#i love when people just admit they like someone

[latteodyssey]

‘cause my baby's sweet as can be | being damian wayne’s love interest headcannons˚｡⋆ ୨୧

masterlist

craving your company. — he didn’t like admitting it to himself at first, that as much as he would make snarky comments about how annoying it was that you wouldn’t leave him alone, he started missing you deeply when you weren’t around. his head was gradually consumed by thoughts about how much you would have to talk about the topic of conversation that someone just mentioned, or how you would have made a comment about the scene from the movie he was currently watching.

deny, deny, deny. — he’s a stubborn man, it took days of spiraling and coming up with theories as to why he felt that way, before he finally came to terms with the fact that he’s into you. It had nothing to do with who you are as a person, but it had everything to do with him refusing to accept being vulnerable, accepting that he had no control over how he felt. And god knows how much he hated when things were out of his control.

the way you had such a deep effect on him without even knowing made him terrified to say the least.

doesn’t know how to act— he didn’t approach you right away after realizing the nature of his feelings for you, instead, you would often catch him staring at you, eyebrows furrowed. he would worry so much about his next move, his next line, that he wouldn’t even notice the face of extreme concentration he was making – which you would often mistake for annoyance.

“are you mad at me?” you asked, a mixture of concern and confusion filling your voice as you try to make sense out of the situation “you’re looking at me like you are”.

“i assure you I’m not” he answered in a matter of fact way, which did nothing to calm your nerves. little did you know, he was trying to control his own “you can continue on with your story”.

he’s terrible at giving compliments — instead, he makes observations, about the little things he notices about you, about the moments where he missed your presence – but he tells you in a way that you can’t tell if he’s being nice or sending a corporate email. "y/n. you’ve changed your hair.", “you weren’t at patrol/school today”.

makes excuses to hang out with you — damian always looks forward to spending time by your side, even if it’s just accompanying you while you do mundane things. suddenly it’s “I have nothing better to do” or “i don’t trust you to successfully achieve this alone, so I’ll come with you”.

practicing it in his head — he can’t just say how he feels, it needs to be done in the most perfect and efficient way possible. he spent days planning the way he would confess how he feels about you, where he would do it, exactly how he would say it, and how he would react to any possible outcome. he ends up doing it in the middle of an argument, unplanned.

“you’re so annoying, i don’t even know why I’m in love with you!”

a creature of habit — damian eventually got used, and attached to, the routine aspects of your relationship, it gave him a sense of stability deeply cherishes . the way you always kissed his cheek when you would part ways, the way you reach for his hand when walking, the fact that you call him just to say goodnight. and he misses these little things in case you end up forgetting.

you'll be drifting off to sleep when you hear your phone ringing, the blue light illuminating your face as damian's contact pops up on the screen. you pick up the call, there's a quick moment of silence before you hear his voice, heavy with sleepiness. "you didn't wish me goodnight."

“you called me just for that?”

“You don’t desire for me to have a good night?”

old fashioned terms of endearment — beloved, darling, and dear are his go-to nicknames for you. When talking to other people, he might refer to you as “my y/n” often.

using you as a human pillow — similarly to a cat, he approaches you silently, almost like he's expecting you to read his mind, resting his head against your shoulder, or laying it your lap. he's especially happy when you gently run your fingers through his hair. he feels almost addicted to your touch, the warmth of your hand against his skin.

[kxsagi]

Hello from Türkiye, I saw that ur request gonna be closed so can I request? (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

Bllk boys with a reader that completely a sweetheart I mean like she's just so kind so polite and idk but I hope you understand what I mean👉🏻👈🏻

The Characters I want are ısagi, rin, kaiser,shidou,reo,yukimiya and if anyone you would like

Love ya(⁠ㆁ⁠ω⁠ㆁ⁠)

“𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲”

a/n: TURKEY OMGGG HIII IT’S SO AMAZING TO KNOW THERE ARE PEOPLE FROM SO FAR READING MY WORKS

i have a turkish best friend so it’s nice to see someone else of the same ethnicity! 

also sorry, i keep forgetting karasu and hiori have a kansai accent so forgive me for not using yer and ya 💀

ft. kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, mikage reo, yukimiya kenyu, karasu tabito, otoya eita, isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

kaiser michael

honestly? he thought you were fake. 

no way someone could be that sweet and that polite. when you greeted him with a smile the first time and said “it’s really nice to meet you, thank you for your time!” he was waiting for the punchline. 

“schatz, are you in what they call a shojo anime?” 

he tries to act unfazed, but your gentle little “please don’t fight with ness today, he seems tired” or “remember to eat something healthy, okay? not just bread crumbs” hits his chest like a tranquilizer dart. 

your kindness rewired his ego. like he's still annoying, but now he’s your annoying. he actually behaves a little better when you’re around because he wants to impress you by being a “gentleman.” 

you’ll compliment his hair and he’ll say “of course it looks good, it’s mine,” but he’s blushing. 

if someone is even remotely rude to you, the man becomes unhinged. the contrast between “polite angel” and “egotistical menace ready to end careers” is shocking. 

“you should apologize to her.” “kaiser, it’s okay–” “no. say sorry. or i’ll make you cry.” 

shidou ryusei

babe. babe. babe. he calls you “mother teresa” with his whole chest and zero shame. 

“who raised you? are you like, legally allergic to being a bitch?” 

he’s constantly testing the limits of your patience just to see if you’ll ever snap. spoiler: you don’t. you just say “that wasn’t very nice, ryu…” with the saddest pout and he malfunctions. 

you once kissed his cheek after he got a yellow card and said, “good job keeping it to just one today!” and he stood there, stunned, like a dog hearing jazz for the first time. 

he picks fights with people who even look at you wrong. meanwhile you’re in the background like, “i’m so sorry, he’s just tired, please don’t mind him!” 

he lowkey develops a hero complex and brags about “protecting his precious princess” even though you're the one apologizing to the staff after he body slams someone for cutting in line. 

will never admit it, but your “thank you for existing” made him feel emotions he didn’t know existed. 

mikage reo

he has never met anyone like you. 

you made origami thank-you notes for his chauffeur. you offered the security guard cookies. you said “please take care of yourself” to a vending machine. 

he's floored. 

“how are you real? like, be honest. are you a disney princess on your day off?” 

he’s incredibly soft with you. you say “please” and “thank you” with such sincerity that he catches himself holding his breath. 

when you compliment him, he gets all flustered and bashful, which is wild because he used to be the king of confidence. 

if you get even slightly upset or disappointed, he immediately assumes the world is ending. he buys you flowers, books a dinner, sends you a paragraph apologizing for breathing wrong. 

also: this man will deck someone in a ¥500,000 suit if they mess with you. 

“you don’t talk to her like that. i don’t care if you’re the manager or god himself.” 

yukimiya kenyu

he is so enamored by your gentleness. your aura is just so soft. when you brush your fingers against his arm to get his attention, he swears time slows down. 

compliments from you are like scripture to him. if you say “i believe in you,” he’ll go out there and score three goals and cure world hunger. 

your kindness is so genuine that he finds himself wanting to be better, not just for you, but because you believe in goodness like it’s a religion. 

he can be a little self-critical sometimes, but when you gently hold his face and go “you’re doing enough, you’re more than enough,” he gets teary-eyed. 

he’s also very protective. 

like yes he looks classy and polite but if someone talks down to you, he’s throwing cutting shade and passive-aggressive comments so elegant you don’t even realize he just ruined someone’s life. 

“huh. people usually remember how to be respectful when they’re sober. how strange.” 

karasu tabito

your kindness drives him insane, in a good way. like “how is she real? how is she this sweet? and why do i wanna kiss her every time she says ‘excuse me’?” 

he’s a menace with his words, but he never disrespects you. he tries to rile you up, but it backfires because you’re just so genuinely kind. 

you say “thank you for walking me home!” and he goes “what, like i’d let someone else do it?” but he’s grinning like a boy with a crush. 

you bring him snacks, and instead of saying thank you, he’s like “why are ya the cutest person alive? genuinely. what the hell.” 

he starts lowkey doing good deeds just because he wants you to be proud of him. 

he’d never admit it, but your approval makes his whole day. if you say “you were really thoughtful today,” he plays it cool but he’s internally spinning like a fan. 

otoya eita

he loves calling you “angel” or “sweetheart” in the most dramatic tone possible because you are one. 

you could trip over air and say sorry to the ground. 

he teases you constantly but in the softest, most flirty way. like: “careful, babe, if you keep smiling at people like that, i’m gonna have to start throwing hands.” 

but fr if someone disrespects you? he flips a switch so fast it’s scary. 

you always try to de-escalate things like “it’s okay, he didn’t mean it–” while otoya’s cracking his knuckles like “no no, let him finish, i’m listening.” 

also? he flirts 50% to make you blush and 50% because he’s genuinely obsessed with how sweet you are. 

“you’re like a cupcake with a switchblade. all sugar until someone pisses me off.” 

isagi yoichi

he genuinely thought you were flirting the first time you said, “thank you for being so patient, you’re really kind!” 

and then you said the same thing to a waiter. and to a lost child. and to a bird. 

it hit him real quick: no, you’re just that kind. 

he didn’t know people like you existed, and now he’s devoted to protecting you like you’re a baby deer and he’s your bodyguard. 

your gentleness literally makes him better. like he finds himself thinking “would she be proud of me if i yelled at that guy? probably not.” 

you cheer for him at matches with the most genuine little claps and he will score just to make you happy. 

he literally folds when you cup his face and say “i’m really proud of you.” he’s down bad. 

if anyone is even slightly mean to you, he gets serious. not even mad, just terrifyingly calm. 

“what did you just say to her?” “yoichi, i-it’s fine–” 

“no. let me handle it.” 

itoshi rin

this man has zero idea how to handle you. 

he thought you were pretending. no one says “thank you for taking me to the station!” or “i hope you get home safe!” with that much sincerity. 

he used to just blink at you like ??? 

but then you started packing him bentos with sticky notes that said “you’ll do amazing today!!” and he started… feeling things. 

you’re the first person who ever softened him. he actually trusts you. 

like you’ll gently scold him for being rude like “rin… that wasn’t very kind…” and he’ll get quiet and apologize??? 

no one believes you tamed him. the other players are like “is that rin… holding her hand? with a neutral expression???” 

if anyone dares upset you, he’s immediately on high alert. “who was that?” “just an old classmate–” “what did he say? no, tell me. i’m not letting anyone talk to you like that.” 

itoshi sae

he teases the life out of you. 

“you’re so nice. it’s concerning.” “what do you mean you donated to a stray dog shelter again?” 

but the thing is… he adores it. he’s always been surrounded by fake smiles and cold ambition, so the fact that you’re genuinely kind? makes his heart ache a little. 

he’s not used to being around someone who isn’t transactional. who’s just good for the sake of it. 

the first time you told him “thank you for trying your best today,” he was quiet for the rest of the night. 

this man does not cry but he stared at the ceiling for 20 minutes trying to process that warmth. 

also: he’s now a menace to anyone who bothers you. 

“you’re not allowed to talk to her unless you pass my standards bar.” “sae, be nice–” “i am. this is me being nice.” 

he gives you forehead kisses and acts like you’re a fragile jewel, even though you’re probably stronger emotionally than everyone in his life combined. 

he’ll never admit it but your little “have a good day! drink water!” texts make him actually… drink water. and smile. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 3 - 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Abby being Abby (aka really silly), Jinu being kinda self-depressed and also a trespasser, ooc (probably), cringe (surely), no proofread (oopsie)

Word count: 2400+

A/N: so! we are so back! I had soooo much fun writing this one. It's kind of a roller coaster of jokes and feelings, but I hope you like it! Also, I want to let you know that I also started to publish this in Wattpad, but I want to update here first (hehe). Last, I really want to thank you all for your support, your kind words, likes, reblogs and comments. It means a lot!

Ch. 2

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

What a horrible day.

Someone (probably Abby) had eaten the last yoghurt in the fridge that you were saving for yourself, someone else (Romance, no doubt) had finished your shampoo, your pillow had magically disappeared (and now Mystery had two) and for some reason Baby smelled like your favourite candies.

Living with men was worse than you had imagined.

You had no privacy, no personal space, and no time to even think.

Since it was their first time back in the human world after centuries (in most cases), they didn't really know how some things worked, but at the expense of your mental health, they were modernising at breakneck speed.

Now they had the latest smartphones.

Romance had discovered TikTok, Mystery was now addicted to cat videos, and if you heard Abby say ‘tralalero tralalá’ one more time, you'd gouge his eyes out with spoons. The only one who seemed to be behaving more or less normally was Jinu, who was convinced that mobile phones were something akin to witchcraft and only used his phone for real emergencies (like when he ran out of toilet paper and had to ask for some in the group chat where everyone was).

Thanks to Gwi-ma, you had moved into a fairly large flat in the human world, where the boys shared rooms… except for Jinu and you, who had your own (separately). It had a fairly spacious living room with a large television that you had used to give them master classes on current K-pop, a fully equipped kitchen that you would probably never use, and two bathrooms, which you had learned in a single day were not enough when living with five demons.

At least they were more or less clean. They left the toilet seat down (sometimes), didn't make much noise (when they were asleep) and if they ate something, they left everything clean afterwards (even though what they had eaten was actually yours).

Baby was the most responsible and the only one you didn't want to smack on the head with a chair every ten minutes. He tried to act disinterested, but you had caught him several times enthralled by everyday things: he got up early just to watch the sun rise, he loved staring out the window just to see people coming and going on the street, and he had discovered how wonderful the smell of freshly baked bread was.

But you had to admit that, overall, having them around in such a routine and mundane environment was kind of fun. At least you knew you weren't alone… like you had felt before you died.

No pillow, no shampoo, no candies, and no yoghurt, but you weren't alone.

Someone knocked softly on your door.

"Come in."

"Sorry to bother you…" It was Baby, with his hands hidden behind his back. "But I wanted to thank you for joining us in the human world, and for the plan and everything… And for teaching us how to use the microwave, and…"

"Baby," you interrupted with a smile. You thought it was adorable when he rambled on just because he wasn't quite sure how to put what he wanted to say into words. "Did you want something?"

"I've written something," he said then. It caught you a little off guard. It had been a while since he'd written anything, or at least since he'd told you… You figured with all the debut stuff, rehearsals and everything, he wouldn't have had time. "And I'd like your opinion."

He had his notebook hidden behind his back. He took a couple of steps towards you, as if hesitating, until he finally decided to stretch out his arm and hand it to you. Your fingers brushed against each other when you took it, and something you couldn't quite identify crossed his gaze in that brief moment.

Surely it was just your imagination.

Too much caffeine.

You opened the notebook and turned the pages to the end, to the last thing he had written. As you turned the pages, you were surprised to see that there were many pages full of scribbles and smudges.

"I've been having trouble finding inspiration," he admitted, looking down.

"That's okay," you said with a smile, trying to make him feel better. "Do you want to stay here with me while I read it?"

He nodded with a small smile and finished entering your room. As you sat down in the chair next to the desk, he flopped down on the bed. He just sat there, and as you began to read and sink into the magic of his words, he decided to look around your room.

You had hung one of the Soda Pop posters you had just printed on the wall above your desk, and you had placed a lion stuffed animal on your bed that Byeol didn't know where you had gotten. Your desk was covered with papers, and the bin was full of candy wrappers, your addiction when you lacked inspiration. There were traces of you here and there: a pair of jeans crumpled up on the floor, a pair of trainers in the corner, a calendar full of scribbles hanging behind the door… The most notable thing there was a note, marking two days later, underlined with brightly coloured markers that read ‘DEBUT’, surrounded by little stars.

Then he focused all his attention on you.

You were slightly hunched over (even though he had told you hundreds of times not to) over his notebook, lost in the story, unable to notice the soft smile on his face as he gazed at you without you realising.

He thought it was adorable how you imitated the expressions of the characters in the story, as if that helped you embody it better, and how your eyes sparkled when you read something you liked. Heck, he even liked it when you frowned because you found a mistake. At first, when you met, he thought you were an interesting person, a clear contradiction to everything Jinu had told him about you.

You were talkative, but you also knew how to listen, and you weren't afraid to give your opinion. When you read his writings in hell, you used to drum your claws on your legs, lost in the reading.

How would it feel to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours?

He didn't want to do it romantically, of course not… just as friends. That's right, intertwining your fingers like friends. And caressing your face, running a finger across your lips (for scientific reasons: he just wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked).

"Wow…" you started to say as soon as you finished reading. Your eyes were slightly glinting with tears. You were… excited. "It's… beautiful, Byeol. It's the most beautiful thing I've read in years." You closed the notebook slowly, carefully. You got up from the chair and sat down on the bed next to him, and gave him back the notebook.

"Thank you… Actually, it's kind of strange. It's been a long time since I've been able to find something new that motivates me to write. But everything here is so different compared to down there… It's colourful and alive, you know?"

That's it!

That was exactly what you wanted them to learn about the human world. How beautiful it was. Now you just had to allow him to gradually redeem himself and realise that all was not lost, that he was not alone, that he could have a second chance, and most importantly, that he could regain his soul.

You felt his hand on your leg, trying to get your attention. You turned your face towards him, and found him staring absorbedly into your eyes. You were closer than you should have been, but for some reason, it didn't bother either of you. You trusted him. And he felt drawn to you.

What he had told you was a lie, though. It was true that he had gone through a creative block, but it wasn't exactly travelling to the human world that brought back his inspiration: it was you. You teaching them how to live there, being patient when they did something wrong even though you had explained it many times, you getting angry when they took your things without permission, or when they tried to snoop on what you were reading on your mobile phone.

He tried to deny it, but it was getting harder and harder. Being around you felt soothing; in fact, it felt too good to be true. He didn't want to get too close, because he knew that if he let his guard down, something bad would happen. It had been that way for as long as he could remember.

Besides, what he felt was surely just curiosity, right? It had been a long time since someone so interesting had come into his life. Someone who made him see the reality he was living with new eyes.

Because of you, he was going to call himself "Baby," for goodness' sake.

