when she was actually indulging him—teasing him, sure, but still talking to him. That was a win in his book.

“So,” she said, breaking the moment with an easy smile. “Are you planning on expanding this… accidental business empire of yours? Or are you stopping at barber shop commissions?”

He let out a breathy chuckle. “I mean, I’m open to offers. Know anyone in need of a custom epoxy masterpiece?”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I need a handcrafted resin sculpture.”

Lando grinned. “I’ll even give you the friends and family discount.”

“Oh? And what exactly qualifies me for that?”

He faltered for a second, the smugness slipping just a little. “Uh—well, you know, we… we share classes and stuff.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused by his sudden nervousness. “So, that makes us friends?”

Lando could feel his ears burning. “I mean—” He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?”

She smiled, small but noticeable. “No, I guess not.”

His heart did a ridiculous little flip. He needed to say something—anything—to keep the conversation going, but his brain was short-circuiting, caught up in the way she was looking at him.

Lando pocketed his change, rocking back on his heels as he glanced at her. She was still smiling, just a hint of amusement playing on her lips, and he couldn't help himself.

“You should smile like that more often,” he said, feeling bold for once. “Looks good on you.”

Her eyes flickered with something unreadable, but she didn't shy away from the compliment. Instead, she rested her elbow on the counter, chin propped on her hand as she looked at him. “Careful, Norris. Keep talking like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

He felt his heart stutter, but he forced himself to keep cool. “And if I did?”

She smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Then I’d say… maybe I don’t mind.”

Lando blinked. He had expected another sharp remark, maybe a teasing laugh at his expense—but not that. Definitely not that.

She handed him his bag of supplies, fingers brushing his for just a second. “Try not to make a mess with your ‘epoxy stuff,’ yeah?”

Lando cleared his throat, gripping the bag like it might keep him from floating off the ground. He should leave now. Probably. But then—

“Actually,” he blurted before he could lose his nerve.

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Actually��?”

He shifted his weight, suddenly hyperaware of how warm the shop felt. “You, uh—do you already have a partner for the semester project? For—” He gestured vaguely. “—our class?”

Her lips twitched. “The one worth half our grade?”

“That’d be the one.”

She studied him for a moment, eyes flicking over his face like she was deciding whether or not to make him squirm. “Why?”

Lando scratched the back of his neck, forcing himself to meet her gaze. “Because if you don’t… maybe we could team up?”

Her expression didn’t give much away, but he swore he saw the hint of a smirk. “You want to be my partner?”

“Well,” he said, attempting nonchalance, “you did say you like guys who are independent and handy.” He flashed a quick grin, hoping to mask the way his stomach twisted with anticipation. “And I happen to be both.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “That’s true.”

Lando leaned forward slightly. “So?”

She pretended to think, tapping her fingers against the counter. “Hmm. I don’t know… I hear you’re a bit of a slacker.”

“Oi, that’s slander.”

She smirked. “Is it?”

Lando placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “I’ll have you know, I take my work very seriously.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “We’ll see about that.”

His grin widened. “So that’s a yes?”

She tilted her head. “It’s not a no.”

Lando bit back a laugh, watching her with a spark of mischief. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself then.” He took a step back toward the door before adding, “Better come prepared to be impressed.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Guess I’ll see you in class, then,” he said, shifting his weight.

She smirked, eyes dancing with something teasing. “Looking forward to it.”

He nodded, trying not to grin too hard as he took a few slow steps backward toward the door, unwilling to look away just yet—like if he lingered a second longer, he could make the moment last.

“See you around, businessman.”

Lando stared at her for a second, then nodded, a little dazed. “Yeah. See you around.”

He had just pushed the door open, feeling a little stupid and a lot smitten, when her voice stopped him just before he reached the door.

“Oh, and Lando?”

He gripped the edge of the doorframe like it might keep him from floating away. “Yeah?”

She leaned against the counter, eyes scanning him like she was committing something to memory, then her lips curled into a knowing smile. “Don’t forget your mask next time. I’d hate for you to be out of commission before the project even starts.”

Lando felt his grin stretch wider, heart thudding in his chest. “Yes, ma’am.”

And with that, he walked out—five pounds poorer, but feeling like he’d just walked away with something far more valuable.

< back to general masterlist

[revelboo]

Possibly more of My Favorite Accident? Please, and thank you!

Sure

My Favorite Accident Pt 5

TFP Knockout x Reader

• “Nothing should surprise me anymore, but here we are,” he mutters, pulling into the lot you’d indicated. Shifting on his shocks as a man bends over the railing on the porch of the building and retches noisily in a bush. Nearly falling into the same bush. And he can’t decide if he’s more horrified or furious. The lock clicking firmly down when you try to open the door. “This is the part where you admit to messing with me.” Because this has to be a terrible joke in poor taste. Every second he sits here, the closer to furious he’s getting.

• “Sorry to disappoint, but I work here.” Aware that you’re not getting out until he lets you, there’s nothing to do but wait. Situated on the outskirts of town, the bar had been a small motel at one point and had been several other failed businesses before settling firmly on its current iteration. Because no matter how bad the economy is, alcohol always sells. Actually growling at you, he unlocks the door and you get out. Freezing when you spot that stupid holomatter avatar glitching into existence and pretending to get out of the passenger side. Apparently deciding to take his uncanny-valley freak show of a fake human for a test drive. “Where are you going?”

