#i feel like the world just tilted a little

[shomatoriashi]

01/03/25; 10:00pm

{ drabbles / headcanons }

[ when they realize that you’re the true mc from behind the screen ]

featuring: sylus, zayne, xavier, rafayel

notes: this is just my own take on the self aware au! i know other creators who’ve written their own self aware au’s (and have executed them amazingly well!), but i hope that you readers will give my story a chance, too ♡

you never understood the hype that surrounded the game known as love and deepspace-

however, the moment sylus was announced as the newest love interest for this game-

to say you were mildly interested would have been the greatest understatement of the century. when his trailer was revealed, you swore you felt your knees clash together while basking in his pure, masculine beauty.

and his voice- dear god did it sound like pure silk against your ears!

needless to say, you downloaded lads the moment sylus dropped as the latest love interest. when you made your mc, you did your best to model her after your own appearance to the best of your abilities-

however, it seemed impossible to do.

the mc was just too petite and perfect, something that you could never achieve in real life. yet despite it all, you tried your best to customize her to match your features before starting the game. as you struggled with the missions in the main story, you were essentially grinding until the moment you could unlock sylus's story branch-

and the moment when you accomplished it, you were truly on cloud 9, taking an ungodly amount of screenshots each time sylus was on your phone's screen. you kept interacting with him in game, raising his affinity with you to level 50 in a mere few weeks.

it was embarrassing how much you adored this gorgeous man made up entirely of pixels. you always spent quality time with him, bringing him with you when you worked or had to study for an upcoming exam. each time you would glance at your phone and see his devastatingly handsome features cleaning his gun, you would grin and press a kiss on your screen (directly over his cheek!)

were you shameless for feeling so deeply about a fictional man-

absolutely yes. but did you care?

no.

after kissing sylus for what had to be the thousandth time that day, you would go back to your responsibilities, unaware that sylus could hear you and feel the sensation of your kisses against his cheek.

at first, it was maddening for sylus to realize that everything he's been through was made up by some writers at a company. every tragedy was forced upon him for the sake of a good story-

and he hated it.

he hated how his every word was essentially a script made up by that same company and how he was forced to interact with an mc that was just the same as the rest-

yet the moment he realized he could see you settled behind that woman's avatar-

sylus was intrigued, to say the least.

despite how you looked drastically different from the mc, something about you drew him to you more than the mc ever could. for starters, you were a true, living person who had a personality.

and you just seemed so alive each time sylus saw you. the more time he had spent with you, the more his feelings of curiosity turned into something tangible and real-

making sylus yearn for the day you would recognize him noticing you. he stops cleaning his gun just then, simply keeping his crimson gaze on your form as you wrote in your notebook. the hours continue to pass, yet sylus allows the quality time feature to go on even past the 30 minute mark, not stopping until you were done.

as your eyes go back to your phone, you were ready to quit the session when sylus purposely stops you, "no kiss this time? you wound me, little dove."

he basks in your wide eyed expression and the way your mouth was wide open in a gape, chuckling as you waved your hand over the screen-

and sylus was following your every movement.

"you can see me?"

"i think we've made that abundantly clear just now, little dove." he shakes his head, feeling his world tilt slightly when you pick up your phone.

"y-you just spoke to me, and i- i'm your little dove?" a dreamy expression crosses your features as you kept your gaze on sylus. he gives you a rare, tiny smile while reaffirming his nickname for you with a nod, "of course you are. you have always been my little dove since the moment i laid eyes on you."

a cute sound escapes from your parted lips, and he felt himself being jostled around when you began to spin while holding your phone. with his eyebrows lifted in response, he calls out your name while telling you, "you don't seem to be as panicked as i imagined."

"are you kidding me? i-" you cough and give him a sheepish expression, "i actually love you so much, and despite the weirdness of this all, i'm strangely happy."

your words succeed in making sylus feel warm inside-

and he knew he had to find a way to be with you soon.

zayne has always been aware of your existence, since you were a longtime player of his game and have spent most of your time together with him.

strangely enough, he took pride in having the highest affinity with you-

yet when you obtained any of the other love interest's memories, or spent some time with them-

a wave of jealousy would course through zayne's veins. he knew that he was programmed to always feel happy with whatever man you chose-

but he couldn't bring himself to let you go. after all, zayne knew that he loved you the most out of all of them.

he was the one who held your health and wellbeing above all else (even ignoring his own desires to see you during his quality time sessions with you.)

while working on his laptop at the cafe, he was aware of how late it was and was hoping that you were already safe and sound in bed-

so imagine his surprise when he sees you logging into the game, greeting him with a tired smile on your face as you opened up the quality time menu with him.

"hey zaynie, i know it's late, but i need to get these assignments done just to stay ahead. i couldn't find the time to do them earlier, so that's why i'm here."

admittedly, zayne could feel a shiver of pleasure each time you spoke to him, allowing him to bask in the sound of your voice-

yet more so than that was how concerned he was that you wanted to do your assignments at such an ungodly hour. as you pressed on the quality time session, zayne would immediately cancel it. confusion was etched onto your features, making you try again-

only to have zayne cancel the session once more.

"what the hell is going on?"

unable to hide the fact that he could respond to you (and not wishing to ignore you any longer) zayne takes a chance and speaks to you.

"it's too late for you to be studying. you should be in bed, ready to sleep."

your eyebrows furrow in response to his words, uncertain if this was part of his script (it wasn't). unable to stop, zayne continues to lightly scold you, "humans need at least 8 hours of sleep, and i know that you've barely gotten 5 hours the past few days."

"oh my god, what?!" he watches as you pick up your phone, meeting his gaze as an incredulous expression was seen on your face. "zaynie, are you talking to me?"

zayne was conflicted now, pulling at the collar of his shirt before clearing his throat, wanting to be honest with you, "yes... i am talking to you, and if you cared for me and my feelings at all, you would go to bed and work on your assignments in the morning, once you're fully rested."

it takes you a moment to take this all in.

from zayne meeting your gaze and scolding you because he was concerned about your health-

it honestly felt like such a dream come true.

your features end up breaking out into a kind smile, and zayne could feel a blush creeping up against his cheek when you nuzzle your face closer to your phone, "okay zaynie, i'll go to sleep."

cradling the phone close to your chest, you let out a hum while slowly getting into bed. once you were settled in bed, you held up your phone to see zayne looking back at you. he smiles at you, "good girl, now close your eyes and sleep."

he watches as you purse your lips before asking him, "will you stay with me, zayne?"

smiling at your request, he gives you a nod, "of course. i'm not going anywhere." he watches you once more as you cuddle into your comforter, closing your eyes while setting your phone close to you.

and as your breathing evens out, (turning softer), zayne whispers your name, filled with longing and love for you alone.

you had to be experiencing the worst cold of your life as you were settled in bed with your phone in hand, playing love and deepspace as you did some missions with xavier, your true love interest for the game.

in the middle of your battle, you let out a particularly loud sneeze, wiping the snot away from your nose while blowing into a tissue when a tiny voice was heard saying "bless you."

after blowing your nose, you said 'thank you' in response-

only to do a double take.

who just said bless you?

you take a quick scan around your room, coughing here and there-

only to realize that there was no one in sight.

you hear the voice again, this time saying your name as you realized that it sounded familiar to you. looking back at your phone, you saw xavier had already taken out the enemy and was looking directly at you.

you swallow thickly, your voice shaky when you began to speak,

"xavier?"

"yes."

"you can hear me?"

"i was able to hear you since day 1, and you chose to stick with me." xavier was practically grinning now, appearing smug while folding his arms across his chest.

by now, you were feeling dizzy as you slowly sit up in bed, feeling almost feverish while looking into xavier's gorgeous, true blue eyes. xavier has been aware of your presence this whole time-

and that fact was enough to make a surge of warmth course through you.

"you... you have always been able to see me?" you ask xavier in a shy voice, earning an earnest nod from him, "yes, and..." he trails off while pressing a hand against your screen, "i'm sorry that i'm unable to take care of you when you're feeling so sick."

"n-no! don't worry about it... i'm just happy that you're here... with me."

a sweet smile paints xavier's expression, coupled along with a gentle chuckle. "i'm happy to be with you, too. and i'm happy that you chose me over them."

realizing what xavier meant, you gave him the best smile you could manage while wiping at your nose with a new tissue, "i will always choose you, xavi."

hearing your admission causes a surge of possessiveness to course through xavier's veins. and while you smiled back at him, the philos prince was thinking of ways to forever keep your smiles for himself.

feeling the need to clean your house and do some chores around it, you decide to spend some quality time with rafayel, the hot lemurian you fell in love with ever since you began playing love and deepspace. with his pretty, pouty face on your screen, you began cleaning, moving around your kitchen and living room while wiping down each surface you could see.

you spent a few hours cleaning, with rafayel seeming to sketch during his quality time session with you, which felt odd. usually, after 30 minutes, the game would notify you, asking if you'd like to continue the session as you confirmed it-

yet now, that didn't seem to happen.

you saw no notification-

and rafayel was still sketching on your screen.

with a shrug, you figured the game probably updated and added this new feature, where you didn't have to constantly renew the 30 minutes during your quality time with rafayel. feeling thirsty now, you pick up your phone and head into the kitchen, setting your phone on the counter as you went into the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

"hey princess! where did you go?! i can't see you!"

you nearly dropped your water bottle in response, hearing rafayel's voice coming from your phone. "come on princess, don't leave me hanging, where are you?"

was this a new script?

closing your fridge, you step closer to your phone, seeing rafayel's pout. picking it up, allowing rafayel to finally see you, he was smiling now while winking at you. "there you are, princess! are you done doing all that work?"

words were unable to form as you were left gaping at him, making the artist chuckle while shaking his head, "you look like a goldfish, which is pretty cute! oh, before i forget!"

rafayel pulls back, revealing his sketchbook to you. your heart was felt clenching slightly before racing upon realizing every sketch was about you-

not your mc in game.

the realization of it all had you reeling, with your hands gripping at your counter when you addressed rafayel. "rafe, you can see me?"

"of course i can, always have been able to, princess." he has the audacity to make your heart flutter the moment he gives you another wink. "and let me just say, i've been loving what i've been seeing so far, princess."

by now, you felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, unable to hide your grin as you cling to your phone all while basking in rafayel's flirty and playful words-

yet little did you know, somewhere along the way, rafayel had genuinely fallen head over heels for you, keeping each painting and sculpture he had made of you hidden so that you would never know-

at least, not yet.

end notes: i'm so happy to write a story like this, where all the lads men truly are so META and wish to be with YOU-

and not the mc (⺣◡��)♡

this is currently unedited, but i shall make any changes the moment this story is posted!

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[hanniebaeee]

Under the Northern Lights

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: established relationship, fluff, smut

Summary: You and Hyunjin witness the Northern Lights for the first time ever, and the magical moment turns into a rather heated one!

a/n: It's my dream to explore Iceland and to witness the northern lights! Till I get there, let's just do it with Jinnie here 🤭

It was warm, so warm. Hyunjin's arm was wrapped around your waist and his leg thrown over yours as he slept. His soft snores filled the quiet room, his breath fanning the back of your neck.

You two have had a busy day exploring a beautiful snowy village in Iceland. Hyunjin could barely move when you two got back - he'd had about enough of being on his feet for the day, and fell asleep almost immediately.

You’d been just as exhausted as him, but you'd woken up late at night after he managed to kick off the blankets as usual.

Your eyes cracked open, heavy-lidded and annoyed as you reached for the blanket. But then something else caught your attention. Outside the window.

"Ohh -" You sat upright, and Hyunjin jerked in his sleep grumbling something incoherent and burying his face in the pillow.

"Hyunjin! Get up!" You shook his shoulder, disturbing his slumber.

"Babe, I swear if this isn’t an emergency -”

"Just look!"

He groaned, peeling his eyes open (dramatically). The second he caught sight of the faint green glow outside, he shot upright, his mouth falling open.

"Is that...?"

"The northern lights!"

You were already hopping out of bed and fumbling for your coat. But Hyunjin was still blinking sleepily as you threw his jacket at him.

"Babe, it's soooo cold outside," he whined, dragging himself out of bed. "And I was having a really good dream…you were there, and chocolate, actually you in chocolate-"

"Oh my God Jinnie!! We made this trip to see exactly this, and you're stuck on your horny dreams!!"

"Horny dreams!?" He sounded offended, but his expression softened as he glanced at the lights swirling in the sky. "Okay, yeah, alright. Pants, pants... where are my pants?"

He got his pants to his face, of course.

After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, and a few swats to his butt ("Wear the pants, Jinnie!"), the two of you stumbled out into the cold night, boots crunching on the snow as the aurora borealis painted the skies above.

Hyunjin pulled you close as you both stared up, your breaths mingling in the chilly air.

"Wow," he murmured, his voice shaking with the cold.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, your heart swelling with happiness as you tilted your head back to take it all in.

"Okay, you were right to wake me up. But also, you’re totally making up for it later."

"Making up for what? Giving you the most magical moment of your life?"

"No, for interrupting my sleep. And my chocolate dream." He grinned down at you. "And not to be cheesy or anything, but the most magical moment of my life was the day you said yes. So yeah."

"Stop it." You laughed, and he pulled you closer, his nose brushing against yours.

“I love you, baby. I love it that we're doing this together,” He said, and before you could say anything, he kissed you - both your lips cold and a little numb.

And the way he sneaked his tongue into your mouth made your stomach flip. The lights danced above, but all you could feel was him - his warmth and the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the world.

And then he pulled his phone out, because obviously you needed to record this moment. And a frozen photo shoot later, you both trudged back inside, in a hurry to get away from the chill.

Hyunjin was already peeling off his layers the second the door closed behind you. He chucked his coat with a dramatic groan, running his hands through his short blond buzz cut.

He went on to take a look at the fireplace (an electric one unfortunately), and then got on the bed, holding his hand out.

"Alright, babe," he drawled. "Since you ruined my dream, I think it’s only fair we finish what I started in my head."

He grinned as he pulled you onto his lap.

You rolled your eyes, but you really loved it when he was this horny and lovesick. With a smile you cupped his cheeks in your hands and kissed him. His hands slid beneath your sweater, palms warm against your ribs as he kissed you like he’d been starving for days.

His hands moved up, cupping your breasts over your bra, and his thumbs ran over your hard nipples, perked up.

"Fuck baby," he murmured against your lips, his breath hot as his hands squeezed your breasts. "You cold?"

"More like really hot" you gasped, your hands sliding over the blond fuzz on his head and your nails scraping his scalp.

"Mhm," he managed, his lips trailing down your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin all the way to your collarbone. "You looked so hot all bundled up, and now…”

His nibbled on your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. He pulled back enough to pull your sweater over your head and tossed it aside, before finding the waistband of your leggings, tugging them down as his lips were on yours again.

"Jinnie," you whispered, your voice trembling as his hands worked on getting rid of the rest of your clothes.

You watched him undress as the northern lights danced outside, casting a faint glow through the window. You couldn’t help but think how beautiful he looked as he leaned in and his lips grazed the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

Hyunjin’s kisses were hot and demanding, his lips urging you to respond with the same intensity. And you could feel his hardness press against you, and it made your heart race even faster.

He kissed his way down, his lips hovering over chest, eyes locked with yours before his tongue peeked out, placing a tiny lick on your nipple.

That was enough for your core to clench and with a little smirk he closed his lips on the little bud and sucked relentlessly, making you moan. Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he gave your other nipple the same attention.

And you glanced down to see them glistening with his spit.

“Hyunjin,” you gasped, your voice shaky as you pulled him closer. “Please.”

He grinned against your skin, the mischievous glint in his eyes never fading.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he muttered before lifting your hips slightly, and without any warning put his mouth directly on your wet folds.

Your body jerked with shock, and it didn't stop him from running his tongue over your dripping heat. You were falling apart under him, your body shaking as he licked and sucked on your puffy clit.

The sensation of his tongue inside you, and his soft hair against your inner thighs has your body quaking with need. And he kept going at it until finally with a quick flick of his tongue, you came undone, gushing into his mouth as he held you close.

He was painfully hard now, and the faint layer of sweat on his chest and forehead looked so damn enticing in the pale light. The look he gave you was raw and desperate, and you wasted no time pulling him close and kissing him.

Tasting yourself on his lips was seriously the most intimate, most satisfying thing ever. He moaned as you kissed his neck and bit down on the spot right below his jaw, making him grind down on you.

"Please baby," He whispered and shifted, positioning himself between your legs and you could feel his length prodding at your entrance.

Your eyes met again and you gave him a soft nod. He entered you slowly, pulling a soft moan from your lips as you both adjusted to the sensation, the feeling of being stretched open settling over you.

His movements were rhythmic, pushing you both to the edge and he kissed you, his hands gripping your hips as he drove deeper into you.

“Hyunjin…” you breathed, gasping for air as he made you feel every inch of him. He moved faster, harder, and you met each thrust with equal need, your body trembling.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groaned, his voice strained as he held you close, his eyes twinkling with love and lust.

You felt your release building, your breath hitching as you tipped over the edge and clenched around him tight. His movements were sloppier as he chased his own release, and he came with a groan, burying his face into your neck as he spilled inside you.

Breathing heavily, hand gently stroked your hair, his lips brushing your forehead as you both recovered.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice soft.

“I love you too,” you replied, pressing a soft kiss on his chest.

As the morning light seeped through the small window of your room, you knew that you two had overslept. The warmth of Hyunjin's body beside you was comforting, and you watched him with love before pressing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth.

His eyes were still closed, but he smiled. A sweet sleepy one. And he looked so adorable (and a little too hot for his own good).

Your hand, almost of its own accord, slid down to where he was already hard and straining against his shorts. A spark of heat shot through you, as your palm cupped his length, putting on a little pressure.

You couldn’t resist teasing him, and Hyunjin opened his eyes slowly, his smile widening.

“What are you doing baby?” He mumbled and you didn't answer him, just moved down, pulling his shorts off him.

He was wide awake now, propped up on his elbows watching you as you stroked him gently.

“What did I do to deserve this?” He asked, his voice husky.

“You're you,” you whispered, and he groaned as your lips closed around his pink tip.

And yeah…you two didn't make it to the sight seeing tour you'd booked.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun

[orangeblossomsintheair]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS (1/4) | CS55

summary : “Bossy, isn’t he?” The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course—it’s Carlos Sainz. You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run. RUN.

wc : 9k

an : sorry for the lack of updates recently.. ehem.. anyway. rally driver carlos sainz. im making this a thing now.

“You’re staring,” Carlos says, voice low and gravelly. His smile is wolfish, sharp enough to cut through your resolve.

You blink, forcing yourself to focus on something other than the way his fireproofs cling to his frame or how the red of his suit gleams in the harsh light. “You’re filthy.”

“Occupational hazard,” he replies, shrugging. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Challenge? It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

Because you’re Charles Leclerc’s little sister, and that means Carlos Sainz Jr. is completely, irrevocably off-limits.

Charles would kill you both if he knew. He’s warned you before, in that brotherly-but-deadly-serious tone only he can manage.

Carlos is reckless, he said.

Carlos is trouble.

Carlos is not for you.

But damned it all, he looks good.

The kind of good that sinks its teeth into your chest and doesn’t let go. Mud-drowned, sweat-stained, grime-smeared.

Carlos Sainz Jr. wears chaos like it’s tailored for him.

By all accounts, you have no business so much as glancing twice at him.

Preciously guarded, perfectly poised, the crown jewel of your family’s otherwise tumultuous legacy.

Carlos doesn’t belong in the world that your family envisions for you. He’s nothing like the men you’ve been told to admire. His name carries weight, but for all the wrong reasons.

His reputation is as red as the suit he wears, all sharp edges and unapologetic flame. A bold, glaring warning sign.

—

The first time you meet Carlos Sainz is at the FIA WRC Prize-Giving Ceremony, a glittering vortex of champagne, sequins, and self-importance. The kind of place where you’d half expect someone to announce their yacht has feelings and everyone to applaud.

You’re standing near the bar, clutching a cocktail that tastes like fruit and regret, watching as yet another impeccably dressed couple glides by, all pearly smiles and whispered deals.

You’ve perfected the art of looking like you belong here. Chin up, shoulders back, face set in that careful neutral expression that says, Yes, I am both fascinated and entirely above this conversation.

Your dress, while beautiful, feels like it’s plotting against you.

It’s a designer masterpiece, sure, but also a silken cage, clinging to you with a vengeance. Moving feels like negotiating with an overly aggressive boa constrictor.

You’re mid-sip when a familiar warmth presses against your side, accompanied by the unmistakable scent of Dior cologne and something ineffably Charles.

He slides into your personal space with the precision of a Ferrari in a hairpin turn, arm looping over your shoulders in a practiced, casual gesture

“Hey,” you murmur, tilting your head just enough to catch a glimpse of him. He’s all sharp lines and understated ease, looking like he belongs here more than you feel like you ever will.

“Hey,” he replies, voice low, steady. You know what that particular combination usually entails.

“Charles,” you start, “why do I feel like you’re about to ruin my evening?”

“Because I probably am,” he says, his tone far too smug. “What’s with the silent brooding act? You’re usually better at pretending to have fun at these things.”

You shoot him a sidelong glance. “It’s not brooding. It’s observational detachment. Very sophisticated.”

“Uh-huh,” he says, clearly unimpressed. “Observational detachment looks a lot like you wishing the floor would swallow you whole.”

You huff. “Look, not everyone thrives in a room full of egos and overpriced cologne. Some of us are just trying to survive without tripping over a waiter or accidentally insulting someone’s investment portfolio.”

Charles chuckles, a low, warm sound that makes you feel both comforted and mildly insulted. “Relax. Nobody’s looking at you.”

“Wow, thanks for that, Charles. Truly, your support is overwhelming.”

“Anytime,” he says, patting your shoulder like you’re a child who just learned how to tie their shoes.

Before you can deliver a properly scathing retort, a ripple of energy rolls through the crowd.

It’s subtle at first, a shift in the air, but then the room practically pivots in unison. You wonder for a second if someone's giving out free caviar.

Instead, you follow their collective gaze to a man.

He strides into the room with the kind of confidence that should be illegal. The tailored suit, the tousled hair, the jawline that could cut glass. It's like someone combined a Greek statue and a high-stakes poker player and gave it legs.

“Man of the hour,” Charles mutters, his voice tinged with something you can’t quite place. Disdain? Wariness? A general sense of foreboding?

You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head toward him. “Friend of yours?”

Charles snorts. “Hardly. That’s Carlos Sainz Jr. Rally royalty. He's won the last 3 seasons. Toyota’s golden boy. Ferrari’s got some partnership thing with them next season, which is the only reason why we’re even here.”

You glance back at Carlos, who’s working the room with maddening confidence. “So, he’s basically Rally’s Verstappen?” you ask, your curiosity slipping out before you can stop it.

Charles gives you a look. “Don’t.”

“What?” you say, feigning innocence. “I’m just asking.”

“You’re not just asking,” he counters, his eyes narrowing. “I know that look. That’s the ‘who’s that guy, and how do I make him notice me’ look.”

“Excuse me,” you scoff, turning to face him fully. “I do not have a-”

“Don’t even try to deny it,” he interrupts, holding up a hand. “I’ve seen you use it. Monaco. Italy. That time in Barcelona with-”

“Alright!” you hiss, your face heating. “Fine. Maybe I’m curious. He’s… magnetic.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, magnets also attract negative things. Stay away from him.”

You smirk, leaning a little closer. “What’s the matter, Charles? Afraid I’ll charm him?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m afraid he’ll charm you. And then I’ll have to deal with whatever disaster follows.”

“Relax,” you drawl, giving him a playful nudge. “I’m not that easy to charm.”

“Yeah, sure,” Charles mutters, clearly unconvinced. “Just don’t do that thing where you get all… wide-eyed and clever. Guys like him eat that up.”

You’re about to respond when you feel it— a gaze.

You glance up, and there it is.

Carlos’s eyes are on you. It’s brief, almost imperceptible, but it sends a spark down your spine.

Charles notices instantly. His grip on your shoulder tightens. “Don’t,” he warns again, his voice low and dangerous.

“I didn’t do anything!” you protest, trying to suppress a smile.

“Exactly. And you’re not going to,” he says, steering you toward the opposite end of the room like a bouncer removing an unruly guest. “We’re going to stand over here, away from trouble.”

You laugh, unable to help yourself. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re being predictable,” he shoots back, his jaw tight. “Trust me, mon cher, you don’t want to play with fire.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching one last glimpse of Carlos as Charles practically barricades you with his presence. “You know,” you murmur, smirking, “sometimes you’re more fun when you’re not acting like dad.”

Charles glares at you. “And sometimes, you’re less annoying when you don’t flirt with people I don't even want to see once in my lifetime.”

“The fact that they annoy you is half the fun,” you say sweetly, earning a groan from him.

“God help me,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re going to kill me one day, I swear.”

—

“Alright, sœur,” Charles says as he adjusts the cuffs of his tuxedo. “I need to head out for some Ferrari business. Do not make me regret leaving you alone.”

You raise an eyebrow, sipping your cocktail with mock innocence. “Charles, please. What trouble could I possibly get into in a room full of racing legends and corporate sponsors?”

He levels you with a look so sharp it could shave ice. “I have seen you talk your way out of detention, past bouncers, and into a free round of drinks on three separate continents. You are a wildcard, sœur.”

“Flattering,” you reply, setting your glass down. “But seriously, I’ll be fine. I’ll stay right here by the bar, sipping my little fruity drink, not bothering anyone.”

“Promise me,” Charles says, and his tone is so dead serious you have to bite back a laugh.

“Promise,” you reply solemnly, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Charles doesn’t look convinced. “No cocktails that magically refill themselves.”

“Understood.”

“No sneaking out the back to avoid small talk.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And absolutely, under no circumstances, are you to talk to Carlos Sainz.”

At this, you can’t help but grin. “Ah, so we’re naming names now.”

“I mean it,” Charles says, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “He’s not for you. He's the kind of guy that makes people do stupid things.”

You tilt your head, amused. “Are you warning me or complimenting him?”

Charles groans as he steps back, hands on his hips, his expression a mix of concern and mild irritation. If he had a clipboard, you’re pretty sure he’d be writing up a contract for you to sign in blood just so he can rest easier.

“Alright,” he says. “Repeat it back to me. What are the rules?”

You sigh, adjusting the strap of your too-tight dress. “Charles, I’m not five-”

“Rules.” His tone is firm, his eyes narrowing like he’s daring you to argue.

You roll your eyes but indulge him anyway. “I will stay here, I won’t get drunk, and I will absolutely not talk to Carlos Sainz.”

“And?”

You blink. “And… I won’t commit arson?”

He glares at you, unimpressed. “You won’t look at Carlos Sainz.”

“Charles-”

“Not even a glance. Not even one of those polite ‘oh, I accidentally made eye contact across the room’ things. Nothing. He doesn’t exist to you. Got it?”

You try to keep a straight face but fail miserably. “What happens if he sneezes near me? Do I ignore that too? Should I call security?”

“Sœur, this is not a joke,” he huffs, his hands moving to your shoulders like he can physically shake the mischief out of you. “Carlos is… he’s trouble.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Trouble? Or, like, annoyingly charming?”

“Both!” Charles exclaims, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “And don’t give me that look. I’ve seen what happens when you’re around guys like him. You think they’re all charming smiles and nice suits, and then next thing I know, you’re calling me to help you get out of some ridiculous situation-”

“I called you one time,” you interrupt. “And that was because the guy had a pet snake, and I panicked!”

“And who ended up having to rescue you from the snake guy?”

“Okay, fine, you made your point,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “I won’t talk to Carlos. Happy?”

“No,” Charles says flatly. “But I have to leave anyway. Ferrari’s calling.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Abandoning your defenseless sister in the lion’s den. What a hero.”

He leans in close, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m serious. Stay here, don’t drink too much, and if you see Carlos coming, you run.”

“Run? In this dress? Are you kidding me?”

“Figure it out,” he snaps, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before walking off. He glances over his shoulder twice—twice—as if expecting to catch you breaking a rule the moment he’s out of earshot, before narrowing his eyes at a man who isn’t even Carlos but looked at you for half a second too long.

You wait until he’s fully gone before exhaling in relief.

“Bossy, isn’t he?”

The voice is smooth, warm, and laced with amusement. You glance to your left and—of course— it’s Carlos Sainz.

You freeze, your brother’s voice echoing in your head like a siren: Run.

RUN.

“I was beginning to think he’d never leave,” Carlos adds, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “You were… waiting for him to leave?”

“Only because he kept looking at me like I’d stolen his wallet,” Carlos replies, leaning casually against the bar. “Or his car. Or his sister.”

You open your mouth to respond but close it again, realizing there’s no good way to play this off. “He’s just… protective.”

Carlos chuckles, his eyes scanning your face with a kind of slow, deliberate curiosity. “I noticed. So, did you make him that promise? No drinks, no sneaking out, no talking to me?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, deadpan. “I told him I’d only talk to the nice drivers.”

Carlos clutches his chest like you’ve just shot him. “Ouch. Harsh.”

“I’m just being polite,” you say, your lips twitching into a smile.

“Well,” he replies, leaning closer, his voice dropping slightly, “if this is you being polite, I think I would very much like to see what happens when you are not.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re trouble.”

He grins wider. “So I have heard.”

You glance around, half-expecting Charles to materialize out of thin air and haul you away, but thankfully, the coast is clear. “If Charles sees us talking…”

“I will tell him I was complimenting his suit,” Carlos says, completely unbothered.

“Complimenting his suit?”

“It is the diplomatic approach,” he says with a shrug. “Besides, I am not here to talk about your brother.”

You feel your cheeks heat slightly but manage to keep your tone light. “Oh? And what are you here to talk about?”

Carlos tilts his head, considering. “I was going to ask what you are drinking. But now I am more curious about what it takes to make you smile like that.”

You blink at him, caught completely off guard. “Like what?”

“Like you have just outsmarted someone,” he says, his grin softening.

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Likely not,” he admits. Carlos leans against the bar, his grin firmly in place, the picture of someone who knows they’re being just a bit too charming for their own good. “Alright then,” he says, folding his arms casually, “if flattery is off the table, will you take honesty?”

You arch a brow, intrigued despite yourself. “Honesty? Bold move. Let’s hear it.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Honestly… I do not think I have ever seen someone look so uncomfortable in such an expensive dress.”

Your mouth falls open in mock offense. “Excuse me?”

“You look stunning,” he says quickly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip, “but also like you are plotting the designer’s bankruptcy for making it impossible to sit down without no strategy.”

You try to fight the grin tugging at your lips, but it’s hopeless. “That obvious?”

“Painfully.” He gestures toward your drink. “That is why you are sticking to cocktails, am I wrong? Easier to hold when you cannot sit.”

“First of all,” you say, narrowing your eyes, “I’ll have you know this dress is art. Secondly, yes, it’s also a medieval torture device.”

Carlos laughs, the sound warm and rich. “I knew it. You should have gone for something more comfortable. Like a race suit.”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “Nothing screams elegance like fireproof overalls.”

He raises a brow, amused. “I pull it off, no?”

“Debatable.”

Carlos gasps, hand to his chest. “You wound me.”

“Maybe you deserve it,” you tease, swirling your drink. “Coming over here and making fun of my dress. Bold move for a guy who was scared of my brother five minutes ago.”

“I was not scared,” Carlos protests, though his grin gives him away. “I was being… strategic. Big difference.”

“Strategic?”

“Of course. If I had approached with him still here, I would not have had a chance to make you laugh like this.”