But at the same time, he was aware that whatever he felt, you were too much. Too good, too cheerful, too… too bright for the shell he had become in the underworld. Haunted by the shame of his past decisions, the decisions that had led him to become just another servant of Gwi-ma.

He had literally sold his soul to the devil.

He was unable to see that, technically, so had you.

Why had you sold your soul to Gwi-ma? How bad had your life been to reach that point?

Someone knocked on the door, and you both jumped. You stood up instinctively, moving away from him.

"Come in," you said after clearing your throat.

Why did Byeol's eyes have to be so beautiful? Shit.

Why did he have to look at you like that after writing something like that?

Why was your heart beating so erratically?

"It's me," said Jinu, opening the door just enough to stick his head in. "I need help. Abby has discovered that Alexa can fart, and he's drinking all the soda in the flat so he can do the backing vocals burping."

"Oh, shit…" Baby slapped his forehead with his hand. "I knew getting that junk was a mistake."

You had already run out to the living room, pushing Jinu aside so you could get to Abby, who was gulping down soda like a pelican while Romance cheered him on, "Chug, chug, chug!"

Indeed, it was turning out to be a horrible day.

The quickest solution was to disconnect the artificial intelligence (forever) and put a lock on the fridge. And explaining to Abby what kidney stones were.

Baby had been on your tail, your moment of intimacy buried in his mind. There were two days left before their first public appearance, and he couldn't be distracted. None of them could.

Being in the human world was fun, yes, and learning everything they were learning (how useful Google was, for example) was incredible. But he had to focus on the fact that all of this, the adventures, living with the boys (and with you), was temporary. He couldn't stray from his goal: defeating the hunters. Giving Gwi-ma a real feast.

So why couldn't he forget the way you looked into his eyes, or the way you said his name?

But while you were solving the soda problem and Byeol was lost in his thoughts, Jinu had entered your room. Without permission.

Oh, how hard you would hit him in the face if you found out…

But you weren't there. You were busy helping Abby with his stomach ache from drinking two litres of soda in one go without stopping to breathe.

Jinu felt miserable. Partly because of everything he had done and regretted (which Gwi-ma reminded him of all the time to keep him in check), and partly because he felt he was still making bad decisions. He was still selfish. He was still… a monster.

Why had he wanted to yell at you when he saw Byeol sitting on your bed?

Why wasn't he the one sitting on your bed?

He let out a sigh.

He didn't understand why you attracted him so much. He didn't understand what you did to exasperate him all the time, but at the same time keep him close to you. Why did you have to be everything he wasn't?

He walked over to your desk, which was covered in papers and completely messy. There were recipes, song lyrics, and even a poem.

Then he realised you had left your notebook there when you left in such a hurry, buried in your mess.

You never, ever forgot that notebook. It was like your second heart or your third lung. You kept it like gold dust and never let any of them look at it.

Unconsciously, Jinu traced the cover, and before he knew it, he had it open in his hands, slowly turning the pages.

And heavens!

Of all the things he could have imagined you hiding in that notebook, he never imagined what he found.

There were not only song lyrics, ideas and concepts for the band, and even notes on how to lead them to the top.

There were also drawings. Portraits.

Jinu didn't know you were such a good artist. But then, he couldn't have known, since you never talked to him about anything personal or unrelated to the plan or the boys.

And most of those portraits were of them. Of the five boys who lived with you.

Jinu was surprised to see them, yes. But above all, he was surprised to find portraits of himself.

Did that mean you didn't hate him?

There were a few...

In one portrait, he was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, lost in thought.

When had you painted that? You had only just moved in…

And in another, this one just of his face, he appeared in his demon form, with his patterns across his face… but with a sweet look, smiling and showing his fangs.

He ran his fingers carefully over the image.

Then, he heard a noise in the hallway.

He had to leave, and fast.

He tried to leave the notebook as he had found it, and with his heart pounding against his ribs, he remembered that he was actually a demon and could teleport. And that's what he did.

To avoid you.

Because now, if he found himself face to face with you, he didn't know what he would do. Or what he couldn't help doing.

But he did know that if you caught him rummaging through your room, you would smash his face in.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 4

A/N: so! what a ride, huh? Some Baby time here! And kind of Jinu time too, if you squint your eyes a little... I know some of you want Jinu out of the game BUT I really want to get him the opportunity! Keep in mind that the idea of this story is that a new character can change drastically the plot... and the relationships of it! This means that also the plot may change... hehehehe

Btw next chapter is nearly finished and... I'm sorry to say that it's kind of a filler! But a fanservice one! Can't wait to post it hehe.

Again, thank you for reading. All of your words of support and love mean a lot to me and help me to write a lot (it's puuuure motivation!). Your likes, reblogs and comments help me a lot to write faster (kind of... ) ღゝ◡╹ )ノ♡

Taglist: @just-set-things-on-fire @nightmarewasteland @ph1lo-s0ph1a @gremlinartstudio @strayharmony943 @smoophie @valeriele3 @confusedparticle @queenskippy @enerofairy @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @nonetheartist @queeniecrystal @zariahthewitch @smoophie @lovely-maryj @nerdsconquerall @feelya @doggyteam2028 @snowy-violet @iivantablackii @satansdaughter123 @bexeris @redkitsu03 @simplyscrewed @pipperika @soukoku63 @prettylittlelavvy @kyxmlii @cloud-9ine @edgycatx @wishiwaswritingrn @ikykwkleeknowwww @starmee-lodurrson @otakusef @rubyninja1 @gblubrry

[pitlanepeach]

Figure It Out | Chapter One

Max Verstappen x Isla Harrington (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Isla Harrington’s life is upended after a one-night stand with Max Verstappen leaves her a single-mom. Four years later, Max decides that he wants in — and neither of them are ready for what that means.

Warnings — Surprise baby trope, one night stands, co-parenting, grovelling, bullying and harassment, coming of age, angst and fluff.

Notes — We're going allll the way back to 2018! Strap in.

2018

Life didn’t feel real.

It felt like something out of a dream — stitched together from the pages of racing magazines and late-night replays she used to watch in secret under her duvet as a teenager. The engines, the colour, the thrum in her chest that wasn’t nerves but something sharper. Like wonder, only more practical.

Isla stood just outside the media centre, lanyard fluttering against her chest in the breeze, notepad pressed flat against her thigh to stop her hands from shaking.

She hadn’t cried yet.

Not when the email came through weeks ago — the Sky Sports internship offer she never really thought she’d get. Not when she booked her first-ever flight on her own, stuffing her suitcase with more clothes than she could ever possibly need. Not even when she walked into the paddock this morning and was handed a branded pass, with her name spelled right and everything. 

But now, with the sun warming the asphalt and the faint scent of tyres and fuel in the air, she felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not really.

Girls like her, the ones who hailed from run-down council flats and were raised by parents who didn’t know how to love the children they’d decided to have — they didn’t end up in places like this. They ended up responsible. Careful. Grateful for temp jobs and small mercies.

Not… doing this.

A voice cut through her thoughts.

“You coming in?”

It was Ted, pointing toward the press conference room with a slightly bemused smile, radio tucked in his hand. She nodded quickly, her mouth dry.

“Nervous?” He asked, walking beside her.

“No. Well — yes,” she admitted. “I just didn’t think it would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like people are actually going to look at me and expect me to know what I’m doing.” She admitted, her cheeks flushing pink. 

Ted hummed thoughtfully, and then said nothing. Which she appreciated.

Inside, the room was humming — literally and figuratively. Reporters murmured, technicians adjusted cables, and someone handed Isla a list of scheduled driver appearances with three different versions of the same Excel spreadsheet, none of which matched.

By the time the press briefing began, Isla had already re-written her notes twice and found a quiet corner by the back wall. She wasn’t meant to ask anything today, maybe ever. Her job was to just observe. Learn. Make notes. 

So she listened. Not just to what the drivers said, but what they didn’t. She caught the moments when their words didn’t line up with their body language, when tension rippled beneath polite phrases. She tracked patterns, noted phrases, jotted little arrows beside mentions of "strategy" and "frustrating stints."

She was invisible. And that was fine. She was good at being invisible — at watching people closely and knowing exactly when to disappear.

Later, during lunch, Natalie sat beside her and asked, “How are you finding it so far?”

Isla blinked. “Overwhelming. Amazing. I just don’t want to do something wrong.”

Natalie smiled — the kind that made Isla feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to. “You’re not here because we expect you to know everything. You’re here because the big bosses obviously saw potential in you. Let yourself rise to it, okay?”

That night, Isla lay in her hotel bed with the window cracked open. The hum of the circuit still buzzed faintly in her ears. Her notepad was open beside her, full of scribbled thoughts — not just stats and quotes, but moments that caught her attention. A brief smile between two engineers. A driver running his hand along the edge of his front wing like it was something sacred. The way the wind kicked up when the cars tore past, like they could take the world with them.

She didn’t call anyone to tell them about her first day. There was no one waiting by a phone.

But she whispered it anyway. “I did a really good job today.”

And she had.

She really had.

—

The first few weeks of the season blurred together.

Melbourne was too bright, too fast, the weekend over way too soon. Isla forgot her adapter plug, melted her hair straighteners, and spent the first day with her badge on backwards. But she also caught her first real paddock rumour before it hit Twitter; something about the Haas pit stop disaster and a quietly furious team boss who’d nearly broken his radio.

In Bahrain, she kept her head down and her ears open. Vettel took another win. The paddock buzzed with “Ferrari resurgence” whispers and the strange, low simmer of Mercedes unease. She wrote her first segment notes for a feature Natalie was doing. Half of her suggestions made it in. She didn’t say anything about it, didn’t brag or preen, but she smiled the whole way back to her hotel.

By China, she knew which engineer preferred his coffee iced, which producers liked printouts colour-coded, and that if you needed the real story, you had to talk to the tyre technicians. Not the flashy front-facing ones — the gruff old hands who could tell the shape of a weekend by how the rubber fell off the car on Friday.

There were dramas; real ones. The Red Bull crash in Baku made the entire media pen flinch. Verstappen and Ricciardo, teammates colliding at speed, the air after so thick with tension that even the Sky crew kept their voices low. Isla stood behind a monitor that night, typing notes with trembling fingers as Ted tried to piece together a timeline of blame on live TV.

She started sleeping with her notebook beside the bed. Not just for work quotes anymore, but for flashes of dialogue, metaphors that hit her during a race, questions she didn’t have the confidence to ask yet.

She still hadn’t been on camera. That wasn’t part of the plan. But she’d started to earn nods in the paddock, started getting handed spare headsets or asked for help coordinating B-roll clips.

She was still the quiet one. The intern. But she was listening.

And people had started noticing that she remembered things. 

—

Overlapping interviews. Sweat-slicked fireproofs. PR reps hovering just out of frame, brows furrowed, earpieces buzzing. Cameras jostled for position. Booms dipped low, voices overlapped. The late afternoon sun turned everything into glare and heat and movement, like the entire paddock was vibrating with post-race adrenaline.

The media pen was always like this — loud and frantic and fast.

Isla kept her back to the barrier, eyes down, a tiny Sky mic clipped to her collar like it might explode at any moment. She wasn’t meant to be front and centre. Just a placeholder. Natalie had been pulled into a strategy debrief. Ted was somewhere melting into a fold-out chair with a bottle of water. And so Isla stood in, just in case someone needed a warm body holding a mic.

“Incoming,” a voice crackled in her ear. “Ricciardo approaching. If he stops, throw him something. A question.”

She went still. “What kind of question?”

“Any question. Doesn’t matter. Just keep him talking — you’re mic’d, we’re live.”

Her fingers tightened around her Sky notebook. Any question?

Then he appeared — and for a second, the pen narrowed, as if the noise paused just slightly for him.

Daniel Ricciardo. Still in his Red Bull race suit, curls damp with sweat, that ever-present grin fixed to his face like it was stitched there. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a cartoon and landed in the real world.

“Hey,” he said, catching sight of her. “You’re new.”

Isla nodded, quickly. “Yeah. I mean — yes.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Cool. Got anything good to ask? Hit me.”

She froze. She could feel all the standard questions lined up in her mouth like marbles — Talk us through the race. What was the strategy? Was traffic at Turn 10 frustrating?

But she didn’t say any of them.

Because she’d been watching. Closely. Not just the race, but the details — the micro-movements, the flickers of body language, the way a car talks if you know how to listen.

So instead she asked, voice steady and low, “That rear twitch in Sector Two — what was that? Looked like the car wanted to completely let go, but you held it.”

Daniel blinked.

And then something changed. Surprise first, then something warmer — interest. “Oooh, good observation,” he said, visibly impressed. “Yeah. Not totally sure what triggered it — it’s been creeping in late-race for a few weekends now. You get to a certain point, tyres drop, balance shifts… and suddenly the rear’s whispering, I’m on the edge, buddy. I’ve got to make a choice. Back off or trust the car.”

She nodded, instinctively. “So you trusted it.”

“Today? Yeah. Leaned in. Worked out.”

She hesitated — and then, before she could talk herself out of it. “Is it consistent? That late-race rear instability — your engineers have flagged it as an ongoing issue?”

He blinked again. “Uh, yeah. They’ve noticed it. We’ve looked into it. It’s not super dramatic, but it’s there — especially on tracks with more left-hand load. It’s something to manage.”

Her producer’s voice crackled in her ear. “Nice. Real nice. We’re clipping this. Stay with him — if he’s giving you answers like that, keep it rolling.”

But Isla just smiled, a little shy. And she didn’t push, had never wanted to be the kind of journalist who ran a question into the ground.  “Thanks, Daniel,” she said quietly.

He winked. “Good question, kiddo.”

And then he was gone, swallowed by a tangle of cameras and shouting journalists.

Isla exhaled — only then realising she’d been holding her breath. Her heart was hammering. Her palms were damp. 

—

The meeting room smelled like strong coffee, dry-erase markers, and the kind of air-conditioned panic only found in live broadcasting. Isla sat on the edge of a rolling chair, notebook in hand, pulse skipping in her throat.

She hadn’t even known she was invited until that morning. The email had landed in her inbox with a vague subject line — Editorial debrief — and her name, surprisingly, on the attendee list.

Now, the table was crowded with producers, segment editors, and a few of the on-air crew, all mid-chat, casually dissecting cutaways and replay sequences like they weren’t sitting in a pressure-cooker of world feeds and TV ratings.

Then someone clicked the remote, and a muted clip played on the screen at the front of the room: Daniel Ricciardo, grinning. Isla’s voice played softly over the footage. “That rear twitch in Sector Two — what was that?”

Isla blinked. Her stomach dropped.

The producer in the corner — Graham, fifty-something, glasses perched permanently on his forehead — gestured toward the clip like it was a classroom exhibit. “This,” he said, “is what we’re after.”

The room quieted. Isla forgot how to breathe.

“Instinctive, focused, sharp. That’s a real question. That’s not cribbed from a media sheet or parroted off comms. That’s from someone watching the race. Closely. That’s what we need more of in the pen. Not just echo-chamber interviews — insight.”

Someone else chimed in — Ellie, graphics editor, “It’s been clipped and run on social. Engagement’s good. Real fans picked up on it — few even said it was the first genuine, interesting thing they’d heard out of a driver all weekend.”

Isla stared down at her notebook. Her knuckles were white around her pen.

Graham looked at her. “Good instincts. You’ve got a feel for it.”

“I just…” she started, voice thin. “I noticed the rear was twitchy late on. And… I thought if I was watching from home, I’d want to know if that was going to be an issue.”

“And that’s exactly what we want.”

She flushed.

Someone laughed softly and said, “She’s only been with us six weeks. Give her two months and Crofty’ll be looking over his shoulder.”

The room chuckled. Isla smiled — small, but real.

Later, when the meeting wrapped and laptops snapped shut, Natalie passed her by, giving her shoulder a light squeeze. “Told you,” she murmured. “You’ve got it. Let yourself rise to it.”

And for the first time, Isla allowed herself to consider it.

Not luck. Not accident. Not a glitch in the system.

Maybe she was meant to be here.

Maybe she could thrive.

—

Every airport felt like its own micro-universe. Every paddock a city with its own rhythms and rules. And every time she pinned her Sky lanyard to her chest and walked through the gates, she felt it again — that pulse beneath the surface of things. That ache to understand, to see.

She didn’t travel with the main broadcast team yet. Too junior. But they'd pulled her in for every race so far that season — sometimes as a runner, sometimes as backup for Ted or Natalie. Every now and then, they even let her hold a microphone and ask a question. She’d earned their trust, after all. 

Monaco was madness. Glitz, yachts, traffic jams in the pit-lane, and tension under every surface. Isla was there when Ricciardo drove a masterclass with a broken MGU-K, holding off Vettel lap after brutal lap. She caught him in the tunnel after podium and he looked like he might cry — not from pain, but from relief. From proving something.

Canada? Vettel's redemption. Isla watched the red cars fly on Saturday, and on Sunday, Seb crossed the line with the number one board mistakenly placed in front of Lewis’ car. A quiet moment of symbolism that didn’t escape the fans. Nor Isla, who scribbled “Ferrari are quietly furious this season. Seb’s playing long game?” in the margins of her notebook.

Then came France. New circuit, new chaos. First-lap collision, safety car drama, and Hamilton back on top. But the paddock talk was elsewhere — rumours of Daniel’s contract, Red Bull’s future, and a quiet buzz about the growing number of clips being shared of a young, observant reporter catching drivers off-guard with her keen, non-generic questions.

Isla was starting to be recognised.

And so it was, one sweltering Saturday afternoon at Paul Ricard, she found herself walking the long gravel path from the media centre toward the drivers’ hospitality units — off-duty, notebook tucked away, wearing a faded t-shirt she’d owned for a couple of years now.

MV33.

The lion on the back was hand-drawn, slightly cracked from too many washes. But she loved it. Loved him, the driver. Always had. It was a devastatingly poorly kept secret that the journalist who wasn’t supposed to play favourites very much did so behind closed doors. 

She was halfway down the path, sunglasses low on her nose, when two voices drifted from ahead. Laughter, familiar and bright.