• “Might as well get the full experience,” he sneers as you shudder at him. “The avatar is fine.” Even if its expression is stuck in a perpetual blank stare. It looks human and he’d already found out racing that humans have an amazing capacity for ignoring anything that doesn’t perfectly line up with their conception of reality. If his avatar glitches out of existence for half a second, it’s fine. Humans will just refuse to acknowledge anything weird happened, preferring to second guess themselves instead. Their wet, little brains seeing the impossible and just going ‘nope, not today.’

• “It looks like a body snatcher in a B movie.” Striding toward the bar, you’re aware of him following you. And that unlike your boots, his feet make no sound whatsoever. The drunk leaning on the rail slides down to an awkward sit, staring blearily at you both as you ignore him. Inside, the stink of cheap cigars and the acidic reek of vomit compete to be the most offensive. Mostly empty aside from a couple of old men sitting at the bar nursing beers as you go around the bar. And still managing to convey his utter disgust for your life even without being able to change that creepy, dead expression, Knockout slides onto a barstool. You can feel his glare behind those stupid fake sunglasses.

• Trying to decide if the old men are annoying flirt drunk or will be fighting in an hour drunk, you grab an apron to relieve the older woman with her frizzed out perm. Watching her eye Knockout before heading to a corner to smoke. “You take me to the nicest places,” he mutters as you start wiping down the counter, aware that one of the drunks is leaning forward to watch you. Trying to gauge if he’s drunk enough to try and grab whatever’s in reach, while you ignore Knockout. It’s not like you asked him to camp in your apartment parking lot like a creeper. You had asked him to drive you here, though. Leaning drunk makes a clumsy fumble for your wrist and then goes tumbling from his barstool when it’s pulled back. Knockout’s avatar blurring slightly as he moves too quickly to track. “This is ridiculous.”

• Watching you fight a smile as the human stumbles to his feet and looks around belligerently, Knockout stares him down until he gets back on his stool. Keeping his wrinkled hands to himself this time at least. And keeping an optic on you, because he can understand why you’re all attitude now. Why you carry that pitiful little knife. Because you’re scared most of the time, but you’re used to it and know that if you let it show, you don’t stand a chance. And something about that, about how you live bothers him. Rubbing him the wrong way even though he shouldn’t care. It doesn’t matter. You shouldn’t matter. Your attitude you hide behind, that impulsive mouth that only gets you in trouble, that stubborn determination he almost admires. None of it should mean a thing to him.

Previous

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[wvyik]

blame it on the fever. d.w. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

dean winchester x gn! reader

ᰔ summary: when dean’s fever leaves him delirious, he lets his guard down — and in the quiet, he confesses more than he ever meant to.

⤿ warnings: fluff, mentions of sickness and fever, fever-induced confessions, slightly unhinged dean, possible lighthearted teasing, slightly sassy! reader, cue the awkwardness, kissing with love, sleep-deprived dean™, you’ll fall for dean all over again, pining, (from dean, shh) slightly cringey “did I just say that out loud?” moments.

⤿ notes: okay so i literally couldn’t stop thinking about sick! dean and him getting all vulnerable and stuff (he’s a mess, and i love it). this is a mix of soft, embarrassing moments and too many feelings, so beware. also, i might’ve taken the whole “tender dean” thing too far but like… who wouldn’t, right?

The bunker was quieter than usual. Sam had taken off for a supply run, leaving you alone with one very sick Dean Winchester.

He was a mess. Fever burning through him, tossing and turning in bed, half-delirious with exhaustion. He��d tried to fight it, of course— grumbling, ‘It’s just a cold’, while swaying on his feet earlier that day. It took him nearly collapsing in the library for you and Sam to force him into bed.

Now, with Sam gone, it was just you taking care of him. And Dean Winchester, for all his tough-guy bravado, was an absolute baby when he was sick.

He groaned, shifting under the sheets, sweat dampening his hair. You dipped the washcloth into cool water, wrung it out, and pressed it against his forehead. His brows furrowed, and he mumbled something incoherent.

“What was that?” you murmured.

Dean huffed a weak breath. “‘S awful,” he slurred. “Everything hurts.”

Your chest ached for him. “I know,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his forehead. “Just rest, okay? I’ve got you.”

Dean sighed, his body relaxing slightly at your touch. His breathing slowed, uneven but softer than before.

You reassured him in a soft-spoken voice. “I’m here, Dean.”

Dean shifted, his fever-flushed face turning toward you, eyes still shut. He was caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, voice slurred with exhaustion.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled.

Your breath hitched.

Dean let out a weak, humorless chuckle. “So damn beautiful… Don’t deserve you. Never did.”

You froze, fingers going still against his temple.

Dean Winchester, in all the time you’d known him, had never said anything like that. Flirted? Sure. Teased you? Constantly. But this? This was real. This was raw.

He let out a shaky breath. “I love you.”

Your heart stopped.

Dean Winchester, the man who never let his walls crack, the man who laughed off emotions like they were some foreign concept— just said he loved you. And he didn’t even realize it.

Your throat went dry. You should wake him up. You should tell him you heard everything. But instead, you stayed frozen, your fingers brushing through his damp hair as he kept talking.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of losing you..” His fingers twitched weakly against the blanket. “I wouldn’t survive it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t going to lose you. That you weren’t going anywhere. But you knew Dean— knew how much he kept bottled up, how much he hid from the world. If he was saying this now, in a fevered haze, it meant it had been buried deep for a long time.

So you did the only thing you could.

You stroked his hair, let him rest, and pretended you hadn’t heard a thing.

The next morning, Dean woke up groggy, blinking blearily at the ceiling. His head throbbed, his throat felt like sandpaper, and everything ached.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus…”

“You’re awake.”

Dean turned his head, surprised to find you sitting at his bedside, arms crossed, looking tired but amused.