You blink, caught off guard by the way his words land. Playful, sure, but with just enough sincerity to make your heart skip a beat. You glance down at your drink to recover. “You really don’t give up, do you?”

“Not when it is worth it,” he replies smoothly.

You roll your eyes, though you’re still smiling. “You know, Charles warned me about you.”

Carlos leans in slightly, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Did he, now? What did he say?”

“That you’re trouble.”

He grins, clearly delighted. “Smart man, your brother.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I’m starting to think he undersold it.”

Carlos’s gaze lingers on you for a moment, his smile softening. “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me.”

“Out of politeness,” you counter, though your tone is anything but serious.

“Ah, of course,” he says, nodding solemnly. “Politeness. Nothing else.”

Before you can respond, a familiar figure catches your eye— Charles, weaving his way back through the crowd, his sharp gaze already scanning the room.

Carlos notices too.

He straightens slightly, his grin turning almost boyish. “Looks like the bodyguard is back.”

You feel a pang of panic and glance at Carlos. “You should probably go before he-”

He holds up a hand, cutting you off with a wink. “Relax.”

Before you can protest, he pulls a small card from his pocket and slides it across the bar toward you. “Call me sometime. You know, if you ever need a break from all the rules.”

Your eyes widen, and you stare at the card like it’s going to combust. “Are you serious right now?”

“Deadly,” he says, stepping back with an easy confidence that somehow makes the gesture feel entirely natural.

You glance back toward Charles, who’s getting closer. “You’re insane.”

“Very likely,” Carlos agrees, his grin never wavering. “But you are smiling again, so I will take my chances.”

With that, he turns and disappears into the crowd just as Charles arrives, his expression immediately suspicious.

“You’re… red,” Charles says, narrowing his eyes at you. “Why are you red?”

“I’m not red,” you reply quickly, tucking the card into your clutch before he can notice.

“You are definitely red.” His eyes scan the room like he’s searching for a culprit. “Did someone talk to you? Was it-” He cuts himself off, his jaw tightening. “It was him, wasn’t it?”

“Who?” you ask, feigning innocence.

Charles groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I leave you alone for ten minutes-”

“Nothing happened!” you say, cutting him off before he can spiral. “I stayed in place, I didn’t get drunk, and I absolutely did not talk with Carlos Sainz.”

Charles glares at you for a long moment, clearly unconvinced. “If I find out you’re lying…”

“You won’t,” you assure him, fighting to keep your expression neutral.

Charles mutters something in French under his breath, his protective instincts still on high alert. But for now, he seems to let it go.

You take a deep breath, trying not to think about the card burning a metaphorical hole in your clutch.

Trouble, indeed.

—

The next evening, you’re sitting on the edge of the couch in the hotel you're staying in for the week, the card in your hand like a magnet pulling your thoughts.

Carlos Sainz Jr.

His name, elegant and bold, hovers just above a phone number.

You’ve been staring at it for an hour, maybe two.

It’s reckless. You know exactly where this could lead. But after weeks of licking your wounds post-breakup, maybe reckless is what you need.

You grab your phone, dial the number, and press call before you can second-guess yourself.

The line rings twice before you hear his smooth, amused voice. “Did not expect you to actually call. Could you not resist me after all?”

You snort, leaning back in your chair. “You’re lucky I was bored.”

“Boredom. My favorite reason to hear from someone,” he says, the grin practically audible. “Let me guess, you are curious too?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, what are you curious about then? My irresistible charm? Perhaps my car collection?”

“How you manage to stay humble, obviously,” you deadpan, sinking back into the cushions.

Carlos laughs, warm and easy. “Touché. So, to what do I owe the honor of your time?”

“Honor?” you repeat, grinning despite yourself. “You’re laying it on thick, Sainz.”

“Is it working?” he teases.

“Not even a little.”

“Well that just breaks my heart,” he says, the amusement still lacing his voice. “So, what’s the plan? Coffee? A five-course dinner? A museum? A chess tournament, maybe?”

“Very funny.” You can’t help but roll your eyes.

He chuckles. “Not doing it for you? Then.. how about something a little more… fun?”

You pause, caught off guard by the openness of the invitation. He clearly doesn't shy away from what he wants. “Define ‘fun.’”

“Well, that depends,” he replies. “Do you like questionable choices?”

You laugh lightly, your shoulders relaxing. “That’s vague enough to sound both exciting and mildly concerning.”

“Only if you're afraid of a little adventure,” he says. “So, what do you say? Feel like breaking a rule or two tonight?”

It’s tempting, more than you care to admit. After the mess of your last relationship, something casual, something fun, feels like exactly what you need.

No strings, no complications, just one night where you don’t have to overthink.

“Fine,” you say before you can change your mind. “But if it’s boring, I’m blaming you.”

Carlos chuckles, confidence palpable even over the phone. “Deal. Wear something you can run in just in case.”

“Run?” you repeat, half-laughing. “What are we doing, robbing a bank?”

“Not unless you want to,” he quips. “Pick you at nine?”

“Make it ten,” you counter.

“Perfect,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you then.”

At exactly 10 p.m., you step out of your building to find him leaning against a sleek black car, his arms crossed casually over his chest. He looks up as you approach, his grin lighting up the cool night.

“Punctual,” he says, straightening. “I like that.”

“Don’t get too excited. I had to pull some serious James Bond moves just to get down here without getting caught.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow, his grin already threatening to take over his face. “You had to sneak out? Please tell me this involved climbing out a window, a grappling hook, or at least a dramatic roll through the bushes.”

“Dial it back, Hollywood,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes. “Charles is in the same hotel, so I had to wait until he was distracted. Then it was all service elevators and a full-on sprint through the lobby. Not my proudest moment.”

Carlos lets out a laugh that’s so loud it practically echoes. “A sprint? In heels? I would’ve paid to see that. Did you also hurdle over a concierge desk? Maybe slap on a disguise?”

“Oh, sure,” you say dryly. “I borrowed a waiter’s tuxedo, grabbed a martini tray, and dramatically whispered, ‘The eagle has landed’ into my nonexistent earpiece. Happy?”

Carlos is practically wheezing now. “God, I love this. The mental image alone is worth every risk of me getting yelled at by Charles later.”

“Glad my suffering is your entertainment,” you grumble, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“It’s not suffering,” he teases, opening the passenger door with a flourish. “It’s resourcefulness. And it’s sexy, honestly. Nothing like a woman who can evade capture.”

Sliding into the car, you’re greeted by the smell of leather and something distinctly spicy- his cologne, no doubt.

You buckle your seatbelt with a sigh. “Let’s just hope Charles doesn’t find out. I don’t need another lecture about ‘dangerous distractions.’”

Carlos rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat, shooting you an amused look. “Dangerous distractions? That is what he calls me?”

“Paraphrased,” you say, tilting your head. “But yeah, you’re not exactly his favorite person.”

Carlos starts the car, the low rumble of the engine filling the air. “Dangerous, distracting… mysterious? I mean, he is not wrong, no?”

“Sure, if you consider reckless confidence a mystery,” you deadpan, smirking.

The car glides through the streets, city lights flickering like distant stars. Soft music hums in the background, but it’s the easy rhythm of his laugh that keeps drawing your attention.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “do you make a habit of this? Sweeping women off their feet with late-night escapades and mediocre charm?”

Carlos glances at you, his grin widening. “Define habit.”

“Something you do as often as breathing, blinking, or inflating your ego,” you reply, deadpan.

He chuckles, one hand leaving the wheel to gesture grandly. “First of all, I don’t charm everyone. I have standards. Second, I don’t see you as a stranger. More like… a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in—”

“Don’t say mystery,” you cut in, groaning.

“Fine,” he says, smirking. “A challenge. And I love challenges.”

You arch a brow. “So what you’re saying is, I’m a Rubik’s Cube in heels?”

“Exactly,” he says, like it’s the highest compliment he could ever give someone.

“Oh, well, as long as I’m colorful and frustrating,” you reply, rolling your eyes.

Carlos grins. “And completely irresistible.”

“Please tell me that’s not your go-to line,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose in mock despair.

“Of course not,” he huffs, mock-offended. “My go-to line is, ‘Hi, I’m Carlos. Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.’”

You practically choke on your laugh. “That’s horrible. That’s, like, pick-up line rock bottom.”

“Rock bottom?” he echoes, feigning shock. “No way. It works every time.”

“Oh, I’m sure it does.” You shake your head. “On toddlers and tourists.”

“Hey,” he says, pointing a finger at you. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely not,” you say, your laugh betraying you. “I’m here despite you, not because of you.”

Carlos smirks, his voice dripping with mischief. “Keep telling yourself that, mastermind. But I know the truth- you couldn’t resist the ‘dangerous distraction.’”

You groan, sinking further into your seat. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you,” he says, shooting you a quick, playful glance, “are having the time of your life, admit it.”

For once, you’re not entirely sure he’s wrong.

The car eventually pulls into the driveway of a sleek, modern hotel, its lights gleaming against the night sky.

You turn to Carlos, raising a skeptical brow, putting on your best impression of someone highly offended as he parks in front of the gleaming hotel. “So, this was the plan all along? Fancy hotel, late-night charm, and then…?”

You don’t even have to finish the sentence because his grin, the one that’s already halfway to insufferable, answers for him.

“And then what?” he fires back, leaning one arm against the steering wheel like he’s posing for a GQ article.

“You know exactly what,” you say, narrowing your eyes dramatically.

Carlos gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve just insulted his entire family tree. “Wow. So that’s where your mind went? I bring you here for the view and the ambiance, and you’re already casting me as the villain? Shame on you.”

“Oh, please,” you reply, fighting to keep your laugh in check. “I’m just cutting to the chase. Save us both the trouble.”

Carlos turns to face you and nothing in his face says he's particularly ashamed to admit his intentions. “Look, I could tell you some noble story about how I just wanted to show you the city from a better perspective.”

“But?” you prompt, raising a brow and you cover a laugh when he tuts at your impatience.

“But, I figured you’re too smart for that,” he admits with a shrug. “So yes, I brought you here thinking we would share a night.”

Your stomach flips at the sheer confidence of his answer, but you force the neutral expression to stay. “Bold of you to assume I’d even be interested.”

Carlos leans in slightly, voice dropping to something softer, teasing. “Oh, I’m sorry. Should I have taken the whole ‘call me’ thing as you wanting to discuss philosophy?”

He leans in, smirk turning positively dangerous. “Plus. Trouble’s half the fun, is it not?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not paying for room service if this whole charade involves a well-rehearsed speech,” you shoot back, unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Speech?” he echoes, already stepping out of the car and coming around to your side. He opens your door with an exaggerated bow that is far too ridiculous to be charming but it manages to be anyway. “If I were planning a speech, it would be Oscar-worthy. Full drama, perhaps a soundtrack. But alas, I left my tuxedo at home.”

“Shame,” you deadpan, stepping out. “A tux might’ve added some credibility.”

Carlos shrugs before gently taking your hand. “M’lady, allow me to escort you to… whatever this is.”

“You’re laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?” you say, stepping out.

“Thick is how I do everything,” he replies. “Thick charm, thick dessert layers.. Thick..”

He trails off, wiggling his eyebrows.

You groan, unable to help yourself. “Are you 13, Sainz?”

“Going on 30.”

The elevator ride is like a high-stakes staring contest, except Carlos is clearly cheating by smirking every time you glance his way.

He leans against the wall like a man who’s never faced consequences in his life, while you remain firmly committed to ignoring him.

“I could get used to this silence,” he finally says, breaking it. “Very... peaceful.”

You don’t even look at him. “If you wanted peaceful, Carlos, you picked the wrong girl.”

His laugh echoes in the small space, low and entirely too confident.

—

The suite is jaw-droppingly beautiful, the kind of place you’d expect to see in a movie where the protagonist definitely can’t afford it.

Floor-to-ceiling windows frame a cityscape so gorgeous it feels like you’ve just walked into a tourism campaign.

Even Charles doesn't splurge this much on hotels. Much less hotels to spend a one-night stand in.

“Alright,” you admit grudgingly as you step onto the balcony. “This is… adequate.”

Carlos sidles up beside you, resting his elbows on the railing. “Adequate? Adequate? That’s like calling the Mona Lisa ‘a decent sketch.’”

“Relax, da Vinci,” you reply. “It’s a view, not the eighth wonder of the world.”

He shakes his head in mock dismay. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to book this place? I practically had to arm-wrestle a guy named Greg for it. Poor man is probably crying into his budget tiramisu right now.”

You snort, folding your arms. “I hope Greg writes an angry Yelp review. ‘Carlos stole my room and ruined my tiramisu dreams.’”

“Hey, I was thinking of your happiness,” Carlos counters, gesturing grandly to the suite. “You should be thanking me.”

“Oh, thank you, generous benefactor, for saving me from the horror of Greg’s tiramisu,” you deadpan, though your lips twitch toward a smile.

Carlos taps his fingers on the table like he’s just cracked the da Vinci code wide open. “Boom! A smile! My evil plan is working.”

You squint at him, feigning shock. “You have an evil plan?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I am a professional at this stuff. There’s a whole spreadsheet.”

“Spreadsheets? Really? What’s in Column A? ‘Step one: tiramisu. Step two: convince her I’m worth her time’?”

“Not quite,” Carlos waves a hand as though dismissing your obvious lack of understanding. “Step two is actually ‘compliment her taste in balcony design.’”

You roll your eyes. “Well, in that case, I’ll have to charge you for emotional damages.”

Carlos grins, taking out his phone with an easy flick of his hand. “No need to worry, it’s all part of the strategy. Tiramisu’s on the way, and my evil plan is flawless.”

You cross your arms and step away from the window, keeping your eyes locked on his. “Define ‘flawless,’” you tease, your voice sharp with mock suspicion.

Carlos steps closer, smirking like a man on a mission. “Flawless enough that it is guaranteed to work on you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

His eyes flicker to your lips, and suddenly the air between you feels warmer. “Really,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, teasing with the kind of certainty that makes your heart do a little flip.

“You’re not really gonna make me wait for that tiramisu, are you?” You ask, leaning in just a little, challenging him with a smile that’s all confidence and mischief.

Carlos doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, he takes a step closer, his fingers brushing your wrist with a too-easy familiarity. “Greg can have it.”

Your breath catches as his forehead comes to rest against yours.

“Do I have your consent to skip to the good part?” he whispers, hand brushing against your waist, lingering for your permission. “I promise I’ll wine and dine you next time.”

You can’t help but smile, and he mirrors it, that same knowing look in his eyes.

Both of you know there's not going to be a next time. This is it.

Carlos leans in, just close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath on your skin. "I mean it. Next time, you get the full treatment.”

You smirk. "No need to get romantic. We both know that's a lie.”

For a split second, he doesn’t answer.

Then he shrugs, as if he’s made peace with the fleeting nature of this whole thing. "Yeah, probably," he admits, not at all shy.

The world is big and messy. Tomorrow, you'll wake up with responsibilities, regrets, maybe even some bruised pride.

But not tonight.

Not in this room.

You lean in, the air thick with anticipation, and that's all it takes.

Carlos surges forward, catching you off guard with how quickly he takes the lead. His hands cradle your face like it’s something precious, his fingers spreading across your jaw with a touch so warm and careful it makes your chest tighten.

For a moment, everything goes still.

The absurdity of it all melts away as you sink into the kiss, soft and electric all at once.

The heat of him consumes you, the world blurring into nothing but Carlos and the way he tastes. Sweet, intoxicating, and just a little messy. Lips collide, teeth graze, and the rhythm is anything but steady, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Carlos moves the two of you toward the bed, gently backing you up until your knees hit the mattress. His dark eyes shine with a playfulness that’s new to you, and he can’t help the grin tugging at his lips when you let out the softest gasp as you fall back against the pillows.

He leans over you, his fingers already searching for the zipper of your dress. His lips brush your ear as he murmurs, “Strip for me, baby.”

You’re hesitant for a beat, cheeks flushing pink, but then you comply, your movements shy but determined as you step out of your dress. Carlos watches, captivated, as if seeing you like this is the most enchanting thing in the world.

“God, you’re so cute,” he says, his voice filled with awe and a touch of amusement.

The moment your bra joins the pile of discarded clothing, his hand reaches behind you, fingers deftly undoing the clasp with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“Done this before?” you tease softly, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Carlos chuckles, his grin widening. “Maybe once or twice.”

His hands cup your breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. The way your body trembles under his touch makes his chest ache with affection. He dips his head, lips wrapping around a nipple, his tongue swirling teasingly as his eyes meet yours.

The little sounds you make are almost too much for him. Every gasp, every whimper, every squirm beneath him sends his heart racing.

“Still okay?” he asks softly, his voice tinged with concern.

You nod quickly, your expression so earnest and trusting it makes his chest swell. “Yeah,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sure.

Carlos smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead before trailing his hand down your body, his fingertips brushing over your stomach, then your thighs. He hooks his fingers into your panties, sliding them down your legs with an almost reverent care.

“You’re so wet, cariño,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with wonder. His fingers trail through your slick folds, teasing lightly before pressing against your clit in soft, deliberate circles.

The way your body arches, the quiet, desperate whimpers spilling from your lips—it’s almost too adorable for him to handle.

He pauses, bringing a finger to his lips and sucking your taste off it with a hum of satisfaction. “I’m going to go down on you,” he says, his voice steady but tinged with anticipation. “Let me take care of you, hmm?”

You whine, covering your face with your hands, clearly embarrassed, but Carlos just chuckles, his heart melting at how cute you are.

“Look at me,” he coaxes gently, his tone soft but firm.

When you peek at him through your fingers, your nose scrunching slightly, he grins. “Good girl.”

The shudder that runs through you at his words doesn’t go unnoticed, and he files that reaction away for later.

He shifts, settling between your thighs before shouldering your knees apart, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt, flushed and swollen with desire.

Carlos is aching in the confines of his jeans, hard and dripping precum into his boxers, but that can wait.

It’s going to wait.

"So beautiful," he breathes, his fingertips barely grazing the sensitive flesh as he spreads you open for his hungry gaze. “Mierda..”

His eyes follow a drop of come that escapes your clenching cunt, enraptured. He smears it along your clit, relishing in the way your body jerks up on the bed.

Leaning in, he drags the flat of his tongue up your slit in one slow deliberate lick, savoring.

"Mmmm..I could spend hours worshipping this pretty little cunt.” Carlos hums, his eyes fluttering shut. The taste of you, sweet and heady, has him groaning softly.

Your body responds instinctively, your back arching as you clutch at the sheets, soft cries spilling from your lips.

He repeats the motion before he can even think about it, tongue flicking across your clit.

He does that a few more times before shifting, grimacing as his covered bulge rubs against the mattress.

Carlos flicks over the bundle of nerves, then wraps his arms around your legs, lifting them from where they're settled and placing them above his shoulders. He spreads your lips, and then gets started.

“Fuck!” You gasp, back arching as you scramble for purchase, sanity fraying with every plunge of his tongue inside of you.

He seals his lips around your clit and suckles gently, flicking the tip of his tongue rapidly over the sensitive bud.

“I'm- Ah! Oh god, oh shi-it..- Please..” You're not quite sure what you're begging for. All you know is that you're going to die if Carlos stops.

"I'm gonna put in a finger, okay?" Carlos asks, looking up at you for your permission.

Usually, he’s not big on communication, not because he dislikes it, but because he’s rarely found it to be necessary.

But now, here you are, putting on a brave face and quietly defying your brother for the night.

He finds himself pleasantly surprised to enjoy the opportunity to guide you through it.

He grins when you nearly weep in relief.

"Yes, god yes..”

"Just tell me if anything feels uncomfortable.”

He circles your entrance for a moment, placing a kiss on your clit for the sake of it before slowly sinking a finger inside your slick heat.

He waits till your hips start shifting, seeking some sort of friction, before pumping them in a steady rhythm, his palm grazing your clit with each pass.

You’re tight, walls clenching down on just one of his fingers but your wetness makes it a little more easy to slide inside.

He gives a few slow pumps, checking your reaction, before picking up the pace and licking at your clit again.

You’re starting to make a mess, dripping down onto the sheets, and he wonders just how wet he can get you. Will you drip? Will you leak? Will you squirt?

"There we go.." Carlos praises, his words vibrating against your sensitive flesh.

“One more?”

You nod eagerly.

“Words, cariño,” he chides softly, his lips quirking into a playful smile.

“Y-Yes, please, Carlos,” you manage, your voice trembling but eager.

“There’s my good girl,” he praises again.

A shiver runs through you again and he grins, pushing back in with two fingers. Your face twists at the intrusion for just a moment before your hazy eyes are back on him, nodding as you catch his silent question.

Carlos curls his fingers slightly, stroking that spongy patch high on your front wall, easily finding your g-spot in another second as he tilts the angle of his wrist and your jaw drops, eyes widening.

"Oh mon dieu, don't- don't- stop-” you sob.

He laughs, has half the mind to tease but decides to do as you ask and make better use of his mouth by sucking on your clit again.

Your juices gush around his pistoning fingers as he feels your silken walls clamp down on the invasion, rippling and squeezing him in their velvety grip.

Carlos doesn't let up even as you try to squirm away from him, feet planted on his shoulders and trying to push him off your pussy.

He only growls, drags you closer to his mouth, his wicked tongue working your throbbing clit furiously.

"Yes, yes, that's it, let it all out for me," he coaxes between slurping kisses to your twitching sex. "Soak my face. Come on. Know you're close, baby.”

Carlos massages that spot inside you that has your toes curling, and the noises your wet pussy is making are completely obscene, seem to echo in the room.

“Wait-” a panicked wail leaves your lips but Carlos is too far gone, gulping for air as he replaces his tongue with his hand, the red and swollen bud of your clit rubbing against the rapid back and forth of his palm.

But Carlos doesn’t stop, too caught up in the sudden gush of fluid from your body.

His determined ministrations, almost frantic now, send droplets scattering across the bed and even onto his face.

You gasp at the mess, cheeks flushing as you take in the drenched state of his light blue button-up. "Oh my god, I’m so sorry-"

Carlos pauses, sitting up slightly as he glances down at his drenched shirt. For a moment, you think he might be upset, but then he grins. A slow, lazy, thoroughly pleased grin that makes your heart skip.

“Sorry?” he echoes, shrugging out of the shirt and tossing it aside. “Baby, don’t apologize for that. That was incredible.”

His hand moves to your cheek, cupping it gently as he brushes his thumb over your flushed skin.

Your eyes dart away, but he tilts your chin up, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“You’ve never done that before, have you?” he asks softly, his voice filled with warmth and curiosity.

You shake your head, feeling a little bashful. “I didn’t even know I could.”

“Well, now you do,” he murmurs, his grin softening into a fond smile. “And it was beautiful. You were beautiful.”

His words make you blink up at him, your lips parting as if to argue, but the sincerity in his gaze stops you. Instead, a small, shy smile tugs at your lips, and you nod.

Carlos leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before his lips brush against yours, slow and tender. “Do you trust me to keep going?” he asks quietly, his breath warm against your skin.

Your response is immediate, a soft and eager, “Yes,” escaping your lips as your fingers thread into his hair, holding him close for just a moment longer.

Carlos groans, before pulling back and sliding off you.

His movements are deliberate, gaze flickering to meet yours as he reaches for the waistband of his jeans.

You can’t help but follow his every move, your eyes heavy with anticipation as he tugs the denim down, revealing inch by inch of him.

He steps out of his pants with a casual confidence that makes your pulse race. His smirk deepens as he notices your unabashed stare, the way your gaze lingers. “Enjoying the view?” he teases, his tone rough but playful.

You bite your lip, a shy but knowing smile creeping onto your face. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice laced with just enough mischief to make him chuckle.

“Well, then let’s make sure you enjoy the rest, too,” he says, removing his boxers.

As he does, his erection comes into full view, thick and heavy and already leaking precum at the tip.

Your eyes widen as you take in the impressive sight, a rush of fresh arousal surging through you.

You breathe out, trying to compose yourself. You chance a glance at him and he meets your eyes, nodding his head.

Your fingers wrap around Carlos’ wrist, pulling him back to the bed with a surprising determination that has him raising a brow.

Before he can say a word, you’ve moved between his legs, your intentions clear. Carlos barely has time to process what’s happening before his breath hitches.

“Fuck.”

Your warm, wet mouth enveloping his cock sends a jolt of pleasure straight through him and his eyes nearly roll back.

You move deliberately, letting your tongue glide along his length before pulling back to focus on his tip, swirling and teasing in a way that has Carlos groaning low in his throat.

His hands find their way to the back of your head, resting there more for balance than control, though he murmurs praises that tumble out unbidden.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he breathes, his voice rough with restraint. "Good girl… Fuck, you're such a good girl."

That last phrase draws a muffled moan from you, the vibrations traveling through him like a shockwave, making his stomach clench.

He can’t stop the thought that flashes through his mind— such a good fucking girl.

You find a rhythm, bobbing steadily while your hand works what your mouth doesn’t reach.

Each flick of your tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock has him twitching, a breathy curse escaping when you take him deeper, testing your limits

The warmth and pressure make his head spin, but when your eyes meet his, wide and glimmering with mischief, Carlos feels his control slipping.

"Shit-" he gasps, the sensation overwhelming as he feels the tip of himself graze the back of your throat.

The way your tongue works at the base sends a spike of pleasure so sharp, balls tightening, that Carlos has to act fast, pulling you off with a groan before he cums before even fucking you.

You look up at him, lips swollen and cheeks flushed, a glimmer of satisfaction in your expression.

A thin line of saliva clings to your chin, and you swipe it away casually, your grin both coy and triumphant.

"Holy fuck," he breathes out, running a hand over his face.

It's all the warning you get before he grabs you, flipping your positions in one swift motion so he’s above you again, his body crowding yours.

“Where'd a pretty little thing like you learn how to suck cock like that, huh?”

Your grin doesn’t falter as you murmur, “Wouldn’t you like to know.

Carlos smirks, leaning down close enough that his breath brushes against your skin. He murmurs, voice dark with promise, “let’s see what else you can do."

Carlos leans over you, his hands bracketing your sides as he captures your lips in a slow, heated kiss.

Pulling back just enough to speak, his voice drops to a low, husky murmur. “Dios mío, I can’t wait to fuck you...”

You’re breathless, your lips parted and your gaze heavy-lidded, but there’s a spark of challenge in your tone as you manage to say, “Then do it.”

His eyes darken as he takes in your defiance. “Oh, don’t worry, cariño,” he says. “I will.”

Carlos pulls a condom from beneath the pillow with a sly grin, ignoring your quiet laugh.

He makes quick work of rolling the latex sheath down his length. Making sure you see just so you don't feel uneasy about it.

Reaching for a bottle of lube that he'd asked the hotel staff to leave in the bedside drawer, he opens the cap slowly.

He notices the quizzical look in your eyes and addresses the unspoken question with a shrug. "Just to be safe. Better overdone than under, eh?”

Carlos lubes up his fingers thoroughly before reaching down to massage your slick folds.

His fingers trace teasing circles around your entrance, dipping in just enough to feel you flutter and squeeze, like you’re already trying to pull him closer. It’s almost too cute how your body responds, eager and impatient.

As Carlos begins to press in, the head of his cock breaching your tight entrance, your features twist in the most adorable way, your brows pinching together, lips parting slightly as you adjust. He can’t help but marvel at how perfect you look, even like this.

He exhales sharply, trying to stifle a groan.

Carlos isn’t usually the type to get too vocal, but the way you feel is making it impossible to hold back.

“Shhh, relax for me, amor,” he murmurs, his voice soft and reassuring.

One hand strokes soothing circles on your lower back while the other cups your cheek, his thumb brushing against your flushed skin.

He’s trying to be patient, gentle, because he doesn’t want to rush you, doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this.

He pauses whenever your expression tightens, his eyes fixed on you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

The way you wriggle your hips a little, trying to get used to him, only makes his heart clench. You’re trying so hard for him, to take his cock, and it’s impossibly endearing.

Finally, you nod, your voice a soft whisper. “Okay… Okay, you can move.”

Carlos doesn’t need to be told twice.

He starts slow, his movements careful and deliberate, as if he’s afraid of breaking something fragile. Each sound you make, the tiny gasps, the way you breathe his name, sends a shiver through him.

He's going to be obsessed with you if you keep it up.

The way your back arches beneath him, how your hands cling to his shoulders, and the soft “oh” that slips from your lips when he pushes a little deeper. All of it makes him want to be drunk with you.

When he’s as far as he can go, he pauses, watching your face, his voice laced with affection and just a hint of smugness. “Never been this full?”

You shake your head, biting your lip in that shy way, your hips shifting against him instinctively.

He chuckles softly, starting to move again, his pace slow and steady at first. But as you begin to meet his thrusts, matching him perfectly, he picks up speed, his movements more purposeful.

Each deliberate snap of his hips pulls the sweetest, most melodic sounds from you, soft gasps and little whimpers that only spur him on.

You’re perfect. So fucking cute.

The slick heat between you makes every movement smooth, though Carlos slips out a couple of times, only to guide himself back in easily.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, leaving faint marks that spur him on, and your cloudy, pleasure-drunk eyes roll back in the most pretty way, making his chest ache with something more than just lust.

“Do you wanna ride me, baby?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with need.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer, your voice trembling as you nod eagerly.

There’s a flicker of shyness in your movements, a hesitation that only makes you more endearing to him.

Even though your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, you don’t hesitate, shifting so Carlos can lie on his back while you straddle him. He watches you with rapt attention, his lips quirking into a small, affectionate smile as you position yourself over him.

His hand wraps around his length, teasing your folds with the head, and he’s utterly mesmerized by the way your lips part, the way you bite down on them as you begin to lower yourself.

Inch by inch, you take him, and he can’t help but think of how you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

His hands find your hips instinctively, gripping you gently but firmly.

Despite his intention to let you set the pace, his need wins out, and he begins guiding you up and down before you even have a chance to adjust.

A loud, sweet moan escapes your lips as you lean forward, kissing him with an urgency that’s almost too cute for words.

Your teeth tug at his lower lip, making him groan softly, his hands tightening on your waist.

Then you start to move on your own, bouncing on him with a surprising confidence, and your wide, innocent eyes flick up to meet his. Even as the heat radiates from your every motion, there’s something so sweet in the way you look at him, like you’re trying to get his approval.

“Like this?” you slur, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, just like that,” Carlos breathes, his voice thick and low.

The lewd, wet sounds of your bodies moving together threaten to push him over the edge, but he focuses on the adorable way you’re trying so hard to be good for him.

“You’re so good for me,” he groans, his words spilling out without thought, and the way you whimper in response, your lips parting in a needy gasp, makes his heart race.

You sink down fully, grinding against him, and he watches your expression shift. When you find the perfect angle, your eyes widen in a mix of wonder and surprise, locking onto his like you can’t believe how good it feels.

“Keep going, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb finding your clit and circling it gently, his voice filled with awe. “You’re perfect. So perfect. Let go for me.”

Your movements grow frantic, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body trembles. Carlos watches in utter fascination as your lips part in a choked whimper, and then you cry out, your release hitting you in waves.

Warmth floods over him, soaking his skin and the sheets beneath, but all he can think about is how beautiful, how absolutely adorable, you are in this moment.

The sight, the sound, the feel of you. It’s too much. Carlos’ grip tightens on your waist as he thrusts upward one last time, his own climax crashing into him.

His body shudders beneath you, his head tipping back as he empties himself completely, groaning your name softly.

When it’s over, you collapse onto his chest, your breaths mingling as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.

Carlos’ hands wander to your lower back, tracing gentle circles near the dimples that make you squirm slightly, a halfhearted giggle escaping your lips.