Daniel Ricciardo. And Max Verstappen.

They were walking toward her — fresh from a meeting or maybe lunch, wearing team polos and mirrored shades. Max’s expression unreadable. Daniel’s more relaxed.

She moved to step aside. Disappear into the shadows, as usual. But Daniel caught her first.

“Hey! I know you,” he grinned, pointing playfully. “You got me good in Spain. I got a right walloping from Christian for making our stability issues public.”

Isla flushed. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I just asked about what I saw. Sorry.”

Daniel’s eyes sparkled. “Nah. Don’t be sorry. That’s why it was good.” Then his gaze dropped slightly, grin widening. “Shit — cool shirt!”

She froze.

Looked down.

Cursed under her breath.

Max Verstappen’s number stared back up at her in faded navy ink. And next to her, Max himself had stilled.

She didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. 

She mumbled something incoherent — “Thanks, sorry, long day, gotta—” — and practically bolted past them, heat crawling up her neck.

What she didn’t see was the way Max’s eyes tracked her retreat. Quiet. Slow. Sharp.

She didn’t see the slight twitch of his jaw. The flicker of something in his expression that wasn’t quite recognition — not yet — but something heavier.

He didn’t say a word.

But he’d seen the lion.

He’d seen her.

And from that moment on, he would keep seeing her.

Everywhere.

—

The heat in the media pen felt heavier than usual. Sweat clung under Isla’s collar, her mic battery pack digging into her lower back as she jostled for a clear spot behind the Red Bull line. Her notes were already smudged from stress — Max had just won the race in front of a sea of Dutch fans and the energy was insane.

She wasn’t meant to ask anything. Again. Just shadow, observe, stay out of the frame.

Ted was ahead of her, waving his mic in the scrum. Isla stayed two steps back, heart thudding in rhythm with the engines still cooling in parc fermé.

Then Max stepped in.

Still half-wrapped in the Dutch flag, hair damp with sweat, grinning that crooked grin that didn’t look real until you saw it up close. His PR handler guided him toward the waiting cluster of broadcasters, and the Sky crew leaned forward, prepping to go live.

But Max didn’t stop where he was meant to.

He scanned the line once — quickly, then again, more slowly.

His gaze snagged on her.

Isla froze.

Max’s mouth curved — a flash of amusement, or maybe recognition. And then he said, to the entire waiting press pack, “I’ll only answer if it’s her asking.”

A pause.

Blinking confusion.

Ted half-turned. “Who?”

Max lifted a finger — pointed, almost lazily, directly at Isla. “Her.”

Isla swear she died a little on the inside.

The Sky producer’s voice barked in her earpiece. “Jesus Christ, Isla, go! Ask him something! You’re live in twenty seconds—go! Go!”

She lurched forward like a wind-up toy, arm snapping up with the mic, eyes wide and horrified. Max was watching her like she was a puzzle he’d already started solving.

She opened her mouth.

No sound came out.

Max tilted his head. “That wasn’t a question.”

Her face flamed. “Right. Um.” She dropped her eyes to her notes, which were absolutely useless, full of scribbles and half-thoughts. “Uh. You—your start was really strong. You covered Kimi into Turn 1. Was that premeditated or reactive?”

Max’s grin softened. “Both.”

“I—what?”

He shrugged. “Premeditated to be reactive. I figured if I could get track position early, the race would come to me. And it did.”

She blinked.

“Want to ask another?” he prompted, voice lower now.

Her mouth opened — and without thinking, she blurted, “What’s it like hearing a hundred thousand people chanting your name?”

Max’s brows lifted, just slightly. And for a beat, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her.

Then, slowly, he said, “Loud. But nice. It reminds me to keep giving them something to shout about.”

The PR handler gestured for him to move along. Max handed her one last glance, another chance to ask something. 

Nothing came out of her mouth. 

She just… stared at him. 

And then he was gone, like always — swallowed up by the next pen, the next camera, the next mic.

Isla stood in the silence he left behind, red-faced, mic still raised like an idiot. Natalie appeared behind her, all wide eyes and flailing hands.

“You okay?” she asked.

“I think I blacked out,” Isla muttered, still staring into space.

“You didn’t cry. Or drop the mic. So that’s a win.”

“But I—I just—I feel like an idiot.” 

Natalie squeezed her arm. “Max is like that sometimes. Don’t let him get to you.” 

“Yeah.” She whispered. Staring at the back of his head as he leaned in close to a Dutch reporters microphone and laughed. 

—

The paddock had thinned out after the media frenzy. Most of the drivers were either back in debriefs or already heading out, but Isla wasn’t looking for any of them.

She was looking for Max.

And she found him — just outside the Red Bull motorhome, fresh out of a team meeting, towel slung around his neck, shirt changed but still crumpled from the race. He was leaning against a table, drinking from a bottle of water like he didn’t have a care in the world.

He saw her before she even said a word.

“Ah,” he said, grin blooming instantly. “I was wondering when you’d come yell at me.”

“I’m not—” Isla stopped. Huffed. “Okay, yes. I am. What the hell was that?”

He blinked innocently. “What was what?”

“In the media pen.” She stopped a few feet from him, crossing her arms, trying to channel some kind of moral authority. “You can’t just single someone out like that on live broadcast—”

“Why not?”

“Because—because it put me on the spot! I wasn’t ready, and I had no questions, and my voice cracked—”

“It did. Little bit,” Max said helpfully. “But it was cute.”

“Max!”

His grin only widened.

“I’m trying to be angry at you,” Isla snapped.

“You don’t seem very angry,” he said, tilting his head.

“I am! I’m—furious.”

“You’ve gone pink.”

She made an indignant noise. “That’s sunburn.”

“It’s not.”

“Stop smiling.”

“Make me.”

That made her pause.

Max’s eyes gleamed, heat and mischief rolled into something deceptively calm. “I liked your questions. You actually watch the race. Most reporters just glance at the podium sheet and ask about strategy. Boring.”

“I was… flailing! You embarrassed me.”

“No I didn’t.” 

Isla faltered — just a beat. Then she tried again. “You don’t get to throw me into the deep end just because you’re bored of answering the same questions.”

“I didn’t throw you,” he said. “You jumped.”

She stared at him.

He pushed off the table and stepped closer, just enough to feel tall in the way that annoyed her — like he knew he could rattle her just by existing. “I’ll give you warning next time,” he said, voice lower now, more real. “But I meant it. I like your questions.”

“…Why?”

His mouth curved again, slower this time. “Because you don’t ever ask what I expect. And I like surprises.”

She hated how that made her stomach flip.

And she really hated how she turned to leave — cheeks hot, jaw tight — only for him to call after her, “See you in Silverstone, Lion Girl.”

She didn’t turn around. But she walked faster. Because if she stayed another second, she might’ve smiled back.

And that would’ve been disastrous.

[xomintybreezexo]

So, this has barely anything to do with the above, but I'm seeing a lot of people in the comments saying they hate fics that are mostly fanon stuff, so let me say, I agree, to a certain extent.

I've watched the show at least 3 times by now, and I love a lot of fanon world-building! I will admit there are some things like abusive Fentons that I hate because, in canon, they seem to be, at most, neglectful parents. I love the fanon of ghost cores and ghost obsessions because it feels like things that were alluded to in canon that were either never expanded on or only brought up once, and I love to watch people go crazy with it!

But I do not like it when someone has clearly never watched any of the show, except maybe one or two episodes out of order. It's one thing to purposefully disregard canon if canon sucks, I see a lot of people say that for Phantom Planet because it felt like a very rushed and unsatisfying ending, and I'm inclined to agree. But in more fanon-oriented works, it's usually obvious which writings have seen enough of the show to have a baseline understanding of the characters they're writing, and again, it is okay to disregard canon characterization if you acknowledge it.

I guess my personal issue with fanon is when the characters are almost completely different from canon, mostly when the writer has a lack of understanding of the character(s) they are writing. Because it usually shows. I love when fanon builds on canon, especially for shows/series like Danny Phantom that were forced to end early for one reason or another. I don't like it when canon is mostly or completely disregarded for fanon.

But that's just my personal opinion lol. I still love reading fics where there are parts I have to suspend disbelief for because it can challenge my understanding and perception of a character or concept in the series. I hate it when the challenge to my perception and understanding of something is all a fic is. That's just me and myself, though, please don't take anything I've said to heart.

[batsandbirdbrains]

I need more Dick and Damian and Steph bonding. I need them being the three musketeers while Bruce is stuck in time, while Tim is off fuck knows where trying to prove he’s still alive, while Jason does…whatever Jason does during that time idk. I need this to be an evil Alfred situation where Alfred always treated Dick like dirt when no one was watching because “he’s a dirty little gypsy” and then started doing the same thing to Damian because “he’s an al Ghul, he was raised by a terrorist organization, he’s not really a Wayne.”

I need Dick to be so protective of Damian from the second he steps into the manor because he knows what Alfred is like, he knows how Alfred got in Bruce’s ear when Dick was little and convinced Bruce to treat him harsher and harsher as the years went on. He’d hoped and prayed that Damian wasn’t treated the same way, but then after Bruce “dies,” Alfred quits. Says he refuses to work for someone like Dick. And then Damian admits to Dick one night after Alfred leaves, in a tiny, nervous little voice, how Alfred would say terrible things to him. How he convinced Bruce to be harsher on him.

And Dick wants to breakdown, but he holds Damian so closely instead and spends all night reassuring him that Alfred was wrong. That Damian is a good kid. That there’s nothing wrong with him, he’s not a bad kid, he deserves to have people who love him unconditionally.

He reassures Damian constantly that he loves him. That he will always love him no matter what. That he would sooner cut off his own limb than get rid of Damian.

“You’re my son now,” Dick tells him, his voice quiet. They’re both on Dick’s bed, cuddling, comforting each other. They’d just gone to the courthouse that day, Dick officially adopted Damian. “I love you. I’ll always love you. And now you’re stuck with me.”

He pokes at Damian’s side, grinning when he sees Damian try to hold back a smile.

“You’re stuck with me,” Damian mumbles, turning to hide his face in Dick’s chest.

Sometimes it seems like it’s the two of them against the world, but then Stephanie continues to show up in the Batcave. She tells Dick that he’s her Batman. That he’s a better Batman anyway. The three of them train well together, they work well together, they’re a solid team.

Then she starts coming by the penthouse more often. Maybe she’s overheard them talking about the things Alfred used to say to them. Maybe she’d overheard some conversations before Alfred left, heard the way he spoke to both of them like they were no better than the dirt beneath his shoe. And she couldn’t believe it, but she had no idea what to do about it.

So she just lets them know in her own little way that she cares about them. That she won’t leave them. She doesn’t want Dick to adopt her, she prefers him being like a big brother sort of figure, but she loves seeing him be a good dad to Damian. She loves teasing Damian whenever she hears him call Dick his baba.

I want Stephanie to realize one day when she’s helping Damian with a homework worksheet that he took the Grayson name when Dick adopted him. He dropped both al Ghul and Wayne. He is officially Damian Grayson. It’s right there on the top of his worksheet. And now he’s staring at her like she’s being a weirdo because it takes her a full minute to look away from it, to realize he asked her a question.

Then when Tim brings Bruce back, shit hits the fan. Bruce blames Dick for Alfred quitting, starts shouting, starts looking like he’s about to get violent. And when he raises a hand, Dick flinches back so hard he bangs his hip on the table behind him. And suddenly Damian and Stephanie are standing between them, shouting, Damian pointing his sword at Bruce.

The three of them leave. They stay in the penthouse, huddling close together, discussing next steps. Because Damian refuses to go back to Bruce. He refuses to leave Dick. And Stephanie is adamant that Dick will always be her Batman, it doesn’t matter if Bruce is back or not. If Dick goes back to being Nightwing, then Spoiler will just start patrolling with Nightwing and Robin instead.

What happens next? Idk. But I think it could be a lot of fun.

[randomsufff]

I AM NOT IMMUNE TO THE DELTARUNE CH 3 TUMBLR SEXYMAN AND WHATEVER HE HAS GOING ON WITH THAT SALESMAN ALRIGHT?!?! I ADMIT IT.

Listen- I love all Tenna designs- all flawlessly beautiful- BUT I’m a Big Fan of whenever bro looks like peak Tumblr Sexyman form with a triangle torso and grab-able waist because then I image THAT simping for a tiny, smelly, trashcan, RAT and I think it’s peak comedy. Which reminded me of the ugly ass groom meme so drew it out cause idk if anyone did it yet lol (I mean someone must have right? But whatevs)

Also LOVE IT when Tenna’s drawn in a different art style then the rest of the cast cause I thinks it’s soooooo funny but I understand why most people prolly don’t- especially when it comes to silly little doodles- because those second page doodles took SO. LONG. But I am committed to the bit and I think it looks great.

I wanted to draw more of the “wedding” where it would be a stereotypical wedding setup- with an arch and priest and everything- and then at the “kiss the groom” just have it smash cut to them signing wedding papers/contract/ some wedding deal and have it jump back to the arch being like “We got married 🎉🎉🎉” - but like- that was a thing that just happened in real time so all the guests (Kris? Susie? The TV world gang?) are all like “what the fuck just happened” because that’s 100% how a Spamtenna wedding would go but that would have taken too long to draw and plan out so…..

Last doodle is just me wanting to see the contrast bw Tenna (lineless) and my normal lined style. Honestly probably should have rendered Tenna more to really show the difference but I’m not spending that much time on that

Top image with sharper focused Tenna bellow because I TIRED to make him look more pixilated but it just made him look unfocused lol don’t know which I like better

[motzglorp]

You think Soap has ADHD energy? Meet the missus!

Everyone knows that Soap gets distracted easily when he doesn't have anything to focus. Outside of missions he gets restless and if he is bored he shouldn't be left without supervision.

They made it to the safehouse, got a good night's sleep and had another day to spend until transport was ready and would be on mandatory leave for the next two weeks. So of course they were talking about their plans.

Price had promised Kyle to show him his cabin by the lake and nobody commented on the faint blush under his beard or how Kyle's touch lingered a bit longer than usual. To be honest Soap and Ghost were betting on who would catch the kissing first.

Ghost didn't have plans so he was actually contemplating taking Soaps offer to stay at his house for a while.

"Honestly, ye should see what ma bonnie made of that place. Real cozy now." Soap was talking away, not noticing the other three staring at him.

"Come again? Your whatnow?" Asked Kyle.

"My Bonnie? The missus? Ma wife? You forgot about my wife?" Johnny seemed to be undecided whether to be angry or confused.

"Soap... You never told any of us. You mentioned a bird now and then. You mean to tell us it was the same one the whole time? You been stable? Since when?"

Now that made Soap think. "Ah mean.. known her forever. Stable for some years now, as stable as we can be. Proposed last summer we just didn't get around actually speaking the vows." He looked a bit sheepish. "Ah never told you? Sure 'bout that?"

Price didn't know how to react, other than: "You better marry her as soon as you are in the same country. If she hasn't left you by now she will never and you need to make sure the paperwork is all set up, just in case."

"And you should probably introduce us, so she won't be scared if one of us appeared on your doorstep." Kyle added.

"Actually, we can do that right now, we have a satellite connection."

Johnny was still trying to remember if he really had forgotten to mention the most important person in his life to the other most important people in his life, so he just acted on autopilot when Kyle shoved a tablet in his hands, starting a video call.

They all gathered around the screen, watching as the lights flickered and a disheveled face came into view, round face, sleepy eyes, hair sticking in every direction.

"Tha' you babe? You alive?" Johnny immediately had a smile plastered on his face. "Alive and kicking, didn't even get shot. Listen, sorry I woke you, wasn't my idea. But remember we planned our wedding to be with all friends and family and my captain could stand in for you dad since he is not invited and all and. Maybe I forgot to tell them.. about you.. like.. ya ken?" He sounded not as nervous as someone should sound who forgot his fiancé as soon as he was away.

You just blinked. "Johnny... Are you serious?" It was hard to tell if you were angry or not. "Okay, I just want to know: Did you forget because you already did it in your head or because you forgot to remember?"

"Bit of both? Bit like you forgot to tell your sister." Johnny admitted, grinning.

You giggled "Oh that was fun. Well, when she talked to me again. Oh, I should call her." You got up, apparently already forgetting you were on a call, looking for something. They could see your bedroom, organised chaos, plants, some pictures of Johnny, all in all a cozy home.

"Have you seen my laptop?" You wondered, confused when you heard a snort from Ghost. "What.. ooh... Hi there. You must be Ghost, yeah? Good thing you wear that mask, I am terrible with faces. And you are Gaz, right? You're pretty. Johnny he is so pretty, why am I marrying you again?"

"Because you love me and nobody else can tolerate either of us so we are stuck with each other?" came the answer like a well used banter.

"True. I do love you. But I also haven't slept for two days because I was building something. A surprise. When are you home? Don't tell me, just text. Please. Bring the boys. Oh, Captain Price, could you marry us? Or is that just a Ship Captain thing? Might be, I never cared, but that would be very practical. Give me a week to get everyone together and we could have the ceremony in the backyard, I can wait with the new greenhouse, so we would have the space." You were making notes on something that looked like a pizza box, lost in thoughts already.

You seemed to have forgotten you were still on the call, writing down things. Until you heard Price laughing, unable to hold it in any longer.

"Oh, I drifted. Sorry, didn't take my meds, I promise I'm better at this when I sleep. So.. are you coming to the wedding or not? And bring my future husband with you, in case he forgets again."

You were not angry at all. One of the reasons they worked was that you never got angry with each other about stuff like that. You knew each other for too long to try and change or 'fix' the other. If there was a problem or hurt feelings you would address it and work on a solution.

Ghost just looked at Soap. "You really found that one girl with even less ability to focus, did ya?"

Johnny just nodded happily, "She is absolutely perfect."