“Yeah,” he rasped. “Apparently.”

You handed him a glass of water, and he took it gratefully, gulping it down before letting his head fall back against the pillow. His brain was still catching up, but something felt… off.

He squinted at you. “How long was I out?”

“A while,” you said lightly.

Dean frowned. He knew that tone. That was your I know something you don’t tone.

Yeah, something was wrong.

“What?” he asked slowly.

You shrugged. “Nothing.”

Oh, hell no.

Dean forced himself to sit up, ignoring the way his muscles protested. “No, no, no—what nothing? That wasn’t a nothing nothing, that was a something nothing.”

You smirked. “Didn’t know you were an expert on tone...”

“Enough bullshit.” His voice dropped an octave. “What did I do?”

You bit your lip, clearly enjoying this way too much. “It’s not what you did…”

Dean paled. “Oh, God.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said something, didn’t I?”

You said nothing, which was the worst possible thing you could’ve done.

“Oh, son of a—” Dean groaned, throwing his head back. “What did I say?”

You tapped your chin. “Well… You were kind of… talking in your sleep.”

Dean peeked at you through his fingers, his expression pure, undiluted horror. “No. No, no, no, no.”

You leaned forward. “Oh, yeah.”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Dammit.”

You grinned. “I think my favorite part was when you called me beautiful.”

Dean’s entire body locked up. He slowly lowered his hand, eyes wide with panic. “I—what?”

You tilted your head. “Oh, or maybe it was when you said you love me.”

Dean choked.

“No,” he wheezed. “No, no, no—you’re lying. You have to be lying.”

You bit back a laugh. “Dean, I was sitting right here the whole time. You were very… expressive.”

Dean groaned and flopped back onto the bed, covering his face. “Kill me now.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. Then, softer, you said, “Dean.”

He hesitated before peeking at you again, his face still pink—though you weren’t sure if it was the fever or embarrassment.

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I heard you,” you admitted gently.

Dean tensed. His eyes searched yours, uncertain, vulnerable in a way you rarely saw. “And?”

You squeezed his hand. “And I love you, too.”

For a second, he didn’t breathe. Then, his grip on your hand tightened, like he was afraid you’d slip away if he let go.

“You do?” His voice was rough, hesitant.

You nodded. “Yeah, dumbass… I do.”

Dean exhaled a breath of pure relief before shaking his head. “Jesus, sweetheart, you coulda led with that instead of torturing me.”

You laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”

A shaky breath left him, something unreadable flickering across his face— something raw. Then, before you could say anything else, his fingers curled into the front of your shirt, tugging you closer.

“C’mere,” he rasped.

You barely had time to react before you were in his lap, your knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. His arms wound around your waist, solid and there despite the heat still burning through his skin. His breath was uneven, brushing warm against your throat, and his hands? Big, steady, desperate.

“You’re burning up,” you whispered, pushing his damp hair back from his forehead.

Dean let out a rough chuckle, his fingers flexing against your back. “Yeah? Well… can’t tell if it’s the fever or you.”

Your heart skipped at the way he said it, voice low, unguarded.

Then he kissed you.

Slow at first, like he was still testing reality. But the second you kissed him back, something in him cracked. His grip tightened, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, the other settling firm on your hip. He tilted his head, deepening it, drawing you closer until there was nowhere left to go.

You felt the moment he got impatient— the little groan against your lips, the way his fingers curled into your shirt like he wanted to tear it off.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at you, pupils dark, lips barely parted. “Damn,” he muttered. “You always taste this sweet?”

Your face burned. “That’s the fever talking.”

He smirked, but it was softer than usual, more real. “Nah,” he murmured. “That’s just me.”

His fingers traced your spine, his touch slow, lazy, like he was memorizing the feel of you. His head dropped, lips ghosting along your jaw, the rough scrape of stubble sending a shiver down your spine.

“You’re too good to me,” he said against your skin.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your forehead against his. “I could say the same thing about you.”

Dean let out a rough breath, shaking his head. “Not even close.” His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady. “But if you let me… I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to change that.”

Your heart clenched, too full, too much.

You kissed him again, slow and lingering. “Deal.”

Dean exhaled a small laugh, then pulled you down with him, tucking you against his chest like he was afraid you’d slip away.

“Good,” he muttered, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “Now get comfortable, sweetheart. ‘Cause I’m not letting go.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @mostlymarvelgirl @freeluigihesbae @brutuuallove @impala67rollingthroughtown ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[elliesbabygirl]

GOLDEN RULE [E.W]

synopsis: In which you meet ellie at a coffee shop, or in true order, Jesse messes up your order and ellie comps your drink while flirting with you, from behind the counter.

Warnings: no warnings! unless you're not into intended-lowercase from a lazy author.

–cutesy flirting and ellie being perfect.... (I love her)

Author's note: This is a sfw one-shot but my account is 18+ and therefore would like minors to not interact with this post or my blog in general.

- Petal & Pines Co. Coffee

The soft humming of espresso machines fill the air, blending into the quiet chatter of early customers. The energy of the coffee shop energizing you as the cashier calls for the next person in line.

"Can i get a medium vanilla latte, two extra shots of espresso and almond milk?" The barista's half-paying attention to you as he talks to his coworker down the prep line.

"Yeah, sure thing. Vanilla latte, extra shots and almond milk...got it." The barista, Jesse, presses a few buttons on the ipad register, fumbling with your cup as he turns around to make your vanilla latte.

Jesse's movements are sloppy as he rushes. Tossing the almond milk to the side as he grabs the regular milk instead and starts pouring.