He chuckles softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. The two of you lie there in the quiet, the warmth of each other’s presence wrapping around you like a blanket.

After a long pause, Carlos speaks, his voice filled with playful affection. “You want tiramisu?”

The sleepy laugh you let out is so cute it makes his heart flip, and he knows he’d do anything just to keep hearing it.

The thought makes him sick.

[seumyo]

I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG

PROMPT. How they mourn when you were gone too soon. You did worry about getting old, didn’t you?

FEATURING. Midoriya I., Bakugou K., Todoroki S., Shinsou H.

NOTE. I’m testing the waters with angst content + formatting style for multiple drabbles—so forgive me if it’s not that good!

MIDORIYA IZUKU — Sees you in someone else.

Midoriya Izuku found passion in teaching. It’s a life-changing job that molds each and every student into the person they want to become with the help of people like him.

His students, vibrant and full of life, were so much like his old classmates—and among them was Takashiro Ayane, her laughter light and melodic as she teased one of her friends about their clumsy landing during training.

It reminded him of someone. Someone close.

You.

And the thought always came to him, even when he didn’t mean to. Even at the most random times.

Ayane’s resemblance to you was uncanny. It wasn’t just her kindness or the gentle way she spoke; it was in the way she held herself, her subtle but unwavering resolve. Midoriya could see flashes of you in her—the friend who had once been a constant source of warmth in his turbulent journey at U.A. High.

As Ayane reached up to adjust her headband, smiling brightly, Midoriya felt a pang in his chest. The sight was like a memory brought to life, a reminder of your soft-spoken encouragement and the way she always stood firm despite her fears.

God, it felt like seeing you all over again.

“Sensei!” another student called out, pulling him back to the present. “Did you see that move? I think it might actually work in combat! Or support, if I feel like it.”

Midoriya blinked, shaking off the haze of memories. “Y-Yeah, it looked great!” he replied, mustering enthusiasm. “Your timing’s improving a lot—keep it up!”

He tried to push the thought aside, focusing on the here and now, but it was no use. The resemblance was too striking, and his heart felt heavy with the weight of unspoken grief. You were gone, after all. Gone too soon.

As the students broke into laughter again, something about the carefree sound and the dynamic of his students triggered a reflex. Without thinking, he spoke, his voice soft yet audible enough to be heard.

“[First Name], I—”

Your name left his lips before he realized it, and the world seemed to freeze. The students fell silent, their laughter replaced by curious stares. Ayane tilted her head; confusion could be seen in her face.

Midoriya’s heart sank as he realized his mistake. He quickly forced a smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I mean Takashiro,” he corrected, craning a hand to the back of his neck.

“Sorry about that. Guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

The students exchanged glances, a few offering polite chuckles before moving on. The moment passed, yet for Midoriya, the weight of it lingered. He stayed behind as the students began their walk back to the main building, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Everything came flooding in his mind. Like a relentless tide that swept him away. Your jokes, your laugh, and the countless little moments that had defined your friendship.

He hadn’t spoken your name aloud in years, not since your passing. Now, saying it felt like reopening an old wound, one he had carefully avoided for so long. But he could only do so much avoidance ‘til he has to terms with it.

“Sensei?”

The gentle voice startled him, and he looked up to see Ayane standing a few steps away. Her expression was concerned; her head tilted slightly as she studied him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly. “You seemed... distracted earlier.”

Midoriya hesitated. The words caught in his throat as he wrestled with how to respond. How could he explain to his student that she reminded him of his dead friend?

What kind of teacher would he be if he were to say that? The awful, grieving kind, he bets.

“I’m fine, Takashiro,” he said finally, forcing a smile. “Just a little tired, that’s all. You know how these long training sessions can be.”

She didn’t look entirely convinced but nodded anyway. “If you ever need to talk, Sensei... we’re here for you too. Fighting!”

“Midoriya, grow a spine! Fighting!”

Her words hit too close to home.

“Thank you,” he could only murmur.

Ayane lingered for a moment before turning to join her classmates. He remained there, rooted to the spot as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. The golden light bathed the empty training grounds, and the silence felt heavier than usual.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve tried to move on, but I see you everywhere. In everything. In everyone.”

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a mix of regret and longing washing over him. “You were right about so many things,” he continued, his voice barely audible. “I just wish you were here to see it—to see how far we’ve all come.”

But you weren’t here anymore, and that’s the problem.

Bakugou Katsuki — Mourns you longer than he’d known you.

Cemeteries never brought discomfort to Bakugou. Not until you died, that is.

The place stretches out in solemn silence; the faint rustle of leaves in the hedges are the only sounds he heard as he trudged along the familiar gravel path. His boots made dull, deliberate crunches against the fallen leaves, the heaviness of his steps matching the weight in his chest.

In his hands, he carried the usual offerings: a bouquet of red spider lilies tied neatly with a ribbon, a box of your favorite sweet treats—melon pan today—and the incense sticks he always lit with care. It had been years since your passing, but for Bakugou, the loss felt as raw as if it had been yesterday.

He approached your gravestone, its surface polished and pristine, just as he always left it. Your name was etched into the stone with delicate precision, the sight of it both grounding and crushing. As if to remind him that you weren’t coming back because you’re just here, waiting for someone to visit you.

Bakugou knelt, his movements stiff and reluctant, as though even now he couldn’t fully accept your absence. Why can’t he accept it?

“Yo, dummy,” he muttered under his breath, pulling the lilies from their wrapping and placing them carefully at the vase near the gravestone. He adjusted them twice, three times, until they looked just right. His eyes lingered on the name etched into the cold stone, a bitterness creeping into his tone.

“Brought your damn flowers again. Hope you appreciate it.”

The sarcasm in his words was thinly veiled; beneath it lay the unmistakable ache of someone who had loved and lost far too deeply.

He pulled out the incense sticks next, lighting them with a practiced flick beneath his palm. You would’ve loved to see him do it in person; maybe light up a candle or two when the power goes out during your high school dorm days. The smell of sandalwood quickly mingled with the damp earth, and Bakugou leaned back on his heels, staring at the curling smoke.

“Another week down,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Another round of saving people, making headlines, being the ‘Great Dynamight.’ ” He spat the title out like it was poison.

“It’s what you always said I’d do, isn’t it? Go big; make my mark. But, damn it, [Last Name], none of it means anything without you here to see it.”

He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms as the familiar wave of guilt and frustration washed over him. His head dipped as he let out a long, ragged breath.

“I thought time was supposed to make this easier,” Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. “It’s been... what? Seven years now? And every damn day, it still feels like you’re just gonna show up out of nowhere, like you’re gonna annoy the hell outta me with one of your stupid jokes.”

The thought made his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile, though it was laced with sadness. He could almost hear your voice—that gentle yet persistent tone you’d use whenever she tried to drag him along to something.

“C’mon, Bakugou, I’ll need someone to bail me out of jail! You’ll regret it if you don’t come along.”

And you were right. He regretted it now. Every single refusal, every grumbled excuse, every moment he could’ve spent with you and didn’t.

“You were annoying as hell,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But you were... you were good. Too good.” His fists loosened, his hands falling limply to his sides.

“And you didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve to go like that.” Bakugou remembers the time he almost stained his conduct by almost killing the villain that got to you.

It’s unfair, isn’t it? The villain got to live behind bars, while you lost yours.

The wind picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees above. Bakugou tilted his head back, glaring up at the overcast sky as though it were to blame for everything.

“They don’t tell you how much it fucking hurts,” he said bitterly. “To lose someone like you. They don’t tell you that the longer it’s been, the harder it gets, ‘cause every year just reminds me of how much more I’ve missed. How much quicker I could’ve been.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, weathered notebook. It was yours, something your family had found amongst your belongings after you passed. They wanted him to have it since his name was always frequently mentioned. The edges were frayed, the pages creased from countless readings, but it was his most treasured possession.

Bakugou would rather die than even let a single drop of water meet one of its pages.

Flipping it open, he scanned your handwriting, some neat and some looking as though you couldn’t be bothered with basic penmanship. He stopped on a page that always gutted him.

Life’s short. Spend it with the people who matter. Don’t let moments slip away! :P

His thumb brushed over the words, his jaw tightening.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, you know. I get it. Too late, but I get it.”

He placed the notebook on the gravestone, letting it rest there for a moment before tucking it back into his pocket. His hand lingered on the cold stone, his fingers tracing the engraved letters of your name.

“You were supposed to stick around,” he said softly. “Supposed to keep bugging me, keep dragging me out of my own damn head. Now I’m stuck here, talking to a rock, and it’s not the same. It’ll never be the same.”

The clouds began to part, a faint beam of sunlight breaking through and casting a soft glow over the gravestone. Bakugou stared at it, his eyes unreadable. He’s thinking.

“I’ll keep coming back,” he finally said, his voice steadier now.

“Every week, every month, every damn year. You’re not gonna be forgotten. Not by me.”

He stood slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion and grief. Adjusting the incense sticks and flowers one last time, he stepped back, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“See you next time, dummy,” he murmured, his voice low. “Don’t forget about me or whatever, whever you are.”

As Bakugou walked away, the wind carried the faint scent of incense and the quiet promise of a man who would mourn you longer than he’d ever known you.

TODOROKI SHOUTO — Learns things that reminded him of you.

Todoroki knows that he’s been busy. It’s in the way the white camellias he brought you months ago are now wilted, showing their dried-up state. His fingers brush against the wilted petals, lingering as if to apologize for not visiting sooner.

“I still remember the last thing you said to me,” he murmured, his voice soft yet filled with an ache he couldn’t quite put into words. “It wasn’t even anything serious—just you scolding me for not eating enough during lunch. You were always so good at taking care of me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

He glanced down, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. The image of you—scolding, your hands on your hips as you tried to hide your worry—was etched so vividly into his memory that he could almost hear your voice.

Todoroki’s gaze traveled to the offerings he had brought with him: a fresh bouquet of camellia, a neatly folded scarf he had knitted in one of his new hobbies that he took up classes for, and a small pack of your favorite matcha-flavored sweets. “I know you’d laugh at me for picking up knitting,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But... it’s calming. I think you’d appreciate that. You always said I needed to find something that made me happy outside of being a hero.”

The scarf was simple, a pale green color that reminded him of the shade you loved wearing. He had spent hours perfecting it, thinking of how you might have joked about him for being so precise yet ultimately praised his effort.

“I hope you’d like it,” he whispered, setting it down carefully beside the gravestone. “I thought about giving it to someone else, but it felt wrong. It’s yours.”

Todoroki draws in a breath, closing his eyes, letting the stillness of the place envelop him. Yet in the quiet, his mind raced with so many thoughts all at once.

“I also learned how to cook,” he tells you—he tells your grave. “It’s not as good as yours, but Bakugou’s been helping.”

He thought of your childhood, how you had been his only light during the dark days of his father’s strict training. How you had been this bubbly girl that the teacher often praised, how you had stood by him when he was still new to making friends at the nursery, offering him a hand when he thought he didn’t deserve one.

“You were the best person I knew. And I pushed you away. You didn’t deserve that, [Last Name]. You were my friend when I didn’t know how to be one back.”

The pain of those words hung heavy in the air, and Todoroki’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. He had spent years replaying your interactions, wishing he had done things differently. If he had done things differently, you would’ve been here, probably teasing him for taking up chopstick-making classes.

“I was so angry back then,” he confessed, his gaze fixed on the gravestone. “At my father, at myself, at the world. And I took it out on you, the one person who never stopped trying to help me. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, but... I needed you.”

Another tear slipped down his cheek, and he hastily wiped it away, frustrated by the way his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He was the Number Two Hero now, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Yet here, in front of you, he felt like the lost, broken little boy that longed for his first friend.

“I need you now, please.”

The sound of a bird chirping nearby pulled him from his thoughts, and he glanced up at the sky. The sun was setting, casting a hue that reminded him of your warmth.

You did like sunsets, didn’t you?

“You’d probably scold me for crying,” he said with a faint chuckle, though his voice still wavered. “You always hated seeing me upset. But I think it’s okay this time. You’re worth crying over.”

He knelt down again, his fingers brushing over the engraved letters of your name.

“Shoucchan! You can’t cry! We can be partners—the best partners!”

Yes, partners. The best partners for as long as you’ll have him.

“I’m trying to live the way you wanted me to,” he continued. “To find happiness outside of being a hero. To be someone you’d be proud of. But it’s hard, [Last Name]. It’s hard without you.”

He stayed there for what felt like hours, speaking to you as though you were sitting beside him, as though your gentle presence could somehow reach across the veil of death. He told you about his hero work, about the classes he was taking, about the little moments of joy he tried to find in a life that often felt too heavy.

Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he rose to his feet. His knees ached from kneeling for so long, but he barely noticed.

“I’ll come back,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the tears that still shimmered in his eyes. “And I won’t let you wait so long again. Next time, I’ll bring something better than just a flower. Maybe one of those awful paintings you always said I should make.”

As he turned to leave, he hesitated, glancing back at the gravestone one last time. As if you’d be there with open arms, waiting for him.

“Thank you,” he whispered, the words carrying a weight that only you could understand.

He walked away slowly, the sound of his footsteps fading into the stillness. The cemetery grew quiet once more, the only reminder of his visit the small offerings left behind—silent testaments to a bond that even death could not sever.

SHINSOU HITOSHI — Avoidance by all means necessary, until he finally caves in.

If you were to ask Shinsou what his prized possession was, he’ll tell you that it’s a shoe box. A shoe box that seemed to hold the world—your world, with remnants of a friendship that had lasted his entire life—a lifetime with you.

Shinsou sat on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands hovering over the box as though touching it might shatter him. He had been avoiding this moment for weeks. The funeral had been a blur, the condolences—a cacophony of words that didn’t mean anything because he knew that they couldn’t possibly understand how it feels. Everyone seemed to know the right things to say, except him.

All he had wanted was for you to be there, to laugh at how awkward he was with the whole ordeal.

Now, it was just silence.

With a deep breath, he finally reached into the box, pulling out the first item: a knitted scarf, a rich shade of violet. It was slightly uneven, the handiwork amateur at best, but it was one of the first gifts you’d ever made for him. He could still remember your smile when you handed it over during your middle school years.

“I thought it’d look good on you,” you had said, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Don’t laugh! It’s my first try. Nuh uh, I’m taking this back—Hitoshi!”

He hadn’t laughed. Ok, maybe just a quiet chuckle, but he had worn it every winter since.

He leaned forward again, staring into the box. Inside were the tokens of a life intertwined with his—handmade crafts, small souvenirs, and letters tied with ribbons in colors you knew he liked. Each item was a story, a piece of you you had given him, never expecting you would be taken away so soon.

He gently picked up a small ceramic cat figurine, its paint slightly chipped. It was from one of your family trips abroad.

“I saw this and thought of you!”

Younger Shinsou blinked, confused.

“Me?”

You nodded. “You’re like this cat. All serious, but secretly soft and comforting.”

Shinsou chuckled softly at the memory, though the sound was tinged with sadness. He had teased you for it back then, calling it tacky, but it had ended up on his desk at home. Now, it felt like a sacred relic.

Setting the figurine down, he reached for another item. Shinsou pulled out a small, framed photo of the two of you at a summer festival. He was scowling at the camera while you grinned beside him, holding up two sticks of cotton candy. It was one of the rare times you had dragged him out, insisting he needed to “experience life beyond his walls” when he just wanted to sleep in.

He’d go to every summer festival in the country—even if it meant losing sleep—as long as he gets to do it with you.

The frame trembled slightly in his grip as he swallowed the lump in his throat.

He pulls out a well-worn journal. It was yours. He hesitated, knowing that opening it would feel both comforting and unbearably painful. After a moment, he gave in, flipping through the pages.

Inside were your thoughts—notes about school, sketches of the two of them, and half-finished poems you had written during quiet afternoons.

The prince has been so stressed lately.

I wish I could take it all away.

He deserves the world, but he won’t let himself believe it.

Maybe one day he’ll see himself the way I do.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been like that—putting everyone else first, even when you had your own struggles. He closed the journal and held it to his chest, his breath shaky.

“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve told you how much you meant to me.”

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally spilled over, sliding down his cheeks as he sat there in the coming twilight. He thought back to the nights they had spent stargazing, sharing their dreams and fears. You had been his constant, his answer, his light, even when he didn’t know he needed one.

His phone buzzed again, a reminder that the world kept moving even when his had stopped. He glanced at the screen—it was a message from his secretary.

Meeting tomorrow at 9, Sir. You told me to remind you.

Shinsou scoffed bitterly, tossing the phone aside. Work didn’t matter right now. Nothing did.

He looked back into the box and pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane. He had almost forgotten about it. It was from your high school years, during a particularly tough exam season.

“This is for luck,” you had said, carefully handing it to him with an awed expression. “And if it doesn’t work, at least it’s cute, right?”

He remembered stuffing it into his pocket, too embarrassed to admit how much it meant to him at the time. Now, it felt like a lifeline.

As he unfolded the crane carefully, a note inside revealed itself. The ink was slightly faded, but your handwriting was unmistakable.

You’re going to be amazing. Always.

A choked sob escaped him, and he clenched the note tightly in his fist. You had believed in him, even when he hadn’t believed in himself. He wished he could’ve seen this sooner.

When it got dark, Shinsou didn’t bother turning on the lights. The silence felt appropriate—a space for his grief to exist without judgment.

“I miss you,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “I don’t even know how to keep going without you.”

He glanced at the small collection of gifts and letters spread out on the table. Each one was a reminder of the life you two had shared—a life you had enriched with your thoughtfulness and love.

Though the pain was overwhelming, Shinsou knew he couldn’t let your memory fade. You had given him so much, and the least he could do was honor you by living the way you would have wanted—fully and without regret.

“I’ll keep going,” he said softly, almost as if speaking to you. “You’d probably get mad if I slept in.”

The room remained quiet, save for the faint sound of the wind outside. But for Shinsou, it felt as though you were still there, your presence lingering in every corner of his heart.

SEUMYO © 2025, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[isaadore]

JACKED AND KIND NICO HISCHIER

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ pairing nico hischier x reader

SUMMARY you convince nico to do a tiktok trend, even if it’s a little out of his comfort zone. word count 0.7k

warnings pure fluff, fem!reader, use of y/n

note i hope you guys know what trend i'm referring too 😇

MAIN MASTERLIST NH13 MASTERLIST

IT STARTED WITH a lazy morning and the familiar routine of scrolling through TikTok. One particular trend kept popping up: boyfriends effortlessly lifting their girlfriends while Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” played at the line, “Jacked and kind.” It was sweet and oddly endearing.

You couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect that would be with Nico.

It wasn’t like the world didn’t already know about your relationship. Between games, post-practice dates, and subtle Instagram posts, it was all out there. A quick, harmless TikTok would be a fun way to keep things interesting.

You walked into the kitchen, still in your pyjamas. You were immediately hit with the smell of coffee and pancakes. Nico was standing at the counter in his sweats, carefully stirring sugar into his mug. His hair was messy from sleep, and his movements were slow and relaxed.

“Morning, liebe (love),” he greeted, glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile.

“Morning,” you replied, leaning against the doorframe. For a moment, you debated whether to bring up your idea. Nico was still half-asleep and probably enjoying the peace of a rare day off. Did you really want to disrupt that?

Then again, Nico always had a hard time saying no to you.

“So,” you started, dragging out the word as you stepped closer.

He turned, raising an eyebrow at you with a knowing look already on his face. “What’s that tone?”

“There’s this TikTok trend,” you explained, trying to sound casual.

He groaned softly, though his smile didn’t waver. “Of course, there is.”

“You’d just have to pick me up. Literally for two seconds,” you added quickly, holding up your hands like you were presenting a deal. “No weird costumes or anything. Just you being, you know, jacked and kind.”

Nico paused, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the counter. “And why do I feel like this will end with me looking like an idiot?”

“Because you’re dramatic,” you said playfully. “Come on, it’ll be cute!”

He sighed, shaking his head. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Pretty much.” You grinned, batting your eyelashes for good measure.

“Fine,” he relented, setting his mug down with a resigned laugh. “But only because I know you’ll keep bugging me until I say yes.”

“Thank you!” you exclaimed, already setting up your phone on the counter.

After breakfast, Nico followed through with the plan, though he grumbled a bit.

“You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?” he asked, running a hand through his hair as you positioned him in front of the camera.

“Obviously,” you replied, stepping back to check the angle. “Okay, so when I point, you just pick me up. Nice and smooth, like it’s nothing.”

“I’m a professional athlete, Y/N,” he said, smirking. “I think I can handle lifting my girlfriend.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading across your cheeks. “Alright, Captain Confidence. Let’s see if you can back that up.”

The music started and the familiar beat of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Slim Pickings” filled the kitchen. You pointed right on cue, and before you could blink, Nico’s arms were around you. With a single motion, he lifted you off the ground like it was the easiest thing in the world, holding you securely on his shoulder.

“Jacked and kind,” you whispered, half-laughing as you wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Was that it?” he asked, his grin smug but soft. “That’s all you needed?”

You nodded, laughing. “Yup! Perfect! Put me down before I ruin it.”

He lowered you carefully, his hands lingering. “That’s it?” he repeated, tilting his head. “You were stressing about that?”

“It’s not about me. It’s about the aesthetic,” you shot back, picking up your phone to check the video.

The result was flawless. Nico looked effortlessly strong, the timing was perfect, and your quiet laugh at the end made it even better.

“See?” you said, holding the phone up for him to see. “Jacked and kind. TikTok is going to lose it.”

He shook his head, his cheeks faintly pink, but he was smiling. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

“Always,” you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

Though Nico pretended to roll his eyes, you knew he’d secretly check the comments later to see what fans were saying.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ MAIN MASTERLIST ✷ NH13 MASTERLIST

[elryuse]

Evergarden Familia

Yandere Gahyeon X Male Reader

Tags : Mafia Boss Gahyeon, Dark Gritty Romance, Dominant Gahyeon, Blood n Gore, Submission, Forceful Sex, Branding, Creampie

Words : 7,5k

This is a Commission for My Friend @starconstruction on Tumblr and Ko-fi. Hope you Liked it Buddy.

Blood. The thick, metallic scent clung to the air like a curse, searing itself into Y/n's memory as he crouched behind the tattered sofa. He was seven years old, too young to understand why men with guns had stormed into his home, but old enough to know that his life would never be the same.

"Please!" his mother's voice cracked, raw with desperation. She shielded him with her frail body, her arms trembling as she pleaded. "We don't owe anything! We've paid everything back-please, don't hurt him!"

The man standing before her tilted his head, a smirk curling across his scarred face. Lee Sang-hyun, a name Y/n would never forget. Dressed in a tailored black suit, he looked more like a businessman than a killer, but his eyes-cold and devoid of mercy- betrayed his true nature.

"You think I care about your payments?" Sang-hyun sneered, his voice smooth yet laced with venom. He stepped closer, his polished shoes crushing broken glass beneath them. "This isn't about money. It's about power. And no one disrespects the 3 Crows."

Before Y/n could blink, Sang-hyun's fist crashed into his father's face. The sickening sound of bone breaking echoed through the small apartment. His father fell to the floor, coughing up blood, but he still tried to rise, defiance flickering in his eyes.

"Run, Y/n!" his father choked out, his voice a mix of pain and urgency.

But Y/n couldn't move. His legs felt like lead, his small hands clutching the sofa's fabric as if it could anchor him to safety. He wanted to run, to scream, to do something-but terror had paralyzed him.

"Stupid man," Sang-hyun muttered, wiping the blood from his knuckles. "Let's make sure your son learns what happens to those who defy us."

The next few minutes were a blur of violence. Sang-hyun didn't use a weapon; he didn't need one. His fists were brutal, his kicks merciless, and he seemed to relish every second of the beating. Y/n's mother screamed, trying to shield her husband, but Sang-hyun shoved her aside like she was nothing.

Y/n squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his face. He didn't want to see, but the sounds were inescapable-the grunts of pain, the dull thuds of fists meeting flesh, the horrifying crack when his father's ribs gave way.

When it was over, silence fell.

"Clean this up," Sang-hyun ordered his men, gesturing to the broken bodies of Y/n's parents. His voice was calm, as if he had just finished a routine task.

"Boss," one of his underlings said, pointing to Y/n, who was now sobbing openly. "What about the kid?"

Sang-hyun turned his gaze to the trembling boy, his lips curling into a sinister smile. "Oh, he's coming with us. A little rat like him needs to learn his place in the world."

Two men grabbed Y/n by the arms, dragging him out of the apartment. He kicked and screamed, calling for his parents, but they were gone, their lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

That night, Y/n's childhood ended.

The years that followed were a nightmare. Sang-hyun didn't kill Y/n-not yet. Instead, he broke him, shaping him into a weapon for the 3 Crows.

Beatings were a daily occurrence, accompanied by harsh training that pushed Y/n's body to its limits. He learned to fight, to steal, to kill. Failure was met with pain, success with indifference.

"You're not a person," Sang-hyun told him once, after forcing him to clean the blood off his first kill. "You're a tool. Tools don't have feelings. Tools obey."

Y/n hated him. He hated everything about the 3 Crows-their cold, ruthless hierarchy, their obsession with power, their complete disregard for human life. But hate wasn't enough to break free. Not yet.

By the time he was eighteen, Y/n had become one of the most feared enforcers in Seoul. His name was whispered in the underworld, his reputation as a silent, efficient killer unmatched. But no matter how many lives he took, the ghost of his parents haunted him, their blood staining his hands.

It was a rainy night when Sang-hyun gave him the order that would change everything.

"I have a job for you," Sang-hyun said, reclining in his leather chair. His office was lavish, filled with expensive furniture that contrasted sharply with his brutal nature.

Y/n stood before him, his expression blank. He had learned long ago that showing emotion was a weakness Sang-hyun exploited.

"What is it?" Y/n asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"An S-class target," Sang-hyun replied, sliding a folder across the desk. "Jung-hwa. Chaebol heiress. But that's not the interesting part."

Y/n opened the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents. Jung-hwa was beautiful, with long dark hair and a confident smile that seemed out of place in the grim world of organized crime. But as he read further, he realized why Sang-hyun was so interested.

"She's part of the Delacroix family," Y/n muttered, his stomach twisting.

Sang-hyun grinned. "Exactly. Killing her would send a message to Gahyeon. It's time that tyrant queen learns not to mess with the 3 Crows."

Y/n's fingers tightened around the folder. The Delacroix were the 3 Crows' biggest rivals, a Mafia family just as ruthless and powerful. But Jung-hwa wasn't just a pawn in their game-she was a person, a young woman with her whole life ahead of her.

"Do it," Sang-hyun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And don't screw this up. You know what happens if you fail."

Y/n nodded, his face a mask of calm, but inside, a storm raged. He didn't want to kill Jung-hwa. He didn't want to kill anyone anymore. But Sang-hyun's leash was tight, and disobedience meant death.

As he left the office, rain pouring down around him, Y/n felt the weight of his choice pressing down on his shoulders. He had two options: obey and lose what little humanity he had left, or rebel and risk everything.

In the end, he knew there was only one path he could take.

The rain hadn’t let up. Seoul’s neon lights reflected off the wet pavement, casting an eerie glow that matched the unease in Y/n’s chest. He stood in the shadows of a busy intersection, his hood pulled low as he watched her.

Jung-hwa.

She stood near the entrance of a luxury boutique, her bodyguards forming a tight perimeter around her. Even in the pouring rain, she exuded an air of elegance, her long black coat cinched at the waist, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders. She looked every bit the heiress she was—untouchable, radiant, and confident.

But Y/n knew better. No one in this world was untouchable.

For three days, he had stalked her, learning her routines, her quirks, and her vulnerabilities. He knew she preferred her coffee black with a single sugar cube. He knew she always stopped to feed the stray cats outside her apartment complex, even when she was running late. And he knew that beneath her polished exterior, there was a flicker of loneliness.

She reminded him too much of himself.

“Focus,” Y/n muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He couldn’t afford to humanize her. She was the target, nothing more.

Yet, as he trailed her through the crowded streets, he couldn’t suppress the guilt gnawing at him. She wasn’t like the other marks he’d been assigned to. Most of them were criminals, just as corrupt and ruthless as the 3 Crows. But Jung-hwa… she seemed different.

Still, Sang-hyun’s words echoed in his mind: “Don’t screw this up.”

Y/n clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had to do it. If he didn’t, Sang-hyun would kill him—or worse, send someone else after her.

That evening, Jung-hwa returned to her penthouse in Gangnam, her guards sweeping the area before letting her inside. Y/n watched from a nearby rooftop, the scope of his sniper rifle trained on her balcony.

It would be so easy. One shot, and it would be over.

But his finger hesitated on the trigger.

Instead of pulling it, he lowered the rifle and pulled out his binoculars, watching her through the glass doors of her living room. She was sitting on the couch, a glass of wine in one hand as she flipped through a book. The sight was so ordinary, so human, that it made his chest tighten.

What was he doing? Was he really going to take another life just because Sang-hyun ordered him to?

Y/n’s mind raced. He thought about his parents, about the countless people he’d killed, about the weight of Sang-hyun’s control over him. He was tired—tired of being a tool, tired of the bloodshed, tired of losing pieces of himself with every mission.

He let out a shaky breath and packed up his rifle.

Not tonight.

The following day, Jung-hwa’s routine took her to a quiet park on the outskirts of the city. Y/n followed at a distance, blending seamlessly with the other pedestrians. She sat on a bench beneath a cherry blossom tree, watching the petals fall as she sipped her coffee.

Y/n approached cautiously, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this—why he was stepping out of the shadows instead of staying hidden. But something about her drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

Jung-hwa looked up, startled, but quickly composed herself. “It’s a public bench,” she replied, her tone polite but guarded.

Y/n sat down, leaving a respectable distance between them. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He could feel her eyes on him, studying him, trying to decide if he was a threat.

“You don’t seem like the type who frequents parks,” she said, breaking the silence.

Y/n smirked faintly. “And what type do I seem like?”

“The brooding loner type,” she replied, her lips curving into a small smile.

He chuckled, though the sound felt foreign in his throat. “Fair enough.”

Another pause settled between them, but this time it was less tense. Y/n found himself relaxing, though he knew he shouldn’t.

“I’ve seen you before,” Jung-hwa said suddenly, her voice soft but sharp.

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat. “Have you?”

She nodded. “You were at the café yesterday, weren’t you? Sitting by the window.”

Damn. He hadn’t realized she’d noticed him. “Maybe,” he said vaguely, trying to deflect.

Jung-hwa tilted her head, her gaze piercing. “You’re not very good at blending in, you know.”

Y/n bit back a retort. She was testing him, probing for information, and he couldn’t afford to slip up. But before he could respond, she stood up, brushing cherry blossom petals from her coat.

“Well, whoever you are,” she said, turning to leave, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

Y/n watched her walk away, his chest tightening. She was sharper than he’d given her credit for. But more than that, her words lingered in his mind.

What was he looking for?

That night, Y/n sat alone in his dingy apartment, staring at the photo of Jung-hwa that Sang-hyun had given him. The more he thought about her, the more conflicted he felt. She wasn’t just a target anymore—she was a person, someone who had shown him a glimpse of a life beyond the darkness he lived in.

But he knew that sparing her would come at a cost.

As if on cue, his phone buzzed. It was Sang-hyun.

“Y/n,” Sang-hyun’s voice came through the line, cold and commanding. “You’ve had enough time. Finish the job, or I’ll finish you.”

Y/n’s jaw tightened, his grip on the phone trembling. He didn’t respond.