[rosiesweets]

and i'd give myself to you (everytime) - one

synopsis: so turns out the way paige meets the love of her life is delirious at 1am standing in the front of some gaudy ass mansion. who would’ve thought.

a/n: thank you so much for the love on my prologue. my sweet little heart is bursting with love. kisses to each of you. i’m a little shy to respond to the anons in my inbox, but know that i read each one and smile. maybe one day i’ll get the courage. here’s part one. i’m fully aware the timing of this regarding the actual w season makes no sense but please suspend your belief for me thank you <3 not too long yet, we’re still in a place where short scenes make the most sense to me. once again, please share your thoughts, hopes, and dreams with me (about this fic or whatever else). xo, chiara

p.s. is now the time to admit i’ve never watched a full season of any bachelor franchise show?

p.p.s. in no way am i committing to any frequency of updates. please do not take any span of time i take in between them as precedent. apologies in advance. again i will return to edit when fuel returns to my brain.

-

and in your eyes i see forever (or something like that)

paige is going to kill dijonai carrington.

okay probably not, but she’ll switch all the caps on the lip liners or something of similar weight to the (natural) blonde. paige should be in her apartment in dallas right now taking a blissful break from going three years back to back in wnba and unrivaled seasons. paige already expended enough effort to last for months when making the decision to skip out on unrivaled this year. don’t get paige wrong, she loves basketball. she wants to be playing twenty-four seven. but she knows her body. knows the signs of when her knee is feeling more than just regular wear and tear. she wants to play everyday, but she wants to play for a long time more. so she’s making the smart (ridiculously painful) decision to skip unrivaled in pursuit of a basketball career that lasts until her forties.

so someone please explain to her how instead of laying on the couch (or on some beach in the carribean) she is sitting in a limo by herself, in a suit too hot for la in june, waiting for three hours to meet some girl from maryland that dijonai won’t stop calling the people’s princess.

she’s alone because the producers told her she had a “special spot” in the line up or whatever that meant. she surely does not feel special being forced alone with her thoughts instead of distracting herself by meeting five other people who she’ll have to share a bathroom with soon. she’s just here, sitting on squeaky leather twiddling her thumbs because she refused the prop the producers repeatedly tried forcing upon her.

(eventually the producer, some girl named caroline, holding a basketball out to her quickly put it down when met with glare from paige’s ice blue eyes. there was going on national television and there was going on national television looking like a loser in the first ten seconds. paige didn’t need a prop, have you seen her jawline? she’ll walk out, give the girl a crooked smile bordering on smirk, lean in close enough to let her cologne linger and let the rasp of her voice as she says hello do the rest.)

the creeping dread of having to spend the next five to eleven weeks (let’s be real paige is not getting eliminated before week five at least) living with thirty people she doesn’t know and competing for the attention of this one girl is starting to set it in. and in her stomach there’s a feeling of more than just the typical “i’m going on national television” nerves. paige has never really needed to compete for attention before. she just always had it. on the court, in the bar, literally just standing on the street.

and paige doesn’t think she’ll fade in the background or anything but it’s still a new sensation. the knowledge that azzi doesn’t have to ever make eye contact with her. that she’ll have to scheme and smile better than the others whose entire brands rely on this working out for them.

on the other side of the nerves is guilt. paige isn’t really here to find love. she’s here to take the w, and the dallas wings, to potential new group of fans (the middle of a venn diagram between gays and people who love reality tv). paige wants women’s basketball to grow into something the world never expected. wants college park, and maybe one day american airlines center, to be packed every night. so she’s here. after one too many dirty shirleys while listening to dijonai convince her to spend her break on reality tv so not only this girl azzi, but america can fall in love her, and eventually women’s basketball.

but it feels wrong. to participate in the objectification of this clearly earnest (and stunning, paige has watched the tik tok compilations) girl. paige can’t really fathom it. how a girl so beautiful could be driven to find love like this. this insane spectacle. full of people who surely do not actually want to marry her, cameras around twenty-four seven, and the decision of a lifetime being made on merely hours with someone when you think about it. a person like that, has to in some ways hate herself no? to put herself at the center of a circus and beg for love. and paige knows she’s the one competing, but really is the bachelorette not the one asking america to validate that she’s lovable enough for thirty random people to compete for her? to be so unsure of yourself that you put yourself in a situation where you’re guaranteed for someone to pick you at the end? paige thinks a life like that must be lonely. and the guilt simmers stronger.

but paige swallows it. this girl an adult. she knows the game, the premise. she’s been given scouting report. paige won’t infantilize her with pity because she doesn’t understand how anyone could do this. azzi will be engaged to a random person at the end of this. and will probably be humiliated six to eleven months later when they “amicably split.” but that’s her choice. azzi gets to write her love story this way. on the other side paige will be charismatic and fun, but aloof enough to not trust forever in. she’ll walk away bringing new people to the game. and hopefully be remembered as unproblematic and a little goofy.

so paige sits. and sits. and sits. holy shit why did no one tell her that filming each episode took over ten hours. she has heard the same door open, the same heel or loafer click along the fake cobblestone enough to decide perhaps getting blown out by thirty in game three of the playoffs to the indiana fever of all goddamn teams, actually wasn’t that bad.

finally. after what feels like and is actually hours later. while paige is starving, slightly sweating, and so ready to go to sleep, the knock on her door comes. it’s her time. as she opens the door she thinks perhaps she should’ve rehearsed or prepared something to open with. something cool and memorable, just slightly cringe but it’s paige so it’s not really. oh well. she trusts her years of cd media training will carry her through.

she holds her hand over the single button of her blazer to keep its closed as she steps out. she’s gone with something simple yet still a statement. all black louis vuitton, black gems on the lapels. a moment of perfectly understated glamour. no shirt underneath. rings across her fingers. nails black and short. she knows what she looks like.

she looks up to meet azzi’s eyes and fuck.

paige has seen beautiful things before. the basketball as it swishes through just at buzzer. paige has seen beautiful girls before. some in her dms, some bold as they come up to her in bars and coffee shops. paige has seen this beautiful girl before. in photos as dijonai swiped through a haphazardly made power point titled “paige bueckers: bucket and now soon to be bachelorette contestant please it would be sooooo fun and funny.”

but nothing could have prepared her for this. azzi is so beautiful. paige knew this. was prepared for her wide eyes, deep dimples, and cheekbones. what knocks her out is the smile azzi has on she meets paige’s eyes. lips full, bunny teeth just catching the bottom one swiped with sheer gloss. paige has never seen a smile like this. pure and warm and perfect.

paige doesn’t remember walking up to azzi. doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around her shorter frame in a quick hug. paige doesn’t remember taking her hands in hers. all paige senses are soft palms and the slightly sweet scent of warm vanilla. and suddenly without her consent the words slip out of her mouth, “wow wore my favorite color just for me?”

literally paige needs to be sedated. because why the fuck did she just say that. this isn’t even about her. of course she says something the stupid big head athlete would say. she sounds like a guy. fuck the bar was so low and she still fucked it up.

before her thoughts can spiral even worse something cuts through. azzi laughs. and not to be hyperbolic or anything but paige’s world lights up. of course the most perfect mouth she’s ever seen lets out the sweetest laugh she’s ever heard. paige smiles. not the cocky one she had before. genuine. it takes up her whole face without her asking. azzi’s (surprisingly deeper than expected) voice returns “your favorite color is lavender?” and paige quickly goes “what? surprised?” azzi intertwines their fingers, shifting their hands from laying softly on top of each other grasping palms to fingers locked (and holy shit paige hasn’t felt this way from a girl merely holding her hand since she was fourteen), “honestly, yeah. you look like someone that would like something darker. bolder.” paige lets out a quick “i think you’ll be surprised by my depth princess," surprised by the small percentage of her brain still functioning enough to speak. “i guess i’ll look forward to being surprised by you then.” knowing her thirty seconds is probably up paige decides to leave it on, “i guess you will.” with a squeeze of azzi’s hands paige lets her smile grow even wider if possible and turns to make her way with the other contestants.

as she walks up the path to the mansion something in her mind shifts. and well shit. paige should’ve known. there’s never been a competition she didn’t want to win.

[stlllle]

Headcanons: What It’s Like Dating Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: angst, possessiveness, protective façade, soft moments and a very peculiar sense of humor.

Author's notes:

"I like to think that being in a relationship with Thanos would feel like this. Am I wrong? Maybe. Do I care? Not at all! (Honestly, everything I post is just silly little daydreams from my head 😛)

Anyway, if this made you smile, feel free to check out my masterlist! And if you ever feel like it, my requests are open too 🙂 (just don’t forget to read the rules before sending something!)

Masterlist –[link]

---

In the beginning:

He’s not easy to get close to. The kind of guy who’s always watching his back, guarded, intimidating without even trying.

You’d have to push a few times, tease him, start random conversations. He’ll pretend not to care… but he does.

Once he realizes you’re genuinely into him — not out of pity, not for gain — he starts to lower his walls.

Your first kiss happens after a stupid argument, where he grabs your wrist, mutters “Fuck, you drive me insane” and crashes his lips to yours without a warning.

---

His personality in the relationship:

Jealous. Very. The kind of jealousy that doesn’t show in tantrums but simmers under the surface, and if some other guy dares to look at you, his brain is already listing 50 ways to end him.

He’s not the type to say “I love you” all the time, but he shows it: fixing your coat, buying your favorite snack without a word, or pulling you close while walking through the streets.

His humor is dark, sarcastic. He’ll call you names affectionately just to get a reaction.

He hates showing weakness — but when you’re alone, he melts.

---

Private moments:

Loves spooning when you sleep together, but you better never mention it to anyone.

When you’re anxious or upset, he doesn’t know how to comfort with words. So he just sits next to you, holds your hand, runs his fingers through your hair in silence.

Low-key affectionate gestures — like stroking your palm with his thumb when no one’s watching.

His kisses are possessive, always like he’s trying to brand you, needing to prove you’re his.

---

Things he does but won’t admit:

Keeps your pictures saved on his phone.

Watches you sleep and sometimes smiles, but if you catch him, he’ll turn away and grumble “Stop staring, fuck.”

Gets irrationally angry when you’re hurt or sick, like he could protect you from the entire world.

Secretly imagines a future — a small house, just the two of you away from everyone.

---

If someone messes with you:

This man turns into a storm.

It doesn’t matter if it’s verbal or physical, he’ll deal with it immediately.

His glare alone is enough to make people shut up, but if needed, he’ll get physical.

And afterward, he’ll scold you too, like: “Are you insane? Don’t get involved with assholes like that!” — while checking if you’re okay.

---

If you fight:

He’s stubborn and hot-headed.

Will say harsh things in the heat of the moment and regret it hours later.

The type to apologize without words, showing up with your favorite snack or putting on your favorite movie, sitting next to you until you give in.

If you cry, he breaks immediately and feels like shit.

---

In the end:

Loving Choi Su-bong isn’t easy. He’s rough, aggressive, proud. But he’s the kind of man who’d protect what’s his until the very end.

Deep down, all he wants is a safe place to exist — and you become that place.

He’s chaos and home at the same time.

📖🔥 NSFW Headcanons: What It’s Like to Fuck Choi Su-bong (Thanos)

Content: explicit language, rough sex, possessiveness, jealousy, marking, light choking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, primal vibes, rough aftercare.

⚠️ Warning: This is explicit smut content. If you're underage or uncomfortable with possessive and rough themes, skip this one.

---

The Build-Up:

He’s not the type for romantic candlelight setups. Most of the time, it starts with tension — heavy looks, sharp words, a fight, or jealousy.

--

He loves when you snap back at him, it gets him hard instantly.

That “don’t fucking talk to me like that” turns into “come here and say that again” real fast.

--

He’ll corner you against a wall, one hand on your jaw, voice low and dangerous:

“Say it again. I fucking dare you.”

--

And you both know where it’s headed.

---

The Sex:

Rough. Desperate. Unapologetic.

He fucks like it’s a war — like he needs to leave you shaking, marked up and ruined so you’ll remember who owns you.

Loves hair pulling. Neck biting. Pushing you down onto the mattress and taking what he wants.

His favorite thing? Making you beg. Doesn’t care how tough you act, he’ll break you down, whispering in your ear:

“Look at you, begging for my cock. Knew you’d fold for me.”

Low, growled moans and filthy words in your ear.

---

Favorite Positions:

Doggystyle, no question.

Loves gripping your hips so hard it leaves bruises, pulling you back against him, watching the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

Also loves you riding him — watching you take him, controlling the pace, hands on your waist, murmuring “That’s it, baby. Take it like a good girl.”

On rare nights when he’s softer (but still possessive), missionary. Holding your face, staring into your eyes while he fucks you deep.

---

Jealousy and Marking:

If someone flirts with you? You’re not walking straight the next day.

Will bite, suck, and scratch you until you’re covered in marks — shoulders, thighs, neck, inner thighs.

And he makes you show them off.

“Pull your shirt down. Let them see who you belong to.”

Possessive growls when you moan his name. Nothing makes him come harder than hearing you scream “Su-bong” while falling apart for him.

---

Aftercare (His Way):

He’s not good with words but takes care of you.

Gets you water, cleans you up, holds you close afterward, even if he pretends it’s nothing.

Runs his rough hand through your hair, brushes kisses on your temple.

Grumbles if you say you’re sore, but secretly loves it.

“Told you to be careful, brat.” — while pulling you tighter against him.

---

Extra:

Obsessed with cumming inside you.

“You’re mine. All of you. Inside and out.”

Gets harder when you talk dirty back — it triggers something primal in him.

Will absolutely fuck you against a wall, in a car, wherever. He doesn’t care.

If you ever tease him in public, expect to be wrecked the moment you’re alone.

---

[arabella0001]

He runs his fingers through your hair. The scabs are from getting hit in the head hard enough to bleed but not enough to bleed through your hair so no one would have noticed you were injured if you didn't tell anyone.

The idea is that you got hurt and decided it wasn't important enough to tell your boyfriend even though head injuries can be really dangerous.

You were hurt and either didn't think your pain was important enough to address or thought he wasn't safe enough to go to for help.

I think that uncertainty would be a fun flavor of angst to play with.

featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky, Ranpo Edogawa, Chuuya Nakahara, Osamu Dazai, Doppo Kunikida, Yukichi Fukuzawa, Atsushi Nakajima, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Sakunosuke Oda, Ango Sakaguchi, Sigma

cw: fluff, angst if you squint, dark humour, slight suggestive at fyodor

first time writing bsd characters(except that dazai oneshot)

✧ OSAMU DAZAI

Dazai probably wouldn’t say anything at first. His elegant fingers would linger just a moment longer over your injuries, catching even the slightest of your reactions. Sometimes you read together, and you hadn’t realized his habit of stroking your hair would eventually give you away.

He’d catch you off guard that day, at a moment you weren’t expecting—with sarcasm and a glint of playfulness in his eyes.

“Didn’t know I finally found someone to commit double suicide with.”

Your eyes widened as you processed the meaning, scrambling for a justification, but he cut you off, cornering you with that quiet yet overwhelming presence. His usual smirk remained, but it was laced with gravity.

“Don’t ever hide things like that from me again.”

⸻

✧ CHUUYA NAKAHARA

You and Chuuya share a tumultuous relationship. You often get on each other’s nerves, but the love is equally intense. Loyal, protective, yet at times too volatile—hence the frequent quarrels.

A deadly combination.

Now that he knows you, he couldn’t truly live without you anymore. Technically, he could, but he would rather not risk being alone again.

From the very beginning, he disagreed with you going on a mission solo. But after relentless persuasion on your part, he relented. He didn’t want you to think he doubted your competence.

You had barely stepped through the door when he started inspecting you, head to toe.

“Chuuya, what the fuck, man?!”

“Shut up.”

You tried to shove him away, but eventually just sighed and let him work. His touch was delicate, almost reverent like he didn’t want to find anything, yet couldn’t stand the thought of you being in pain.

Betrayal. That’s what he felt.

“Really, Y/N?”

He turned away sharply, tossing his leather jacket onto the bed and marching toward the medical kit.

“Chuuya, it wasn’t that bad! You didn’t expect me not to fight back?”

“I knew you shouldn’t have gone alone! I don’t understand why they keep assigning you without me!”

“CHUUYA!”

A tear brimmed in your eye and that fierce look in his gaze dissolved, softening into guilt and sorrow. He came to you, pulling you into a quiet embrace, speaking against your hair.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just…”

You knew his mind had spun out with worst-case scenarios. You knew he was scared of what the future might hold.

“I know.”

“Let me take care of you.”

“Sure, mrs. doctor.”

You smirked at him, and he returned it, guiding you gently to sit so he could tend to your wounds.

✧ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY

Fyodor already knew you were hiding something the moment you returned from the mission he sent you on. He trusts your abilities—he wouldn’t have risked your life otherwise. You’re one of the few people whose life he’d place above his own objectives.

So when he handed you a glass of wine after thoroughly thanking you for your efforts, he deliberately avoided touching the wounds on your head when he slowly stroked your hair, suspecting they were something you wouldn’t admit.

He knows you’re strong, and he knows you wouldn’t easily betray yourself. But your breathing had become too steady, your body language too rehearsed.

“My love, it seems these missions agree with you too much, no?”

You laughed. Barely. There wasn’t much to deflect with yet.

“Well, when I know what’s waiting for me at home… what do you think?”

You were clever enough not to look him in the eyes, but his fingers gently tilted your chin upward. His false smile mirrored your own.

“Why wouldn’t I spoil my loyal and transparent partner?”

Your grin faltered. You hated when he caught you like this.

“How long have you known?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Since then?” You nearly rolled your eyes. “Of course. I didn’t hide it. It wasn’t serious. That idiot just—”

His grip tightened slightly.

“Try again.”

Those hypnotic eyes made you swallow hard.

“I won’t hide anything ever again.”

“Good girl.”

⸻

✧ RANPO EDOGAWA

Despite his brilliance, Ranpo acts like a spoiled child at times. He was already annoyed after you sent him to the store three times today. He loathes routine errands.

His boredom evaporated, though, when he noticed your odd behavior after returning homeș the way you exited the bathroom in a mild panic, like you’d been caught doing something. You had been: disinfecting your wounds before he could see them. But he didn’t know that. Not yet.