"I asked for almond milk?" You didn't want to get a stomach ache by drinking regular milk. Jesse's mouth forms an 'oh' as he turns back to you. Replacing the cow milk for almond milk. spilling some in the process, before wiping it up with a nearby rag.

you watch as Jesse starts pouring the espresso, but the machine starts sputtering, letting out a loud, angry noise. The high-pitched whine cutting through the atmosphere as Jesse flinches .

"i got this Jesse, go take your break man — what can I get you?" An auburn haired girl with freckles looks at you, effortlessly shifting into the space behind the counter while flashing you a smile.

"she got uh–a vanilla latte with almond milk and two extra shots of espresso!!" She nods at Jesse's words, muttering 'vanilla latte' as she grabs a to-go up.

"what's your name?–I'm ellie!" Like it was muscle memory, Ellie pulls for the fresh shots of espresso. A smile on your face from her charisma, giving her your name and watching as she repeats it, like she was trying to remember it.

"Y/n? cute...I love it" Ellie says, steaming the almond milk in the pitcher as she keeps eye contact with you. Taking in your appearance, biting the corner of her bottom lip like she was in deep-thought.

"Have you been here before?– I've never seen you before today" She asks, pouring the two shots of espresso into the to-go cup.

"No yeah- it's my first time here!"Ellie eyebrows shoot up at your words, a nervous smile creeping on her face as she looks down. Pouring the steamed almond milk into the cup, watching as the liquid turns into a satisfying light brown.

"Really?" She adds a lid, sliding the to-go cup across the counter. You expectantly look at Ellie, waiting for her to tell you the cost of your drink.

"oh..it's on the house, don't worry about it!" She says, shrugging her shoulders with a giddy smile. A rag in her hand as she wipes down the pickup counter.

"How is it? is it better than Jesse's?" Ellie beams at your approval when you take your first sip and give her a thumbs up. She plays with her fingers, thinking on whether she should ask you for your number or not. –Why not?

"you're really pretty–"

"can i get your–"

You both cut eachother off, staring at eachother with smiles that can only be described as awkward. Ellie awkwardly clears her throat, the nerves getting to her as she tries again.

"Can i get your number?– you're really pretty" Ellie asks again. Making you smile as you nod, grabbing the marker that Ellie fumbles with as she tries to rip off a piece of paper towel to act as paper.

A smile beaming across Ellie's face as she takes the paper towel piece from you. Looking down at it, reading your number with the drawn heart next to it.

xxx-702-xxxx –> y/n ❤︎

"Text me, yeah?" She nods ecstatically, watching you walk out the brewery and down the street from the large glass bay-window in front of the shop.

"she said yes....to me" Ellie whispers to herself from behind the counter.

"dude...you're actually hopeless"

"shut up, jesse.."

"are you paying for her drink..?"

The vanilla latte was in fact NOT on the house. Ellie's wallet was now seven dollars shorter...

..

xxx-749-xxxx:

Hey, it's ellie from the brewery

© 𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙮𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡 ─ 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙙. 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙥𝙮, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙤𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙖 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢𝙨.

[forlix]

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐬 !・h.h.

— you’re just trying to do your job; your client has other ideas.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.3k 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・idol!hyunjin x gn!makeup artist!reader 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・very suggestive so mdni, reader implied to be shorter than hyunjin 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, flirting, humor, big fwb vibes

𝐚/𝐧・this took me less than half an hour to write i am actually the biggest sucker for this trope. also, we hit another milestone recently!! i appreciate all of you immensely; look forward to more ♡

[!]・hi hey hello as of one month later a full-length fic based on this au has been posted!! here it is; you can read the two in any order. ok bye much love

“Five ‘til!” A crew member calls into a walkie-talkie, and you’re so surprised by this information that you stumble right over him, your heel ungracefully ramming into the poor man’s toes. 

You apologize hurriedly, bowing yourself out of the awkward situation—and then you check your watch. 7:55 P.M. A quiet "shit" leaves your lips as it dawns on you that you'd completely lost track of time.

Briefly, you contemplate your predicament, drumming the palette of makeup you’re holding in your right hand against the palm of your left: do I have to? Is it really necessary? But you know your answer even as you’re asking yourself the questions. You’re damn meticulous—sometimes to a fault, but always to your own satisfaction.

You had a vision, and you’re going to see it through.

With impeccable timing, your coworker appears out of nowhere, and you fasten a hand around her arm. “Hey, where are the members again?”

“Stage left.” Then she registers your question in full, and snaps her eyes to your face; stylists were supposed to have finished up with their respective members nearly an hour ago. “Hang on, are you out of your mind—”

“I won’t be a minute!” You call, scurrying away.

“You won’t be employed!” She returns, but you’ve already disappeared into the curtains’ dense shadows.

You jog a short distance, turn a few corners, and finally spot the eight members clad in outfits of varying amounts of silver and black, every inch of them so sparkly that they’re reflective, even with how little light reaches this part of the stage.

You’re looking for one man in particular, though, and you single him out right away: long, black locks falling into his eyes as he adjusts his microphone, broad shoulders and tall frame flattered perfectly by an obsidian suit, looking like he fell off a Paris Fashion Week runway and into a wormhole that teleported him to Osaka.

All your doing, by the way.

“Hwang Hyunjin!” You shout, and he (along with several of the other members) whips around at the sound. And Hyunjin furrows a perfect brow when his stylist materializes before him, four minutes to curtain up, wielding a palette of makeup like it’s a baseball bat.

“Are you out of your mind?” He calls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” You lift a pointer finger into the air and curl it twice. “Come here. Hurry."