“You hear me?” Sang-hyun growled. “Do it, or you’re dead.”

Y/n hung up without a word.

For the first time in years, he made a decision for himself. He wouldn’t kill her. He was done being a tool, done living under Sang-hyun’s control.

But walking away wouldn’t be easy.

And as the first knock sounded on his door—heavy and deliberate—he knew that Sang-hyun had already set his sights on him.

The knock on the door came again, louder this time. Y/n's breath hitched as he scrambled to his feet, every muscle in his body tensed. His small apartment was dark, illuminated only by the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. He reached for his pistol, his fingers tightening around the grip as he moved silently toward the door.

"Y/n," a voice called from the other side, low and menacing. "You think you can walk away from this?"

It was one of Sang-hyun's men.

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest. He had known this was coming, but he hadn't expected it so soon. They weren't here to talk-they were here to kill him.

The doorknob rattled, and then, with a deafening crash, the door splintered open. A team of three men burst inside, weapons drawn. Y/n didn't hesitate.

The first man went down with a single shot to the chest. The second lunged at him with a knife, but Y/n sidestepped, grabbing his arm and twisting it until the blade clattered to the floor. A swift kick sent the man sprawling, unconscious.

The third was smarter, firing off a shot that grazed Y/n's shoulder. Pain flared, but he didn't let it slow him down. He ducked behind the couch, returning fire. The man cried out as a bullet struck his leg, dropping him to the ground.

Silence fell, save for the ragged breathing of the wounded. Y/n stood, his pistol still trained on the men. Blood dripped from the graze on his shoulder, but he didn't flinch.

He had to go.

Y/n grabbed a bag he had packed earlier, slinging it over his shoulder as he stepped over the bodies. He didn't look back.

The streets of Seoul were alive with activity, but Y/n moved like a ghost, blending into the crowd despite the pain in his shoulder. He had to get out of the city, away from Sang-hyun's reach.

But Sang-hyun wouldn't stop. He had made that clear.

As Y/n turned a corner, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving toward him. He ducked just in time as a knife swiped past his face. His attacker-a man in a leather jacket- lunged again, but Y/n blocked the strike, delivering a sharp punch to the man's throat.

Another assassin.

Y/n didn't wait for him to recover. He darted into a narrow alley, his footsteps echoing against the walls. Gunfire erupted behind him, the bullets narrowly missing as he weaved through the labyrinth of alleyways.

He emerged onto a quieter street, his breath coming in harsh gasps. His leg burned, and when he glanced down, he saw blood seeping through his jeans. A bullet had grazed him there, too, though he hadn't noticed in the chaos.

He was losing strength.

"Damn it," he muttered, stumbling as his vision blurred. He leaned against a wall, his fingers pressing against the wound in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Help. " he rasped, his voice barely audible.

The world spun, and then he saw her. A silhouette against the dim light, her figure commanding and unyielding. She moved closer, her steps deliberate, until she was standing before him.

"Y/n," she said, her voice soft yet chilling.

His knees buckled, and he collapsed. As darkness consumed him, the last thing he saw was her face-a face both beautiful and terrifying.

Y/n woke to the scent of antiseptic and the feel of soft sheets beneath him. His head throbbed, and his body felt heavy, but he was alive.

He opened his eyes slowly, taking in his surroundings. The room was luxurious, with dark wood furniture and velvet curtains. A fireplace crackled in the corner, casting warm light across the space.

"You're awake."

The voice was familiar, and when Y/n turned his head, he saw her sitting in a chair by the fire. Gahyeon.

Her presence was magnetic, her dark eyes studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. She wore a tailored black dress, her posture regal, her expression unreadable.

"You should be dead," she said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Sang-hyun's men don't leave loose ends."

Y/n forced himself to sit up, wincing as pain flared in his leg and shoulder. "Why am I here?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

Gahyeon leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other. "You intrigue me," she said simply.

"That's not an answer," Y/n shot back, his eyes narrowing.

She smirked, amused by his defiance. "You spared my sister."

"Sister?"

"Jung-hwa," Gahyeon clarified, her gaze piercing. "You were sent to kill her, weren't you?"

Y/n didn't respond, but his silence was answer enough.

"I expected you to try," she continued. "But instead, you hesitated. That's not something Sang-hyun's lapdog would do."

"I'm not his lapdog," Y/n said through gritted teeth.

"Not anymore," Gahyeon said, rising from her chair. She walked toward him, her heels clicking against the floor. "But that doesn't explain why you're here, bleeding out in my territory."

"I didn't have a choice," Y/n admitted, his voice low. "Sang-hyun put a bounty on my head."

"And now you're a man with nowhere to go," Gahyeon said, stopping beside his bed. She reached out, tracing a finger along the edge of his jaw. "Except here."

Y/n flinched at her touch, his instincts screaming danger. "What do you want from me?"

Gahyeon smiled, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "I want you to work for me."

Y/n stared at her, disbelief and suspicion swirling in his mind. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I saved your life," she said, her tone turning icy. "And because we have a common enemy."

Sang-hyun.

Y/n's jaw tightened as he thought about the man who had destroyed his life. Gahyeon was dangerous, but she wasn't wrong. If he wanted to take down Sang-hyun, he couldn't do it alone.

"And if I refuse?" Y/n asked.

Gahyeon's smile widened. "Then you die. But I think you're smarter than that."

Y/n closed his eyes, exhaustion and pain weighing on him. He didn't trust her, but for now, he didn't have a choice.

"Fine," he said finally. "I'll work for you."

"Good," Gahyeon said, her voice soft but triumphant. "Welcome to the Delacroix family, Y/n."

Y/n spent the next few days confined to the lavish room in Gahyeon’s mansion. His wounds were healing faster than expected, thanks to the skilled care of her personal medic. Yet, every time he looked at himself in the ornate mirror across the room, he saw the scars Sang-hyun had left behind—marks of a life he wanted to leave but couldn’t escape.

The door to his room opened one morning, revealing Gahyeon. She stepped inside, a commanding presence that instantly filled the space.

“Get up,” she said briskly. “Your recovery time is over.”

Y/n pushed himself to his feet, biting back a groan as his injured leg protested. “What now?” he asked, his voice tinged with suspicion.

She smirked. “Now, you prove that I didn’t make a mistake saving your life.”

Gahyeon led him to an underground training room, its walls lined with weapons of all kinds. A group of her men stood at attention, their expressions wary as they eyed Y/n. He didn’t blame them—he was an outsider, an enemy until recently.

“This is Y/n,” Gahyeon announced, her voice firm. “He’s under my protection now, which makes him one of us. Anyone who has a problem with that can leave.”

Her men exchanged uneasy glances, but none of them moved.

“Good,” she said, her eyes flicking to Y/n. “You’re going to spar with Jae-hyun.”

Jae-hyun, a towering man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He was clearly the group’s enforcer, and Y/n could tell this wasn’t just a test—it was a warning.

Y/n squared his shoulders, ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. He didn’t need to win; he just needed to survive.

The fight was brutal. Jae-hyun was stronger, but Y/n was faster, using his agility to evade the worst of the blows. Still, he couldn’t dodge everything. A particularly hard punch sent him sprawling to the ground, blood trickling from his split lip.

“Enough,” Gahyeon’s voice cut through the air like a blade.

Jae-hyun stepped back, his chest heaving, while Y/n struggled to his feet. He wiped the blood from his mouth, meeting Gahyeon’s gaze with a defiant glare.

“You’ve got grit,” she said, a hint of approval in her tone. “But you’ll need more than that to survive in my world.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” Y/n shot back, his voice steady despite the pain.

Gahyeon’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Yes, you are.”

Over the next few weeks, Y/n trained relentlessly under Gahyeon’s watchful eye. She pushed him to his limits, forcing him to confront his weaknesses and hone his skills. At first, their interactions were cold and formal, but gradually, something began to shift.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Gahyeon handed Y/n a towel and a bottle of water. He accepted them silently, too exhausted to argue.

“You’re improving,” she said, her tone softer than usual.

Y/n glanced at her, surprised. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, though there was a faint smile on her lips.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“And yet, here you are,” she countered, her eyes glinting with amusement.

Y/n couldn’t help but smile back, the tension between them easing for the first time.

Their bond deepened during their first mission together. A shipment of weapons bound for the 3 Crows had been intercepted by a third-party gang, and Gahyeon was determined to retrieve it.

The operation was risky, requiring stealth and precision. Y/n and Gahyeon worked side by side, their movements synchronized as they navigated the enemy’s stronghold.

When they were discovered, chaos erupted. Gunfire echoed through the building, and Y/n found himself covering Gahyeon’s back as they fought their way out.

“Stay close!” she shouted, her voice cutting through the noise.

“I’m not going anywhere!” he replied, firing at an approaching thug.

At one point, a gang member managed to sneak up behind Gahyeon, his knife raised. Y/n reacted instinctively, tackling the man to the ground and disarming him.

“Watch yourself,” Y/n said, his tone half-scolding, half-concerned.

“I had it under control,” Gahyeon retorted, though her expression softened as she looked at him. “But… thanks.”

They escaped with the shipment intact, their victory cementing a newfound trust between them.

That night, back at the mansion, Y/n found Gahyeon on the balcony, staring out at the city lights. He joined her, leaning against the railing.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“Just thinking,” she replied, her voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“About what?”

“About why I do this,” she admitted, her eyes distant. “Why I fight so hard to hold onto power, to protect what’s mine.”

Y/n studied her, seeing for the first time the vulnerability she tried so hard to hide. “Because it’s all you’ve ever known,” he said gently.

She turned to him, her expression guarded. “And what about you? Why do you keep fighting?”

Y/n hesitated, the weight of his past pressing down on him. “Because I don’t know how to stop,” he said finally.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the distance between them shrinking. Gahyeon reached out, her hand brushing against his.

“Maybe we can figure it out together,” she said softly.

Y/n’s breath caught, her words stirring something deep inside him. For the first time in years, he felt a flicker of hope.

“Maybe we can,” he agreed.

The Delacroix estate was abuzz with activity, its halls alive with the chatter of operatives preparing for a major operation. Y/n, now firmly entrenched in Gahyeon’s world, was reviewing the mission details with Jung-hwa in the library.

Jung-hwa leaned over the map spread across the table, her dark hair brushing against Y/n’s arm. She was explaining the security patterns of their target—a 3 Crows warehouse—when she suddenly laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made Y/n smile despite himself.

“You’re terrible at this,” Jung-hwa teased, pointing at the notes he had scribbled.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you talk too fast,” Y/n shot back, his grin widening.

Their playful banter was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Y/n turned to see Gahyeon standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

“Jung-hwa,” Gahyeon said coolly. “Shouldn’t you be overseeing the preparations in the armory?”

Jung-hwa straightened, a hint of unease flickering across her face. “I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Jung-hwa glanced at Y/n before nodding and leaving the room, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at Gahyeon as she walked toward him, her steps measured. “What was that about?” he asked.

“Don’t waste your time on her,” Gahyeon said, her voice sharp. “She’s too soft for this world.”

Y/n frowned, crossing his arms. “She’s your sister.”

“And she’s not your concern,” Gahyeon snapped, her eyes flashing.

Realization dawned on Y/n, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “Are you jealous?”

Gahyeon’s jaw tightened, her composure cracking for a fraction of a second. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are,” Y/n said, his tone teasing. “You’re jealous.”

She glared at him, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of color. “Focus on the mission, Y/n,” she said, turning on her heel and leaving before he could say anything else.

Later that night, Y/n found himself on the training grounds, practicing his aim with a set of throwing knives. The rhythmic thud of metal sinking into wood was oddly soothing, a temporary reprieve from the chaos of his life.

He didn’t notice Gahyeon approaching until she spoke.

“Still awake?”

Y/n turned to see her standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. She looked different in the moonlight—softer, almost vulnerable.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, gesturing to the knives. “Figured I’d make myself useful.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her gaze fixed on the target. “Your form’s off,” she said, picking up a knife from the bench. “Let me show you.”

She stood behind him, her hands lightly brushing against his as she adjusted his grip. Y/n froze, acutely aware of how close she was. Her perfume was subtle but intoxicating, and he found himself holding his breath.

“Like this,” she murmured, guiding his arm.

He threw the knife, and it hit the center of the target with a satisfying thud.

“Not bad,” Y/n said, turning to face her. “You’re a pretty good teacher.”

“I’m good at everything,” Gahyeon replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Y/n chuckled, shaking his head. “Modest, too.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the air between them shifted. Gahyeon’s gaze softened, and Y/n could see something flicker in her expression—something she quickly masked.

“We should get some rest,” she said abruptly, stepping back.

“Yeah,” Y/n agreed, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had just changed between them.

The mission the next day was a success, but it wasn’t without its complications.

As they regrouped at the estate, Y/n found himself surrounded by members of the Delacroix family, all eager to congratulate him on his role in the operation. One of them, a young woman named Hana, lingered longer than the others.

“You were incredible out there,” Hana said, her admiration clear in her voice.

“Just doing my job,” Y/n replied, though her enthusiasm made him uncomfortable.

Gahyeon entered the room then, her eyes immediately zeroing in on Hana.

“Hana,” Gahyeon said, her tone icy. “Don’t you have reports to file?”

Hana blinked, startled. “I-I was just—”

“Now,” Gahyeon ordered, her glare leaving no room for argument.

Hana scurried away, and Y/n sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t like anyone talking to me, do you?”

“I don’t like distractions,” Gahyeon retorted, her voice clipped.

Y/n stepped closer, his expression challenging. “Or maybe you don’t like sharing.”

Gahyeon’s eyes narrowed, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she turned and walked away, leaving Y/n to wonder just how deep her feelings for him ran.

The halls of the Delacroix estate hummed with tension. Gahyeon sat at the head of the long mahogany table in the war room, her sharp gaze scanning the reports laid out before her. Y/n stood by her side, arms crossed, his instincts prickling with unease.

"Something doesn't feel right," Y/n said, his voice low.

Gahyeon glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. "What do you mean?"

"There's been too much silence from the 3 Crows," he replied. "Sang-hyun isn't the type to sit idle."

Gahyeon's lips pressed into a thin line. "I've strengthened our defenses. If he tries anything, we'll be ready."

Before Y/n could respond, the door burst open, and one of Gahyeon's trusted lieutenants stumbled in, blood staining his uniform.

"They. they turned on us," he gasped. "Some of our men. they're working for Sang-hyun."

Gahyeon's eyes narrowed, fury sparking within them. "Who?"

Before the man could answer, gunfire erupted outside, echoing through the estate. Y/n grabbed Gahyeon's arm, pulling her to her feet.

"We need to move. Now."

As chaos engulfed the estate, Y/n and Gahyeon fought their way through the corridors. Their enemies were ruthless, attacking with the precision of trained operatives. Y/n's mind raced as he pieced together the betrayal.

"This was planned," Y/n muttered, firing at an approaching enemy. "Sang-hyun's been planting seeds in your ranks for weeks."

"I'll kill him," Gahyeon snarled, her tone venomous.

"We'll kill him," Y/n corrected, his voice firm.

They found Jung-hwa in the west wing, cornered by a group of traitorous guards. Y/ n and Gahyeon dispatched them swiftly, their movements seamless as they worked together.

"Are you okay?" Y/n asked, pulling Jung-hwa to her feet.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling. "But we need to get out of here."

"No," Gahyeon said, her eyes blazing. "We're not running. This ends tonight."

Hours later, under the cover of darkness, Y/n and Gahyeon infiltrated Sang-hyun's stronghold. The once-imposing estate of the 3 Crows now reeked of desperation and greed.

Sang-hyun was asleep in his lavish bedroom, unaware of the storm creeping toward him. Y/n entered first, his footsteps silent as a shadow. Gahyeon followed, her knife glinting in the moonlight.

Y/n stood over Sang-hyun, his heart pounding as memories of his parents' brutal deaths flooded his mind. This was the man who had stolen his childhood, who had twisted his life into a nightmare.

Without hesitation, Y/n pressed the blade to Sang-hyun's throat. The man's eyes snapped open, panic flashing across his face.

"Y/n." Sang-hyun choked, his voice weak.

"This is for my parents," Y/n said, his voice steady, though his eyes burned with fury. "And for hurting Gahyeon."

With one swift motion, he slit Sang-hyun's throat. Blood spilled across the sheets as Sang-hyun gasped for air, his hands clawing at his neck. Y/n held his gaze until the light faded from his eyes, then stepped back, his breathing heavy.

"It's done," he said, turning to Gahyeon.

She nodded, her expression unreadable as she wiped the blood from her knife. "Let's go."

The death of Sang-hyun marked the end of the 3 Crows. Without their leader, the remnants of the organization crumbled, leaving a power vacuum in the underworld.

Y/n stood in the Delacroix estate's main hall, watching as Gahyeon addressed her people. She was a commanding presence, her voice steady and authoritative as she announced the formation of a new family-Evergarden.

"Together, we will rebuild," Gahyeon declared. "We will rise stronger than ever."

The crowd erupted into cheers, but Y/n felt only a deep weariness. He had done what he set out to do-he had avenged his parents and dismantled the 3 Crows. Now, all he wanted was peace.

That evening, Y/n approached Gahyeon in her office. She was seated at her desk, reviewing a stack of documents.

"I'm leaving," he said, his voice firm.

Gahyeon looked up, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"I've done my part," he continued. "I gave you the power to take down Sang-hyun. Now I want a new life."

Gahyeon rose from her chair, her hands gripping the edge of the desk. "You think you can just walk away?"

"I'm not asking for permission," Y/n said, meeting her gaze.

Her expression darkened, a dangerous glint in her eyes. "You belong to me, Y/n. I won't let you go."

Before he could respond, she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You've given me everything. Your loyalty, your strength. your heart. And now, you'll give me forever."

Y/n's breath caught as Gahyeon leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear. "You're mine, Y/n. Always."

A week later, the Delacroix family officially merged with the remnants of the 3 Crows, forming Evergarden. Gahyeon declared herself the leader, solidifying her position in the underworld.

In a grand ceremony held in the estate's ballroom, Gahyeon stood beside Y/n, her hand entwined with his. Her smile was triumphant as she announced their marriage, sealing their union and her control over him.

As the crowd applauded, Y/n felt the weight of her obsession pressing down on him. He had thought he could escape, but Gahyeon's love was as inescapable as it was dangerous.

And deep down, he wasn't sure if he wanted to leave.

Evergarden thrived under Gahyeon’s rule. Her ruthless efficiency and unyielding leadership made the organization a dominant force in the underworld. Y/n, now her husband, found himself at the heart of the new empire.

But the power, wealth, and influence came at a cost.

Y/n stood in the grand dining hall, watching as Gahyeon conversed with her lieutenants. She was as commanding as ever, her every word dripping with authority. Yet, whenever her gaze fell on him, it softened, her possessiveness evident in the way her eyes lingered.

“Y/n,” she called, motioning for him to join her.

He approached, his movements slow and deliberate. “What’s the matter?”

Gahyeon’s lips curved into a smile. “Nothing. I just like having you close.”

One of the lieutenants, a young man named Min-joon, chuckled. “Boss, you’re going to spoil him.”

Gahyeon’s smile vanished, her gaze turning icy. “Watch your tongue, Min-joon.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. Y/n placed a hand on her shoulder, a silent gesture to diffuse the situation.

“Relax,” he said, his voice calm. “He’s just joking.”

Gahyeon’s expression softened again, but the warning in her eyes remained. “Careful, Min-joon. You wouldn’t want to upset me.”

Later that night, Y/n found himself alone in the garden, seeking solace among the flowers and moonlight. The estate was a fortress, its walls impenetrable, yet Y/n felt trapped.

He lit a cigarette, the smoke curling into the cool night air. He didn’t hear Gahyeon approach until she spoke.

“You’re avoiding me,” she said, her tone accusing.

Y/n exhaled slowly, not turning to face her. “Just needed some air.”

Gahyeon stepped closer, her presence magnetic yet suffocating. “You don’t need to hide from me, Y/n.”

“I’m not hiding,” he replied, though his voice lacked conviction.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm. “You belong here. With me.”

Y/n turned to her, his gaze searching hers. “Do I? Or am I just another piece in your game?”

Gahyeon’s eyes flared with hurt and anger. “You think I’m using you?”

“I think you don’t know how to let go,” he said, his voice steady.

She stepped back, her jaw tightening. “You’re mine, Y/n. I won’t lose you.”

Her words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of her obsession.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of meetings, missions, and public appearances. Gahyeon ensured that Y/n was always by her side, a constant presence in her life and her plans.

But her possessiveness began to manifest in more overt ways.

One evening, during a gala hosted by Evergarden, Y/n found himself in conversation with Hana, a former member of the Delacroix family. She was friendly, her laughter light as they reminisced about the old days.

Gahyeon watched from across the room, her fingers tightening around the stem of her wine glass. The crystal felt cold against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the icy fury settling in her chest. Her eyes followed Y/n as he laughed softly at something the woman beside him said—a laugh that once belonged to her, or so she had thought. His hand brushed the other woman’s arm, a casual gesture, but Gahyeon’s nails dug into her palm. How dare he?

When Y/n finally returned to her side, his expression was calm, almost indifferent, but Gahyeon’s sharp gaze caught the flicker of guilt in his eyes. She smiled—a tight, practiced curve of her lips that didn’t reach her eyes. “You seemed to enjoy that conversation,” she said, her tone light, almost casual, but there was no mistaking the venom lacing her words.

Y/n hesitated, his shoulders stiffening as he met her gaze. “She’s an old friend,” he replied, his voice steady but cautious. He could sense the storm brewing behind Gahyeon’s composed facade.

Her smile turned colder, sharper. “Don’t forget who you belong to.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade, and Y/n flinched, though he held his ground. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said, his voice firm despite the unease creeping into his chest.

That night, the tension between them crackled like a live wire, heavy and unspoken, until Gahyeon finally broke the silence. She stood in the doorway of their bedroom, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her dark hair falling in loose waves around her face. The dim light cast shadows across her features, highlighting the anger simmering in her eyes.

“You think I don’t notice?” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “Every time you talk to another woman, every time you smile at them… do you think I’m blind?”

Y/n sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Gahyeon, you’re overreacting.”

Her eyes flashed, and she stepped closer, her movements deliberate, predatory. “I’m not overreacting!” she snapped, her voice rising. “I’ve given you everything, Y/n. Everything. And you still look at them.”

He stared at her, searching for the right words, but all he could see was the pain etched into her expression—pain masked by anger. “This isn’t love, Gahyeon,” he said quietly. “This is control.”

For a moment, her composure wavered, and the mask slipped. Pain flickered across her face, raw and unmistakable, before she quickly rebuilt the walls around herself. “I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I can’t lose you.”

Y/n’s resolve softened as he stepped closer, his hands reaching out to cradle her face. “You’re not going to lose me,” he said gently. “But you have to trust me.”

Gahyeon looked up at him, her vulnerability laid bare in the depths of her dark eyes. “I do trust you,” she said, though the possessiveness lingering in her gaze betrayed her words.

The space between them crackled with unspoken tension, the air thick with desire and conflict. Gahyeon’s hands slid up his chest, her touch searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Prove it,” she murmured, her voice low and husky. “Prove that you’re mine.”

Y/n’s breath hitched as her fingers traced the line of his jaw, her touch both tender and demanding. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her pulse quickened beneath his fingertips. “Gahyeon…” he started, but she cut him off with a kiss—hard, desperate, and possessive.

Her lips were soft yet unforgiving, claiming him with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. She pressed herself against him, her curves molding to his body as her hands tangled in his hair. Y/n groaned, his resistance crumbling under the weight of her need. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with equal fervor.

Gahyeon broke the kiss, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps as she looked up at him. “Say it,” she demanded, her voice a sultry whisper. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” Y/n replied without hesitation, his voice rough with desire. The words spilled out before he could stop them, driven by the fire burning in her eyes.

A small, triumphant smile curved her lips as she pushed him backward toward the bed. He sank down onto the mattress, his heart pounding as she climbed onto his lap, straddling him with effortless grace. Her dress pooled around her hips, revealing the smooth expanse of her thighs, and Y/n’s hands instinctively gripped her hips, anchoring himself to her.

Gahyeon leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, “Good boy.” Her breath sent shivers down his spine, and he swallowed hard, his body responding to her dominance with an intensity that surprised him.

She rocked her hips against his, the friction eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. Her hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, working them open one by one with deliberate slowness. Each brush of her fingers against his skin stoked the flames of his desire, and by the time she pushed the fabric off his shoulders, he was already achingly hard.

Her eyes darkened as she gazed at his exposed chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles with a possessiveness that made his breath catch. “Mine,” she murmured, her voice a sultry purr that sent heat pooling low in his abdomen.

Y/n’s hands moved to the hem of her dress, tugging it upward until it slipped over her head and fell to the floor. She sat back on his lap, clad only in delicate lace that did little to conceal her body. His mouth went dry at the sight of her, her curves illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed.

Gahyeon reached behind her, unhooking her bra and letting it fall away. Her breasts spilled into his hands, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lean forward, taking one hardened nipple into his mouth. She moaned, arching into him as his tongue flicked over the sensitive bud.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she ground against him again, the thin barrier of his pants doing little to muffle the electric sensation coursing through them. “Y/n,” she gasped, her voice tinged with desperation. “I need you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With a swift motion, he flipped her onto her back, pinning her beneath him as he kicked off his pants and boxers. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and he positioned himself at her entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against her slick folds.

“Look at me,” Gahyeon commanded, her voice soft but firm. He obeyed, locking eyes with her as he slowly pushed inside, inch by torturous inch. Her breath hitched, her body stretching to accommodate him, and she bit her lip to stifle a whimper.

When he was fully seated inside her, they paused, savoring the feeling of being joined together. Gahyeon’s nails raked down his back, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice dripping with desire. “Show me who you belong to.”

Y/n growled, gripping her hips as he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first but quickly building in intensity. Gahyeon’s moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping against skin as he drove into her again and again.

Her legs tightened around him, urging him deeper, and she arched her back, crying out as pleasure rocked through her body. “Yes,” she gasped, her voice breaking on the word. “Just like that…”

Y/n’s hips pistoned relentlessly, each stroke bringing them closer to the edge. Gahyeon’s nails dug into his shoulders, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she clung to him. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a desperate plea. “Please, don’t stop.”

He obliged, his pace increasing as his own orgasm loomed dangerously close. Gahyeon’s walls clenched around him, and he knew she was teetering on the brink. “Come for me,” he growled, his voice rough with need.

Her answer was a strangled cry as she shattered, her body convulsing around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her. The sight of her unraveling pushed him over the edge, and with a final thrust, he spilled himself inside her, his release intense and all-consuming.

They collapsed together, their bodies slick with sweat and trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Gahyeon’s fingers traced idle patterns on his back, her breathing gradually slowing as she nuzzled against his neck. “Mine,” she murmured sleepily, her voice soft but unwavering.

Y/n didn’t argue. For now, he was content to let her claim him, even if the cost of her love was his freedom. But deep down, a part of him wondered how much longer he could endure the weight of her possession…

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Fireworks”

Poly!Timebomb x GN!Reader

WARNINGS:None

WORD COUNT: 561

NOTE:Established relationship. No specific timeline for this one.

The hideout was unusually quiet tonight. It wasn’t like Ekko or Jinx to leave you to your own devices for too long—one of them always found a way to pull you into their orbit.

But now? The Firelights were out on a mission, Ekko was preparing for his next grand plan, and Jinx… well, who knew what Jinx was doing?

You leaned back against a old crate, watching the dim light from a nearby lantern flicker. Zaun’s chaos still raged outside, but here, within the hideout, it felt almost peaceful. Until—

“Boo!”

You jumped, nearly knocking over the lantern. “Jinx!”

She was doubled over laughing, her braids swaying as she snorted uncontrollably. “You should’ve seen your face! Priceless.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, trying not to smile. “What do you want?”

Her grin widened as she plopped down next to you, smearing paint on the crate with her fingers. “What? Can’t a girl hang out with her favorite person?”

“Where’s Ekko?”

“Sulking over some gadget that isn’t working,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Boring stuff. I thought we could do something fun.”

“Define ‘fun,’” you said warily.

Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “Fireworks.”

“Jinx—”

Before you could protest, she grabbed your arm, pulling you to your feet. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud! It’s gonna be amazing.”

By the time you reached the rooftop, Ekko was already there, arms crossed and scowling.

“Jinx,” he started, his tone heavy with warning. “I told you there are no fireworks in the middle of the city.”

“Oh, come on!” She twirled a sparkler in her hand, the bright glow reflecting off her wild smile. “It’s just one little show. For them.”

Ekko’s eyes flicked to you, and his expression softened. You felt your heart skip a beat under his gaze, the way he looked at you, like you were the only thing in Zaun worth slowing down for, always left you breathless.

“Fine,” he sighed, running a hand over his hair. “But only if it’s safe.”

“Safe?” Jinx scoffed, lighting the sparkler with a quick flick of her wrist. “Where’s the fun in that?” She complained, dramatically throwing her arms up in the air.

The three of you ended up on the highest rooftop in the area, the perfect vantage point to light Jinx’s chaotic creations. You stood between them, watching as Jinx handed you a smaller firework, her hands brushing against yours.

“You do the honors,” she said with a wink.

“Uh, are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked, glancing nervously at Ekko.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make sure nothing blows up—well, except the fireworks.”

You chuckled, feeling a warm flush creep up your neck. You trusted them both, despite their wild tendencies.

As you lit the fuse, Jinx threw her arms around your shoulders. The fireworks shot into the sky, exploding in a burst of brilliant color. Red, blue, and gold sparks rained down, lighting up the night.

Ekko leaned closer, his voice low. “Not bad, huh?”

You turned to find him watching you, not the fireworks. His gaze was soft, unguarded, and you swore the world tilted just slightly.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Not bad at all.”

Jinx, her smile as wide as the sky. “See? Told ya it’d be fun.”

For once, you couldn’t argue.

GUYYYSSS‼️‼️‼️

People have to make more Poly!timebomb🙏🙏🙏

I want sleep

[mikkomacko]

Him and I-Do it with a broken heart

Mob Nico Hischier x reader blurb

Warnings: blood, tears, mentions of violence and wounds, alcohol, angst

____________________________________________

June

Nico can’t look away from you.

Ever since you showed up at his apartment on Saturday night, teary eyed and scared. You told him it was done, that you said goodbye to your family. You’d picked him. And even though you were teary eyed and scared, you were also so confident in your decision.

You picked him.

The decision has sat heavy on his shoulders ever since. Why the fuck would you do that? The people that raised you, the people that put a house over your head and love into your soul, and you just walked away?

For him? What can he offer you? He can’t be your boyfriend, can’t step in as your family. Nico knows for certain that he can’t be what you need right now. There's no way he can take care of you, be there for you. Not now, when he can barely take care of himself.

It’s all ruined. He should’ve told you to go back and apologize to them, to agree to your parents terms and stop seeing him. And then when the two of you couldn’t hold that promise, he’d just be a fun little secret.

That was the plan, wasn’t it? When he met you? To just be the guy you came to when you didn’t want to sleep alone, when school was too much, when you both needed the world to just slow down for a moment.

Because it’s always been like with you. Time standing still, everything fading away until it’s just you and him. He should’ve known then what he was doing. What that feeling meant.

He’s going to love you. Not in a fleeting way, where he loves that you’re always a call away, or that you always fall into bed with him so effortlessly, or that you ignore the fact he's running one of the largest growing businesses in the US. But that he’ll love you with everything he’s got. When he’s laying on his deathbed he’ll have the taste of your lips on his tongue, your name on his breath.