Your behavior was out of character, far too open for someone trying to hide something. Normally, he’d never need to use his “ability” on you. But this time, he was far too intrigued.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, baby?”

Your voice trembled slightly as you tried to breeze past him, but he caught your hand and looked at you.

“Nothing.”

He started tickling you as a distraction, until you were gasping with laughter, trying to push him off.

You smelled like disinfectant.

That night, while you braided your hair before bed—your usual routine—he asked,

“Want me to do it?”

“Ha-ha, funny Ranpo.”

“I’m serious, baby. My last ounce of energy is for you!”

“Lazy ass. No thanks.”

“Really????”

His exaggerated whining made you roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine!”

He pretended to understand what he was doing, braiding gently until his fingers started brushing areas they shouldn’t have. You suddenly seized his hand. Your eyes locked.

“You did this on purpose. All day.”

“Bingo.”

His eyes were deadly serious. You weren’t used to that from him. With others, he minded his own business, but with you? Clearly not.

“I’m sorry, baby…”

He nodded once in forgiveness. And then, finally, you told him everything—and promised it wouldn’t happen again.

⸻

✧ SAKUNOSUKE ODA

Oda is a gentle, empathetic man with a strong sense of justice. So you can imagine how he reacted mentally the moment his hand brushed your injury while gently stroking your hair. He’s the kind of lover who evaluates a situation from every angle before speaking. When his touch stilled and his eyes widened, fixed on you, you knew you’d slipped up.

“Oda, baby, I can explain—”

“Please do.”

He’d be disappointed in your decision to hide it, but he wouldn’t hold it against you for long. Still, he wouldn’t want a repeat. You loved him too much to see that worried expression on his face again, or to watch him meticulously tend to every wound afterward, silently determined to restore what was missed.

⸻

✧ ANGO SAKAGUCHI

Ango often presents as calm and composed, but you know he’s far more intricate than the world sees and you love him for that. His true thoughts can be hard to decode at times.

He noticed your injuries in the morning but didn’t immediately address them. Instead, he brushed the hair from your face, revealing a hidden wound, likely not the only one.

Your sleepy voice stirred at his touch.

“Ango?”

He said nothing, waiting for you to fully wake. His expression gave away nothing, but the intensity in his gaze said everything.

“Morning, baby.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Eventually, later that day, you confessed. Cornered by that memory and his unrelenting stare. He knew your nature and didn’t blame you, but let’s just say a discreet tracker somehow ended up sewn into your clothes during your next mission.

⸻

✧ RYUUNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA

Despite his ruthless, detached exterior, Akutagawa masks a raw, emotionally charged core. He’s fiercely loyal, intensely protective, and entirely devoted to you. Expecially if he wasn't the one who got to protect you. He should've been the first of defense.

That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be furious upon discovering you were hurt and hadn’t told him.

“What the fuck is this, Y/N?”

“I just hit my head, Akutagawa. It’s not that serious—”

“Do I look like an idiot to you? Is that what you take me for? Who did this to you?!”

⸻

✧ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA

Atsushi is known for his altruism and his tendency to put others before himself—even at his own expense. Still, He’s a bit unsure of himself sometimes.

So imagine his panic when his fingers brushed against your hidden injuries.

He spoils you with so much affection that you tend to curl up in his arms and forget about the world’s problems. You swore under your breath, realizing you hadn’t concealed yourself well enough.

You knew what would follow. And maybe it would’ve been better not to hide it at all, because it only made things worse.

He leapt off the couch in a frenzy, completely derailed from the movie you were watching.

“Y/N?! What happened? When? Why didn’t you tell me?! Who did this?! Do you think I wouldn’t have been there?! What did I do wrong?!”

⸻

✧ DOPPO KUNIKIDA

Doppo is a disciplined, composed man. Stoic on the outside, renowned for his meticulous organization and strict adherence to routine, even in your day-to-day relationship. He likes to plan every shared moment and takes pride in easing your burdens. His love language is likely acts of service. Still, behind that rigor lies a profound affection. In truth, you might be the person he loves most in the world.

He’d feel immediately betrayed and also deeply guilty. It had been one of the rare days when you declined to bathe with him, knowing how much he cherished the routine of caring for you, washing your hair with tender precision. But when he later heard a quiet hiss escape your lips from a wound—albeit not open—it became clear you’d hidden something from him. That hurt. Deeply.

“I’m so sorry—Damn! I didn’t know! Why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? Am I not good enough for you?”

⸻

✧ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA

Similar to Doppo in many ways, he’s serious, composed, and rooted in discipline. He prioritizes the safety and well-being of those in his care, and remains level-headed even under pressure. Yet beneath that composure, there is warmth—and with you, a quiet devotion.

You are one of his life’s priorities.

He wouldn’t see it as a betrayal. He rarely assumes someone’s behavior is a reflection of him personallyș instead, he looks inward first.

He noticed something was off the moment you tried to redirect his hand when he reached to stroke your hair. You never do that.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Why would my wife feel the need to conceal something from me?”

He’s always given you space and respected your privacy—but your eyes betrayed you. The guilt was unmistakable.

You felt awful and apologized immediately, though he had already forgiven you the moment he saw the truth. He believes you when you say it won’t happen again.

⸻

✧ SIGMA

Sigma might appear confident and self-sufficient, someone who prefers working solo. But he harbors insecurities like anyone else, especially in relationships. Even though he knew it was selfish, his first thought was whether you didn’t trust him to protect you.

But the two of you knew each other too well. Many words weren’t always necessary to explain what the other needed the most to hear.

When his hand found the wounds on your scalp, he said nothing, waiting until you spoke.

“Baby, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to worry you. I know you would’ve protected me if you were there, but I handled it. You didn’t know, and that’s okay. I’m sorry I kept it from you. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s alright, my love. I understand you didn’t want to make me anxious. But it’s normal for me to worry because of how I feel about you. I’m just glad you know I’d protect you with everything I have. And I know you’d do the same.”

credit for the devider: @uzmacchiato

[kxsagi]

Whoever you like with a reader that never shares stuff about their life? Specially big things, and it's not like they're hiding it, they just don't think it's a big of a deal.

(This is me btw I forgot to tell my friend that I moved countries like five months out.)

“𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩”

a/n: lore drop of the day from me!!! my card got stuck in the fuckass ATM machine 😀🔫

but forgetting to tell your friend you moved countries five months later is crazy 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, niko ikki, barou shoei, otoya eiya, itoshi sae, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

this man is a chronic over-sharer, so when he finds out you've been dropping life-changing events like candy in a trail behind you, he’s disturbed. 

you told him you got into a new university in another city like three months after you started attending. he thought you were still commuting from your old apartment. 

“wait, what do you mean you don’t live there anymore??” 

he starts keeping a mental checklist every time he sees you: are you still in the same timezone? do you still have a cat? are your parents still alive? are you married now??? 

once he finds out you were hospitalized for a whole weekend and didn’t tell anyone, he puts you in a groupchat titled “yo tell us if you die.” 

itoshi rin

rin thinks you are hiding something, not because you act suspicious, but because who forgets to tell someone they got a new sibling??? 

he asked how your weekend was and you casually went, “oh yeah, my mom had a baby. it was chill.” and now he’s staring at you like you just admitted to committing a felony. 

he gets irritated on principle because you’re so calm about it. “you don’t think a new family member is worth mentioning?” “i mean, i wasn’t the one giving birth. i just held the baby.” 

he now interrogates you once a week. you sit there sipping your drink like you’ve done nothing wrong. 

weirdly, he finds it kind of hot. “how are you always so unbothered.” bro is suffering internally. 

kaiser michael

actually finds your behavior hilarious. he thinks you’re a walking enigma and he loves it. 

when you randomly mentioned your ex-boyfriend from three years ago that he never knew existed, he blinked like a cat who just got splashed with water. “wait. you dated someone for two years? and never said anything?” “well it’s not like it’s relevant anymore.” 

from then on, he tries to bait you into revealing more forgotten lore. 

“so when were you planning on telling me you speak fluent german?” “i forgot.” 

he is now 45% in love with you and 55% afraid you’re part of a secret agency. 

nagi seishiro

he didn’t even notice at first because he also forgets basic facts. 

you once told him you dropped out of college and he just went, “huh. sick.” 

but then months later, he asked what class you were taking, and you blinked. “i dropped out, remember?” 

he did not remember. 

“why don’t you tell people things?” “i do. you just weren’t listening.” 

he starts asking questions like “so are you still… in japan?” and you just shrug. 

starts writing down your life updates in his notes app. it’s like a patchy wiki page. 

shidou ryusei

thinks you’re insane. but also kind of respects it. 

he’ll hear you casually mention that your apartment burned down last year and he’s like “WAIT BACK UP. WHAT?!” 

your lack of reaction makes him spiral. “do you have no emotional attachment to anything??” “no i just moved on. i got a new place. the new one has a bidet.” 

now he asks every time he sees you: “so. did you lose a limb recently? join a cult? are you wanted in another country? blink once if you’re on the run.” 

and you’ll just laugh and say “oh yeah i got hit by a cyclist last week.” 

he’s never felt more unhinged in his life. also? he’s obsessed. 

niko ikki

he thinks he’s going insane. because you’re so normal until you drop things like “my parents divorced two years ago” during lunch like it’s the weather. “... you’ve never mentioned your dad before.” 

“he lives in canada now.” “WHAT??” 

he starts journaling just to process your conversations. 

thinks maybe you just don’t trust people, but when he gently brings it up, you’re like “oh no i just forgot.” 

he now feels like an investigative journalist trying to piece together your life from fragments. 

still doesn’t know what city you live in. 

barou shoei

takes it personally. 

when you mentioned in passing that you moved to another continent without saying anything, he just glared at you like you kicked his dog. “you moved?! why didn’t you tell me?” “i thought i did. didn’t i?” you did not. 

he’s baffled by how little importance you put on what he considers life-changing events. 

but over time, he stops getting mad and just starts sighing. 

“just tell me next time, alright?” “of course! … oh, did i tell you i got a new job?” “YOU WHAT–??” 

otoya eita

is fascinated by you. like a bug in a glass. 

he’s incredibly nosy and loves drama, so when you offhandedly mention, “i accidentally got engaged once,” he almost chokes on his drink. “babe. what??” 

now he pesters you constantly just to see what forgotten gem will fall out of your mouth. 

“did you ever commit a crime?” “does trespassing count?” “oh my gosh i’m dating a criminal.” 

he finds it thrilling. your mystery is his favorite thing. he even calls it your “girlboss lore drops.” 

itoshi sae

the first time you casually mentioned that you used to live in spain, he actually froze mid-sentence. “wait, you lived in spain??” “yeah. like three years ago.” 

slowly realizes you just… don’t share things unless asked directly. but not out of secrecy, it’s because you literally don’t see it as a big deal. 

“why didn’t you tell me?” “you didn’t ask.” 

his eye twitched. it lowkey frustrates him because he wants to know everything about you, but you’re out here forgetting you changed citizenship. 

he starts asking follow-up questions for everything. “what’d you do today?” “oh nothing. just mailed a few boxes.” “boxes for what.” “for the visa stuff.” “visa???” 

eventually, he softens. now he just tucks your little lore drops into his mental folder of “reasons i love her (even if she’s insane).” 

still mildly stressed 24/7 though. 

karasu tabito

he thought you were messing with him the first time it happened. 

“wait, back up, you’ve been to five continents?” “yeah.” “why the hell didn’t you ever say that?” “you never asked.” “do i have to interrogate you?? are you secretly in witness protection???” 

once you told him you were trilingual midway through ordering food and he just stared at you, stunned. “oh my gosh, you’re a menace.” 

but also? he thinks it’s hysterical. 

“i bet you wouldn’t even mention it if you were dying.” “depends. is it serious or like. manageable.” “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??” 

this man now treats you like a human puzzle. he keeps tabs. he tries to guess what you’re going to forget to tell him next. 

your friendship is now built on a mix of feral banter and him dramatically gasping every time you accidentally drop major life news like “btw i used to do fencing in high school.” 

he’s hooked. like a reality show. 

“stay tuned next week when she reveals she once survived the bubonic plague and forgot to mention it.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mingiswow]

Cold Hands, Warm Heart | Jeong Yunho

Pairing: vampire!Yunho x afab!reader

Genre: modern fantasy, romance, angst, smut (MINORS DNI)

Word Count: 10,2k

Summary: Your boyfriend disappeared, your family disowned you and your lost your job, all in a few months, you were in the deep end, what if a promise of money and good life turned everything upside down?

Content Warning: mentions of blood, mentions of food, drinking alcohol, feeding from humans, major (?) character death, murder, kidnapping (if you squint)

Smut warning: sweet kinda lazy love making in the morning, oral (reader receiving), fingering, PIV, unprotected sex (don't), multiple orgasms, big dick Yunho, sweet talker Yunho,

⚠️ English is not my first language, so sorry in advance if there’s any mistakes

The smell of food was all over your tiny apartment, the discarded packaging of takeout spread on your ground, on top of your table, on your sink. To say you were miserable was un understatement. 

Everything bad seemed to happen to you in the past months and you couldn’t seem to recover from it. You lost your dream job you worked years of your life to get just because of rumours one of your coworkers started, you family stopped talking to you because to them you were a failure, and to top it all your two-years boyfriend just vanished into thin air, no goodbyes, no closure, just disappeared. 

You were spread on the sofa, just contemplating what your life had turned in a matter of months when you noticed someone entering your apartment. 

“Jesus, yn! How are you living in this mess?” it was your best friend, Carmen, who happened to have a spare key. She struggled to walk over the boxes and bags spread over the ground. “Honestly, yn, are you still gonna be like this? You need to react, babes”

“I have no will to live, anymore” you stated as if you were saying 2+2=4. “Sometimes I wish a vampire would suck the life out of me” you sighed.

Vampires and humans have been living in peace for years now, each one in their own lanes. Humans wouldn’t hunt vampires if vampires wouldn’t hunt humans, it was a win-win. It was rare the occasions where the peace trade was broken, if so, a fee would have to be paid and one of theirs or one of ours would be sacrificed. As crazy as it sounds, the waiting list of people wanting to be sacrificed to vampires is long.

“You’re too dramatic sometimes” she rolled her eyes. “Get your ass up that smelly sofa, let’s clean this mess”

“I don’t want to” you mewled as she pulled you up. “I’m good like this”

“You can lie as much as you want, babes, but look at yourself and this trash of a place, you’re miserable” she accused.

And she wasn’t lying, yet it was easier to let yourself drown in your sorrows than accept defeat and try to move on. 

With a little convincing and a lot more threats from Carmen you finally got up from your spot on the sofa, a bent where you were laying for days now. She helped you clean your apartment, throwing the trash away, sweeping the dust, wiping the ground with a delicious smell you couldn’t recognize but you admitted that smelled much better than old takeout food. You took a long warm shower and even did your skin care, always with the attentive eyes of your friend watching everything to make sure you were doing it.

Within hours your apartment felt like a whole new place and you felt like a new person. Everything was so clean and smelled so nice, you were clean and put together, clean clothes that weren’t the same pajamas you’ve been wearing for the past weeks.

“Look at you” she grabbed you by your shoulders and made you give a full turn. “A new person is born today” you managed to giggle softly, the first time in months. “So I’m actually here because I have a proposal for you” you tilted your head, one eyebrow raised in confusion and curiosity. She guided you to sit back on the sofa, hands holding yours, her suspense making you nervous. “I have a way for you to get money”.

“It’s nothing illegal, is it?” you asked, skeptical of the way he was talking about it. She chuckled.

“No, it’s not” you exhaled deeply. “But it’s not the most legal either” you tilted your eyebrow at her, how something was legal and illegal at the same time? “You see, I have this friend who happens to be a vampire and he proposed to me to be his blood bag”

“His what?” you asked in disbelief.

“His blood bag, he’ll feed from me from time to time and in exchange he’ll pay me, not only that, he’ll take care of my health, making sure I’m healthy enough for him to feed from me. He’ll also pay some expenses for me, like groceries” you were in shock, no words left your mouth. “I know it’s a lot to take but it’s an easy way to get money besides my job, that you know that it barely cover my rent”

“But-but… this is against the peace trade, Carmen!”

“Well, technically it’s not,” she explained, “you see, we are both benefiting from the trade, we are both consenting adults, and we are both consenting to do this. He’s not harming me in any way”

“Besides the fact he’s taking liters of blood out of your body” you stated incredulously. 

“The blood regenerates, see this as a blood donation” she shrugged. “To be very honest, I’d never make that amount of money working full time in any job and it doesn’t hurt as much as I thought”

“You already did?”

“Yes” she showed you the healed scars on her forearm, the two dots barely visible on her skin. “There is a filthy rich guy looking for a donor, it’s up to you if you want to” you opened your mouth to speak but she cut you before you could do it. “Because I know you are very displeased with your job loss and won’t look for a job so soon, but don’t forget that money ends if you’re not earning any, and with the amount of takeout you are wasting I doubt there’s much left” you sighed, she was right. “Just… think about it, okay? It’s easy cash”

You nodded and she left your apartment, leaving you alone with your own thoughts on your empty apartment. You decided to go for a walk since you were dressed up, wanting to put your thoughts in place.

Near your place there was a beautiful park where you used to go for dates with your ex-boyfriend. The place was always full of life, the trees seemed to dance a beautiful waltz with the wind as the guide, the green of the grass always so lively with dogs and kids running around. You remember making plans with him of one day having your own kids running around that same park. “Let’s try with a dog first” he would say, he has always been scared of taking things too fast.

You walked slowly watching as life unfolded around you, the world still spinning while your life seemed to have stilled in place, stuck. As you walked you had the feeling of being followed but everyone around you appeared to be involved in their own lives and no one looked to be following you. You shook the feeling away and decided to grab an ice cream from the ice cream man that you used to always get with the man you once loved.

The dessert didn’t taste as you remembered but maybe the taste you remembered was laced with memories of you two together, happy, fulfilled, surrounded by your laughs and jokes. 