Hyunjin gives the others an apologetic glance before hurrying over, and you are met with a blast of Byredo Blanche when he arrives in front of you, the expression on his face equal parts amused and confused.

“Down,” you say, flicking open the eyeshadow palette with one hand.

And then Hyunjin understands. A loud, uninhibited laugh leaves his lips, a sound you’ve become so accustomed to by now that you’re completely oblivious to the fact that only you bring it out of him.

“You really are something,” he says, spreading his feet apart until he’s brought himself to your eye level.

With that, you get to work, one hand gathering some eyeshadow on the pads of your fingers, the other moving to hold his shoulder. Brushes are luxuries you can’t afford right now.

“Close your eyes,” you direct, your voice softer now that your face is only inches away from his, and Hyunjin heeds your words obediently. You begin to dab the crimson powder against the curve of his lids, careful to avoid messing up the rest of his eye makeup. His lashes flutter involuntarily at your gentle touch.

“A shadow to match the lip,” you murmur absently. “I pictured it and knew it had to happen."

Hyunjin makes a sound of approval, and then there is that smirk on his face, the one you’ve learned only means trouble. “You’ve been thinking about my face the whole night, then?”

“No. I’ve been thinking about whether vegetables can feel pain,” you deadpan. “Yes, I've been thinking about your face. It’s my job.”

“Is that all?”

“Sure is.” You blow gently on his finished eye and move on to the other. “Now save your voice for the stage.”

He obliges, but that dreadful, self-assured expression remains on his face, and you're immeasurably grateful that he can’t see the blush that you’re well aware paints your cheeks.

“Done,” you say a minute later, straightening with a confident flourish. And you think you could squeal when Hyunjin opens his eyes, and you see that the exact effect you’d hoped for has been realized: a splash of maroon that is both subtle and seductive, sleek and suave; that not only accentuates the shape of his eyes but pulls attention to his lips, which are dyed a similar hue. Damn, you’re good at your job.

“I don’t have a mirror,” you say, looking around. “I can use my phone if you want to—”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I trust you.”

You grin at this. “Good. Because you look sexy as hell."

Upon hearing your words, he straightens to his full height. You don’t think much of this at first, too busy re-examining the masterpiece you’ve created on his eyelids, but in the blink of an eye you’re suddenly aware that Hyunjin is standing conspicuously and intentionally close to you. You instinctively move away, but you’re too late; he’s already guiding your back to the wall behind you, his body enclosing yours against the smooth surface.

You send a panicked look over Hyunjin’s shoulder, only to realize that the two of you are completely out of anyone’s line of vision. That doesn’t stop the sharp hiss that leaves your lips: “Hyunjin, are you cr—”

But then there is a familiar gust of breath against your skin, a thumb over your cheekbone.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself when you get like this; all bossy and concentrated, an ambitious glint in your eyes, an air of confidence in your gait. He always thinks it’s ironic that your job is to make him look good when all he’s ever done is admire your beauty, so effortless and profuse that it feels timeless, like freshly bloomed forget-me-nots.

He knows he shouldn’t—but that makes him want to more.

When your lips meet, they move together with an ease and familiarity that reveal how many times you’ve done this before. He brings a hand to the small of your back, and you tangle your stained fingers in his luscious hair, the delicious pressure of his mouth upon yours rendering your reluctance (and the eyeshadow palette, which clatters noisily to the floor) momentarily forgotten.

As the kiss deepens, the bridges of your noses slide together; your every sense becomes overwhelmed by the slippery plush of his full lips and the warm caress of his large hands; you drink in the rosy musk of his cologne like your cells need it to live as opposed to oxygen. The tip of Hyunjin’s tongue teases the seam of your lips, as if requesting access, and you grant it to him with a light moan that is both blissful and thoroughly exasperated. When he hears the gorgeous sound, he has half a mind to scoop you up and leave the venue then and there.

Then, a voice bellows from not too far away: “One minute, everyone! Places, places!”

You’re so startled that you not only break away from him but jump a meter into the air, giving Hyunjin’s bicep a hearty slap on your way down. But he is entirely unbothered, dipping his head to press a trail of light kisses along your jaw instead.

“You’ll be watching the performance, yes?” He murmurs against the sensitive skin.

“Of course, what else—”

“—don’t take your eyes off me.”

And the words throw your heart against your ribs like uncooked French fries in a vat of oil.

He is just about to walk away when you realize how decidedly disheveled you’ve left him, and you yank him back to you with a fresh wave of panic. You wipe at his smudged lipstick with the cuffs of your sleeves; nitpick his hair until every strand is back in its proper place. Only when you’ve gotten rid of all the incriminating evidence do you permit him to leave.

“Thank you very much,” he says, bending into a gracious bow, the perfect image of professionalism. The facade is given away only by the upturned corner of his still-flushed lips.

“Break a leg,” you return drily.

The last thing you hear is that stupid, bright laugh before Hyunjin rejoins his members, and they step into the strobe lights together.

Even when the concert begins and the stadium is drowned in fanatical screams, the heartbeat in your ears remains the loudest sound of all—and you bury your burning face in your hands.

Hwang Hyunjin will be the death of you.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · all works are pieces of original writing and all characters and relationships are purely fictional. please do not repost or reuse for any reason.

[chrissturnsfav]

fuckgirl!reader flirting with loser!matt, but she’s drunk so he’s just acting all nonchalant abt it

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 loser!matt babysits drunk fuckgirl!reader

the bass thumps in your chest, the music a relentless pulse that matches the dizzying swirl of the room. everything’s fuzzy—lights blurring into streaks, voices overlapping into a symphony of noise. you don’t remember how many drinks you’ve had, but it’s definitely more than you should’ve.

and then there’s matt. sweet, awkward matt.