He’s going to love you in the kind of way that changes everything.

And he’s not ready for that.

He pictures you walking across the stage at graduation, the way your smile took over your whole face. You didn’t look back towards your family, didn’t turn to wave at them. No, you somehow found him, found his eyes even through the obnoxiously dark sunglasses he was wearing. Your smile turning shy, the hand not holding your degree lifting to wiggle your fingers at him and the boys that were hooting and hollering louder than everyone else.

You should’ve been looking for your family in a moment like that, not at him. He knew it then too, that you’re going to love him one day. Maybe you’re already there, or at least on your way to being there. You’ll love him the way he’ll love you, endlessly. Dangerously.

Nico needs to be ready for that. He needs to be someone capable of loving, deserving of it. Especially if it’s going to come at the expense of your family.

Softly, you giggle at something on your phone, scrolling momentarily. Nico glances at you again, looking over when the stop light’s red or lapse in traffic allow him too. He wants to see the details of your face for as long as he can, commit it to memory. Not that he'll ever forget it. He'll just need it to keep him going, to keep working towards you when life starts to get tough.

Sooner than he'd like he's pulling up in front of your apartment complex, eyeing the window on the fourth floor that he knows is yours. You lock your phone, gathering your bag from the floor of his car when he looks at you.

Will he ever step foot in that apartment again? Ignore the cold looks of your roommates? Sneak in after they've gone to bed because neither of you wanted to deal with them that night? He hopes so, but deep down he knows he probably won't.

"Meeting with the boys tonight?" You ask, tilting your head curiously. He wants to touch the strand of hair that falls away from your face. Instead he nods, clearing the dry lump in his throat.

Right, it's Wednesday. Meet day for the Devils, and you know that. The fact that you know that squeezes his chest, painfully constricts his lungs. "Yeah," he tries to say. It comes out as more a whisper.

You frown, eyes squinting in thought as you look at him. He wants to look away, knows he needs to because you'll see right through him like you always do. He can't though. He wants to see you, aches to have his eyes on you and that fucking hurts.

"What's wrong Nico?"

He shakes his head, throat burning and he thinks he might cry. God he hasn't cried in probably years, but then again he hasn't let himself indulge in sweet things like you in years either.

Knowingly, you sit up straight and sigh "Say it Nico." Of course you know, you know him better than he knows himself. In the few months he's let himself have you, you've read him like a book from the very beginning. Perfect, you've always been perfect for him.

He can't say the same thing about himself, though.

"If you already know it, why should I-"

"Because I want to hear it," you interrupt, and for the first time ever he can't tell if your angry or sad, or both. You sound like you've already known this was coming. Numb to it. "If you're going to do this to us Nico at least have the guts to actually say it out loud."

It hurts to hear but you're right. He inhales, bites at his bottom lip as he tries to get the words to form on his tongue. All he can feel are those stupid cries hiding in the back of his throat.

"I don't think we should see each other any more," he finally voices, and this time he does look away. Staring out the windshield as the neighbor that lives above you walks those monstrosities they call dogs.

He can't help but think of you and your Moose, hopes that one day he gets to see you with a big and snuggly St. Bernard, just how you wanted. Even if he's not the one walking the dog with you.

"That's it?" you ask, bored. "No excuses, no 'it's-not-you-it's-me' or anything?"

"It is me," he winces when you laugh, unamused and cold.

"Of course it's you Nico. I'm not stupid, I know that."

"I know you're not stupid!" He defends, outraged and insulted that you'd even insinuate he think that. "You're the smartest fucking person I know and that's why you should know this isn't good. You can't throw everything away for me and the Devils."

"You can't choose that for me! What if it's what I want?"

"It's not," he insists, finally looking at you. You’re not crying, but you’re close to it. Your nose has gotten all read, eyes glassy and furious. Nico’s not sure what he looks like, but he hopes he too looks more angry than sad. You can’t know he’s sad, that he doesn’t want to do this.

“And it’s not what I want either.”

He can see the way the words hit you, the way you flinch back from him. Nico’s chest cracks, stinging with every shaky inhale he forces himself to take. You’ve never been scared of him, he doesn’t want you to be either. But if that’s the only way he’s going to get you to listen to him…well then flinch away.

“I can’t believe you,” you mutter in disbelief, more to yourself than him. Teary eyes look him over, calculating, like you don’t even recognize him anymore. He fights against the urge to cry, blinking furiously and staring out the front windshield as you gather your things. He hears your seatbelt in click, hears the door open. He still doesn’t look at you.

Not until you’ve gotten out of the car, pausing as you tell him the one thing he’s most afraid of.

“I hope that one day you’ll finally let someone love you, Nico.”

The door slams shut and Nico winces, not sure if he’s shying away from you or from the loud bang of the door. He’s not an asshole, as much as he’d like you to think, so he waits until he’s certain you’ve gotten inside safe. Checks just to make sure.

You’re not on the sidewalk, the door to your building sealed shut. All that lingers is the faint smell of you, of your vanilla perfume and shea butter condition. Nico sniffles, wipes at his eyes before the tears that have leaked out can get too far down his face.

Then he put the car in drive, doesn’t look in his mirrors as he heads back towards Hoboken. Alarm bells go off in his head.

You’re forgetting something.

You can’t leave without her.

Turn the car around.

He ignores them, biting his cheek and pressing on the gas harder. Nico doesn’t cry, not until he’s far enough away, panicking enough for his mind to finally scream at him.

You’re in love with her.

He doesn’t go home that night. He heads straight to the bar.

~~~~

July

The Rock is loud, even all the way in the back office where Nico’s been hiding. Muffled chatter, glass hitting the bar top, bottles clinking together. He can hear it all, even through the wall shaking music.

Nico groans, thankful he can’t be heard as he presses the disinfecting cloth to his ribs. He doesn’t know what hit him there, a knife, brass knuckles, maybe a key tucked between someone’s fingers.

Doesn’t matter. The wound is still gaping and messy, a mush of torn skin and blood. Gritting his teeth, Nico presses in tighter. His shirt lay in front him, dirty and torn, stained with blood. His, theirs, everyone’s probably.

That doesn’t matter either. He can get a new one whenever. Nico pulls the cloth away, dropping it into a wet and bloody mess on the desk top. He’s never been particularly good at stitching, especially not on himself, so he grabs for more gauze, planning to just wrap the stupid thing and hope it holds.

But by the time he’s got the gauze on and is starting to wrap the bandage around his torso, it’s already soaked with blood, sagging and drooping away from the wound.

“Fuck,” he curses, throwing it all to the floor in a soggy mess. He’s reaching for more gauze when they door to the office opens, the sounds of the bar hitting him clearly. Then it shuts, muffling it all again and Nico looks up to find Jesper there.

“Where have you been,” his friend asks, arms crossed over his chest. He’s looking Nico over, eyeing the fresh and old bruises on his torso, the scrapes. And of course, the gaping hole in his side.

“Had a job.” Nico grunts, attempting his bandaging again.

“I don’t remember you ever doing jobs alone before.” Jesper says pointedly, and Nico knows what he’s really trying to say. He’s being scolded for being reckless, for getting hurt, for not including them.

“Was a one man job,” he lies, but his fingers and the bandages have gotten messy and soaked again. “Fuck me!”

He throws them to the ground, grabbing his ruined shirt and holding it to his side. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nico starves off the wooziness, trying to take calming breathes.

“That’s gonna need stitches.” Jesper says and Nico stays silent, listens to Jesper putter around the office. He’s collecting thread and a needle, disinfecting and prepping everything. All while Nico sits there, grinding his teeth so hard he thinks they might crack and shatter.

He might crack and shatter.

“What was this about?” Jesper swats his hand away, Nico leaning back in the chair and letting his friend takeover.

“Those guys running around the Heights won’t be bothering us anymore,” is all Nico says. It was a small group, more a posse than anything else but they needed to be put down before they thought themselves competitors with the Devs.

“Thought we said we’d let it run its course?” Jesper pinches the raw skin together, Nico jolting in pain as his friend stabs through the untouched skin and begins knitting him together again.

“It wasn’t safe,” Nico grunts, white spots sparkling behind closed eyelids. “I have to-it couldn’t wait.”

It goes without saying what he means, what he’s been doing. Tearing himself apart at least once a week trying to clean up Jersey. The more power, the more dominance he has over the city, the less threat there is.

And when that happens, he can put the prinzessin laws in place. He can go get you. If you’re still there, that is.

“What’s she gonna say?” Jesper mumbles quietly, “when she comes back and sees you like this?”

Nico swallows heavily, wishes he had a bottle of whiskey or something back here to drink. “If she comes back.”

Jesper snorts humorlessly. “I hope you have a plan,” he says, tying off the stitches. Nico winces at the tug, blinking his eyes open to look down at the patched up work. “And I hope you’re still in one fucking piece by the time it’s over.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Nico deflects, and Jesper wipes away the blood staining his skin with an alcohol wipe. “The plan is that she’s safe.”

“You’re crazy if you think she’d be ok with this.” Jesper laughs, applying a bandage over the stitches. Maybe it’s Nico’s imagination but it feels like he presses it on unnecessarily rough. Nico doesn’t know what to say, so he just sits there, body aching, heart aching.

Almost a month later and he doesn’t feel any better about what he did. But growth hurts sometimes, even if it’s needed.

“Put a shirt on.” Jesper sighs, getting up and moving towards the door. “I’ll have a pint waiting for you at the table.”

Nico grunts, shifting to get up. “Get all the fucking girls out of there,” he demands before his friend can leave. “I don’t want them in my booth.”

~~~~

“Come on, that one’s cute!”

The man isn’t cute. Not even close. He’s got wavy golden hair, long and messy but in an intentional way. Even from here you can tell he’s got dark eyes, probably tragic and beautiful, just how you like.

But he’s not cute.

You shake your head, taking a drink from your vodka soda. The girls groan in protest, most of the noise overpowered by the music.

“Getting over and getting under, remember?” One of them says, leaning in close to your ear. For a month it’s been getting under to get over. But you’ve yet to get under anyone.

You can’t even look at anyone, no matter how much vodka you take in to try to blur the image in front of you. Because it does blur them, but it also sharpens the image of someone else.

And you don’t need that sharpened at all, don’t need any help to make that one hurt.

“Yeah,” you agree, “I just don’t feel like getting under anyone tonight.”

“So get on top.” One of them laughs and you try to do it too, giggle lifelessly like it’s actually funny. It’s not funny though, and you think if you had any water in you at all right now you might cry.

“At least get his number so when you do feel like getting under, it’s there.”

It’s not a terrible idea and it’ll get them off your back for the night. A step forward, away from where you’d been before, where you’re stuck right now. Away from him.

So you get up from the table, stumbling slightly in your knee high boots and the girls holler. You cheers them, downing the rest of your drink before making your way across the bar. Dazed, everything slightly blurring. But this guy spotted you the minute you got up, was already turned and waiting for you when you get there.

“Hey,” he greets and you repeat it back, gripping his arm when you stumble and his hand finds your waist. Not your hip, not like he used to do. Wordlessly, he’s gesturing to your phone in your hand and you unlock it, hand it over. He types in his number and you swallow down the urge to vomit.

He texts himself, his own phone buzzing as he hands yours back. The name on his contact reads Jack and your stomach twists uncomfortably.

You know a Jack. You miss Jack. You miss…

Swallowing heavily, you flutter your eyelashes at him, too drunk and sad to know what else to say. He does have dark eyes, almost black as they look at you with interest. Not warmth, not protectiveness, not…

“What’s your name?” He asks, thumb hovering over his phone where he’s saving your contact. You tell him, trying your best to smile all cute and flirty.

It must work because he smiles back, shy and maybe in another world cute. His eyes don’t crinkle though, not how you like. And his cheeks don’t dimple, not like…

“You’ve got a pretty smile.”

It knocks the wind out of you, makes you suck in a breath and suddenly you can’t look at him. Because different eyes are looking at you over his shoulder, sad and brown and beautiful. And he’s not smiling either, not even saying a word but you can read him.

I always told you that.

You can hear his voice in your head, feel it in his gaze. That’s his line, one of the first sweet things he’s ever said to you.

“I’m sorry,” you say with faux politeness, “I think my ride is leaving but uh yeah you’ve got my number.”

He says something back but you’re already moving towards the exit, turning away from that stupid face watching you so knowingly. Except now he’s behind you too, hovering and watching from just out of reach. Just like he is every time you drink this much.

You blink, try to will him away but his features get clearer and clearer every time you open your eyes again. A friend intercepts you, asks if you’re ok.

“Yeah,” you blow-off, “we’re gonna meet up later. I just need to go home and freshen up.” You lie, motioning to the blonde behind you.

He’s over her shoulder now, listening intently. Dark and thick eyebrows raise with amusement, a teasing smirk on his face. Dimples and all.

So you’re lying now too?

“Ok, you need help getting a ride?”

You shake her off, declining. You’ll order an uber outside, outside where you can breathe and cry and hopefully not see him anymore. “No I’m ok, promise.”

You’re not ok, baby.

She lets you go, and you push through bodies and around tables to get to the door. He follows you, moving slow and effortlessly but always there. Just like how he is in real life, presence looming and dominant.

You fight him, ignore him until your sat in the backseat of a Honda with the window cracked, sucking in ragged breathes.

He’s right, you’re not ok at all.

Your phone buzzes, and you look down, expecting to see a text from what’s his face at the bar. Instead it’s one you know, one you should probably call and ask to come over before you do something stupid.

Timo

Hey sweets, how was your night out? Home safe?

You’ll text him when you get home, you tell yourself. Let him know you’re ok, even if he doesn’t believe it. Eventually it has to be true.

Right?

~~~~

August

Timo and him haven’t been the same. Not in a while, no matter how much his friend likes to pretend everything is normal.

Nico can feel it though, in the silences Timo won’t fill, the questions and comments he ignores when they’re working. He’s stopped sitting with Nico at the bar, stopped drinking with him as much. Even if Timo acts like they’re ok, Nico knows better.

“Think Jack needs a sober weekend,” Nico says, conversationally “put him on security next weekend.” Timo hums, unlocking his phone and typing it into the schedule.

They’re not drunk, not even buzzed really. They’d been too busy making sure Jack didn’t bust his head open running around the bar tonight, feeding girls drink after drink and trying to send them Nico’s way.

He appreciates the kid, he does. But he was tired of his shit. So they loaded him into the car and dropped his skinny butt off at the loft. Then they decided to just head home, too late to want to go back and drink in peace.

Truth be told though, Nico doesn’t think Timo would have a beer with him anyway.

“Got it.” Timo says glumly, locking his phone. They drive in silence for another moment, Nico’s throat itching to say what he should say.

That he’s sorry, that he shouldn’t even have fucked with you in the first place. You were Timo’s friend first, and now he doesn’t see you, doesn’t talk to you. Because of Nico.

But he doesn’t, because he knows he did what was right. And if Timo’s gonna be mad at him for that well he can handle it.

Nico reaches to turn up the music, but the screen in the car flashes and Nico’s heart jumps into his throat.

Speak of the devil.

Your name is on the screen. For a moment he thinks it’s him you’re calling, that it’s him you need. But Timo’s phone is connected, he’s the one that was playing music. He’s the one you’re calling.

Before Timo can answer it privately Nico is tapping the green button, answering it for him.

Muffled music comes through the speakers, indistinguishable voices yelling and partying in the background. You’re out. You’re out and having fun at a bar or a club or something. Probably looking just as good as you did in his bar and he’s not there to see it. To see you.

His blood rushes, anger burning under his skin and he grips the wheel tighter, jaw ticking. He did this, this is his fault.

“Hey,” Timo answers, cautiously. Nico can feel his friend eyeing him, scared and tentative. “What’s up sweets?”

Nico waits with baited breath for the sound of your voice, to hear you drunk and happy as you slur to Timo in that sweet voice of yours.

He gets the exact opposite.

“Timo?” You sniffle, and it’s like all the air in the car gets sucked out. You’re crying, you’re out somewhere and something is wrong and you’re crying.

Nico bites his tongue to stay quiet.

“Yeah it’s me, what’s wrong?” Timo asks, calm and steady. “Where are you?”

He sounds…knowing. Like he’s done this before, has this conversation with you before. Nico wonders how many times you’ve actually called Timo, if you two still talk even after everything.

“I’m at a party,” you hiccup, and for a moment everything goes quiet, the party muffled. Nico wonders where you went, who you’re with. Even if it’s not his right to know. “I-will you come get me? Please?”

“Yes of course.” Timo agrees, “just tell me where you are.”

“I don’t know,” you cry, sniffling even more. “I-it isn’t my-Timo.”

Nico’s panicking, ears ringing as your cries fill the car. Timo’s already on his phone, pulling up his Find My app. You’ve given him your location.

Smart girl, Nico thinks proudly and bitterly. You’ve always been so smart.

“It’s ok I’ve got you,” his friend promises, “I found you. Gonna come get you right now, ok?”

You make a whimpered sound, like you’re choking on whatever you were trying to say. Nico is helpless, driving numbly as Timo shows him the address silently. He turns, changing directions to head to Jersey City.

“Y/n,” Timo says sternly. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, a hushed whisper. Like you’re hiding from something.

“I need you to breathe,” Timo instructs, and Nico steps harder on the gas. Imagines you hurt and scared, in a house you don’t know with a bunch of fucks that shouldn’t be anywhere near you.

“Ok,” you reply, but neither of them actually hear you trying. Nico just hears the party, muffled and far away.

“Are you somewhere safe?” Timo asks, glancing at Nico again.

“Yeah,” you agree, just as quiet.

“Are you ok?”

It silent for too long, long enough for Nico to know that you’re thinking about it. Trying to decide what to say.

Instead you say, “I love you T.”

Nico sucks in a sharp breath, hopes you can’t hear it. Then he imagines you saying it to him, hates Timo a little bit because he never got to hear that from you.

“I love you too kid.” Timo says, gentle and comforting. “Just hang on for a bit, I’ll be there soon ok?”

“I’m upstairs,” you say, “the last door on the right. Because he’s downstairs.”

Nico doesn’t know who he is. Doesn’t know if he wants to know. Maybe you did move on, maybe you tried and it didn’t work out. Maybe this guy is a fucking asshole. That’s who you’re hiding from. Someone who hurt you.

And from the looks of it, has been doing it for a bit. Because Timo seems to get it, knows who you’re talking about. He looks at Nico sadly, a tormented look in his eyes before answering.

“I know sweets, just hang on for me.”

“My phone is gonna die.” You say, the drunkenness in your voice coming through for the first time tonight. Not in that fun and flirty way Nico’s used to hearing, but in a pained way. Guilt gnaws at his stomach. “I’m gonna hang up.”

He doesn’t want you to. He wants to hear you, to listen to you until he knows you’re safe. But this isn’t his conversation.

“Ok, I’ll see you in a sec.”

“See you.”

Then the line goes dead. Music filters into the car again, not that Nico is listening to it. Timo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, turns to watch Nico’s profile curiously.

“Who is he?” Nico finally asks, certain that even if it hurts, he has to know. He can’t just ignore the fact that you and Timo have been hiding this asshole from Nico for who knows how long.

Timo sighs. “It’s you,” he admits, “she gets drunk and she sees you. Everywhere.”

Nico’s been shot before. Not fully, just nicks and grazes that bleed and burn, need stitches. But he imagines it’d feel like this if he were to fully get hit, if a bullet dug its way into his chest and settled there, breaking his ribs and shattering everything inside.

Him. He’s the asshole. He’s the one that hurt you, that’s been torturing and scaring you. You’re hiding from him, crying because of him.

It’s poetic, Nico thinks, that he was ready to run in there and get you, save you from whoever wasn’t treating you right. Whoever was taking advantage of you. And this whole time it was him.

“How often,” Nico asks, voice breaking and he has to clear his throat, steady himself. “How often does she call?”

Timo shrugs. “We talk almost everyday. She’s only like this a few nights out of the week, when she’s with her friends.”

A few night. Nico’s never known you to drink like that, to get wasted almost every night. Aren’t you working? Doing something with that degree you were so proud of? He was so proud of?

You’re supposed to be working and be happy, doing something you love. Not partying, drinking yourself into hallucinations of him hurting you.

“I-I didn’t know, Timo.” Nico admits, pained. “I didn’t know it’d end up like this, I never thought she’d…”

“Who cares,” Timo huffs, annoyed and bitter. “She drinks herself stupid and calls me. You go out and get your ass kicked, and call no one. So who cares?”

Nico doesn’t know what to say. He just keeps driving.

~~~~

Nico shouldn’t be here. He knows he shouldn’t, knows you’re going to go berserk when you see him, but he’s a dumb man and he can’t stay away.

Even if it hurts you and him.

He’s pacing on the sidewalk outside the stupid house Timo had disappeared into ten minutes ago. Anxious, Nico’s fighting to not go into the house himself and find you.

He can’t though, you’re not his to be rescuing.

Truth be told, he’s scared too. The last time he saw you was a little over a month ago, a Wednesday afternoon when he realized that he was falling in love with you. Even worse, he realized you might be falling in love with him.

So he broke off whatever it was you guys were doing, not dating, not friends with benefits, but something in between.

“I hope that one day you’ll finally let someone love you, Nico.”

Your final words replay in his head as he slumps against his car, checking his phone for the umpteenth time. Still nothing.

After what feels like years, the front door of the house opens and Timo emerges, gently guiding you by the elbow with him.

Nico feels like he’s been hit in the gut. Even when you’re a drunken, college party mess you look beautiful. He’s frozen, just staring at you with wide eyes until you spot him.

Eyes glossy from crying on the phone, you stop walking and hold his gaze for a moment. Frantically, you’re tugging out of Timo’s hold and backing up towards the house again.

Nico can’t stop you, what’s he supposed to say? That he’s sorry? That he’s changed his mind? That maybe you two can be friends?

Timo follows you, harsh whispers and hushed arguing as he shields you from Nico’s view. Then you fall silent, Timo stepping aside so he can see you again.

“Y/n…” Nico sighs, stepping forward and half reaching out for you. You’re crying again, silent tears slipping down your cheeks and the tip of your sniffling nose red.

“I don’t want to see you,” you say, voice wobbling. “I didn’t call you, I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Despite the wave of emotion in your words, Nico would have no indication of how much you’re hurting. Your gaze is firm and angry, so compelling that he feels two feet tall even though he’s the one towering over you.

“You can’t honestly think that I’d hear that call and not come,” Nico explains, sighing in disbelief. He pauses, thinks about how his heart fell into his stomach when Timo answered your call on the car bluetooth and you were crying. You sounded so small, so scared and nothing could ever keep Nico from you after hearing that.

Not even his own stupid decisions in the past.

“It’s not you’re right to come here,” you argue, glancing over at Timo who’s decided to give you two space. “You didn’t want me Nico, you made that very clear. You can’t just decide to finally be my hero again because you feel guilty.”

Nico likes to think he’s good at keeping his emotions in check. He can keep his calm, cool demeanor in the face of almost anything.

He can’t right now. Not when all these new and raw feelings were eating at him from the inside out, constantly. And you were acting like he didn’t feel anything for you, like this is fun for him.

“Of course I want you!” He shouts, “You’re the only one I’ve ever want, but I can’t have you!” His outburst catches the attention of some of the college kids milling around the front porch. You huff, taking ahold of his wrist and dragging him back towards the car.

“What do you mean?” You sniffle, wiping at your cheeks and crossing your arms over your chest. “I tried Nico, I was ready to give up everything for you and you sent me packing. You told me what it takes and when I said I could do it, that I wanted to do it, you took it all back.

“The only one who’s kept us apart is you.”

You’re right. And it hurts. Even drunk and upset, it’s clear in your mind what he’s done. He’s turned you away, after asking you for everything, he said no. He’s a hypocrite. A hypocrite that has hurt you so badly he doesn’t even deserve to be standing here in front of you.

But he’s selfish. And he loves you.

“Timo wasn’t supposed to bring you,” you spit, “so leave.”

It’s mean, you’re mean. Nico has no right to be offended by it, but he is. So he smiles, tilts his head all mockingly and pulls open the back door.

“Tough shit baby, this is my car so get in.” He motions for you to move. The pet name stirred something in you, knocked you off your axis because you’re blinking at him with a fresh wave of tears in your eyes.

“Don’t call me that,” you shake your head, eyes fluttering closed and he can see the way your chest rises and falls heavily, the red splotches on your throat.

Guilty, he reaches out for your elbow, wants to touch you, to make it better. His fingers graze your skin, but you move away from him, hugging yourself.

“I hate you,” you whimper, stepping back again and Nico follows. You’ve locked onto that though, crying and wailing that you hate him, you hate him, you hate him. And you’re pushing at his chest and hands, manic as you cry and hit him.

Nico can’t do anything but stand there and take it. He doesn’t even try to catch your swinging fists, lets you hit his chest and shoulders with a strength that’s shocking for how drunk you are.

Timo eventually comes over, when your words have turned to heartbreaking cries and then the hitting stops. He opens his eyes, blurry with tears as his friend wraps you up in his arms, muttering something into your ear. You cry quietly, leaning into Timo as he gets you into the backseat of the car.

Pausing at the door, Timo turns to him, blue eyes ablaze with anger. He’s never looked at Nico like that before. “You were supposed to say sorry or something nice, you fucking idiot. Not mock her.”

“Timo I-“

“Just shut up and drive the fucking car.”

Nico shuts up, goes around to the drivers side. He’s silent as he gets in, silent as he buckles up, silent as he starts it and puts it in drive. You’re all silent, except for the low sounds of you still crying.

Nico glances back, sees you lying in Timo’s lap with a shine of tears over your eyes. Your cheeks are wet and ruddy, bottom lip trembling and Timo strokes through your hair.

“Should I take you home?” Timo asks gently, and Nico looks forward again. He can’t stand looking at you, looking at the mess he made.

“No,” you whimper, “I can’t go home.”

“Why not?” Timo’s so good at this, at being soft and comforting, at speaking to you like you’re the most precious thing. Nico always thought he could be good at that, but he guesses tonight proved that he’s not.

“They’re not my friends.” Your voice cracks, and he can picture the tears rolling down your temples again.

“Sure they are, why wouldn’t they be?”

“Friends don’t say things like that to people they care about.”

Nico thinks maybe you’ve forgotten him, drunk brain too jumbled and hurt to remember he’s the one driving the car. He can’t imagine you’d want to say these things around him.

“What did they say?” Timo asks and you must shake your head or something because he repeats the question, more stern this time.

“They said I was stupid,” you sniffle, embarrassed. Nico wants to turn around, to stomp into that house and show them just how stupid they for saying anything about you. “That I was stupid and naive for following Nico when they told me to run.”

Ouch, Nico winces. He knew they never liked him, pretty much only tolerated him for free drinks at the Rock. He had no idea how many people in your life were saying to leave him.

“They said I deserve to feel like this for giving up everything for him. It’s what I get for being stupid.”

Deserve this? No one deserves this, especially not you. Nico thought you’d thrive without him, that when he found you again you’d have your dream job and a nice apartment and Moose and you’d be happy. That maybe you’d be happy with him again.

Not this. If he knew at all that it’d be like this he never would’ve done it. He can’t even begin to imagine how this happened, how you got like this. He was this important to you?

“You’re not stupid,” Timo assures, “remember we said that? It’s not stupid to give up something for something better?”

Better, you thought he was better than everything you had before. Nico swallows heavily, wiping at his own cheeks because he’s started crying too.

“It’s not a sacrifice if what you got in return is worth more.”

You sniffle, a whimpered noise coming from deep in your chest. “Yeah well now I don’t have him either.”

Timo goes quiet, meets Nico’s crying eyes through the mirror and in that glance Nico knows his friend is about to say the worst thing possible.

“You love him though, and that’s worth it, right?”

You never answer. Nico keeps driving towards Timo place, fighting to see through his own teary eyes. He’s starting to see why Timo’s been so cold lately.

~~~~

Nico didn’t sleep.

He went home and paced. Took a hot shower. Texted Timo to check on you. And then paced some more when he didn’t get an answer.

He laid in bed until the sun came up, stared up at his ceiling and thought of all the nights you slept next to him, that he stared up at the exact same ceiling but you were pressed into his side. Your head on his shoulder, his hand on your hip and he thought “holy fuck, how did I get her here?”

You loved him. That’s how everything got so out of hand. Nico thought he’d caught it sooner, that he called it off before it got that far. But you already loved him and he broke your heart.

He thinks back on it now, if there were signs of you being in love. At the time, he thought you were just like that. Sweet and caring by nature, generous and loving. You weren’t giving him special treatment, you were like that all the time.

Now though, he think maybe he was wrong. He was special to you. And that love he knew was coming for him with impending doom had already settled deep in you.

Idiot, he thinks, knocking on Timo’s door. He’s a fucking idiot and he doesn’t deserve a chance to fix this but he wants one. He wants to fix you. He’s ready to do it.

It’s you that answers the door, eyes still puffy and red. Your hair is tied back in a terribly messy braid, a black shirt and sweats from Timo on your frame. You’ve got no socks on, and Nico internally cringes, knowing how much you hate being barefoot.

“Timo’s asleep,” you say, not looking at him but rather at his chest.

“I came for you,” he says, and then he’s holding out the matcha latte he got for you. One from that cafe under his apartment, the one you love so much because they carry the pistachio flavoring you like in your drinks.

You take the cup, holding it awkwardly in your hand as you stand in the doorway.

“I don’t really want to talk to you.”

Oh, Nico doesn’t really have any argument for that. To be honest, he thought you’d be mad enough for another round to fight with him.

“You were mean last night,” you say quietly, dropping your gaze to his shoes.

“I was scared,” he says in a lame excuse. “You being like, it scared me. I didn’t-I’ve never seen you like that.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, looking up at him through your eyelashes. He sees the moment you notice the bruise on his jaw, eyes frowning with a guilt you shouldn’t carry. “Did I do that?”

He shakes his head. “No, that was…I’ve been working a lot.”

“Oh.”

“You got me pretty good on the shoulder though.”

Nico tries to smile, hoping it would make you too. Instead you look at him, eyes locking on the dimple in his cheek and you’re looking away again.

“I used to be able to take care of myself,” you mumble, almost ashamed. “I just never thought you’d be on the other end of it.”

Nico swallows, watches the way condensation is building on your fingers from holding your drink. The ice is melting.

“Will you walk with me?” He asks, desperate. “Please y/n?”

Maybe it’s the way his voice shakes, or that he’s using your real name, but you finally look at him. Then you nod just once. “Let me find my shoes.” The door closes on him and he’s left waiting outside, like an idiot in love.

~~~~

You walk next to him along the water front, finally sipping on the latte he got you. He wants to reach out for your hand, wants to wipe away the little bit of foam on your lip but you get it before he can.

It’s awkward, the way you won’t look at him and he can’t stop looking at you. Manhattan stands tall behind you, towering across the river and glinting in the morning sun. Nico wishes he could take a picture of you, with your drink and your messy hair and the pretty background.

He loves you.

Now he just needs to say it out loud.

“I wasn’t lying last night,” he finally says. “When I said that I’ve always wanted you. I’ll always want you.

You don’t miss a beat. “Why’d you lie to me?”

He frowns, wonders what the hell you’re talking about. You look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“When you broke up with me, you said I wasn’t what you want.”

Nico thinks back to that day in the car when he’d dropped you off for the last time, tries to remember everything he said.

“It’s not what I want either.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Nico gasps, mentally kicking himself. You thought he meant he didn’t want you, this whole time. “I meant that I didn’t-I didn’t want you to want me.”