Your mind was flooded with memories and what your friend had told you. It was a taunting proposal. Easy money for the expanse of a few liters of your blood. But something inside you still held you, made you guess if that was the right choice, the right thing to do. Sure, nobody besides you, the vampire and Carmen would know you were doing this yet the fear of being caught made you nervous.

After a while contemplating your options and what you would do, you decided to go back home.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The night was cold, the wind blew violently as you walked beside your friend and her vampire sponsor, who you learned was called Wooyoung. The coat you were using didn’t seem to keep you from shivering, but you couldn’t figure if it was from fear, anticipation or cold. The man with you guided through the night to an unknown part of the town that seemed asleep. Everything was dark and the houses looked like they were empty, no lives within, no lights on. 

He took a turn left to a dark alley and you wondered if he wasn’t taking you to an ambush, but according to Carmen she already has been to this place. Wooyoung led you to an old decayed bar. The exterior of it didn’t do much to ease your nerves. When you entered the place it was empty except for a single man that stood in the farthest corner of the place. 

The three of you walked to the man that looked more like a wardrobe than an actual human of how big he was. Carmen showed her bite marks to the man that nodded once and let her walk past him. 

“She’s a newcomer, Angus, it’s her first time today” Wooyoung intercepted. “She’s going to meet Marcus”

“Oh so you’ll be Marcus lucky blood bag?” The man spoke, a smirk playing on his lips. “That man pays his donors very well, you’re a lucky one” you just smiled, not really sure how to react or to respond. 

The man let you pass through him and go down a staircase. Each step you took closer to where the real thing was happening, the more your heart hammered in your chest. You were doing this, you were really doing this. Half of you were afraid, scared, however, the other half was a little excited, anticipating what was about to come. 

The place looked like a bar, the lights were turned off except for a few red and purple neon lights that illuminate certain spots. There were people scattered around everywhere, some of them dressed as if they came out of a movie, others dressed casually, others dressed to impress, to show off their wealth, their bodies and their companions. It looked like a normal bar except for the fact it was full of vampires. 

You never have interacted with them before, not that you knew of, they lived among humans blended very well, their fangs hidden, their identities hidden most of the time. 

When you took the last few steps everyone seemed to be looking at you. Not just seemed, they were looking, staring at you with no shame. You saw some of the vampires luck their lips and a shiver of fear ran down your spine. Where were you putting yourself into? 

“Don’t worry, it’s just that you’re a new smell” Wooyoung whispered into your ears and grabbed both yours and Carmen’s hands into his. “Let’s search for Marcus, he’s prob-“

“Yunho?” You cut the man mid sentence when you saw him. 

You thought your eyes were deceiving you but when he turned and his eyes locked with yours, you knew it was him. He was there. You didn’t know how to react, what to think. The man you loved was there, standing meters away from you after months of disappearing. 

You couldn’t control your own movements, your feet moving faster than your mind could think. Or stop them. You stood in front of him and without thinking slapped him in the face. 

“I deserved that” he said, hand massaging his jaw. 

“How dare you disappear from my life like that? Without an explanation?” You screamed at him, tears starting to form at the bottom of your eyes. “Do you know how much I suffered? How much I’ve cried because of you? I thought you were dead!”

“But I am” he shrugged. “Well technically I am dead, but I’m alive as well” he sighed. “What I’m trying to say is that I couldn’t reach to you because someone turned me into a vampire and I didn’t know how to react, this whole thing is so new to me” he held your arms but you pushed him away. “I was afraid how you’d react, that you’d see me differently”

“Well, news flash, what you did made me see you way worse than if you just told me the truth” you were now crying, not worrying of who was seeing you or where you were. 

Yunho wanted to hug you, to bring you close to his body like he used to do when you cried to him. But he just stood there and watched you. Defeated. He knew he did you wrong but he was too afraid to scare you with the new him that he didn’t think he would hurt you by leaving you behind. He was selfish, he knew that, but what was done was done. 

You felt a presence by your side and a hand circled your shoulders. You looked to the side to find a tall handsome middle-age man. He held a winning smile, as if he knew the world was his. Your ex boyfriend bowed deeply at him. 

“Everything is fine, princess?” his voice was deep, sensual, velvety, it hugged you in the air. You nodded. “I hope I won’t have to punish you for making my new toy cry, Yunho” toy. You shivered at the way he called you. What an introduction to your sponsor.

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m sorry” Yunho bowed deeply again, gave you one last look, one you couldn’t decipher, and left. 

The man held your chin with the tip of his fingers and turned you to look at him, his red eyes watching you. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere more private, huh? So we can discuss our contract” you just nodded, his aura overwhelming you.

He guided you to the back of the bar where there were many booths that you assumed were for VIPs or feeding. A loud moan came from one of the booths, startling you. The man left a chuckle from your reaction and you felt your cheeks get hot. You were suddenly too aware of where you were, with who you were. You started to feel nervous all over again, your legs becoming weaker, your palms sweating and your heart thudding your chest making you alert of the fact you were, indeed, alive and with five liters of blood pumping through your veins in the middle of a bar with a bunch of hungry vampires. 

The booth was silent, a silent hum of the outside music being heard faintly in the background. Two big red purple velvet sofas displayed in the place, one in front of the other. The light was the same as the main bar, turned off except for some neon red lights across the ground and the ceiling. The small coffee table in between the sofas had two cups of what you assumed were champagne. 

The man guided you to sit on the biggest one of the sofas and handed you one of the cups. Even with your mind screaming for you not to accept a drink from a stranger, you took a sip, feeling too observed by the man’s eyes, as if you didn’t drink he was going to kill you right on the spot.

“So, yn, right?” you nodded. “What made you come to me? You don’t seem like someone I’d see around here” he took a sip of his own cup, his eyes always watching you attentively.

“I need the money” you admitted. “I recently lost my job and I couldn’t manage to get a new one and you know how the human world works, I need to pay my rent and my bills to live” he nodded, acknowledging your story.

“I see. I saw you weren’t one of those donors that come around looking for the fun or the thrill of it” he twirled his cup in his hand, eyes on the cup before going back to your face. “So you’re just looking for the money?” you nodded. “I get it. I thought we would get a little fun together” he smirked and you shivered, again aware that you were alone with this man. “Since you’re just looking for the money I think this will be easier for the both of us. You come here once every two weeks, every Friday, I feed from you, and I pay you. Simple”.

“Hm… If you don’t mind me asking, how much will you pay me?” he laughed humorously, his head falling back, your cheeks heating with shame.

“Don’t you worry, my darling, I’ll be covering more than you need, you’ll have money for rent, bills, grocery and to spoil yourself a little” you nodded and took another sip of the fizzy drink. “Do you mind if I spoil you once in a while?” you tilted your head in confusion. “I’m your sponsor, I want you to come here looking the finest, so I’m talking about clothes, shoes, day at a beauty salon, you name it, whatever you might want to get prettier than you already are” he extended his hand and touched your cheek softly, carefully. “You are mine now, I want you to look the best” you nodded, the place where he was touching you cold from his hand. 

“Do I need to come more days than the fridays every two weeks? There are any rules I need to know?”

“I’m glad you asked, my darling” he took the last sip of his champagne and rested his cup back at the coffee table. You copied him. “I already know you don’t have a boyfriend, and I won’t stop you from having one, however, I don’t want you getting involved with another vampire, got it?” you nodded. “When you come to see me, you must be by my side, you are my companion. You must eat properly so the blood doesn’t taste bad, so make sure to cook for yourself or order from healthy places, I have a few recommendations if you might need. You can’t have sex two to three days prior to donating as well” you nodded again. “I think that’s it. Any more questions?”

“Are you gonna feed from me tonight?” he smirked again, he had a beautiful smile, his plump lips curved so beautifully. You noticed he was a very handsome man, you weren’t blind. 

“Do you want me to drink from you tonight?” you felt your cheeks heat again, not knowing how to answer. Did you? You were curious, that was an understatement, but was nervous as well. “I can smell your anticipation from here, princess” he came closer, a shiver ran down your spine, both from his proximity and the cold emanating from his dead body. “I think you want this as much as I want” he leaned down, inhaling deeply from your neck. “You smell delicious, my dear, raw, sweet” you felt shy under his gaze and his words, he was charming, convincing. “Will you let me feed from you?” You slowly nodded before you could realize what you were consenting to, your curiosity getting the best of you, his aura and his cologne alluring you into his space.

He smiled largely, his white teeth and fangs showing. It was the first time you were seeing his fangs fully displayed, they looked sharp, deathly, ready to rag you in pieces if given the chance. Yet his touch on you was far from sharp, it was soft, feather-like. His arm circled around your waist and his hand rested there, holding you close to him. His other hand gently grabbed your arm and brought to his lips, where he gently kissed the skin, his cold lips making the pores bristle in contact with the warmth of your body. Then a sting. He had sunk his fangs mercilessly on your forearm, ripping the layers of skin until he found your vein. He started to suck the thick deep red liquid from you and your head fell backwards. The sensation overwhelming. So that was the thrill of it? You felt your whole body fall limp into his arms as he sucked more and more from you, moans of satisfaction leaving his body. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on staying awake, alive, but it was too much for you. 

Your mind started to stray, hazy from the blood loss. Then he was on your mind. His puppy-like smile and the memories from your life before. No. Daydreams from a future together. You two running together playing with a dog at the park near your apartment. Buying groceries together for your shared house. A playful montage that looked straight out of a 2000’s romcom. You smiled to yourself with the thought of a happy life along his side. And with that you fell asleep.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

You woke up dizzy and with a headache. Looking around trying to recognize the place you were in, suddenly the memories of the last hours came like a train to your mind. You tried to get up from the sofa but your whole body was weak, drained. 

“He left you here by yourself, huh?” his voice came from your side but you didn’t turn, no, you couldn’t, too weak, too ashamed, too overwhelmed with everything that had just happened. “He does that to all of his toys” the nickname again and a shiver ran down your spine. 

Yunho helped you get up and sit properly on the sofa and gave you a bottle of water. You two sat there in silence for too long for comfort. Yet neither of you seemed to want to talk.

“Why are you doing this?” he was the one who broke the silence, his voice low, measured.

You sighed.

“I lost my job, Yunho, I…” you felt your throat close from wanting to cry. But you held it. “I lost everything. After you left, a coworker started some rumors about me and escalated so fast, so big that I lost my job because of it. And I can't seem to get a job now and I don't know if I being paranoid or if they know what happened there and think it's true that they don't hire me anywhere else even if I'm the most competent for the job” you couldn't hold it, not when Yunho was looking at you with his eyes, always so full of emotions, always speaking volumes for him. You let your tears fall, you let your walls fall, that was what the man made to you, he always made your walls fall down. “And if it wasn't enough, my family stopped talking to me, you know we alway had a complicated relationship but after I lost my job they cut the ties completely, called me a disappointment, a loser. I was left with anything , Yunho” you hiccuped. “I had everything and in a matter of months I had nothing else”.

He couldn't handle seeing you like that, not when part of the blame was his. He held you in his arms, close, tight. His warmth was gone but his embrace was the same you could remember. You instinctively leaned your head in his chest, inhaling his cologne, his woody perfume that you oh so loved invaded your senses and made you feel at ease for the first time in months. 

You two stayed like that for a while, just the two of you, hugging each other, feeling each others’ body and smell. Yunho was killing himself inside for not trusting you enough that you would understand him and his new nature. Now he had lost you and he couldn't have you back. Not when you belonged to Marcus. 

You left his embrace, eyes red and runny nose. You wanted to stay in his arms forever yet the memories from the night before and your conversation with your sponsor came back to your mind like a flowing river. You were his now. You couldn’t engage in any type of relationship with any of the vampires. And judging by the way he had spoken to Yunho earlier the night prior, you could assume he was dangerous and I wouldn’t dare to play with him and his power.

“Thank you” you said, eyes low. “For the support. I need to go now”

“Do you need company?” he asked, truly worried about your state, Marcus probably drank too much from you. 

“No! I mean, I’m fine, I don’t want… trouble” he nodded and you managed to get on your feet, legs still a little wobbly but you could walk, at least until a spot you could call a taxi or something. “It was nice seeing you again, and, you know, knowing that you are at least alive”.

“I wouldn’t call myself alive, but it’s better than six feet under I guess” he chuckled. “I’m sorry again. For everything” he scratched the back of his neck. 

“I forgive you, no bad feelings” you smiled and turned your back to him, leaving.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Two weeks had passed since the first feeding, which meant it was time for you to go back to the bar. Marcus had sent you an astronomical amount of money, much more than you needed but you only thanked him, not wanting to sound ungrateful. You and Carmen had gone shopping a few days before to look for appropriate outfits for the night, she helped you since Marcus gave her direct instructions of how he wanted you to dress. 

You watched your reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing the person. You looked expensive, lavish. You never wore such expensive and fancy clothes, the cut was so well done and the fabrics were so soft that it seemed to hug your body. The pair of shoes you paired with the outfit matched perfectly with the whole vibe you were going for, shining in your feet. 

Marcus had sent a car to grab both you and Carmen, insisting it was dangerous for you to walk alone like that at night, even with Wooyoung’s presence. 

The bar was fuller that night. You felt a little overdressed when you went down the stairs but you remember this was for Marcus and not for yourself. Your eyes instantly met Yunho's, but he looked down quickly, probably not wanting trouble since the next second your sponsor was in front of you.

“You look absolutely ravishing, toy” he kissed the back of your hand and pulled your body closer to his, a gasp coming from your mouth. “Carmen did a good job making you the prettiest and most expensive companion of the night” he whispered in your ear. “I wanna show you off to everybody” he emphasized the last word and you knew what he meant. 

He circled your waist with his arm and guided you to one of the tables, Carmen joining you two after a while. One of the waiters brought cups of wine for you, and you bowed your head thanking him. You took a sip of the alcoholic drink, hoping it would ease your mind and nerves.

His arms never left your waist, holding you possessively. The man would once in a while nuzzle behind your ear, inhaling your scent and scrape his fangs slightly on your neck. He would whisper compliments laced with something more than just admiration. 

Ever since day one Marcus was obsessed with you, with your smell, with your looks, and now, more than ever, with your taste. He wanted you more than just a donor, more than just a blood bag. He wanted you by his side, as his companion, as his lover, as his mate, and he would do anything to have you just for him.

On the other side of the bar, watching the scene unfold and scared for you, was Yunho. He knew the man’s reputation of playing with his toys and throwing them away dead after he was tired. Yet, he sensed something different, something darker when it came to you. He observed the way Marcus would stare at you, his red eyes darkening, how he would hold you tight by his side, how he would put his body slightly in front of you whenever someone would stop by your table as if he was protecting you.

You never felt more uncomfortable in a setting before. The way your sponsor would hold you, touch you, smell you, it all made you sick in your stomach. He was marking his territory, you knew that. You also knew that you were his toy, his property now, and that made you feel a twist in your belly, a dizziness in your head, you were nothing but an object. 

“Are you ready, my dear?” Marcus asked, breaking you from your own thoughts. You nodded.

He led you to the back of the bar, the same booth from the other night. While on the way, your gaze caught Yunho’s. He could read you like the palm of his hand after years with you. He knew you. You lowered your gaze, not wanting to look at him any further or you might cry. 

You sat on the same sofa and handed your arm to your sponsor. He smiled at your pliance. But all you wanted was that to end as fast as possible. He grabbed your arm carefully, and like a ritual, he kissed your skin before sinking his fangs into it. He moaned between gulps, your head already starting to become dizzy from the blood loss.

The man had to take all his strength to stop sucking you at the right time. Your blood too addicting. He stopped and licked the wound clean, his saliva making the bleeding stop. 

You felt your body weak again, but better than the first time. Maybe you were getting used to it.

“I’ll have my driver take you back home, doll” he put a few strands of hair behind your ear. The act that was supposed to be sweet made you sick again. “Can you walk?” you lifted yourself with some difficulty and nodded.

He took you outside of the bar to the car. And before you could even enter the car, he pulled you back to him and kissed you. You did not respond to the kiss, shocked, paralyzed, disgusted.

“This is for them to know you’re mine” you looked to the side to see Yunho leaving the place with a couple of friends. 

You entered the car and let the tears fall down with no control, not caring if his driver was seeing you. You were feeling disgusting, dirty, used. Sure, it was an exchange, he would get your blood, you would get his money, but was this allowed? Wasn’t he overstepping boundaries? 

You cried the entire ride back home, questioning your choices in life. But you needed, you needed the money, you needed to pay your bills, and getting a job wasn't an option at the moment. You wondered what your old boss had told people for them not to hire you and your cry became stronger, hiccups leaving your lips. 

The driver dropped you home, not a word being exchanged, not even returning your ‘good night’. You went up to the floor of your apartment, your eyes glued to the ground until your vision noticed a pair of shoes right in front of the door of your apartment. Your eyes went up, following from the feet up until the face. Yunho. 

You both stood there, watching each other for a moment of silence, just the buzzing of the lights and the heaviness of your breathings being heard. Neither of you wanted to speak, about anything, because it would turn the situation real, more than it already was. 

You broke the silence with the tinkle of the keys opening the door. You entered but he stayed behind. Waiting for you.

“Do you wanna come in?” you asked and he opened a smile before entering the room. 

You sat on the sofa and he followed you, sitting by your side, keeping a safe distance. The silence took over the atmosphere between you two. But you didn’t need to talk. No. Yunho could read you, he knew you. You were distressed, pondering things in your mind, making an imaginary list of pros and cons in silence, just for you, like you always did when something bothered you. You were lost, not only in your thoughts, but in your feelings, the sensations you felt during the night. Yunho knew from day one you weren’t the person for Marcus, nor for anyone else. You loved to paint yourself as this strong independent person, which you were, when needed, but deep down you were just a fragile being, hurt by life and what it has turned to you.

Yunho came closer to you, bit by bit, not wanting to distress you any further, reading your reaction, but when you didn’t give any, he simply wrapped an arm around your shoulder and brought you to his chest. 