"matt," you whine over the music that echoes in your ears, drawing out his name, your hand reaching for his sleeve. your fingers barely graze the fabric before you lose balance, tumbling halfway into his lap.

he catches you, because of course he does, his reflexes sharper than you’d expect. "careful," he says, voice dry but not unkind.

"i am careful," you insist, dragging yourself up and planting one hand on his chest for stability. it’s a nice chest—solid under your palm. "you’re just in my way."

"can we go upstairs?" you say feigning sweetness with a crooked smirk, your breath warm against his neck.

"nah." he leans back and manspreads on the couch, cool as ever, like he’s immune to your charms. it’s sickening.

"why not?" you pout, tugging at his arm. your dress rides up as you move, not that you care—matt’s the only one looking, and isn’t that the point?

"because you’re drunk kid," he says simply, tilting his head like he’s assessing whether you’re about to topple over again.

"so?" you challenge, a teasing grin spreading across your face. "you’re supposed to take care of me, aren’t you? that’s what guys do at parties, right? fuck pretty girls?"

he rolls his eyes but doesn’t let go when you wrap your arms around his neck. "m'not fucking you kid," he snickers.

you groan, a little too loud, and press your forehead against his. "you’re no fun, matt. chris would fuck me. he would probably die for the chance."

"yeah, but i’m not chris," he says, gently disentangling your arms from his neck.

"clearly," you mutter, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic heap. you look up at him, your eyes hooded and pleading. "don’t you think i’m pretty, though?"

he snorts, shaking his head. "nice try."

"what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" you demand, half-offended, half-sickened by how unaffected he is.

"it means you’re wasted, and you’re not gonna trick me into saying something stupid," he says, leaning down to pull a blanket off the back of the couch. he drapes it over your legs, ignoring your protests.

"you’re boring," you declare, crossing your arms with a drunken frown.

"and you’re a fucking mess," he counters, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "but don’t worry. i’ve got you."

his words hit you in a way you didn’t expect—soft and steady, but somehow leaving a mark. it makes your chest tighten, your thighs hot, and your stomach flip.

you know he’s just being responsible matt, always the boring one, always the one making sure things don’t spiral out of control. but the way his eyes linger on yours, the hint of warmth behind the teasing, makes you need him even more.

you grab his hand, holding onto it like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. "matt," you say again, but this time it’s quieter, your voice dipping into something softer, almost vulnerable.

"what now?" he asks, half-laughing, though his hand doesn’t pull away.

"just one little kiss, at least. please?" you say, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading.

he laughs, shaking his head like you’re ridiculous. "not happening."

"you're the fucking worst," you whine, ripping your hand from his and sinking into the couch again.

"sleep it off kid," he says, his voice softer now. "you’ll thank me later."

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: the way i literally was writing this without even seeing this anon! i was abt to publish it and then checked my inbox and i was like :o that's perfect. so i copy and pasted the draft here.

thank you for reading! <3

tags: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @swagalicious260 , @sturnhyyhblog , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott

@chrissturnsfav ™

[imreidswifey]

𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬

A Spencer Reid x Reader Fanfiction

Summary: While spending a golden evening in a meadow, you and Spencer Reid take photographs of each other, capturing fleeting moments and unspoken emotions.

Warnings: Fluff & Soft Romance, Light Angst (Insecurities, Vulnerability), Mutual Pining, Brief Touch-Starvation Themes, Spencer Being an Awkward but Adorable Mess

———•———•———•———•———•———•———•——–

The golden hour had just begun, stretching long shadows across the meadow as we wandered through the tall grass. The sun dipped low, casting everything in a warm, honeyed glow, and I knew this was the perfect moment.

“Okay, Spencer, hold still.” I lifted my camera, adjusting the lens as he fidgeted in place.

“Technically, it’s impossible to hold completely still,” he said, shifting his weight slightly. “The human body is in a constant state of micro-movement due to circulatory and muscular functions.”

I lowered the camera and raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you trying to tell me you’re incapable of modeling for me?”

He smiled sheepishly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “No, just… statistically speaking, perfect stillness is unachievable.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning. “Well, statistically speaking, you’re also adorable, so I think it balances out.”

His ears turned pink, and I took that as my cue to snap a picture. The click of the shutter echoed softly in the open field, and Spencer blinked at me in surprise.

“That was sneaky,” he murmured.

“That was art.” I smirked, stepping closer. “You look good in this light, you know.”

He ducked his head, his unruly hair falling into his eyes. “I doubt that.”

I huffed. “You seriously don’t see how beautiful you are, do you?”

Spencer hesitated, looking at me like I’d just spoken in an entirely different language. “I… I don’t really think of myself in those terms.”

I sighed, setting the camera aside and reaching up to brush a stray curl from his face. “Good thing I do, then.”

His breath hitched slightly, and for a moment, we just stood there, the wind stirring around us, carrying the scent of wildflowers and salt from the distant ocean.

“You know,” he said softly, “I could say the same about you. The way the sunlight catches your hair, the way your eyes light up when you’re behind the camera—you’re breathtaking.”

My heart did a little somersault, and I swore the warmth in my cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

“Then prove it,” I challenged, handing him the camera.

Spencer blinked. “You want me to take pictures of you?”

“Unless you’re scared,” I teased.

That was enough to ignite something in him. His lips twitched, and he took the camera carefully, adjusting the settings with nimble fingers. “I’m not scared,” he said, tilting his head. “But I should warn you—I’ve never actually done this before.”