You stop walking, furious as you glare at him in the middle of the sidewalk. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I wanted you,” he begins, soft and careful with his words. He can’t screw this up again, can’t hurt you like before. “I could feel it, the way you fit with me so perfectly. But I was-I was just a fucking kid with a lot of money and no idea how to grow up. I never had a reason to grow up.

“I couldn’t be selfish and drag you into that. What kind of man would I be if I brought you into a life like that? It wasn’t safe, I couldn’t protect you.”

You look him up and down, those pretty lips of yours pulled into a frown and your eyebrows pinched with anger. “So what? You grew up in a month? You’re finally an adult now?”

A lady runs by, scoffing and glaring as she ducks around the two fighting in her path. Nico huffs, flipping her off. She gasps, outraged and before Nico can tell her to fuck off you’re shoving his hand down.

He looks back to you, eyes guilty and pleading. “No, I mean yeah. I just needed time baby, I need to make sure that I could do this with you.”

Another couple is coming by, and he reached for your hand. You don’t shake him off when he pulls you off to the side and into the grass, away from everyone. He lets go of you before you have the satisfaction of rejecting his touch.

“You did all this just because you needed time?” You laugh, humorlessly. Then you’re stalking away, and he follows after you like an idiot, tripping on his feet because he thinks you’ve really given up on him this time.

You’re just throwing your drink away though, turning to find him stumbling after you. His desperation must show because you soften, letting out a careful sigh as he holds his breath.

“I wasn’t asking you to marry me Nico,” you say, “I just wanted to be with you.”

“I know that,” he agrees, ashamed as he looks down at his feet. “But I wasn’t getting in this to be with you for just a bit. I knew once I officially had you that I could never let you go, so yeah I needed to be ready.”

He looks up and to his horror you’re crying again, tears reflecting the morning light and cheeks red. Nico can’t stop himself this time, can’t ignore what his hearts been telling him to do for weeks now. His hand finds your hip, drawing you into him and you go easily, like you’ve been waiting for it too.

It’s perfect, the way you fit into his chest. Your hands tucked between you and him, perfectly in the curve at the base of his ribs, head in the junction of his neck and shoulder. Safe. Protected. You shudder, a sound of content leaving you and then you’re crying again, like all you needed to know was that you’re safe to be vulnerable here.

“I would’ve waited for you,” you hiccup into his hoodie, and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back his own tears. His nose presses into the top of your head, breathing in the smell of you and the faint smell of Timo lingering on your clothes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve waited.”

He shakes his head, holds you tighter. “I couldn’t ask you to do that. What if it took me longer? What if it had taken me years? No I wanted you to be you, to use your degree and that big brain of yours and be happy. And that way when it was our time again, you’d be ready.”

You wail even more, the sound hurting something deep in his chest. “I was ready,” you swear, “I was ready for you Nico. I didn’t want anything else. I’ve been waiting anyway, haven’t I?”

He doesn’t know what to say, what else to do. So he just holds you, shushing you quietly. He waits until you’re sniffling, calming down before speaking again.

“I didn’t know, I didn’t know you loved me until last night. Baby you have to know I would’ve done it differently if I knew.”

Much to his dismay, you pull back just enough to look at him, chin pressed into his chest. Your eyelashes are dark and clumped together, lips red and raw. “I still do,” you murmur. “I have for a long time.”

Nico winces, sucking in a breath. You still haven’t said it, not really but he knows that you’re going to. He needs to say it first though.

Licking his lips, he blinks back tears. “I love you,” he whispers, “I love you so much it’s all consuming and it’s dangerous and I’ve been miserable without you.”

“I can’t fix you Nico,” you mumble sadly, “if you decide that you suddenly can’t do this again I won’t- I can’t fix you.”

“You don’t need to fix me,” he promises, “I did it all. I did the work, I fixed me. And I love you.”

Shockingly, you laugh. A beautiful and wet giggle that has you shaking against his chest. You’re smiling at him though, bright and oh so pretty. “I know Nico,” you roll your eyes, teasingly. “I’ve known you loved me since January.”

His birthday, he thinks. You threw him a party, brought him a gift. The only one of them to do so, even his friends since childhood had never done that. They always said it wasn’t something they think he’d like. You knew though, and you wanted to do it for him.

Yeah, he thinks you’re right. Even if he didn’t know it at the time.

“I was really stupid then,” he mumbles, brushing your hair away from your wet cheeks. “Breaking up with you like that when you already knew.”

“Yeah you were a fucking idiot.” You agree, and he frowns, only the tiniest bit offended. But then you’re wiggling an arm out to wrap it around his back, fingers gripping the hem of his hoodie at the small of his back. “But you’re my idiot, right?”

Nico brushes a kiss to your forehead, nodding “I’m your idiot, if you’ll still have me.”

You scoff, like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever said. Truth is, it’s not. Not by a long shot. “Of course I’ll still have you.”

He hums, laying his cheek on your head and closing his eyes. He wants to soak this in, feel you with him exactly where you’re supposed to be. Your nose ghosts over his cheek, lips right where that bruise on his jaw is.

“You didn’t move on?” You ask him, almost afraid to hear the answer. Nico thinks maybe you’re stupid too, for thinking he could ever move on.

“No,” he assures, “I was only trying to catch up with you.”

You kiss his jaw, just once. A soft little butterfly kiss to the bruise there. Goosebumps raise on his skin, mouth aching to feel yours. He doesn’t dare move a muscle. “Did you? Move on at all?”

Your hand finds his chest, pressing back until you part enough to see him. “Not a single bit,” you say, “even if I wanted to I couldn’t.”

He smiles. “Good.” You rise to your toes, mouth just a breath away from his. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wonders if you brushed your teeth this morning. If the hangover stopped you, if the heartbreak did. He doesn’t really care though.

“I love you Nico.”

Nico doesn’t know if it’s possible to physically hear how own heart break, opening up for you in a way he’s never done before. It’s hurts in the best way possible, scary but beautiful. He sniffles, leaning in and finally kissing you.

It’s soft and sweet, a short kiss but so worth it after so long of not having you. That crack in his chest throbs, soothed by the feeling of you holding your hand over his heartbeat. You love him.

You’re smiling so wide when he opens his eyes again, falling back to the balls of your feet and beaming up at him. You’ve always looked at him with so much warmth, so much joy. Like he’s the sun and you’re the flower chasing after him, growing in his attention.

“I missed that pretty smile.” He murmurs, and you laugh, wet and broken but happy. “Can’t believe I get to see it again.”

“Yeah well you’re not off the hook that easily.” You murmur, moving to wrap yourself around his arm. Then you’re pulling him back onto the sidewalk, walking back towards Timo’s place. “Get me breakfast. And Timo too please.”

Nico squeezes your hand, looking forward with a smile. “Yes ma’am.”

[slytherin-princess-x]

Catch me if I fall

Theodore nott x clumsy!reader

It’s just fluffy and cute today guys

The library was always a sanctuary for me, a place where the musty scent of old parchment and the quiet rustling of pages provided comfort in a world that sometimes felt overwhelming. I had long given in to the idea that I was not meant for the subtle elegance that came so naturally to the Slytherins around me. While they moved with an air of confidence and grace, I had earned my reputation for being a little… clumsy.

Today was no exception. The tall shelves towered above me, laden with books that promised knowledge and escape. I had spotted a particularly intriguing volume on advanced potions that was tucked high up on the shelf. My heart raced at the thought of finally uncovering secrets that could enhance my skills. With determination fueling my every move, I approached the ladder with purpose, a feeling of excitement bubbling within me.

Climbing the ladder was a feat in itself. My fingers brushed against the cool wood as I ascended, and I could hear the soft chatter of my fellow students around me, but I focused solely on the prize above. The book, leather-bound and glimmering with the promise of arcane knowledge, seemed to beckon me closer. I reached out, stretching my arm as far as it would go, my fingertips grazing the spine.

“Almost there…” I murmured to myself, summoning all the focus I could muster.

As I leaned forward, the ladder wobbled beneath me. Panic surged through me as I felt it slip just a bit. I had been so wrapped up in my quest for the book that I hadn’t even noticed Theodore Nott watching from a distance. His dark eyes were keen, constantly monitoring my every move with an intensity that sent a warm flush through me.

“Tesoro!” he called out, his voice laced with concern. (Darling)

But it was too late. The ladder had decided that it was done supporting me, and before I could react, I lost my balance. My heart dropped as I felt the world tilt. Just as I was about to meet the hard ground, strong arms caught me.

I landed with a soft thud against Theodore’s chest, and for a moment, the world around us faded into a blur. The warmth of his body enveloped me, and I could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through his robes. My breath caught in my throat, and I looked up into his eyes, which were now a mix of amusement and genuine concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, just peachy,” I replied, trying to play it cool despite the flush creeping up my cheeks. “You know, just a typical day in the life of a Slytherin klutz falling from a bookshelf ladder.”

He chuckled, the sound rich and comforting. “You really need to be more careful. I can’t keep catching you like this.” His tone was teasing referring to catching me once earlier this week, but there was an underlying seriousness to it that made my heart flutter.

I pushed myself away from him, suddenly acutely aware of how close we had been. The library had fallen silent, and I could feel the eyes of our peers on us, a mix of curiosity and intrigue. My cheeks burned hotter than the flames in the common room fireplace.

“I was just trying to get that book,” I explained, nodding toward the shelf above, suddenly very aware of my embarrassment. “I wanted to learn more about advanced potions for the next class.”

Theodore’s expression softened, and he stepped aside, allowing me to regain my footing. “How about I help you next time? You know I wouldn’t let you fall again,” he said, his voice low and reassuring.

My heart skipped a beat. It was moments like these that made me realize just how much I cherished our friendship. Relationship? Situationship? Theodore had a way of looking out for me, of always being there when I stumbled—literally and metaphorically. We had grown close extremely over the years, and he often defended me from the judgmental stares of other Slytherins when my klutziness made me the target of ridicule.

“Thanks, Theo,” I said, offering him a shy smile. “I’d appreciate that.”

He nodded, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. “Just promise me you won’t make a habit of this,” he teased lightly, but there was a serious undertone in his voice that made me feel protected, cherished.

“Promise,” I replied, trying to sound sincere while secretly plotting my next escapade with a little more caution.

With a newfound resolve, I looked back at the high shelf, and Theodore seemed to sense my determination. “Let me get it for you,” he offered, stepping forward and easily reaching for the book I had so desperately sought.

As he handed it to me, I felt a rush of gratitude mixed with a twinge of embarrassment at my earlier mishap. “Thanks, Theo. You really are my hero,” I said, unable to hide the warmth in my voice.

“Just looking out for my favorite Slytherin,” he replied, winking.

And as I opened the book, ready to delve into its mysteries, I couldn’t help but feel that maybe my clumsiness wasn’t such a curse after all—if it meant I had someone like Theodore watching over me.

Taglist: @yootvi @redeemingvillains @littlemadamred @smut-anarchy

[alltheeya]

It's you || l.hs

genre: friends to lovers, fluff!!!

word count: 6k

a/n: not really the inspo for the fic, but i watched the video of Henry Lau, confessing "It's You" was inspired by Bae Suzy. He also sang it to her, occasionally switching the lyrics to "It's Suzy". i don't ship, but i just got so much butterflies from that vid so i used the song as the title and inserted it somewhere here hehe hdjkvhkjsdv anyways enjoy my first ever fic!

warnings: mentions of food/picnic, probs weird flow of events bcs of the writing(?) lol sorry, reader being too shy and nervous?, heeseung being flirty and sweet?, they kiss at the end <3

It was a sunny afternoon when Heeseung and I met for our date. The sky was clear, the air just warm enough to make the idea of a picnic in the park feel perfect. I had never been one for super romantic, cliché dates, but something about this felt... right. 

When I got to the park, I saw him standing by the entrance, looking as effortlessly charming as always. He was holding a basket, a blanket tucked under his arm, and the unmistakable shape of his guitar slung over his shoulder. He had that soft, easy smile on his face, the one I’d come to realize was reserved just for me.

I couldn’t help but feel a bit flustered as I approached him. I had picked out a cute little sundress for the occasion, and although it was just something simple, it felt perfect for the day, for the moment. The dress fluttered lightly with every step, and as I got closer, I saw Heeseung’s eyes light up as he took in my appearance.

"You look... amazing," he said, his voice filled with sincerity, and for a split second, I felt like all the attention in the world was on me. I blushed, suddenly self-conscious.

"Thanks," I said shyly, my fingers playing nervously with the straps of my dress. "You don’t look too bad yourself."

He chuckled, that little teasing smile of his dancing on his lips. "I’m glad you think so."

He stepped forward to greet me, his hands full with the items he had carried. "Here," he said, lifting the picnic basket and blanket in his hands. "I was going to wait until you got here, but now that you’re here, I—"

My eyes drifted to the guitar slung over his shoulder, curiosity piquing. "What’s the guitar for?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

Heeseung hesitated, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink. "Oh, uh…" He looked away for a moment, scratching the back of his neck before meeting my gaze again. "I thought I’d… maybe sing for you later during the picnic."

I blinked, a little taken aback but mostly flustered. "You will sing for me?" I echoed, my heart skipping a beat.

"Yeah," he admitted shyly, his voice softer now. "I asked around. They said you… um…would probably melt if someone serenades you as a way of… courting you."

My cheeks instantly flushed, the memory of my past comments to my friends coming back to haunt me. "You– What?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

Heeseung gave a small, sheepish shrug. "I wanted to make the date special for you."

I couldn’t help the shy smile that spread across my face. My gaze shifted to the basket he was holding. "Well, since you’re carrying the guitar, let me help with the basket," I offered, reaching for it.

But Heeseung shook his head, stepping back slightly. "No," he said softly, his gaze shifting to my hands. He reached out, holding them for a moment before his eyes met mine again. "I’ve got this. But… would you mind holding my hand instead?"

I blinked at him, taken aback for a split second. His expression was so sincere, like he truly wanted the simple connection. It was such a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt so personal, so genuine.

I smiled shyly, my heart beating a little faster. "Okay," I said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

His hand was warm and comforting, and as we walked into the park together, the guitar gently bouncing against his back, I couldn’t help but think that this moment, this day, was already perfect.

As we walked together toward our spot, Heeseung looked down at me with a fond smile, and I couldn't help but blush.

"We're almost there," he said, his fingers gently squeezing mine. "I was thinking we could find a nice spot near the lake. It's peaceful there."

I nodded, my heart swelling at how thoughtful he was. "Sounds perfect."

And with that, we strolled side by side, taking our time to get to the lake, letting the day unfold at its own pace, just the two of us, together.

Heeseung had really gone all out with the picnic. As we reached our spot by the lake, he laid out the blanket with care, smoothing out any creases, and then began setting everything down. I was a little surprised by how much he had brought—everything was so thoughtfully chosen.

I couldn’t help but notice Heeseung’s playful smile as he leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Close your eyes for a second,” he said, his voice light, though there was a hint of something more in it.

I raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued but trusting him completely. “What are you up to?” I asked, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“You’ll see,” Heeseung responded, his voice soft, and I heard the faintest sound of something being moved.

Then, before I could even wonder what it was, I felt his fingers gently brush against my hair, and I blinked in surprise as he clipped something in place. I could tell it was delicate by the way he handled it, the motion gentle but deliberate.

“Okay, open,” he said, his tone warm and expectant.

I blinked my eyes open, my fingers instinctively reaching up to touch the clip in my hair. “What did you…?”

“It’s a flower,” Heeseung grinned, his gaze softening as he admired the clip. “Pretty, just like you.”

I couldn’t stop the heat rising to my cheeks, my heart pounding a little faster. I quickly looked away, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Y-You’re so cheesy,” I mumbled, my voice barely above a whisper.

“And you love it,” Heeseung teased, his laugh so light and full of affection that it made my heart flutter. He handed me a mirror to see the clip for myself, and I shyly adjusted it in my hair, still flushed.

“Thanks, Heeseung,” I mumbled, my voice a little quieter than usual.

Heeseung leaned in just enough for his grin to widen, his eyes sparkling with affection. “You’re welcome,” he replied, his voice soft but teasing enough to make me blush even more.

I couldn’t help but duck my head, my cheeks still burning as I tried to focus on the picnic spread in front of us. “Let’s just eat,” I muttered, though my tone was light, laced with warmth, as I hoped to distract myself from the way my heart was racing.

Heeseung let out a soft laugh, clearly enjoying my flustered reaction. “Alright, alright,” he said, opening the basket. “But just so you know, that clip is my new favorite thing on you.”

I shot him a glance, my heart fluttering a little at his words. “You’re just saying that to make me embarrassed,” I said, trying to play it cool even though the heat was still creeping up my neck.

There were sandwiches, each carefully wrapped in paper, looking perfectly made. One of them had chicken, lettuce, and mayo, while the other was a veggie one with avocado and some hummus spread. Heeseung also brought some fresh fruit—juicy slices of watermelon, strawberries, and grapes that sparkled in the sunlight. There was even a small jar of homemade lemonade that he had made himself, the lemony scent making my mouth water immediately.

"Wow, you really went all out," I said, laughing a little, feeling touched by the effort he’d put into this. I had half-expected a simple sandwich, but this was more like a small feast.

Heeseung smiled, clearly pleased with himself. "Well, I wanted it to be special," he said. "I thought you’d like it."

I nodded, my heart warming. He was always so considerate, and it made me appreciate him even more.

As we ate, I couldn’t help but glance up at Heeseung, only to notice a small crumb clinging to the corner of his mouth. My hand moved before I even thought about it, brushing it away gently. “You’ve got crumbs,” I murmured, focused on the task like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t until I dropped my hand and realized how close we were that it hit me—what I had just done. My breath caught for a second, and my eyes widened slightly. My face instantly heated up, and I leaned back quickly, clearing my throat to mask my embarrassment.

Heeseung didn’t seem fazed at all. In fact, he grinned like he’d just won a game, his eyes sparkling with a kind of mischief that made my stomach flip. I barely had a second to recover before he grabbed another snack and dramatically ate it, smearing crumbs on purpose.

Then he leaned in, tilting his head toward me with the most exaggerated pout I’d ever seen. “I think I’ve got more crumbs,” he teased, his voice dripping with playful innocence. “Think you could help me out again?”

I blinked, completely caught off guard. My brain short-circuited for a moment, trying to decide between laughing or rolling my eyes. Instead, I spluttered, “Heeseung!” and instinctively pushed his face away, though I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped.

He laughed outright, the sound warm and full, like he was having the time of his life seeing me all flustered. “What?” he asked, feigning innocence, though his grin gave him away. “You did such a good job the first time. Why stop now?”

I groaned, trying to sound annoyed, but the corners of my mouth betrayed me as they twitched into a reluctant smile. “You’re impossible,” I muttered, reaching for a napkin instead. If he thought I was using my hand again, he had another thing coming.

When I dabbed at his face with the napkin, he leaned in closer, making no effort to hide how much he was enjoying this. “I think you secretly like taking care of me,” he said, his tone teasing but his gaze soft and sincere. He winked, and I felt my heart do a ridiculous little flip.

I sighed dramatically, shaking my head, trying to keep my cool even as my cheeks warmed, but the fond smile on my face probably gave away how much I didn’t mind at all.

After we ate, we spent some time just chatting about random things—how our days had gone, how the weather was perfect for a picnic, and what we both liked to do on days like this. We didn’t have to try hard to find things to talk about; it just flowed naturally.

Then, after some time, we both leaned back, lying down on the blanket, facing the sky. The clouds drifted lazily by, the world around us quiet except for the occasional rustling of leaves . It was peaceful, just the two of us in our own little bubble.

Heeseung, always the thoughtful one, noticed the bottom of my dress going up a bit with me lying down, so he took off his jacket and gently draped it over my legs. His hands brushed against my skin as he adjusted it, and I felt a small thrill shoot through me. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate in that moment.

"Is that better?" he asked, his voice soft, and I looked up at him, smiling.

"Yeah, much better. Thank you," I said, my voice quieter than usual, feeling the warmth from his jacket spread over me.

We both laid there in silence for a few moments, felt like time had slowed down, and everything in the world was perfect in this moment.

After a while, Heeseung turned his head toward me, his eyes shining with a quiet curiosity. "What do you think of the clouds? I always like to imagine shapes when I look at them."

I turned my head to meet his gaze, finding myself smiling. "I see a rabbit in that one," I said, pointing to a cloud that was stretched out like a fluffy bunny. "What about you?"

Heeseung squinted at the sky, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I think that one looks like a dragon," he said, laughing a little.

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to picture it. "I don’t see it."

"It’s there, I swear!" Heeseung chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Maybe you just need to look harder."

I giggled, shaking my head. "Maybe you’re just making it up."

For a while, we kept looking at the clouds, pointing out shapes to each other and laughing at how different our imaginations were. It felt so easy, so comfortable, like we had been doing this forever.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to other things—like dreams, goals, and silly things we'd done in the past—but the way we were laying there, side by side, felt like the kind of connection I hadn’t realized I was longing for. It wasn’t rushed, there were no expectations. It was just us, in this peaceful moment, sharing the quiet joy of being together.

As we were lounging on the blanket, enjoying the serene afternoon, Heeseung suddenly sat up and reached for the guitar he had set beside him. I sat up too, curious, as he started to tune it, the sound of the strings bringing a sense of calm to the already peaceful atmosphere.

Heeseung adjusted the guitar on his lap, his fingers brushing over the strings as he looked up at me with a shy smile. "Ready?" he asked, his voice a little nervous but sweet.

I nodded, clasping my hands together in my lap to keep from fidgeting. "I’ve been ready since I saw the guitar," I teased, trying to calm my own nerves.

He grinned, ducking his head a little, and started strumming the familiar opening chords of Ed Sheeran's Thinking Out Loud. As he sang, his voice soft but steady, I felt my cheeks warm up. His voice was beautiful, effortlessly smooth, and filled with emotion.

When he finished the song, I clapped enthusiastically, cheering, “That was so good!” My heart swelled when I saw the shy smile that tugged at his lips as he glanced down at the guitar, clearly pleased.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already transitioning into the next song.

The upbeat rhythm of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You filled the air, and Heeseung seemed to grow a little more confident as he played. He swayed slightly to the music, his eyes occasionally flicking up to meet mine as he sang the lyrics. I couldn’t help but laugh and clap along, my excitement growing with each note.

When the second song ended, I cheered again, and this time, he chuckled softly. "You’re making me nervous with all the clapping," he teased, though his smile said otherwise.

“Sorry,” I said, not sorry at all, grinning at him. “You’re just doing so well!”

He nodded, his playful smile softening into something gentler. “Alright. Last one.”

As soon as he began the opening notes of It’s You by Henry Lau, I felt my breath hitch. The melody was soft and intimate, and his voice took on an almost tender quality. But what really got me was the way he held my gaze as he sang.

I felt my face heat up more and more with each lyric, my heartbeat quickening as the song reached its final line. “You...It’s you…,” he sang softly, his eyes never leaving mine. The intensity in his gaze made me feel like I was the only person in the world in that moment.

I forgot to clap.

Heeseung broke the spell with a shy laugh, his voice tentative as he asked, “How did I do?”

I blinked, realizing I had been holding my breath. My voice came out quieter than I intended, but it was filled with sincerity. “I loved every single bit of it. Thanks, Heeseung.”

His ears turned a little pink at my words, and he scratched the back of his neck, clearly pleased but unsure how to respond.

We both sat there, the guitar resting across his lap, the moment stretching between us. I wasn’t sure if my cheeks would ever stop burning, but I also didn’t care. It was perfect—he was perfect. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like this kind of sweetness was exactly where I belonged.

 “Glad you do…” Heeseung said with that boyish grin of his, the kind that made my heart flutter. He puts away his guitar and moved to sit beside me, the soft strum of his guitar still echoing in my mind.

Without thinking, I leaned my head onto his shoulder, the movement instinctual, comfortable. I couldn’t help it; it felt like the most natural thing in the world. My arm instinctively linked with his, and I glanced up at him, a little nervous. "Is this okay?" I asked, my voice soft.

Heeseung turned his head toward me, a small smile forming as he nodded. "Yeah, it’s more than okay." Then, without hesitation, he rested his head on top of mine, the warmth of his touch sending a rush of contentment through me.

We sat there for a moment, simply enjoying the quiet and the closeness, before Heeseung broke the stillness with a playful tone. “So, my guitar skills worked, huh? Seems like I’ve got the magic touch,” he teased, his voice full of mischief.

I lifted my head and narrowed my eyes at him, trying to keep the playful facade, but my smile betrayed me. "You think so, huh?" I asked, trying to sound serious, but failing miserably.

He chuckled softly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I was just joking.” He gently guided my head back onto his shoulder, his touch warm and reassuring. “I’m just happy you liked it,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost like he was savoring the moment.

A comfortable silence enveloped the two of us again, the kind of peaceful stillness where words weren’t needed. The only sound was the soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of life around us, but in that moment, it felt like everything had slowed down.

Then, Heeseung lifted my hand, the one that had been linked to his arm, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on the back of it. His lips were warm against my skin, and I couldn’t help but feel my heart skip at the tender gesture. He lowered my hand back down, both of his hands gently enclosed around it, as if holding onto something precious.

I turned my head up to him, my heart fluttering from the intimacy of the moment. "What was that for?" I asked, my voice a little breathless, unsure of how to process the sweetness of what had just happened.

Heeseung looked down at me with that soft, almost shy smile, as if the kiss had been a simple, natural thing. "Just because… I wanted to," he said quietly, his voice sincere but laced with a hint of playfulness.

I shook my head slightly, trying to hold back my grin as I playfully rolled my eyes. “You’re weird,” I teased, my voice light and affectionate.

I rested my head back down on his shoulder, this time a little more comfortably than before. Heeseung chuckled softly at my comment, but there was a tenderness in his laughter. 

We spent the rest of the time talking about random things, easy conversation flowing between us again. I could feel the peaceful warmth between us, a sense of belonging and comfort I never wanted to end. Every now and then, Heeseung would squeeze my hand or I’d catch him looking down at me with that soft smile, and it made my heart skip a beat.

I felt my heart beat a little faster as I tightened my hold on his arm, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “You know, you looked really handsome a while ago, playing the guitar and singing,” I said, my voice quiet, trying to sound casual, though I could feel the heat creeping up to my cheeks.

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat. He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me. "Just handsome?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Not handsome, attractive, and charming?"

I rolled my eyes, though I could feel a smile tugging at my lips despite my embarrassment. “Okay, okay,” I mumbled, trying to look away but not being able to hide the way my face was probably flushed. "You’re all of that, too. Happy?"

Heeseung chuckled, clearly enjoying teasing me. “I’ll take it," he said, his voice light but with a warm edge. “But just so you know, you’re not too bad yourself. You’re pretty cute when you’re all flustered like this."

I blinked, caught off guard by his words. I lifted my head to look at him, a little flustered but also amused by the way he could turn the tables so easily. “You’re really something, you know that?,” I muttered, though the smile on my face .

Heeseung grinned, his eyes softening as he leaned a little closer. “But you like it, don’t you?”

I just laughed softly, unable to deny how much I enjoyed moments like this with him. “You’re lucky I do,” I replied, resting my head back against his shoulder, the warmth between us feeling just right.

I felt a small flutter in my chest as his thumb gently rubbed against my hand, his touch so tender, making my heart skip a beat. I blinked at him, momentarily distracted by how close he was, but his question made my thoughts suddenly scatter.

“Y/n?”

I swallowed, feeling a little shy under the intensity of his gaze. “Hm?” I hummed softly, trying to keep my composure, though my heart was racing just a little.

Heeseung’s voice dropped a little softer as he asked again, “Why did you agree to go out with me? And all of this?” His eyes lowered to my hand for a moment, his thumb continuing its slow, steady caress. He met my gaze again, his expression vulnerable yet warm. “I thought you weren’t the type to say yes to dates, or... that’s what I’ve heard.”

I felt my grip on his arm tighten involuntarily, his words making me feel a little exposed, but there was a gentle warmth in his voice that made it impossible for me to be upset. He was just curious, I knew that.

I tilted my head slightly, blinking up at him, trying to process the question. “You’ve heard that, huh?” I asked, my voice quieter than usual, the weight of his gaze making me feel like I had to think carefully about how to answer.

Heeseung nodded, his eyes never leaving mine, that soft, hopeful look still lingering. “Yeah. You just seem... selective. Like you wouldn’t say yes unless it really meant something.”

I hesitated, my heart picking up speed as I tried to find the right words. His thumb was still rubbing gentle circles on the back of my hand, soothing and distracting me at the same time.

I smiled, warmth creeping up my cheeks. “Well, you’re not wrong. I don’t usually go out of my way to... entertain stuff like this.”

Heeseung’s gaze didn’t waver, his lips parting slightly like he was waiting for me to finish.

“Well...” I began slowly, feeling heat creep into my cheeks, “I don’t really know.”  

Heeseung chuckled softly. “You don’t know?”  

I sighed, thinking about my answer carefully. “It’s just that you’re different. You’re kind, thoughtful, and... I don’t know, you make it easy to say yes. It’s like I feel... safe around you.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile, and he let out a breath of relief. 

“And You were just... Heeseung. And I liked that.”  

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting. “So, you like me.”  

I couldn’t stop myself from smacking his arm lightly, half in play and half in embarrassment. His eyes widened slightly as he let out a light 'ah' in mock surprise. His playful grin only grew, clearly enjoying how flustered I was.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t fight the growing grin. “You’re so annoying.”  

“And you’re not denying it,” Heeseung said, his grin widening as he leaned a little closer, clearly enjoying the rare moment of making me flustered.

I groaned in frustration, burying my face in his shoulder, hoping to hide just how embarrassed I was. “This was a mistake.”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and comforting, and reached over to gently pull my head up to face him. “No take-backs. You already admitted it.”

I pouted, my cheeks burning even hotter now, but I couldn’t help the little smile tugging at the corner of my lips. “Fine. Maybe I do like you a little. Happy now?”

Heeseung’s eyes sparkled as he looked at me, his grin softening into something more genuine. "Yeah," he whispered. "Really happy."

I felt a flutter in my chest at the sincerity in his voice. There was no mistaking it. He really meant it.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, his gaze holding mine, “I’m really glad you gave me a chance.”

His words made my heart beat a little faster. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks again, but this time, it was different—comforting.

I tilted my head, trying to keep the teasing tone light, though I couldn’t entirely suppress the soft smile on my lips. “How about you, Heeseung? Out of all the ‘more gorgeous and more pretty girls', why did you choose me to go out on a date with?”

Heeseung let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. 

"Why you?" Heeseung echoed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Out of all the ‘more gorgeous and more pretty girls,' huh?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, the playful teasing still lingering in my voice. “Yeah. I mean, you have options, Heeseung. Tons of them.”

Heeseung’s smile only grew, but there was a softness in his eyes, and something about the way he looked at me made my heart flutter. “You know what’s funny?” he began, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I didn’t even think about it like that. It wasn’t about ‘options’ or comparing you to anyone else.”

My laughter quieted as Heeseung moved to fully face me and gently took my hands  again, holding it between both of his, his touch warm and grounding. “You stood out to me in a way no one else has. It wasn’t just about looks, though you’re gorgeous, and don’t even try to deny that.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, grinning as if he knew exactly what I was about to say. “What drew me to you was how genuine you are. You don’t try to be someone you’re not, and you don’t even realize how refreshing that is. I noticed it the first time we crossed paths. Even when you were just saying hi, you felt... real.”