You accepted his care, his closeness, his silent love. Because you knew at heart that neither of you fell out of love. Despiste him disappearing, despiste your anger with him at the beginning, despiste your fear of him being dead, you still loved him, with all your heart. 

And you knew he loved you back when you turned your head to look at him and your lips touched.

It was shy at first, just muscles touching each other, no movement, just feeling that you were there. Real. 

He was the first one to move, to open his mouth and engulf your lips. And like it was your second nature, you took it, you accepted it, responded to it. His lips were cold yet soft against yours, moving just like you could remember, just like you dreamed on the nights he was absent. 

He moved one of his hands to grab your waist, squeeze the soft skin there, and the other to your face, holding you by your neck gently. Yours squeezed his strong arms, holding you grounded. 

His kiss was gentle, caring, full of unspoken words that none of you dared to say yet. He kissed you with intention. The way his mouth moved against yours was like it was made for it. Molded to perfection. To you and only you. 

He broke the kiss, to much your dismay, and joined your foreheads. He couldn’t breathe anymore but if he could, you were sure it would be as uneven as yours. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this” he said in a whisper, more to himself.

“You were the one who kissed me first” you chuckled lowly. “And also waited for me outside my apartment”.

He chuckled and nodded, giving you a quick peck before separating your foreheads. 

“Marcus will kill us if he found out”

“He doesn’t need to know” you said tentatively. “It’ll be our little secret”

“The man has ears and eyes everywhere, yn, it’s dangerous” he weighed and sighed. “God! It kills me, y’know? Seeing you with that disgust of a man and then when I saw him kissing you tonight I-I I couldn’t control myself, I almost went after him and ripped his throat” you nodded. For some twisted reason, the way he was speaking, with such anger, such determination, made a heat crawl down between your legs. You’ve never seen Yunho like this, so feral, so raw, he was always this gentle man. “I had to come see you and see if you were doing okay, I know you are doing this just for the money” you nodded, the gentle Yunho coming back.

“I’m a little shaken, not gonna lie, I don’t wanna go back there and see him again, but I can’t find a job and I need to pay my stuff and…” you sighed. “And he’s washing my hands pretty darn well. I need to endure this, at least a little more, until I can gather some money so I can move to a new city and try a new life, I don’t know”

“We can run away. Together” he gleamed, eyes shining with hope. “We can go away, yn, be together once again” 

“I-I don't know, Yun… I mean, I want to, but Marcus… And I don't want to put you in danger” he held your face between his hands.

“Don't worry about me, I can deal with that man, he might be powerful but he ain't strong” he smiled and left a peck on your lips.

“Yun… can you sleep with me tonight? Please?” you asked, eyelashes batting. “I'm still a little afraid” he smiled and nodded. 

The two of you went to your room and you gave him some of his old clothes that you still kept for God knows why. You went to the bathroom to change into your pajamas and when you came back he was already in the bed, his side of the bed, like the old times. 

Never in your most hopeful dreams did you think you'd see him back in your bed, laid so relaxed in his usual side of the bed, waiting for you, his signature warm wide smile in his face. You were definitely dreaming, and if you were you hoped nobody would wake you up.

“You're staring” he broke you out of your daydreaming, his smile turning into a smirk. You joined him in bed, head laying in his chest as he hugged you. “I missed being like this with you”

“Me too” you cuddled yourself more into his body as if he could disappear at any given moment. 

You two slowly slided into a laid position, his big body engulfing yours. With his smell invading your senses and his coldness contrasting with your warmth, you fell asleep like you haven't in ages.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The cold winter wind was blowing through the open windows, the curtains dancing with the breeze. Some of the yellow-orange rays of the sun that shined bright outside passed by the holes in your window. Your bodies sprawled on the bed, tangled together, legs intertwined, arms thrown over each other, your head on his chest.

Slowly you started to wake up, eyes lazy, breathing relaxed. You turned your head up, not leaving your spot entangled in his embrace, to look at his face, so peaceful as he slept, his eyes closed gently, a gentle small smile rested on his lips, almost playful.

“Like what you see?” he asked jokingly, his smile turning into a smirk, eyes opening to stare back at you.

“I like very much indeed” he leaned down to leave a peck on your lips. “Hm. I could wake up to this everyday” he nodded and you pecked his lips again.

He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you for a deeper kiss, making you sigh into the kiss, melting right into his lips and responding to him. It started slow, just the two of you enjoying each other's mouths, nothing rushed. His other hand slowly snaked down your body, stopping right on top of your bum, gently squeezing the soft skin there and earning a mix between a sigh and a whine from you. Yunho chuckled between the kiss, never breaking it.

The man decided to deepen it, slowly sliding his tongue inside your mouth, which you accepted gratefully. Finally he moved you from your position and stood on top of you, propping himself up with his hand and standing between your legs, never breaking the kiss. Your tongues danced together inside each other’s mouths, soft whines and low groans coming out of you two. 

His body was cold but the heat irradiating from you was undeniable and visible, the little whines coming from your mouth and the way your body would wriggle under his would only provoke him further, making him sink his lips into yours more and squeeze the skin of your waist tighter. 

Your hands adventured inside his shirt, feeling his tensed abs underneath your palms. He hissed, breaking the kiss and biting your lower lip, pulling it towards him before letting it go with a ‘plop’. You kept feeling his cold skin under your warm hands before moving back to the hem of the shirt and pulling it up, taking the item off, and revealing his well-built body. You felt your mouth water at the sight, his golden skin that you loved oh so much and his built physique were right in front of you again, all back to you, and it wasn’t a dream.

You pulled him back for another kiss, this time rushier, faster, hungrier, as if all the wasted time, all the time you were apart was being reclaimed. The previous dance of tongues became a fight for dominance, a fight for who would win each other’s heart and body back first. 

Yunho’s hands were all over your body, feeling it, squeezing it, memorizing it in case he happened to die again, this time for real. He lowered his mouth to your jaw, licking a stripe to your neck, before attacking the soft warm skin there, butterfly kisses being left there before they turned into sucks and hickeys, purple marks rising into your skin. He let his fangs came out and scraped them on your skin, leaving a little red path where they passed. At that point nothing but whines and sighs came out of your mouth, you were already lost in his arms, he knew you like the palm of his hand and the longing after all these months without each other.

His hands started to play with the hem of your pajama top and in a swift motion he took it off, leaving you bare in front of him, pulling out a soft gasp from you. He looked at your eyes searching from some sign of regret, but you just nodded, a slightly shy smile dancing on your lips. The man took no time before attacking your chest, mouth hungrily sucking one of your nipples while he played with the other with his hand. He sucked and licked the little nub, gently biting sometimes, his fangs scraping the skin, earning whines and moans from you.

“You look so beautiful like this, have I ever told you that?” you denied with your head, eyes hooded and dark from pleasure. “Then I’m telling you right now, you look gorgeous naked to me and by me, delivered to me, giving yourself to me so willingly” he raised his body until he reached your mouth again. “Even tho’ you are always gorgeous and beautiful” he kissed you again, hungrily. 

His right hand slid down your body to your pajama bottoms and entered it, finding no resistance from underwear, and cupped your sex, feeling the already wet sensation on your lower lips. A low rumble came from his chest within the kiss.

“You’re wet already, did I make you this horny, baby?” you nodded, biting your lower lip, not even hiding the state you were, all you needed was him and him only. “Good to know I still have this effect on you”.

He pulled your pajama bottoms down and took them off of you, leaving you completely naked, you shivered with the contact of your warm body with the cold wind coming through the windows. Yunho started to kiss down your body until he reached your vulva, licking a long stripe from bottom-up, collecting and spreading all your wetness. He repeated the action a few more times before focusing on your clit, circling the bud with his tongue and sucking it. 

All you could do was moan and call his name, back arching from pleasure. One of your hands gripping the sheets tightly while the other held his hair between your fingers, bringing his face closer to your sex and making him hum in satisfaction. He ate you like a starved man, slurping at your juices while his cock was incredibly hard inside his pants, aching in its confines. The man then joined his fingers to the fun, prodding at your hole before slowly entering with two of them in one go. 

“Yun-“ you moaned his name louder, back and head leaving the mattress in a sudden wave of pleasure. “I won’t last”

“‘S okay baby, give it to me” he kept moving his long fingers, curling them and hitting just the right spot. “Cum on my face and fingers” you moaned at his words. 

Yunho kept his crusade to make you cum from his fingers and mouth, sucking harshly on your clit and fucking you restlessly with his fingers. It didn’t take you much to come undone on his face, moans becoming almost high pitched screams as your legs shook and squeezed his face.

He lifted himself and took the remaining of his clothes and Lord! How you missed the sight of his big thick cock standing tall and hard against his stomach ready to stretch you open. You bit your lower lip at the thought and he chuckled, knowing damn well what was going through your head. He positioned himself in between your legs and kissed you again, slowly, full of passion, desire. You guided the tip of his cock to your hole and he slowly entered you. You closed your eyes, mouth agape, no sound coming, already unwonted by his girth. He took his time to slide into you, bit by bit, letting you get used to his size. 

“Shh… you’re taking me so well, baby” he cooed at you and kissed your forehead. “Look at your pussy taking my cock so well, sucking me up, fuck! You’re so hot” You whined to him, mind hazy with pleasure. 

He started to move, slowly thrusting, shallow at first but with each thrust he took more of his dick out, pumping back in deeply, the tip of it hitting your cervix making you see stars. Yunho started to move faster, his thrusts becoming shallower and deeper. All that came out of your mouth was a string of moans and his name like a mantra. Your breathing was erratic and your bodies were covered in sweat. 

“I’m not gonna last longer” he announced, one of his hands sneaking in between your bodies and reaching for your clit. You managed to moan even louder, your voice becoming hoarse, from the extra stimulation. “Give it to me, I know you can give me another one, don’t you?” He practically growled between gritted teeth and you just nodded. 

The effort he was making not to cum before you was visible but he was decided to make you cum again. His hips were hammering against yours and you couldn’t feel your legs anymore, limp from effort and pleasure altogether. His fingers circling your clit vigorously. It didn’t take you long for you to come shaking around his member, wall pulsing against his length, almost trapping him inside you. He came right after you, white painting your insides and body falling limp on top of you. 

You two stood there like that for a while, bodies still connected, breathings slowly going back to normal, your heartbeat slowing down. The silence was comfortable, needed, just the sound of the wind and your breathings.

Yunho, with much strength and willpower, released himself from you and searched for a cloth to clean you up. Taking all his time and care to do it so. 

“Hmmm” you murmured. “I missed this” he chuckled at you. “I missed you” you pulled him for a kiss. 

“I missed you too” he got rid of the cloth and came back to the bed and laid with you, not caring if you were still naked. He sighed deeply and nuzzled in your hair. “What are we gonna do now?” You turned around to face him, hand softly caressing his still sweaty hair. “I won’t leave you now”. 

“You won’t. I won’t” you gently pecked his lips. “We’ll find a way. I promise”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, toy” his voice sent a shiver down your spine. 

You and Yunho slowly turned to where the voice came from to find Marcus and three of his men standing in the door of your room. You instinctively pulled the covers more to your body and went closer to Yunho, that pulled you closer to him. Marcus chuckled almost devilishly and your whole body shivered again. 

“What? You two lovebirds thought I wouldn’t find out?” He took two steps closer, his cane hitting hard on the ground. You shrinked into Yunho’s side. “What have I told you, darling? I didn’t mind you having a boyfriend as long as it wasn’t another vampire and what did you do? You go and break my rule!” He practically growled the words, the veins in his neck popping. 

Neither you nor Yunho said a word, too afraid to enrage him even more. Both of you wanting to come out of that alive. The older man took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. 

The air was thick, the tension dense and visible, it could be cut with a knife. You even forgot you were naked under the covers, Yunho’s body being the only thing grounding you at that moment. Marcus' eyes, usually a bright shade of red, were dark, angry, slit, his jaw tensed, veins popping, fangs appearing. 

“What should I do to you two, huh?” He tilted his head. “Maybe I should suck this pretty neck until you’re dry and make your lover watch and then kill him? Or maybe, even better, let him live with the guilt?” You gasped lowly clutching at Yunho. “Maybe I could turn you into a vampire too and kill Yunho, let you live this miserable life alone. Is that good for you?” He laughed, his men following him like marionettes. “Maybe I could rip your man’s heart apart and make you watch it and make you live with me, like my slave. I like this one” a tear fell down your eye of the idea of losing Yunho. “Oh, doll, are you crying?” He feigned comotion. “Poor little thing is so terrified” he turned to look at his men. “Look at her, boys, such a fragile thing, so afraid” they all laughed” you sensed the man by your side becoming tense but you held him. 

“Please, sir” you finally spoke, voice low, hoarse, scared. “I’ll do anything for you, anything, just don’t hurt Yunho, let him go” 

“Yn…” Yunho tried to intervene but you stopped him. 

“Would you trade your life for the half life of a vampire?” Marcus asked and you nodded. “Tsk tsk. Such a fool. You humans and your foolish hearts full of love” he smirked in disdain. “Then let’s do this, I let your silly little lover go and you come with me, you’ll become my property interely” he laughed satisfied. “You,” he turned his attention to Yunho, “get out of here and I hope I don’t see your face so soon”.

Yunho took some time to finally move from under the covers and put his clothes on, eyes always on you, a silent promise. He slowly walked out of the room, turning to look at you one last time before disappearing.

The tears started to fall freely from your eyes, not caring if Marcus and his men were seeing you, your heart ached as if it was ripped, once again Yunho was taken from you. The older man walked slowly to your side, sitting on your bed and wiping the tears away from your eyes. Such a gentle act teeming with second intentions and evilness. The feeling of being so bare, so defenseless, in front of him sending shivers down your spine.

“No need to cry, my doll, you won’t have anything else to care now, just to be pretty for me” he stated, his hand now caressing your face. “And that won’t be so hard since you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on” his smirk was sickening, disgusting. “I’ll let you dress yourself and pick whatever you want to take to my mansion, meet us at the car” he left the room being followed by his men.

You slowly moved from the bed, moving even slower across the room. The memories from just moments ago flashing across your head, the happiness that flooded you and Yunho went away just as fast as it came. You started to cry again as you picked up your stuff and put it inside your bag. Fear, uncertainty, hopelessness, it hit you like a runaway train, all at once.

Marcus could be a beautiful man if he wasn’t so evil and scary. He was turned into his mid-forties, yet he was a well preserved man, his hair was dark brown with greyish locks, short and always combed back, styled with gel, he dressed as if he came from some steampunk movie, a mixture of victorian and modern, his skin was a beautiful shade of brown, dark, retinted, his body, even hidden under his clothes, shown to be well built. He always held his stance tall, imposing, strong, his cane always in one of his hands, a symbol of status. You wondered when he was turned and if he was always like that. Mean. 

The man was waiting for you leaning his back against his car, arms crossed against his chest, his expression looked vigilant. You walked towards him, bags in hands, but his men grabbed them for you. He came to meet you and put a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You are under my protection now, princess. No harm will come to you” unless it’s you, you thought to yourself but just nodded giving a half smile.

You entered the car and took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was about to come.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The weeks passed like torture. You lost track of time of how long you have been there but in your head it had been years already. All you did was stay at home all day, stuck in that giant mansion full of men, prohibited from leaving, from talking to anyone, even Carmen. Even reading, an activity that you really enjoyed, had become boring and unbearable.

When Marcus called you his toy he was indeed not playing. During weekdays you’d stay at home, but on weekends he would make you his personal dress up doll and show you at the bar, from friday to sunday, everyday in a new outfit, with a new pair of shoes, makeup always flawless, hair down. He loved to show you off, to cause envy on those who were more unfortunate than him and couldn’t afford to have such a beautiful and stunning being by their side. And every two weeks he would collect his payment, his dose of your blood. 

You went down those stairs once again, the man in front of you, you behind his back being followed by some of his men. You were particularly stunning that night, sporting a black striped suit set paired with a pair of black shiny stilettos, your hair was, for the first time, pulled up in a tight ponytail with a faux pony hanging low on your back.

Once the low purple lights hit you, your eyes immediately met his. After weeks without any news from him or your friends, there he was, not only him but also Carmen and Wooyoung, all three of them at a table in a far corner. Seeing him alive and well made your heart swell with happiness and relief. Marcus kept his promise and did not hurt him. 

Your exchanges of glances were quick, so you quickly returned your head back forward and hoped the man in front of you didn’t notice. 

You moved to your usual booth, you and the man entering inside while his men stood outside guarding the place. The cups of wine already waiting for you on the coffee table in the center of the room. 

You grabbed your cup and took a long sip of the sweet drink. Each night getting harder to endure your sponsor and his antics.

“You look absolutely divine tonight, doll” him and his stupid nicknames, he never called you by your name you’ve noticed, since that would humanize you too much, and you were nothing but another toy to him. “Black looks gorgeous on you” you forced a smile.

Usually, most nights, some other higher vampires would appear to talk business or other things you would barely pay any attention to, taking Marcus’ attention away from you. However that night the bar seemed quieter and emptier than usual, no one coming after the man at your booth. 

You could feel his eyes burning holes on you, his entire focus on you. Suddenly the neon lights on the ceiling were so interesting to you. 

“So, my toy, how have the past weeks been for you?” The way he called his sent shivers down your spine, you wanted to throw up. 

You contemplated for a minute whether to talk or not how you were feeling. 

“Time seems to have slowed down. I assume I’m a little bored without having someone to talk with, without a friend” you mused, choosing the words carefully. “I tend to get bored easily without a routine, and just being inside all day does not help much” you looked at your shoes waiting for his answer. 

He was about to answer when a noise came from outside. Loud thuds and grunts as if someone was fighting. Instinctively, the man got on his feet and put himself in front of you. 

A loud cracking sound reverberated and then silence. The tension in the air thick. You were still sitting, eyes glued on the door, waiting for someone to enter at any given moment. 

“I was waiting for you” Marcus straightened his posture, his voice stable, smirk playing on his lips, as soon as Yunho entered the door. He sat by your side, arm hugging your shoulder. “I see you wanna play thief and steal what is mine” 

“She’s not your property, Marcus” the man laughed humorously. 