I shrugged, stepping back into the field, the tall grass swaying around me. “Just capture what you see.”

He lifted the camera, peering through the viewfinder. His expression was one of deep concentration, brows furrowing slightly, lips pressing together.

The first click sounded, and I felt the slightest flutter in my chest.

“That’s it,” I encouraged. “Just keep going.”

Spencer took another picture, then another. I twirled, letting my dress catch the breeze, laughing when he made a surprised sound at how the fabric billowed out.

“You look like something out of a fairytale,” he murmured, half to himself.

I stilled at his words, watching him over the top of the lens. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it out loud.

“Spencer Reid, are you flirting with me?”

His hands fumbled slightly on the camera, and he cleared his throat. “I don’t— I mean— Not intentionally?”

I laughed, walking toward him as he lowered the camera. “Not intentionally?”

His gaze flickered between my eyes and my lips, the golden light making the amber in his irises stand out. “Well… maybe a little.”

“Good.” I say smiling warmly

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Good?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Because I think we should do this more often.”

He was still holding my camera, his fingers curled gently around the body of it, hesitant but careful—like he was holding something precious.

“Alright,” I said, tilting my head at him. “Now that you’ve taken some pictures of me, let me take some of you again.”

Spencer hesitated, shifting his weight slightly. “I’m really not a good subject for photographs,” he muttered, looking away.

I took a step closer, nudging his elbow playfully. “That’s not true. I think you’re my favorite subject.”

His ears turned pink again, and I felt an absurd amount of pride at being able to do that to him.

“Just—try to relax,” I said, raising the camera to my eye. “Pretend like I’m not even here.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “That’s statistically impossible, considering you’re standing less than three feet away with a camera aimed directly at my face.”

I groaned. “Spencer.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. “I’ll try to be a good model for you."

He pushed his hair back from his face, the motion instinctive but charming, and I snapped a photo before he had a chance to overthink it.

Click.

The way the golden light caught in his eyes was mesmerizing.

Click.

The wind ruffled his curls slightly, making him look softer, more unguarded.

Click.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, tilting his head slightly, that thoughtful expression settling over his face—the one he got when he was deep in thought, figuring out something complex and beautiful.

Click.

I lowered the camera and sighed dramatically. “You’re really not making this easy for me, you know.”

Spencer blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I said, stepping closer, “you keep looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

I gestured vaguely between us. “Like you’re cataloging every single thing I do and saving it for later.”

He opened his mouth, then hesitated. “I—well, I suppose I do tend to remember things in extreme detail…”

“Yeah, I know,�� I said softly. “And I love that about you.”

His breath hitched slightly, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite know how.

Instead of pressing him, I simply raised the camera again. “One more?”

Spencer nodded slowly.

I took a step back, positioning the shot just right. And for once, he wasn’t overthinking it.

He just looked at me.

Click.

I lowered the camera and exhaled. “Perfect.”

He swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Can I see?”

I flipped the camera around, showing him the last shot. His expression softened slightly as he took in the image—him standing in the middle of the field, golden light pooling around him, looking at me like I was the most fascinating thing in the world.

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I… didn’t know I could look like that,” he admitted finally.

I reached out, curling my fingers lightly around his wrist. “That’s how I see you. Every single day.”

Spencer glanced up, his gaze locking onto mine, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The world around us faded—the rustling grass, the distant waves, the hum of insects in the evening air. It was just us, standing there, wrapped up in something unspoken but undeniable.

Then, tentatively, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers were warm against my skin, lingering just a little too long.

“You make everything feel… different,” he murmured.

“Different how?” I whispered.

“Like—like maybe the world isn’t as scary as I think it is when you’re in it.”

My heart clenched in the best possible way.

I reached up, cupping his cheek lightly. “Spencer Reid, you are the most incredible person I’ve ever met.”

His breath stuttered, and for a second, I thought maybe—just maybe—he was going to kiss me.

But instead, he smiled. That rare, beautiful, completely unguarded smile.

“Come on,” he said softly, threading his fingers through mine. “Let’s take more pictures before the sun sets.”

And just like that, we were moving again—laughing, running through the meadow, chasing the last bits of sunlight, capturing each other in every possible way.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt infinite.

Remember to like ♡

We walked through the field, Spencer still holding my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. Every few minutes, I would stop, lifting the camera to take another picture of him—sometimes posed, but more often candid, when he wasn’t paying attention.

Spencer Reid in golden light. Spencer Reid laughing under his breath at something I said. Spencer Reid pushing his hair back, lost in thought.

I was collecting moments, like fireflies in a jar, afraid that if I didn’t, they might slip away too quickly.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Spencer asked, tilting his head as he watched me snap another photo.

“Of course I am,” I said, grinning. “You’re my favorite subject.”

He huffed a small laugh, but I could see the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides, as if unsure of what to do with the compliment.

We reached a small clearing where the grass was shorter, the wildflowers sparser but still present, dotting the earth like flecks of paint on a canvas. The horizon stretched out in front of us, endless and breathtaking.

Spencer hesitated, then turned to me. “Can I take another of you?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Gaining confidence in your photography skills?”

He gave me a shy, almost embarrassed smile. “More like… I just want to remember this.”

My heart tripped over itself.

I handed him the camera without a word, stepping back into the open space. “How do you want me?” I asked, my voice softer than before.

Spencer exhaled, lifting the camera, and I could tell he was thinking. Analyzing. Mapping out the shot the way he would with any other pattern or statistic.

Finally, he said, “Just be you.”

Something about that made me still. Be me. No posing, no forced smiles. Just… exist.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the wind move through my hair, breathing in the scent of the evening.