I blinked, my cheeks warming at his words. I wasn’t sure how to respond—his sincerity had caught me off guard. But I didn’t want to break eye contact. It felt too important, too meaningful.

Heeseung’s gaze lingered on me for a moment, and then his next words came out softer, more vulnerable, as if they were something he needed to say, not just for me, but for him too. “So yeah, out of all the gorgeous girls out there... it was never a question. It’s you, Y/n. Just you.”

The weight of his words settled between us, filling the space with a sweetness I could hardly process. I was at a loss for words, my heart pounding in my chest as I looked up at him. His sincerity, the way he said my name, it felt... real. It felt like everything had fallen into place without any effort. I was the one who had to ask why him, but in that moment, I realized it had never been about anything other than the way he saw me—just me.

I smiled softly, my grip on his hand tightening as I whispered, “Just me, huh?”

Heeseung’s smile widened, his eyes brightening as he leaned in just enough for a brief moment, his presence suddenly filling the space between us. “You have no idea how happy I am that you’re with me.”

The words sent a warmth rushing through me, my heart pounding harder with every beat. Heeseung’s hand instinctively reached for mine, his touch grounding me in a way that felt both familiar and brand new.

"You’re the person I can be myself with, Y/n," he continued, his voice soft, yet full of intention. "And I want to keep doing this—being with you, spending time like this, just...us."

My heart raced as his words sank in, and without even thinking, my fingers curled around his. I couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips, my eyes softening as I looked up at him. “Heeseung...”

Heeseung’s smile softened even more, the nervousness that had been there earlier now replaced with pure sincerity. His voice was gentle but unwavering as he spoke again, almost as if he had rehearsed it, but I could hear the emotion behind it.

"I like you. More than just friends, more than anything casual," he confessed, his gaze unwavering as he looked into my eyes. "I know it’s only been a couple of dates, but... would you say yes... to being my girlfriend?"

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe, my mind going blank at the sincerity in his voice. His eyes were locked on mine, and everything else seemed to fade away. The world outside, the chatter, the noise—none of it mattered in that moment. It was just me and Heeseung, the only two people in that space.

I blinked, trying to process his words. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I could feel my cheeks warming. I never imagined that I’d find myself here, with him, feeling so incredibly special.

I couldn’t help but smile, my voice coming out softly, almost in disbelief at the way my heart was beating. “Yes... I’ll be your girlfriend, Heeseung.”

His smile was so wide it reached his eyes, and I felt an overwhelming rush of happiness fill me at his answer. He let out a small, relieved laugh, his thumb brushing lightly over the back of my hand as he held it tightly. “You’re really saying yes?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief but overflowing with hope.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself, but the words felt like they were stuck in my throat. “I’m starting to like you a lot too, Heeseung,” I said, my voice quieter than I intended. My heart was racing, and I couldn’t help but smile shyly. "Our dates have been fun, our chats have been fun and you..." I trailed off, the words suddenly feeling too heavy to say.

Heeseung watched me with such a gentle, understanding expression, and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me, how much I appreciated him, but the words felt like they were locked away, too vulnerable to voice.

He smiled, leaning in slightly, his eyes twinkling. “And me...?” he prompted softly, his voice filled with a teasing warmth that made me feel both embarrassed and adored at the same time.

I turned my gaze away for a moment, trying to hide the growing smile on my face as my cheeks flushed deeper. I swallowed, trying to steady my nerves as I finally answered, my voice softer than usual.

"You..." I paused, gathering my thoughts as I looked back at him, unable to stop the smile that tugged at my lips. "You're... a lot more than just fun, Heeseung."

Heeseung’s grin softened, his eyes warm with affection as he watched me, clearly appreciating the honesty in my words. I could feel my heart race, but in the best way possible, like every word that came out was something I couldn’t hold back.

"Talking to you feels so easy, even if you tease and flirt all the time," I added, letting out a soft laugh.

Heeseung chuckled too, his usual playful smile dancing on his lips, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that made my heart flutter.

"I really like it whenever you're around..." I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, and for a moment, I turned away again, not sure I could continue without getting completely flustered.

But then I spoke again, a little softer this time, as if my words had a life of their own. "I never regret going on dates with you because... I always feel l appreciated everytime."

I felt my breath hitched in my throat as his hand gently cupped my face, turning me to face him again. His thumb brushed lightly over my cheek, sending a wave of warmth through me. The intensity in his gaze made my heart race, and I could barely look away from him as I tried to gather my thoughts.

Heeseung’s voice was barely a whisper, his words carrying a sweetness that made my chest tighten. “I’m really glad you feel that way, Y/n,” he said softly, his thumb brushing along my cheek again, making me shiver slightly at the warmth of his touch. 

His eyes wandered to my lips for a brief moment before meeting my gaze again, and I could feel the electricity in the air, the unspoken question hanging between us.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, but there was something in his eyes—a silent plea for permission. I gave him a nod

Heeseung’s movements were slow, deliberate, as if he were giving me the chance to change my mind at any moment. His eyes never left mine, the anticipation in his gaze undeniable. I felt my heart hammer in my chest, the world around us fading as the only thing I could focus on was him. The space between us was closing, each inch making my breath catch in my throat.

My eyes kept looking at his eyes then at his lips, back and forth. I could feel the heat of his presence, the warmth radiating off him as his lips brushed against mine, so tender, so soft. It was a slow, gentle kiss—one that felt like it was meant to last forever. 

The touch of his lips sent a rush of warmth through me, a feeling I’d never experienced before, and I melted into it, my hands instinctively moving to rest on his chest. Heeseung, sensing my response, wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer as his other hand gently cupped the back of my neck. His touch was steady and comforting, drawing me even nearer to him, our bodies pressed together as he deepened the kiss just slightly.

I could feel his heart racing too, and it only made mine beat faster. The world seemed to vanish, leaving just the two of us caught in this perfect, tender moment. Every nerve in my body felt alive, and I couldn't help but relax into his embrace, letting him guide me through the warmth of the kiss.

Heeseung pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, breathing a little heavier, his hand still cradling my neck as he kept me close. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

“You’re incredible, Y/n,” he murmured, his thumb gently stroking the skin on my neck.

I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face, feeling all kinds of emotions rush through me. My heart was still racing, but this time, it was with happiness.

//i need heeseung to cover "It's you" now > <//

[goticapomposa]

Vi x reader as a teenager

MEN NOT ALLOWED!!!!

First of all I apologize because English is not my first language and I haven't written for a few years, but I hope you like it. ♡♡♡♡♡♡

It's basically Vi and Reader are best friends since before Vi's parents died, Reader's parents died on the same day, so she is also one of Vander's orphans

Vander's bar was busier than usual, but that didn't stop Vi from noticing every move Reader made. Vi was leaning against the counter, trying to look relaxed as she adjusted the bandages on her hands. Adolescence was chaos, but the biggest chaos seemed to be Reader, with her watchful eyes and that smile that made Vi gasp. Reader was laughing with Powder at a nearby table, gesturing as she told some funny story. Vi felt her face heat up and quickly looked away when Reader turned toward her. Why am I like this around her? "You're staring again," Clagor commented, passing by with a mischievous look. "I'm not!" Vi answered too quickly, her voice coming out louder than she intended. She crossed her arms, trying to look indifferent, but her fingers were nervous, drumming against the fabric of her blouse. It didn't take long for Reader to approach her. "Is everything okay, Vi? You look weird today." "Weird? Me?!" Vi choked, stumbling over her words. She tried to hide it by scratching the back of her neck, but her face was already as red as her hair. "I'm normal. Super normal."

The reader laughed, tilting her head in a way that seemed to study Vi's reaction. "If you say so..."

Her voice was calm, but to Vi, it felt like an earthquake shaking her world. She looked away, biting her lip to contain the urge to say something stupid. Or worse, confess how she felt.

"Hey, do you want to practice a little? I need to practice before Vander puts me on another delivery," the reader suggested, extending her hand to Vi.

It was something simple, but the reader's proximity made Vi trip over her own legs. "Y-yeah! Of course! Training is great!"

"Why are you so nervous? It's like you've never trained with me before," the reader said, laughing.Vi tried to compose herself. "I'm not nervous! I'm just... focused." As they walked to the makeshift training area, Vi couldn't help but glance at Reader. The feelings building in her chest were a mix of confusion and intensity, as if a fight was going on inside her.

As they began to train, Vi could barely focus. With every movement, every accidental touch, her heart felt like it was going to explode. At one point, Reader managed to knock her down with a quick blow, falling to the ground with her as she lost her balance.

"Are you okay?" Reader asked, her face dangerously close to Vi's.

Vi froze. "I am! I'm just... thinking about how fast you are."Reader raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Vi, you're sweating more than usual."

"Heat, that's all!" Vi replied, standing up too quickly, almost tripping again.

"You're weird," she commented, but there was a soft smile on her lips.Vi ran a hand through her hair, taking a deep breath to try to calm herself. She knew she wouldn't be able to hide what she felt forever, but for now, it was enough to have the reader close to her, even if her own shyness was a daily struggle.

It was early in Zaun, and Vander’s bar was quiet. Most of the orphans were still asleep, but Vi, as usual, was already awake. She had decided to do something special: make breakfast for the group. It was actually an excuse to impress Reader.

“I can do this,” she muttered to herself, staring at the frying pan as if it were an opponent in a fight.

Everything seemed to be going well, until Reader appeared, yawning and running her fingers through her messy hair.

“Good morning, Vi. What are you doing?” Reader asked, her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Vi froze. The mere sound of Reader’s voice made her drop the spoon she was holding. “Nothing! I mean, I’m making breakfast. For… everyone!”Reader smiled and walked over, leaning over Vi’s shoulder to peer into the frying pan. “It smells good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I know!” Vi answered too quickly. She tried to flip a pancake, but her hand was shaking so badly that the movement went wrong. The batter flew out of the pan and fell straight to the floor.

Reader put her hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter, but she couldn't. "What are you nervous about?"

"I'm not nervous," Vi insisted, bending down to pick up the fallen pancake, trying to hide her blushing face.

"Of course not," Reader said, still laughing. She picked up one of the pans and looked at Vi. "Do you want some help? I think we can work better together."

Vi hesitated, but knew she had no choice. "Okay... just don't laugh at me."

"No promises," Reader replied with a mischievous smile.

They started cooking together, but the closeness was torturous for Vi. Every time Reader reached out to pick something up, her arm brushed against Vi's, sending shocks through the girl's body. At one point, when Reader reached for the spice rack, she bumped into Vi, and the two of them nearly knocked everything over onto the floor.

"Sorry!" Reader exclaimed, laughing.

"It's okay," Vi mumbled, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was racing.In the end, the pancakes came out looking decent, but Vi knew she had been a total disaster at controlling her own nerves. When they sat down to eat, Reader looked at Vi with a gentle smile.

"You're funny when you try to try," Reader commented.

"I'm not funny," Vi replied sullenly.

"Yeah, you are. And I like that," Reader said, popping a bite of pancake into her mouth.Vi didn't respond, but the smile she tried to hide said it all.

-------☆------☆--------☆

Later that day, Vander organized a little practice for the group. Vi was determined to use it as a way to let off steam. She was in the middle of a series of punches against a sandbag when Reader approached, watching closely.

"You're so focused," Reader commented, leaning against the wall.Vi glanced at her, and immediately her concentration wavered. "Oh, yeah... focus. Always important, right?"

Reader laughed and picked up a pair of training gloves. "Want to spar with me? I want to see if I can keep up with your speed."

"With me? You mean now?" Vi stammered.

"Yeah, Vi. Now," Reader replied, already pulling on the gloves.

Vi knew there was no way out, but as soon as they started sparring, she realized she couldn't concentrate at all. Every time Reader moved, Vi lost the timing of her punches. At one point, Reader managed to grab her wrists, immobilizing her.

"I got you," Reader said, panting, with a smile on her face.

Vi felt her face heat up. "I... was just taking it easy."

"I know," Piglet replied, releasing her wrists but staying close.

Vi looked away, trying to hide her embarrassment. "You're getting better."

"I have a good teacher," Reader said with a smile.

Vi smiled back, even though she felt like she was about to explode inside. She knew Reader was just being nice, but even so, it was enough to make the day worthwhile.

[such-a-daydreamer]

*flutters eyelashes*

Me when I oc x cannon but it's platonic and I also get to expand on pre-existing lore with my random ass world building.

Check under the cut for a fic drabble of this scene and the oc info

My Gf Oc Manny!!♡♡ :3 (I want to be him so bad the gender envy hits HARD grrrgrrgrgrgrgrrrgrgrgrgrr)

He is a closeted gay man and cursed so every cryptid in a 20 mile radius wants him dead.

Now onto the story explaining the comic scene!!!!!!!

Lil' warnin, but there be blood!!!

✄----------------------------------------------------

The three men wander the halls in silence, they each know the importance to stay quiet in times like this, and each man has decades of experience in stealth.

The hospital -a real classy choice- is full of spiderweb decor, and each room has decayed into an unrecognisable square full of debris and metal skeletons.

Stanley wishes he stayed in the van, while Ford's mind is occupied with suspicion regarding their new "travel companion."

"So, Manny," Ford breaks the silence with a directed whisper. He doesn't miss the way the other two flinch despite his soft volume. "Since you're the "renowned expert" when it comes to cryptids, I'd like to ask you about this particular case."

Stanley feels the tension crackle between them, and suddenly regrets standing in the middle. Then again, if they decide to jump at each other's throats, he'd better stay put. Not that he'd like to break up a fight in the middle of a possibly-haunted run-down hospital, but he's done worse in worse places.

"It's a curious case." Manny mumbles out. "I've never seen a ghost report like this before, but considering it seems to be a location-bound spirit, I'm not exactly surprised. They tend to get more bizzare the longer they "ferment."

"Location-bound?" Ford repeats.

Manny gives his rival a sideways smirk. "C'mon now, this is basic ghost knowledge. You tellin' me you don't know?"

"I prefer to sort them through catagories, is all." Ford dismisses the subject in favour of staring at his EMF reader.

Another round of tense silence goes by, yet the three of them have come across nothing. Stanley is beginning to think this is just a huge waste of time.

Manny holds a similar sentiment as he pauses to shine his UV light around one last time.

"Welp, if nothing has come to get us by now, there's probably nothing here. This place is a bust, let's wrap things up." He points his finger up and swirls it before pointing to the exit.

"What, just like that?" Stan grumbles out as he lowers the flashlight. "Ya couldn't have made that decision any further back?"

With the light now pointed at the floor, it leaves everything above their waists in a dark abyss. The only other light source is from the UV lamp Manny holds.

"Scared, are we?" Ford asks, but there's an undeniable mocking tilt to his tone.

Manny rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, the UV light in his hand makes the side of his shirt glow.

"No, it's just that I've got something you don't."

"And what's that?" Ford crosses his arms in a similar fashion.

Manny does a little flourish with his hands. "Magic."

Stan and Ford scoff in sync.

"I knew I shoulda stayed in the van." Stan begins to make his way back to the exit while the other two continue their squabble in the growing dark.

"So, this "magic" lets you know when ghosts are about?" Ford asks, partly curious, and partly to jeer at him.

Ford isn't poking fun at Manny because he doesn't believe in magic, it's just that if a spell to detect ghosts were in use, Ford would be able to tell. So far, Manny doesn't have anything on him that could be used for such a spell.

"Not just ghosts, but yes, it does. And it's totally real, by the way!" Manny spins on his heel to follow Stanley out before he pauses abruptly.

"Actually, nevermind. I think we've found our ghost."

Ford follows Manny's gaze down the empty corridor. The shine of the UV light does little to illuminate their surroundings, unlike the flashlight Stanley had.

Ford feels his blood run cold.

"Don't panic."

"I'm not panicking." Ford replies evenly.

"Really? Because you just broke the EMF reader."

Ford looks down to the cracked device in his hand. Alright, he'll admit this to himself and no one else, but he is very much panicking.

"The ghost didn't trigger the EMF reader, so it's not like we'll be needing this anyway." Ford throws the broken pieces to the side with a little more force than he intended.

"Uh... true, I suppose." Manny shines the UV light around the hallway before spotting drops shining against the cracked tiles. "Okay, we've got a lead, at least."

"And all it took was my brother to find it." Ford grits out under his breath.

Manny lifts his hands in a placating gesture. "I know you probably don't want to hear this right now -and certainly not from me- but let's try to calm down and keep a level head, alright?"

Ford shoots him a deadly glare, but Manny simply holds his gaze with a worried expression. Out of both of the twins, he likes Stanley more, so Ford isn't the only one concerned.

The trail leads to a room, a suspiciously empty room. The far back wall glows brightly under the shine of the UV light, and that's the only thing worth noting. Ford is reasonably upset once he realises Stanley isn't here, but trudges onward into the room anyway.

Ford stares at the wall curiously. He places a hand on it, and it feels completely normal. Dissapointed once again.

"I wonder why only this wall glows under ultra violet light..." Ford murmurs to himself as he raises a hand to place on his chin.

"Up."

"Pardon?"

Ford turns to Manny and sees his horrified expression. Before he has time to register that, something wet splatters against his glasses.

Manny lifts the UV light upwards just as Ford lifts his gaze.

"Ah, I see... Up."

There, strung up by limbs of what can only be assumed to be blood, is Stanley. He looks furious.

Behind him, flat against the roof, glows an almost cartoonish depiction of a human. They laugh, but there's no sound. Slowly, it removes itself from the roof and takes form. It shines hauntingly under the UV.

What first started as a light sprinkle, is now a full on downpour of blood as it looms above them. The stench of it makes Manny gag, but Ford just narrows his eyes at the being while it approaches slowly. It continues to laugh silently; that's the only thing that irks Ford.

"How do you suppose we kill this thing, Manny?"

Manny jolts a bit in surprise at being addressed, then strugles to form a sentence for a moment as he takes a step back.

"Wha- me??? I dunno, usually with ghosts I can just exorcize them with my medallion and be done with it, but that isn't a ghost." He points at the liquid mass that Stanley's struggling to escape from.

Both men would be worried about Stanley possibly suffocating from the stream of blood that covers the lower half of his face, but it doesn't seem to be covering his nose. Which, as relieved they both are, is still concerning.

Could it be using Stanley as bait? What is it planning? Whatever it is, no one's keen to find out.

It continues to move forward, almost sussing the two men out like they are to it. Ford mentally checks his inventory for a weapon that would do the most damage to a creature made of blood.

Predictably, nothing comes to mind.

He lets out a frustrated growl. "We have to do something."

Ford decides to take the inititive, seeing that he's the more capable one out of the two. Not that he's being presumptious of Manny's abilities, but the fact of the matter is that Manny is staring at the creature like a deer in headlights and Ford is inches away from trying to pummel a liquid.

Which also isn't good, but it's better. Ford will take better than nothing.

Flicking open one of his books from inside his coat, he searches through it until he finds what he's looking for.

"I believe this might be a failed resurection spell."

Ford pauses on an old partchment page in a plastic sleeve, the words are written in a dead language, but to Ford, it's like reading english.

"The closest I can find to-"

Ford doesn't get time to finish before he finds himself being shoved to the side. There's a split second where he sees Manny, then he doesn't.

A stream of blood slams Manny through the wall and leaves him lying in a pile of debris in the corridor. A pained groan proves that he's alive, so Ford returns his focus to the task at hand.

Despite the UV light now being broken, the mass of blood continues to glow.

"It would appear you've made your final assesment." Ford says to it while pocketing his book. He's read all he needs to, anyway.

It looses it's human form in favour of creating large waves to try and crash against Ford, but it underestimates his speed.

Manny stumbles back into the room with his madallion in hand. He raises it and the metal glows blue, acompanied by a low hum.

The blood spikes, then looses form. Most of the blood falls to the floor with Stanley, who wastes no time to put distance between it and himself.

Multiple souls writhe and scream as they try to escape the blood, but eventually they fade back into the mass. Manny lets his arm drop as he joins the other two men.

"There should be some sort of tether, we need to destroy it." Ford explains.

"There's a heart-" Stanley starts as he tries to wipe himself clean. He makes zero progress. "-Inside that thing somewhere. It kept movin' the damn thing around though, so I couldn't get a grip on it."

"That's fine, Stanley, thank you." Ford turns to Manny. "Do whatever you did before, and I'll shoot its heart."

Manny, although dazed, manages to nod and turns his attention to the growing ball of blood.

"Do you still have your flashlight, Stanley?" Ford asks as he pulls out his trusty gun. The line along the side of it's triangular barrel glows blue as it whirrs to life.

"Even if I did, it would've been chock-full of blood."

"Alright. Just stay behind me, then."

Begrudingly, Stanley complies. He wishes he could do more to help right now, but he has neither guns nor magic. He would offer to punch the thing, but he's been doing that for the last ten minutes and done no damage.

Once the ball reaches its previous size, jets of blood shoot out from it. Stan and Ford manage to dodge them but Manny gets clipped on the shoulder.

He stumbles back against the wall with a pained hiss. Yet he still manages to lift his hand up to activate the medallion. Ford takes aim.

The blood spikes again, more violently this time, before a large jet of blood slams against Manny.

"Dammit-!"

"Manny!"

Ford takes a shot in the dark, hoping to distract it.

The lazer passes through it with a sizzle as blood get evaporated. The light from the lazer briefly illuminates the inside of the blood enough for Ford to see the heart.

It stops the constant stream against Manny to turn its attention towards Ford. Manny falls to his knees and coughs violently.

"Sixer." Stan calls out to his brother with a warning tone.

"Manny, I'm counting on you here!" Ford takes aim again.

It takes the form of a human again and its expression is livid.

It lunges at Ford with its mouth open too wide for a human in something like a scream.

The being stops a mere inches away from Ford, its hands ghosting around Ford's neck before it writhes. Blue spikes jut out from it as it tries to keep form.

It takes a moment, but Ford can feel something on his shoulder. He glances to his left and sees Stanley with a handful of his coat, his stance tense and ready to run. Ford hasn't seen an expression this serious on his brother's face in a while as Stanley stares down the entity.

Ford returns his gaze forward.

For a split second, he sees the heart reveal itself.

He shoots.

✄----------------------------------------------------

Uhm!!! I like them all a lot :3 Mwah mwah mwah kisses to all. If you read allat then THANK YOU!!! I HOPE YOU LIKED IT!!!!! Lmk if you'd like to see more of this stuff idk

[writingforstraykids]

Lucky

Pairing: Minsung

Word Count: 1138

Summary: Minho can't help but marvel at Jisung sometimes and realize how lucky he is to have the younger by his side.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, minho's a lovesick fool, minho centered

A/N: I wish you a rather belated Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I can't promise my brain will get its shit together with everything that's been going on lately but I'll try my best to be more present again🖤I hope you enjoy this little piece🖤

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Minho shifted on the floor, the smooth wood cool against the back of his thighs as he perched near the edge of the stage. The crowd’s energy buzzed around him, a living, breathing entity all its own. Thousands of faces blurred into one collective glow of adoration and excitement, their voices rising in a crescendo that never failed to send a ripple of something akin to awe through his chest. He tilted his mic up slightly, catching his breath as he surveyed the sea of lightsticks swaying like stars in rhythm to the beat of the song.

He could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck, his bangs clinging to his forehead. The harsh stage lights framed the world in sharp contrast - the blinding white and neon blues above versus the endless expanse of shadows beneath. Yet, despite the intensity, there was something grounding about being here.

This was home, in a way few things were.

He adjusted the mic, steadying it just as the instrumental swelled. The familiar chord progression cued the next part of the song. Minho’s head turned slightly, just enough to catch the soft inhale Jisung always took before his verse.

And then, like clockwork, Jisung’s voice poured into the space, rich and resonant, weaving through the air with a distinct kind of magic only he possessed.

Minho’s gaze lifted almost instinctively toward the massive screen towering above the stage. There Jisung was, caught in breathtaking clarity - every nuance of his expression laid bare for the crowd. His eyes glimmered, filled with a depth that made every word feel like it was meant for someone specific.

Minho’s chest tightened.

He watched the way Jisung leaned into his performance, head tilting slightly as he let the music carry him. It was mesmerizing—the way the younger could lose himself so completely, like nothing else in the world mattered.

And Minho thought, not for the first time, how incredibly lucky he was.

The thought hit him with surprising force, though it wasn’t new. It had been there for years now, tucked into quiet moments backstage or whispered in the late-night silence of their dorms. Jisung had always been a constant, a gravitational pull that Minho had never fully understood but had come to rely on.

There was a time when Minho wouldn’t have let himself feel this - when the idea of depending on anyone felt like handing them a weapon with which they could hurt him. But Jisung had a way of slipping past defenses, not by force but by simply being himself.

Minho’s lips quirked upward faintly, his usual mask melting for a brief moment as he continued to watch. Jisung didn’t just sing; he communicated. His voice reached out, grabbing hold of every person in the audience and pulling them into the story.

And Minho wasn’t immune.

He barely noticed the way his own grip on the mic slackened, his posture softening as his gaze lingered. He didn’t register the way his foot tapped lightly in time with the beat or the way his head tilted, almost imperceptibly, as if drawn closer by an invisible thread.

All he could think about was Jisung - the way he made the impossible seem effortless.

The realization settled somewhere deep inside him, warm and steady. He’d always been thankful for the team, for the bond they’d built through years of shared dreams and struggles. But Jisung? Jisung was different.

There was a time when Minho thought he’d lose him. Arguments and misunderstandings had threatened to drive a wedge between them more than once. But Jisung had stayed. Even when Minho had pushed, Jisung had refused to budge, his stubbornness matched only by his unwavering belief in their connection.

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?” Jisung had once asked him, exasperation evident in his tone.

And Minho had shrugged, unable to put into words the fear he carried - the fear of being left behind.

But Jisung had seen through him, as he always did. “I’m not going anywhere, you idiot,” he’d said, his voice softer but no less firm.

Minho hadn’t believed him then, not fully. But he did now.

The crowd roared as Jisung’s voice reached the peak of his verse, his tone climbing effortlessly before dipping back into a soft, almost conversational cadence. The moment should have brought Minho back to the present, but it didn’t.

Instead, he found himself thinking about all the times Jisung had been there for him - in the quiet, unseen ways that mattered most. The way he always knew when Minho needed space and when he needed someone to drag him out of his own head. The way he’d sit with him in silence, no words necessary, just a steady presence that reminded Minho he wasn’t alone.

Jisung was his safety net, the one person Minho trusted to catch him when he fell.

And maybe that’s why he didn’t notice the way Jisung was looking at him.

Up on the screen, Jisung’s gaze shifted, his eyes finding Minho with an ease that spoke of familiarity and something unspoken. His lips moved fluidly, shaping each word with practiced precision, but there was something in his expression - something softer, more deliberate.

He was singing to the crowd, yes. But in that moment, it was as if he were singing to Minho alone.

The intensity of Jisung’s gaze should have been obvious, even startling. But Minho didn’t see it, too caught up in his own thoughts to realize he was the center of someone else’s focus.

If he had looked, he might have noticed the way Jisung’s voice softened ever so slightly, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners like they always did when he was holding back a smile.

But Minho didn’t look.

Instead, he let his own expression soften further, the corners of his mouth curving upward in a smile that wasn’t meant for anyone else to see.

For all his sharp edges and guarded walls, Minho knew this to be true: He was incredibly, undeniably lucky.

Lucky to be here. Lucky to have this.

Lucky to have Jisung.

The song ended, the final notes ringing out as the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. The moment passed, fleeting but no less significant, like so many others they’d shared.

Minho finally blinked, his focus shifting back to the present as he straightened on the floor. Jisung crouched next to him, a playful grin spreading across his face as he said something that was undoubtedly teasing.

Minho rolled his eyes, shoving at Jisung’s shoulder with just enough force to elicit a dramatic stumble.

“Stop being annoying,” Minho muttered, though the fondness in his tone betrayed him.

Jisung only laughed, the sound bright and full of life.

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

And Minho thought, not for the last time, how lucky he was.

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuaaa @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[hauntedestheart]

A Business Investment (FxM Body Swap)

Another story from the world of business.

Mason McKinley was sure he was going to be a famous actor someday- he just needed the world to realize it.

Growing up in his small midwestern hometown where he was the hottest guy around, it had felt like being the star was his birthright. He'd netted the lead in every school play since elementary school, modelled for local catalogues, even won homecoming AND prom king. 6'4'', a killer jawline, luscious blonde hair and bright blue eyes, literally the poster boy for the local gym… how could Kentucky not be in the palm of his hand? All he had to do was wear a nice tight shirt that showed off his muscles and flash that pretty smile of his and anything he wanted fell into his lap.

It didn't take long for Hollywood to give him a reality check- turned out that Mason was not actually a very good actor, and once he was up against talented dreamboats rather than the wimps in drama club, his star came crashing down to earth.

After six years in the business and his claims to fame were a handful of minor background roles in some long running procedurals, some poorly reviewed theatre, and an embarrassing ad spot for STD testing that everyone back home was still making fun of him for.

In the small pond he'd been biggest fish around, but out in the ocean? He floundered.

While he was waiting for his big break, Mason needed a survival job, and thanks to some other actor friends he'd gotten employed as an attendant at an expensive country club. The young actor hoped that one day a big shot producer would come in, see him, and cast him on the spot, but since that hadn't happened yet he spent his days fetching water bottles and chasing after lost tennis balls. Not exactly his Hollywood dream.

Still, the tight white shorts of the uniform made his ass look amazing and if he flirted with the wealthy old clientele of the club, he took home a killing in tips. Being a corn fed midwestern hunk made him "exotic" to rich out-of-touch Californians, and Mason had no qualms about debasing himself a bit for some cash. A little wink here, a flex there, a look the other way when someone got a little handsy… it paid the bills.

He had his limits though.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out across the tennis court and Mason winced- luckily his acting skills allowed him to smooth the disgust from his face before he turned around to greet the plump middle aged woman who had materialized beside him.

"It's good to see you again Ms. Grant," he lied through his pretty white teeth, and he was feeling generous so he threw in an extra lie for free. "You look lovely today. Is your hair different?"

It was a stupid question- as the head of some kind of beauty company the woman was always changing her look, in this case from a dark black perm to a platinum blonde bob -but Ms. Grant still let out a surprised gasp and tilted her head side to side as if she were modelling the latest fashion. It was not a good look, but Mason dug deep into his Stanislavski training and managed to keep a smile on his face.

"You like? I just had it done. I think it makes me look younger, don't you? If you're not careful, one of these days I'm going to snap you up!" Ms. Grant threw her head back and let out a stage giggle, and Mason bit his tongue so he wouldn't burst out laughing himself. An attempt at a seductive expression appeared on her face and she 'casually' reached over and gave Mason's bicep a less-than-innocent pat. "And please, I've told you a million times, call me Seraphina."

Your name is Susan, Mason thought. "Of course Seraphina," Mason said.

Her hand was still on his arm, one thumb trailing idly over the curve of his muscles, and Mason gave a polite nod before escaping to ready some equipment, peeking over his shoulder to confirm that Ms. Grant was staring at his tight butt when he bent over to pick up some tennis rackets. He smirked and made sure to arch his back to give her a little show before he straightened up- it never hurt to keep the clients happy.

Ms. Grant honestly wasn't that bad, but she was a herald of destruction, because if she was here, then The California Business Women's Association weren't far behind.

The California Business Women's Association was supposed to be an organization for high powered business women looking to network, but the meetings were really just an excuse for rich bitches to brag about their success and tear each other down… with a smile, of course. Mason thought of them as the Real Housewives of the Wall Street (never mind that Wall Street was on the far coast) and while he got a sick pleasure out of observing their gossip and backstabbing, they were one of his least favorite groups to work with.

Normally a hot piece of meat like Mason could make a killing off of a bunch of mostly single women over thirty, but Dominique Banks (pharmaceuticals CEO and undisputed alpha bitch of the group) made it damn near impossible for him to schmooze. A very public divorce several years ago had made Dominique into something of a misandrist and now she did her best to chastise and shame the other women whenever they tried to engage in any talk of men, let alone flirt with the cute hunk bringing them their towels.

(Mason assumed that was why Ms. Grant showed up early to objectify him as much as possible before Dominique was there to judge her for it.)

Dominique herself descended on the court a minute later with the rest of the ladies in tow, and soon the court was filled with women in expensive active gear (some with the tags still on) milling about and pretending to warm up for a few rounds of low intensity tennis. Mason busied himself offering to take care of coats and bags while also doing his best to eavesdrop on the latest gossip.

Currently, Dominique was complaining to a trio of women about a member of the group who seemed to be running late.

"I think it's irresponsible of her to be so tardy," Dominique said, pushing deeper into an impressive lunge- she was one of the few in the group who actually kept up with her personal trainer despite a busy schedule, something she loved to lord over the other women. "I'm starting to question if she should even be a member of the CBWA."

"Maybe she had a work emergency?" one of her companions offered, watching with mild interest as Dominique stretched her calves. "She did just get that big promotion."

"'Big promotion?'" Dominique scoffed and turned her nose up. "Be serious Lucille, she's a middle manager whose office happens to be on the top floor… or a few floors down from it I suppose." The shade drew a small titter out of the other women, and Dominique smirked. "We all have demanding jobs, but we still make time every month to come to these meetings because it's important for us to connect as women in the male-dominated professional world. We're a sisterhood! If we don't look out for each other, who will? Which is exactly why we need to make an example of her."

Mason had a pretty good idea who they were talking about. There was only one woman in the group who Dominique couldn't stand- coincidentally the only woman in the group who ever stood up to her. But before the young man could search the group for a head of red hair to see if he was correct, a voice boomed out, and everyone's eyes were drawn to a newcomer who was making their way onto the court.

"Sorry I'm late ladies!"

Like a scene from a movie, sauntering across the green pavement was one of the hottest guys Mason had ever seen. He was brown skinned with carefully coiffed black hair and the kind of face that Mason usually only saw in the castings for his modelling gigs- a striking appearance enhanced by the way his eyes burned an unnaturally bright, electric blue. Tall and broad, the tight grey jacket he wore did little to disguise the bulk of his build… and if the fit of his compression shorts was to be believed, he'd brought his own tennis balls to the court.

Mason's jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped a basket of tennis balls with it before he gathered his senses and caught himself at the last second. The sexy stranger wasn't on staff (Mason would have heard if such an Adonis had been hired) but most of the members of the country club were old and gross, so who was this guy? A private trainer hired by a client? A socialite's new trophy husband? Some Middle Eastern prince?

"Thanks for waiting," the man said, making his way towards the benches with a fancy (seemingly brand new) equipment bag bouncing on his hip. "It's been so busy at work with the new startup we're launching, but I managed to move some things around to make room at the last minute."

Mystery stud unzipped his jacket as he walked and stowed it in the bag, revealing a tight grey top that bared huge, muscular arms, and was cut just low enough to allow a tasteful peek of his furry pecs. He looked down at himself and then tugged on his shirt, adjusting it so that it showed even more of his ample chest, which he made bounce a few times. A satisfied little smile came to his full lips at the sight, and when he looked back up at the CBWA, it seemed like half of the organization swooned.

Mason was feeling a little weak in the knees himself, but as much as he'd rather drool over the guy, he did technically have a job to do. He in front of the man and held a hand out, stopping the newcomer before he could join the cluster of speechless businesswomen. "Uh, excuse me sir, this court has been booked for private use by a group already."

"I'm aware," the man gave a chuckle (he was looking at Mason like he thought Mason was an idiot, but somehow, condescension was a good look on him) and tossed his curly black hair. "And I'm a member of the group- Terry Walker. Some of my eggheads at the lab cooked up a new kind of body transferal device and I've been experimenting with it in the workplace. Didn't have time to switch back before the meeting, so I figured, why the hell not?" He winked and thumped a fist into his meaty pecs a few times. "Take the thing out for a spin."

"Oh, body swapping! I think I read something about that!" Ms. Grant exclaimed, and several of the other woman in the group murmured their agreement. Mason had a hazy recollection of getting a note from his boss about something that morning, probably this, but he was saved from having to apologize when Dominique shoved him out of the way.

"You are not Terry Walker," the woman snapped, squaring her legs and and raising her chin like a lioness preparing to protect her territory. "What the hell kind of stunt is this? Did Terry hire a stripper as some kind of joke?"

The man laughed a warm, rich laugh. "You're not the first person to say that but no, believe it or not I borrowed this body from one of the guys who works in my lab. Tariq or something like that? I can never keep track of these things." He kept an easy smile on his face and shrugged his broad shoulders, intentionally stretching his shoulders back to bare his impressive wingspan. "And I'm the real deal- they wouldn't have let me in if I couldn't prove it. I look good, right ladies?"

The man's arms came up into a double bicep flex and Mason didn't know if he should be jealous of the man's muscles (those peaks) or massively turned on by them. The women were having less trouble deciding what to do and many of them were beginning to to swoon, only to straighten their spines when Dominique shot them a withering look out of the corner of her eye.

She turned back around and drew herself up to her full height (she was the tallest woman of the group, but this man had several inches on her and it was clearly grinding her gears) and jabbed a finger at the alleged impostor.

"You can't seriously expect us to believe this nonsense," she scoffed, drawing a chorus of murmurs from the flock of ladies behind her.

A sly smile came to the man's lips. "What do you mean? This is that exciting new project that I've been working on that I posted about it in the organization's official Slack, remember?" One of his bushy eyebrows shot up and he eyed Dominique pointedly. "You've been reading the Slack, haven't you Dominique? I seem to recall you saying it's so important to stay updated- but I guess you've probably been too busy lately to keep up with what's going on with your CBWA sisters. All those patent lawsuits and meetings about alimony must take up so much of your time!"

The vicious barb made several of the women gasp, and even Mason felt a chill run down his spine. In the corner of Dominique's forehead, a vein was throbbing like it was about to burst, but the rest of her expression was frighteningly neutral. Then, her lips pressed into a snarl that tried to pass as a smile.

"Yes, it can be so time consuming being being the head of a company," Dominique said, voice dripping with venom. "You're so lucky you don't have to deal with all that stress Terry. And don't worry yourself about my alimony, I'm just glad I was at least married once unlike-"

The woman realized her mistake too late, and Terry Walker smirked triumphantly.

"No comment on the patent lawsuits?" Walker added, just to salt the wound, and then she brushed past Mason (who shivered at the momentary contact with her large, solid body) and flung her bag down on the benches.

She bent down to rifle through it, giving everyone an eyeful of the tight, muscular male ass that was just barely concealed by her tight grey tennis shorts, and Mason clocked a subtle arch in her back. It was the same trick Mason used to make his butt look juicier when he was hustling for tips, and now that he was on the receiving end of it, he understood why it worked. Mason wasn't ashamed of his own ass (quite the opposite actually), but thought if he had that thing, he'd be unstoppable.

The other women converged on Terry like flies on honey, buzzing about as they all tried to get her attention.

"How did you-" "Look at that-" "So do you really have a-" "I NEED to-" "When is it-" "You have to got to let-" "Where the hell did you find-" "Please can I feel-"

The gaggle of women were all talking at once, making it difficult to make out any one question, but Mason didn't need a transcript to understand what the main topic of discussion was. Everyone was fascinated by the body Walker had borrowed, and who could blame them? A tall, handsome, muscular man with bronze skin and piercing unnaturally electric blue eyes… Mason was half tempted to dive into the crowd himself to get a closer look.

Terry, for her part, was taking the onslaught in stride, basking in the attention and tossing out answers where she could. But her new body did most of the talking as she flexed one of her huge arms in response to someone's question, bouncing the bicep up and down like a softball. She generously leaned down and extended the arm, giving the other women a chance to feel, which they all instantly took advantage of, practically hanging off of the muscled limb like it was a jungle gym.

"Okay, that's ENOUGH ladies!" Dominique snapped- or rather clapped, several times, loudly. All eyes turned to her and the women cowed, drifting away from the hunky man in their midst and falling back into line. After a tense moment of silence, Dominique raised her voice again. "Now, since we're finally all here, are we just going to stand around talking, or are we going to play?" She hefted her tennis racket over her shoulder like it was a weapon and waved her hand at the group. "We'll start off with pairs, everyone partner up."

Pandemonium ensued as all of the women scrambled to grab Terry by the arm, and Dominique was practically steaming.

"Never mind, we're doing singles."

---

Terry trounced the others, of course.

Using the body of a ripped athletic young man in the prime of his life gave her a significant advantage, but perhaps her opponents would have stood a better chance if they hadn't been so distracted staring at the ostentatious mass of flesh that was bouncing around in her loose tennis shorts as she bounded around the court. More than one match had been lost before it began when Terry's opponent's eyes were so trained on the way that hefty bulge jumped when she did that they completely missed her serving them the ball.

The sight of Terry's borrowed body on the court was a sight to behold, all muscle and bronzed skin. The shorts she had selected were shamelessly short, baring as much of the young man's strong, thick thighs as could be considered decent, and those powerful legs pumped like pistons as she used them to dart around the court- the constant action caused the shorts to ride up further as the games went along until they were being devoured by his massive ass cheeks.

Mason found himself mesmerized by the way her body's hairy pecs, which heaved up and down beneath her shirt as she ran, and it was almost funny how on a court full of women, it was the man's chest that was bouncing the most. This only became more noticeable as the matches wore on and her masculine body became sweatier and sweatier, soaking the thin gray fabric of her shirt until it began to cling to her flesh and highlight just how muscular the body she'd brought for the day was.

After an intense final showdown between Terry and Dominique (during which Dominique had been unable to score a single point, resulting her throwing down her racket and screaming at Mason for something or other), the women retreated to the outdoor lounge area where couches and tables were shaded by umbrellas, and Mason did his best to eavesdrop as he served them drinks.

"It's just been incredible ladies," Terry was telling them. The couches were arranged in a "U" shape and she sat at the direct center, leaned back with her muscular arms folded behind her head to give everyone a view of her hairy armpits. Legs sprawled wide of course, just to draw eyes to the heavy bulge that sat between her legs. "I mean we all know how hard it is for women in the workplace, but I still wasn't ready for how much easier it would be as a man! I've started swapping into a male body for all of my meetings and they've never gone smoother."

"You see, men are animals," she continued, snapping her fingers at Mason to bring her a drink. "And animals respect an alpha. That's why they have all of these stupid male rituals- handshakes and bourbon and cigars and all that. When I walk into a boardroom and I'm the tallest, the strongest…" Terry's eyes glanced down suggestively towards her bulging crotch. "the biggest, then men have to listen to me. It's almost disgusting how simple it is."

"Don't you think that kind of thinking undermines the work that we do here at this organization?" Dominique chimed in. Not to be outdone, she'd pulled up a chair so she could sit at the opening of the "U" opposite Terry, and she glared across the space at the smiling male bodied woman. "How are men supposed to learn to respect us when we act like the only way to get ahead is to become one of them? We're supposed to be empowering women, and you're jumping ship like a rat."

"I'm feeling pretty empowered right now actually." Terry slipped one of the arms out from behind her head and flexed it, bouncing the thick bicep up and down a few times, drawing a chorus of giggles from the assembled women, and Dominique frowned. A cocky smile crossed Terry's borrowed face and her sparkling blue eyes glittered in the light, and she casually rubbed at the thin layer of stubble that was starting to sprout on her chiseled jawline. Slowly, as she spoke, her hands began drifting down the masculine body she had rented.

"You do bring up a good point Dominique- I have no intention of becoming a man full-time, this body is just temporary. I'm a woman through and through, but if I can take advantage of the privileges of being a man to get ahead, why wouldn't I? Men only understand power and they won't respect us until we have it. They say, talk softly and carry a big stick, and this…" Terry's hands had reached her crotch and she grabbed at it, hefting the bulge up and down a few times. Everyone was mesmerized. "This is my stick. Today, I'm blending in with the boys' club. Tomorrow? I own it."

Mason was starting to get hard in his own shorts at this point, and he cursed, sticking his fingers into his pockets and trying to adjust himself so it was less obvious.

(A bit of bulge was good for business but standing in front of all those women with a full blown erection was just embarrassing.)

A bit flustered, he dutifully marched over to Terry and handed her the drink she had requested earlier- she didn't thank him, but she did throw him a wink, and it was so sexy on that guy's face that Mason felt his cock twitch. From the way the other women were staring, he was sure they had all noticed, and he jogged off with a red face.

"And there are recreational uses for a male body," Terry commented, stroking herself as she watched Mason's ass bouncing away. "Obviously."

"Walker, that is highly inappropriate!" Dominique slammed her glass down on the table in front of her, splashing orange liquid everywhere. "Sexual harassment is a serious issue, and furthermore, this is a professional organization. Nobody wants to hear about that!"

"Shut up, yes we do!" Ms. Grant shouted, and Dominique was so caught by surprise that her mouth snapped shut. All of the women turned away from her and leaned in towards Terry, ready to hang on her every word. "Give us all the details Terry."

Terry took a sip of her drink, milking the anticipation. As Mason busied himself wiping up Dominique's mess, he kept his eyes trained on Terry- the straw Mason had given her was a larger one usually reserved for boba, but he'd felt a burning need to see what those plush lips looked like curled up and sucking on something thick. The sight did not disappoint, nor did it help calm his pesky erection.

Finally, Walker spoke. "Well… you all remember Marcos, right?"

"Your pool boy?" Ms. Grant gasped, and all of the women burst out into a titter of excitement. The handsome young man had been something of a celebrity for the group ever since they'd had a mixer at Walker's house, and they were always asking her for updates. "You didn't!"

"Oh I did," Terry smirked and popped her pecs cockily. "Quite a few times actually. I never thought I'd get the chance- I just kept him on the payroll because he was pretty to look at -but it turns out he was very attracted to this body. He was begging for my cock and I…" Her hips shifted, a long, lazy thrust into the air, and the outline of the long and thick cock in question made itself known- she was getting hard. "I was happy to give him what he wanted."

"Haven't studies shown that the male orgasm is less intense than the female orgasm?" Dominique cut in, trying to land another barb, but Terry just shrugged her off.

"It felt pretty good to me when I was fucking a sexy twenty-six year old," Terry's hands were on her crotch, and everyone's eyes were glued to it as well as she began to stroke herself up and down through the thin fabric. Her borrowed voice, warm and rich, dropped to a husky growl. "But the appeal is in more than just the orgasm, it's the experience. It's about getting to be the one on top and in charge. I've been fucked by so many men in my life that getting to be the one doing the fucking was goddamn cathartic- and it isn't like some plastic strap-on, I got to use eight inches of top of the line cock to do the job."

"And these muscles!" Wrenching one hand away from her nethers, she shoved it roughly beneath her shirt, the fabric riding up and offering a peak of her host's sculpted brown torso as she groped one of his pecs. From the way her fingers were moving beneath the fabric, she seemed to be tweaking one of his nipples. "FUCK this guy is so goddamned strong! I'M so strong! I threw him around like a ragdoll and he thanked me for it, he sucked on my tits and begged me to manhandle him. I was the man. I was in control."

"Fuck!" A masculine grunt escaped her lips, and she began to stroke herself harder. Now fully hard, the tip of her cock was peeking out of the waistband of her shorts (allowing everyone to see that her host was in fact, circumcised) and it bobbed up and down as she thrust into her own hand. "There's something incredibly… visceral about being able to shove yourself inside of a man, I wouldn't even begin to know how to describe it. But it feels incredible. It feels… it feels…"

And then the rest of the sentence was a wordless roar of pleasure as she ejaculated, grinding her hand up and down the length of her shaft like a man possessed… which in a sense is exactly what she was. The mushroom head of her borrowed penis throbbed as it spewed out an impressive load of semen, staining her shirt, her face, even splattering onto the cushions next to her and the table before her, and she slumped back onto the cushions in a heap. Panting, her huge chest heaved up and down, and she waved at Mason.

Like everyone else in attendance, he stared dumbly at the debauched man in front of him for a moment until he remembered his job and realized what she wanted- usually the towels were only for sweat, but he supposed they'd work just as well for cum. But when he offered her one, she just rolled her electric blue eyes and stripped her shirt off, leading to a chorus of gasps as her borrowed body's furry muscles were fully unveiled. Wordlessly, she gestured to the mess that dotted her torso.

Mason's mouth was suddenly dry but he didn't dare swallow- swallowing was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about in this particular moment. He felt the heavy eyes of the entire CBWA on him as he dropped to his knees in front of the strapping male figure, and the young actor had been in Hollywood long enough to recognize when he was being asked to play a role.

And he had auditioned for enough productions that were basically soft-core porn to know how to play this one.

He casually ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing his golden locks, and plastered a smile on his face as he peeked up at Terry, looking for all the world like an innocent wide eyed farm boy eager to serve like no one was watching. White spunk was already starting to dry in the forest of chest hair so Mason doused his towel with water from a glass on the table to better scrub it out, meaning there was just a thin sheet of wet fabric between his hands and the perfectly sculpted body that Terry Walker had claimed for the day, so it didn't take much acting for Mason behave like he was turned on.

The young actor cheated out and angled his torso slightly so the horde of horny businesswomen watching could get a good view of his own muscular torso as he worked, perversely eager to remind his clients that there was more than one stud on the court that day. He took his time working Terry's pecs, squeezing them slightly under the guise of scraping out some particularly hard to remove spunk, and then worked his way down to her abs, digging his fingers into the crags of her six pack to make sure he got out every little speck.

And when he reached the waistband of her shorts, he let his fingers drift along the deep v of muscle that vanished beneath, teasing everyone that he might go deeper, before he reluctantly pulled himself back.

Drawing up to his feet, he dusted his knees off, and then he noticed Walker's drink- semen dotted the rim of the glass and a thin layer of white was laying atop the liquid inside. He reached for it to take it away, but Walker stopped him. She grabbed the drink herself and slowly, deliberately, licked the rim, then downed the remainder of the glass in one swallow. Only then did she let him walk away.

Terry, shirtless and smug, smiled at the other women of the CBWA, who sat there speechless. Mouths were hanging open, some of them were fanning themselves, Ms. Grant's right hand was tucked beneath her skirt, and an unexpected voice broke the silence.

"How can I try that out?" Dominique asked, her voice strained and almost desperate, and then the floodgates opened and all of the other woman began chattering. Terry lifted up a hand and everyone went silent.

"Well as luck would have it, I'm actually starting my own company to distribute this particular service, and we're working on acquiring some seed funding." A bushy eyebrow raised. "I don't suppose any of you ladies would be interested?"

"You want our money?" One of the women asked, and Terry shrugged.

"I'm offering you all an investment opportunity. Isn't that the point of this group? To uplift each other?" She smiled across the table at Dominique, who for once kept her mouth shut and bowed her head. Terry sniffed triumphantly. "But I promise that this is a surefire win. Anyone interested can message me and I can set up an appointment so you can test the technology yourself- I'm sure the experience will uplift you like nothing else."

At that, she rose to her feet, allowing everyone to see that her tenacious rental dick was already half-hard again.

"Feel free to bring your own boys too, we've got lawyers and payment plans already drafted up. Pick someone you wanna be, and we can make it happen."

Then she walked away, her exit an unofficial signal to the other women that the meeting was now over, and everyone began to disperse. The women were abuzz with excitement, but Mason kept his eyes trained on Terry Walker as she sauntered off, eager to get one last look at her borrowed body's incredible ass.

What, he wondered to himself, would these meetings look like if the entire CBWA hopped on the same train as her? Mason imagined the tennis court full of ripped, shirtless men, frolicking about playing tennis in little shorts. It was such a pleasant image that it almost made up for the fact that he'd received no tips that day.

Shit, he thought to himself, crashing back to Earth as he remembered the rent payment he had due in a few days.

"Yoo-hoo!" A shrill voice rang out, and Mason saw Ms. Grant walking over towards him. She was wiping one of her hands on her skirt, and there was hunger in her eyes. "Dear, could we talk for a moment?"

Mason's stomach sank- he had an idea what she was going to ask him about. And unfortunately, he knew what his answer would be too.

[taelophone]

Soft Feminine˚࿔ ⋆˙⟡ — Luigi Mangione x Reader ⋆⭒˚｡⋆TWs: None! Its fluff of luigi fixing your childhood music box lol ˚｡⋆A/N: This was written as an allegory for something!! If you catch it please lmk id be so so happy <33

The slow silence filled the room, pardoned by the occasional shift of clothing or the clinks of Luigi sorting the things on your nightstand. It was a quiet night with your boyfriend, simply enjoying each other's presence while engaged in silent conversation.

His hands whirled around the slowly recovering nightstand, The lids to the foggy glass candle jars and the clutter slowly finding their native places as he worked his magic. Soon enough, your nightstand was clear, bothered only by your lamp, room spray, a mini succulent, and your flamingo-pink Laneige sleep mask. 

When Luigi finished bringing order to your nightstand, he glanced at you momentarily. No reason in particular, just to bask in your features as you scrolled on the cyber-white hue of your phone.

He smiled, overcome with warm and fiery sparks of affection. He wanted nothing in the world to ever raise a finger at you in challenge— if so, he’d gladly break it just to deem himself your hero. 

When he was done staring at you, he patted your head affectionately as you lay stationery in your bed, relishing in the warmth of your smile. He whisked away from your nightstand, making his way to your vanity as he began sorting that as well.

While you listened to the glass and metal clinking over by the far corner of your room, you turned off your phone to stare up at the ceiling. Today had been a long, long day. 

You longed to continue to lay down and embrace your boyfriend with rampant lovelorn. Maybe even accompanied by some soft and quiet…music!

Music! Your music box! Oh, he can fix it!

“Lui, babe?” You spoke, shattering the fragile silence. 

“Yes, my love?” He answered, tilting his head slightly in your direction but not taking his eyes off of the things he continued to put away.

“You’re an engineer, right?” You inquired, crunching your torso to bring your body up, sitting criss-cross on top of your soft comforter.

“Depends…what are you asking me to fix? I can’t do appliances” he joked with a light smile and a boyish giggle. Cute little cornball.

“Nothing too serious…I have a music box that I’ve had since I was like…a baby. Can you take a look? It broke sometime after I turned nine, but I never got it fixed” You murmured, shuffling over to the end of your bed and leaning over the foot of your bed frame.

With your brushes, blushes, and plushes sorted at your vanity, Luigi broke his structuring trance to take a look at the little music box you began to pull from under the depths of your bed. Aged with hospitality, pink with youth, and loved with adoration, the ballerina-esque porcelain wind-up contraption presented itself in your hands.

Gold embellishments, blush roses, and shimmery gloss drew attention to the little ballerina on the front of the design. Her figure was just like you, only donned with a white tutu and bodice as she sat with her ankles crossed.

“It’s really old so it might just be an age thing, but I really wanna see if it can be fixed. I loved it so much growing up I just don’t wanna let it go” you said with a nostalgic chuckle.

“It looks really pretty! Can I see?” He gently asked, walking over to the front of your bed and extending both of his hands to seek out permission for the piece.

You nodded, carefully and cautiously handing him your innocence with benign hands. He seemed to examine it, get a feel for the material under his fingertips before he carefully flipped open the little lid to reveal the swan and the woman standing atop a pink pedestal.

He gave it a few winds, listening for any potential clicks along the way as he was met with a suspicious amount of loosened compliance. Normally it would give some sort of pressure or noise if it was working properly, but he seemed to have already figured out the problem.

“Okay…I think I know what the issue is. I’m gonna have to take this apart, baby” he stated, closing the little box with a satisfying click. “I know what I’m doing, I promise, I just don’t want you to panic. I have to take it apart to see its anatomy, and that’ll give me a better understanding of what’s wrong…is that alright with you?”

Your eyes widened with slight fear, ‘what ifs’ flooding the pipes in your mind while your heart rate spiked. This was his job, yes, and he spent a good portion of his life assembling things and putting them together. 

But there’s always a possibility, and there’s never a zero. It’s okay to be afraid of accidents, and it’s ok to keep an open mind, but where do you go if something goes wrong?

What if he breaks it further? Snaps the lid off with unmonitored strength, shatters the neck of the swan with a grip that went unchecked for too long, cracking the perfect porcelain.

Could you get it fixed then? Would your childhood pride be lost at the hands of the one you love the very most? How would you cope when the sound of shattered glass pierces your ears followed by a gasp of alarm?

“Love.”

You looked at him, half-aware of the grip you now had on your music box. The wrinkles in your knuckles as your fingers wrapped around the heavy relic. 

You hadn’t realized how hard you had been holding on, to both your breath and your childhood. There was nothing to fear as long as it was in his hands— he would treat every part of you with the same tender and merciful hands he had held you with time and time again.

“Yeah…okay,” you nodded, handing him the music box with a silent swallow of anxiety.

His eyes softened. An empathetic and understanding wiggle in his brows as he leaned over, and kissed the top of your head with a hand behind your neck. Brief and intimate.

“Thank you for trusting me” he promised.

You smiled, nodding your appreciation as you crossed your arms. 

“All of my tools and mechanical equipment should be in my closet in a white clear box. It should have blue painter's tape on the lid.”

“Awesome,” he said, placing the music box down on the empty vanity before he traversed into the depths of your closet. Rustling and jostling of clothes, shoes, perfume bottles, and unboxed accessories echoed through the silence, aches of impending doom and lingering hope gnawing at the side of your neck.

When he emerged with the clear box of tools, he sat them on the side of the white desk, flipping the music box upside down to see what type of screwdriver he’d need. When he had everything he needed, he took his time, hands cradling and supporting every inch of delicate glass.

Unscrewing each screw, tender love and hospitality possessed his hands as he took it apart. Piece by piece, little by little.

Everything was on display for him, unfiltered in its purest form. Now that he had seen each piece of the machine and what makes it turn, he quickly identified the problem and its solution. 

With expert hands carrying endless wisdom, he reconstructed the feminine melodic music like he was the very man who invented the machine. And in no time, he had the ballerina and her swan spinning on her pedestal of high confidence again.

He wound up the handle, the now familiar pressure and sounds of approval reaching his ears with smug approval. He knew what he was doing, and he’d always be there to prove it to you. 

“Done!” He smiled, flipping the music box closed and giving you a wave of nostalgia and gratitude.

When he approached your bed once more, he climbed on top of it and plopped himself down beside you. He kissed your forehead again, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you beamed with joy.

“No way, thank you so much! I literally love you,” you gasped, winding up the machine, the familiar melody of Swan Lake ringing through chimes and twinkles as the little ballerina began to spin slowly in the confines of her box. 

“Anything for you.”

[loverangels]

all mine

pairings: luke castellan x fem!reader

synopsis: luke won't hesitate to show anyone you're all his.

The clang of metal on metal echoed across the training grounds, mixing with the laughter and grunts of kids sparring under your watchful eye. You had been tasked with teaching the younger campers swordsmanship, and while you loved the challenge, it was more like wrangling a group of overly energetic kittens than training warriors.

Leaning against a wooden post, Ryan from the Apollo cabin stood nearby, his bow slung casually over one shoulder. He was in charge of teaching archery to the same group of kids, and your breaks often overlapped, giving you time to chat while the campers practiced—or in most cases, ran amok.

“Looks like someone’s been promoted to babysitter,” Ryan teased, his sun-kissed face breaking into an easy grin as he nodded toward a pair of kids wildly swinging their swords at each other. “Think they’re trying to joust or something.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a laugh. “It’s like herding cats with weapons. They’ve got more energy than sense.”

Ryan chuckled, his golden hair glinting in the sunlight as he leaned a little closer. “Well, if you ever want a break from that chaos, I can offer a much calmer lesson. How about trying archery? No wild sword flailing involved—just focus, patience, and a bow.”

You gave him a skeptical look, crossing your arms. “I think I’ll stick to swords, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he pressed, flashing a boyish grin that always seemed to get the younger campers giggling. “The kids won’t mind if we borrow a bow for a minute. It’ll be fun! Besides, you’re already teaching them something—why not learn a new skill yourself?”

Before you could protest, he was already grabbing a spare bow and quiver from the stand nearby. “Here,” he said, pressing the bow into your hands. “Let me show you.”

“Ryan, I don’t think—”

“Relax,” he interrupted, stepping behind you. “Just hold it like this.” His hands guided yours to grip the bow properly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Straighten your arms a little. Good.”

Your heart skipped slightly at the proximity. His voice was low and smooth, close enough that you could feel his breath on your ear as he adjusted your stance. “Now, draw the string back,” he said, his hand brushing your arm, then settling lightly on your waist to steady you.

Your face warmed as you tried to focus on his instructions, convincing yourself this was just part of the lesson. He was just being helpful, right?

“Okay, aim for the center,” Ryan continued, his voice encouraging. “And... release!”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the target dead center, earning a chorus of cheers from the kids nearby.

“Yes!” you shouted, throwing your arms up in triumph. Ryan grinned widely, his excitement mirroring yours. “I told you, you’d be great at this—”

Before he could move closer or even finish his sentence, a firm arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against a familiar chest.

“Luke?” you breathed, startled, recognizing the familiar warmth of his touch immediately.

You blinked, suddenly reminded of what he’d been doing not long ago—working with the kids in the Arts and Crafts cabin, helping them string beads for their camp necklaces. You’d passed by earlier, stealing a glance as he patiently worked with a group of little campers, his usual sharp edges softened by the way he guided their hands with practiced ease. Seeing him in that light had made your chest feel oddly tight, a mix of admiration and fondness that you couldn’t quite shake. And now, here he was, standing behind you, but with none of that softness in his stance.

Before you could say anything else, his lips crashed down on yours in a deep, possessive kiss that sent your thoughts scattering. His hand rested firmly on your hip as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss with a confidence that made your knees weak. The world around you seemed to blur until there was only him—his warmth, his touch, his undeniable presence.

When he finally pulled back, you stared at him, dazed and breathless. “What... what was that for?” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

Luke’s brown eyes burned with intensity as he glanced at Ryan, who stood a few feet away, frozen in awkward silence. “Just making sure there’s no confusion,” Luke said smoothly, his arm still wrapped securely around your waist.

Ryan cleared his throat, his expression tense as he gripped the bow tighter. “I, uh... I should check on the kids,” he muttered, his jaw tight as he turned on his heel.

“Yeah, you should,” Luke said sharply, his voice dripping with finality.

“Luke!” you hissed, glaring at him as Ryan stormed off, fists clenched at his sides. “Was that really necessary?”

Luke turned to you, his jaw still tight, though the fire in his eyes softened slightly. “Did you see the way he was looking at you?” he demanded. “And how close he was? His hands were all over you!”

You rolled your eyes, stepping closer to him. “He was just showing me how to shoot, Luke. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to him,” Luke muttered darkly, his arm tightening around your waist as if to prove a point.

You sighed, shaking your head before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him down into another kiss. This one was softer, slower, meant to reassure him as much as to silence him. When you pulled back, his lips lingered against yours, his brown eyes locked onto you.

“Luke,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced. “You don’t have to worry. I’m yours. Always.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as a slow, confident grin spread across his face. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and smug. “All mine, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes again, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as his grip on you remained firm, his eyes gleaming with pride. You might have been exasperated, but one thing was certain: Luke Castellan never left any doubt about how much he cared for you.