Click.

I turned slightly, opening my eyes again, finding Spencer watching me through the lens.

Click.

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling a little too seen, a little too vulnerable. “How’s it going?” I asked.

He lowered the camera, looking at me in that way of his—like I was something to be studied, understood. Like I was something worth understanding.

“I think… I think I get it now,” he said.

“Get what?”

He hesitated, then held up the camera. “Why you love this so much. Taking pictures. It’s—it’s a way to hold onto things, isn’t it? A way to make sure they don’t fade.”

My throat felt tight. “Yeah,” I whispered. “Exactly.”

Spencer looked at the camera in his hands like it was something precious, something sacred. “I think I’d like to do this more often.”

I smiled, stepping closer, reaching for the camera. Our fingers brushed as I took it back, and he didn’t move away.

“You can take as many pictures as you want,” I murmured. “Of me. Of anything.”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “I’d rather just keep looking at you like this.”

My breath caught.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The air between us was thick with something unsaid, something unspoken but undeniable. The sun had nearly set, leaving only a soft, glowing haze behind.

Spencer lifted his hand hesitantly, brushing his fingers lightly against my cheek. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, like it was a secret he wasn’t sure he was allowed to say out loud.

I leaned into his touch, my heart pounding. “Spencer—”

He stepped closer, his hand trailing down, his fingers skimming my jaw, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. His gaze flickered from my eyes to my lips, then back again.

I could feel the warmth of his breath, the way his chest rose and fell.

“Can I—?” His voice was barely above a whisper, uncertain but hopeful.

I nodded.

And then, finally, finally, Spencer Reid kissed me.

It was hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was doing it right. But when I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, something in him melted.

The kiss deepened, slow and soft, full of things we had yet to say out loud. He tasted like sunlight and something sweet, something uniquely Spencer.

When we finally pulled away, he was breathless, his eyes still half-lidded as he looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

I smiled, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “Took you long enough.”

He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I was just—statistically speaking, I didn’t want to ruin anything—”

I cut him off with another kiss, because honestly, I didn’t need statistics right now. I just needed him.

The camera hung forgotten around my neck, the sunset fading into twilight, but I didn’t mind.

Because in that moment, with Spencer’s arms around me and his lips against mine, I knew—

I didn’t need a picture to remember this.

I would never forget.

[106alibi]

good graces ; I think shes flirting

note: written parts!

wc. ~0.6k

The glass door swung open as the bells chimed, signalling a customer had entered the cafe. the cafe was, again, oddly crowded. Does she have a thing for crowded cafes? Jeno was lucky he brought a cap with him this time. He pulled the cap lower, casting a shadow on his face that would hopefully disguise his prominent facial features. It wasn't that Jeno had crazy fans who watched his every move or begged him to stay single, Jeno just wasn't someone who liked having his private life discussed online, even if he was supposed to be used to it, being a public figure and all. He scanned the room for your figure, his eyes landing on you sitting by the counter with your chin resting on a propped up arm and the other swirling your half-drunk coffee lazily.

He paused. As he stood rooted to the ground, watching your lips form inaudible shapes and your eyes crescent into giggles at something the barista said, he found himself unable to take his eyes off you. He thought it the first time he saw you, how beautiful you were, but he wasn't going to admit that to his friends. He tore his eyes away from you to examine his own outfit. I can trust Jaemin’s fashion sense, right? He gulped, feeling his lips suddenly go dry. He didn’t know why he was suddenly so nervous. It must be his social anxiety. Or the fact that this was his first fitting ever. Right, that made the most sense.

You noticed a figure approaching from your peripheral vision, letting your laughter die down to turn to Jeno who was now standing beside you with a crooked smile on his face. You beamed back and patted the seat beside you.

“You’re here! I arrived quite early so I got myself a coffee first. Order what you want, my treat.”

You took a sip of your drink, watching as Jeno slid into the bar stool beside yoy and fumble with the pages of the menu between his fingers.

“Isn't that cap uncomfortable? The yellow lights in here aren't making things any brighter.”

You joked with a light chuckle, leaning your cheek into your palm. Frankly, you wanted him to take off his cap and reveal his face. Not to you, but to the few fans who were quite unsubtly craning their necks and casting looks, wondering if the man with the white cap was who they thought he was.

“U-um, it's fine. I feel more comfortable this way.” His hand flew up and rested on the front of his cap.

“Come on~, don't let your handsome face go to waste.”

You flashed a cheeky smile and bumped his shoulder with yours, watching as Jeno ducked his head in embarrassment, a hand immediately rubbing the back of his neck as he let out a few awkward coughs. You internally fist-bumped the air when he hesitantly took off his cap and set it on the counter, combing down his soft jet black hair with his fingers.

Yes, you did have an ulterior motive when you complimented him, but you weren't lying either. Jeno was handsome. You weren't at all surprised to find out how many fan pages he had when you did your research on him. He had just the right features befitting of a model, and you’d definitely be lying if you said you weren't the least bit attracted to him. It made your plan a lot easier.

Flirting came easy with someone you were already attracted to anyway.

You made yourself as subtly obvious as possible, masking light brushes between your hands as accidents and teasing him with playful compliments in hopes that someone would overhear you. It surprised you to realise how inexperienced Jeno seemed with how he would melt into a cherry-red, awkward coughing mess everytime you made a move. Could someone as hot as him really be inexperienced?

you didn't find an opportunity to ask him about it, having to put on your editor persona when your watch struck twelve and it was time for the studio fitting.

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a/n: IM ALIVEEEEE

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