“The last time I checked I paid for her” he pulled you closer to him. “If I paid, it’s mine” you saw Yunho’s wrists close into a fist. 

“She’s a human being, not a thing” 

“The moment she came after me for money she is a thing, my thing” he smiled sickly. “What are you going to do about it? It’s you against me, boy” he pulled you into his lap, holding you tight as a human shield. “And if you try to do anything against me, you’ll hurt her first” your eyes widened and your body started to shake in fear. 

Of course you weren’t expecting anything from the man but using you to protect himself as a human shield wasn’t on your bingo card. You tried to disentangle from his hold but his grip only got stronger. 

Yunho only smirked and crossed his arms on top of his chest. 

“Who said I’ll do anything to you?” Both you and Marcus stopped your little fight. 

You heard a gasp and a scream behind you and Marcus’ hands were no longer on you. You left your place on his lap and ran to Yunho’s arms. Turning around to look at the screams, you saw Wooyoung, who had sneakily entered the room after Yunho without anyone noticing, with silver chains around the older man’s neck not only strangling him but burning the skin where the silver was touching. You hid your head in Yunho’s chest not bearing to see the scene unfolding in front of you. 

Second after second the screams started to subdued and, slowly, you turned to see Marcus’ body burned to death on the sofa and a sweaty Wooyoung with a satisfied grin on his face. He pulled two thumbs up to you who just started laughing. Laughing out of relief, nervousness, anxiety. 

Yunho grabbed your face and made you look him in the eyes. His eyes sparkling with more than words could ever say in that moment. You were free. He was free. You two were free. You pulled him by the neck and kissed him. The kiss tasted salty of your tears that you even noticed that started to fall. 

“Ok lovebirds, I know you are happy and all but we need to leave this place asap” Wooyoung chimed in, making you cut your kiss short. 

You left the room to find an apprehensive Carmen waiting for you outside, Marcus’ car keys in her hands. She ran to you and hugged you tight, glad you were well and alive. Glad all of you were well and alive. You jumped the dead bodies of the men on the ground and followed the three, hand held tightly by Yunho ones.

As soon as the outside air hit your lungs all four of you took deep breaths and started to laugh out of relief, Wooyoung leaving a scream that earned him a smack from Carmen.

“Free at last” Yunho announced with a smile on his face, arms finding your body from behind in a hug. “What you wanna do now that you’re free?” he asked, turning you to face him.

You smiled as wide as him and got on the tip of your toes so you could plant a quick kiss on his lips.

“I wanna go as far from here with you”. 

Masterlist | Request

[orlaunderrated]

The Edges of Us: Chapter 19

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Will Lenney x fem reader; George Clarke x fem reader

Summary: Y/N has always been close to George—but everything changes when she catches feelings for his sharp-tongued, infuriatingly charming friend, Will. Torn between loyalty and desire, Y/N finds herself caught in a messy tangle of friendship, secrets, and unexpected love.

Word Count: 6.5k+

Note: Hello i gave YN a september birthday bc she gives virgo vibes.

also pls dont hate me for chapter 21 its coming and i fear people are going to be mad at me for it.

xxx

The week went by way too fast.

Maybe it's the fast pace of this city, or the fact that I’ve been distracted. Either way, since seeing Will at the station that day, he's sort of… drifted out of my head. Like smoke caught in the breeze. The ache that used to sit heavy in my chest has softened, faded into the background noise of everyday life. It’s barely noticeable now. I’m almost surprised.

George, though, has come back in like he never left—solid, steady, with that proper mate energy I always fall back on. It’s like he’s been here the entire time, even though it’s been a while.

I mean, just last week he showed up unannounced with a takeaway curry because I’d moaned about being too tired to cook. No big deal. No drama. Just food. And, as usual, his terrible jokes that make me laugh harder than I should. Even when I know they’re coming, I can’t help but laugh at them.

Or that one night last week, when I was stuck on a bug at work and sent him a frantic message at midnight. Without missing a beat, he stayed on the line for a full hour, alternating between half-teasing and half-moral-supporting me through it. It was as if he knew I needed both—someone to help me focus, but also someone to tell me I wasn’t as stupid as I felt in that moment. I think he made about seven different “cracked the code” jokes, all of them terrible. But still, every time, I felt a little lighter. Like I was a genius, even if I didn’t feel like one at all.

I’ve seen more of George this past week than I care to admit.

I won’t lie, a part of me loves it. He was appalled to hear my plans for my first birthday in London was to split a shitty bottle of wine with him and scroll through Netflix to find our favourite Brooklyn Nine-Nine episodes. That’s exactly what we did for my actual birthday, of course. But for the Friday after, George insisted I needed to do something real. Something different.

I ended up having a dinner out, with some of my friends from The Van plus a handful of Ruth’s mates who I could tolerate, you know, just to pad it out. George, Chris, and Arthur all solemnly declined the invite, pretending it was some big “brand event” they had to attend. And, to be fair, they did actually have one, but they spun it in such a way that it felt like they were doing me a favour by not coming. “We don’t want to steal your thunder,” they said, like I wasn’t capable of enjoying a night without their chaos.

It’s just so typical of them. But I’m not going to lie, it did make me feel a little warm inside. They care, in their own ridiculous way.

So, here I am—out on the town, dressed a little too nicely for a bar, surrounded by friends who make me feel like I actually belong. The music’s pounding, lights flashing, the crowd’s energy wrapping around me like a warm, electric current. I take a deep breath and, for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not thinking about Will. Or the way I saw him that morning on the train platform, or how the ache had softened but still lingered in the background, like some ghost I couldn’t quite shake off.

It’s just me. Just this moment. Just my birthday celebration in this big, loud city. And for the first time in ages, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

The buzz of the night swirls around me—laughter, music, the clink of glasses all blending together into a warm, fuzzy haze. I’m wine-drunk from the dinner, flushed, carefree, and surrounded by friends, all of whom are easy to talk to and full of stories. Their laughter is infectious, the kind that makes you feel like everything is good, even when you’re not quite sure how you got here.

In this moment, I’m just present, no overthinking, no wondering about past conversations or lost opportunities. It’s all just right now.

And of course, Ruth keeps nudging me, grinning mischievously. “Come on, just say hi to Liam. He’s a good bloke. Deep voice, really sweet.” Liam, of course, is the mate she was trying to set me up with when Will first ghosted.

I wave her off with a laugh, spinning a loose strand of hair between my fingers. “Ruth, I’m not here to meet anyone new. I’m having a bloody good time as it is.”

She smirks but lets it go, knowing she’s not winning this one tonight. I settle into the rhythm of the room, feeling light and happy in a way I haven’t for a while.

The bar is buzzing with that familiar, chaotic energy—laughter spilling into the dim lights, the low hum of music wrapping around the crowd like a warm blanket.

I’m caught in the middle of it all when someone’s hand suddenly slips into mine. My first instinct is to pull away, startled, but then I look up, and a grin that could light up the whole place is looking back at me.

It’s George.

He’s grinning wide, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment, a little spark of mischief dancing in his eyes. Without saying a word, he yanks me back into the rhythm, spinning me around with a fluid ease that makes me laugh out loud.

For a moment, the chaos of the dancefloor blurs away. There’s no noise, no crowd. Just us—moving, smiling, perfectly in sync like we’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Had to make it,” he says, his grin never faltering as we twirl. “Can’t miss your birthday celebrations, can I?”

I raise an eyebrow, curious. “Skipped the afterparty did we?”

George shrugs, unbothered. “Yeah, the event ended early anyway. It was boring.”

He takes a sip of his drink, leans back against the bar. The music shifts, bass-heavy now, just loud enough to blur the edges of the moment.

If George is here, I’m sure Chris isn’t far behind. They went to the event together—Arthur too, obviously. The Three Musketeers of mildly chaotic YouTube fame. Wherever one goes, the others tend to materialise not long after, usually holding pints and half-finished inside jokes.

I should probably find them. Go say hi. Give them shit for missing my birthday dinner.

“I was just about to text you,” George adds, glancing over with a crooked smile, “see where you ended up.”

He pauses, letting the grin settle.

“But then I heard your laugh—” His hand makes a vague gesture toward me, “—and figured it was the universe telling me to just show up and crash the party in person.”

“Just show up, huh?” I laugh, the moment settling between us like a worn-in coat—comfortable, familiar. I’m so glad he made it tonight.

“May I have this dance, birthday girl?” he asks, mock-formal, eyes twinkling with mischief. He sweeps into an overly dramatic bow, one hand extended like we’re at a royal ball instead of a sticky-floored bar.

I shake my head, smiling at his classic George antics. “Sure, why not?”

Before I can rethink it, he grabs my hand and pulls me onto the makeshift dance floor. The lights blur. The music pulses, loud and careless, the kind that gets into your bones whether you like it or not.

Our movements are terrible—chaotic, off-beat, probably embarrassing—but none of it matters. We’re laughing, bumping shoulders, spinning like idiots. It’s not about dancing well. It’s about this: messy, loud, completely unfiltered joy.

And somehow, it feels exactly right.

That’s when I spot him, of course.

Right when I’m feeling good. Music thrumming in my chest, wine warm in my limbs, laughter still clinging to the corners of my mouth.

Will.

He’s across the room, in a booth, half-lit by the lamp on the table and the sickly blue overhead bar light, talking to someone I vaguely recognise. He looks good. A little tired maybe, but still—him. Black tee. Rings catching the light. That same disarming way he holds his drink like it’s just another prop in his performance of not caring.

And without thinking, like muscle memory, I smile.

Big. Wide. Genuine.

It’s instinct, almost. Something automatic. Like how your body remembers the way home in the dark. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t spoken him in weeks, or that the last time I did, he barely looked at me. My stupid, traitorous face still lights up.

He glances over. Meets my eyes for a second too long.

Then smiles back. Polite. Measured. The kind of smile you give someone you used to know.

And just like that, something in my chest contracts—tight and sharp and sudden.

I think I've convinced myself that I miss him more as a friend than a lover. Because what I’m feeling is nostalgia, not longing. I just want the version of us that used to make each other laugh until our ribs ached.

Not the nights. Not the kisses. Not the way he used to touch me like I was something rare.

I sip my drink. Swallow the smile. Try to focus on the music, on the friends I actually showed up with, on George’s voice somewhere behind me yelling about how he “absolutely crushed that spin move.” Because I’m okay. I am.

Mostly.

I spot Chris in the booth, laughing at something, a drink in one hand, gesturing wildly with the other. Will’s next to him, naturally. He's leaning against the counter like he owns it, that casual slouch he always falls into when he’s had just enough to drink.

I hesitate. Just for a second. Then I square my shoulders and head over.

“Oi, look who it is!” Chris beams when he sees me. He stands up and pulls me into a proper hug—tight, warm, sincere in that disarming Chris way. “You look unreal, by the way. Seriously.”

I laugh, startled by the compliment, and mutter something like “you need new glasses,” but it still catches me off guard—the ease of it. The kindness.

When he lets go, I glance at Will.

His hand is still around his glass, knuckles gone white. He hasn’t said anything yet. Hasn’t really looked at me, not properly.

“Hi,” I say, soft but even. I’m not going to shrink.

He offers a smile—thin, polite, all surface. Then he gives me another one of those side hugs, the kind that barely counts. His arm brushes my shoulder, brief and stiff. Like we’re colleagues who once had a weird office Christmas party hookup.

I step back. The cold of his skin lingers.

The silence between us says more than either of us ever could.

Chris, oblivious to the tension, launches into a story about some chaotic shoot involving three smoke machines and a minor fire hazard, and I let him pull me in, let myself laugh at the right beats. But I don’t miss the way Will stays quiet. I don’t miss the flicker in his eyes when I smile too easily at someone else.

At some point, the noise of the bar fades into background chatter. Will's looking at his phone, scrolling through something with intent, and I feel a strange compulsion to fill the silence between us.

“So,” I start, forcing my voice to sound casual, “how have you been?”

His eyes flick up at the mention of the place, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—maybe surprise. Then it’s gone, replaced with that same cool, detached demeanour.

“Oh, uh...” He swigs from his glass, clearly not looking to dive deep. “I launched a coffee brand last month so I've been non-stop.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Right. Cool. I—uh, didn’t know that.” I totally know that. I stalked the shit out of it when it first dropped. Ruth had to stop me from going to a Sainsburys' to buy it. I don’t tell him that I recognised the logo from various papers around his flat.

I can feel the awkwardness hanging between us, thick as smoke. I don't know what I expected, but I would think he could maybe elaborate a bit more. The man can talk until the cows come home.

I glance over at Chris, who's still caught up in his own story, not paying attention to the fact that Will and I are barely engaging.

Will’s eyes flicker, just for a moment—a hint of something softer, like he’s about to say something. “You look—” His gaze shifts suddenly, moving past me, over my shoulder.

He cuts himself off mid-sentence.

I follow his line of sight, curiosity pulling me to see what has caught his attention.

And of course, it’s George.

George, grinning like a cat who’s just knocked something precious off the counter. “Oi!” He calls out, walking toward us with his trademark enthusiasm. “Why are you wasting your birthday time with these guys? Go have some fun with your mates!”

I can practically hear the relief in Will’s exhale as he shifts his attention away, the soft moment gone before it can take root.

George flashes me a grin, throwing a playful look over at Chris and Will. "You two need to stop being so serious, let her have a good night."

Chris throws up his hands, still smiling. “Fair enough, mate. Go on, buy the birthday girl a drink.”

I laugh, though it feels like a little too much, a little too forced. But George is already pulling me away, guiding me toward the my friends with a cheeky wink.

Will doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t even look back.

And for once, I don’t feel sorry for myself.

Not tonight.

I make my way back to our group, and George goes to the bar to get me another drink. I can feel how flushed my cheeks are from dancing and too much wine, and my hair is clinging to the back of my neck. Ruth’s still mid-rant about how her ex once cried because she beat him at Uno, and I let myself dissolve into the comfort of it—of noisy, lovely people who don’t know the Will of it all.

A few minutes later, George wanders over, two fresh drinks in hand and cheeks pink from the heat. One of Ruth’s friends clocks him immediately, eyes trailing over him like she’s assessing inventory. I don’t blame her. His shirt’s unbuttoned just enough, curls a little messy, grin easy. He looks like the kind of guy you flirt with just to feel alive again.

And I feel it. That flutter. The smallest shift in my chest—something I don’t want to name. It passes quickly, but it still passes.

He grins at something Ruth says, then catches my eye. I turn to face him, his brow raising slightly, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth. It’s like we’re already mid-conversation, even though neither of us has said a word yet. I turn back to Ruth, who is still complaining.

I'm hyper-aware of his presence next to me, and I'm not sure why but it feels… forbidden. Like I've stumbled into a situation is shouldn't be in. Then, he turns toward the bar. I turn to watch him catching up with a few people from the other side of the room, his voice rising above the crowd. His attention shifts, and he's walking and now, he's standing next to some girl in a glittery top, laughing loudly enough that it cuts through the pulse of the music.

He’s leaning in just enough to hear her, grinning that lopsided grin—the one that always makes people feel like they’re in on something. I feel it before I even register it: a flicker, low in my stomach. A little flutter.

Not jealousy, exactly. Just… awareness. Like I’ve noticed something I wasn’t supposed to.

They’re talking.

No—more than talking.

Leaning in. Faces close. That kind of proximity you only allow when the rest of the room disappears. Eyes locked in a way that makes my stomach drop through the sticky floorboards. For a moment, I forget the beat of the song. Forget the warmth of Ruth’s hand around mine. Forget how to stand.

I shouldn’t stare.

But I do.

God, I do.

“Let’s dance!” someone says (probably Naomi) and suddenly I’m being pulled back into the blur of bodies and basslines. I let it happen. I smile. I raise my arms and pretend I’m still in it, like the music hasn’t warped around the crack forming in my chest.

We move. I dance. I laugh at something Arthur says in passing and shout-sing the chorus of a song I don’t really know. But every time the hook rolls around, I glance over.

He’s still talking to her.

They’ve shifted positions slightly. George now angled toward her like he’s shielding their conversation from the world.

His smile is lopsided, eyes crinkled. That laugh, his real one, the one that starts in his chest and ends in his shoulders—

rises up over the bar.

It’s so familiar. I know that laugh like a favourite song.

And yet I have no idea what’s making her laugh like that.

They talk for ages. Longer than I expect. Longer than I can excuse away.

I keep dancing. Keep pretending. But the longer it goes on, the less I can feel my limbs. I become mechanical, going through the motions, too aware of the prickling at the back of my neck. The small, tight burn behind my ribs.

It’s not jealousy.

(Not quite.)

It’s something messier than that.

Ruth and the others break away for a round of drinks, their laughter trailing off as they slip toward the bar, and I pause—one breath, two—still swaying, still looking.

That’s when George finally pulls back.

His hand lingers a second too long on the girl’s arm.

She says something that makes him smile.

He grins, pats her on the shoulder, and slips away without so much as a glance over his shoulder. No number exchanged, no flirty goodbyes. Just the kind of quiet exit that makes me think maybe it wasn’t even about anything at all.

He rejoins us a few minutes later, sliding next to me at the bar as I'm waiting for Ruth to hurry up and pay for my drink. His eyes find mine, so I turn to face him. He's close to me. Like girl at the bar close. He makes a face that suggests that did not go well and I stifle a laugh.

The flutter’s still there. But it softens into something warmer. Something familiar. And I shake it off. Just a little.

It’s George.

“So,” I say, nudging his elbow, “how’s your new soulmate? Planning the wedding yet?”

He groans. “Don’t start.”

“She touched your arm. That’s legally binding in some countries.”

“She also talked at me for twenty minutes about her birth chart,” he mutters. “Apparently my Mercury is in retrograde, which means I need to ‘unblock my throat chakra.’”

I snort. “She’s not wrong. You do talk like someone who’s never processed a single emotion out loud.”

George shoots me a look, then takes a long sip of his drink like he’s trying to drown the sass. “Honestly? I panicked and told her I was gay.”

I nearly choke on my wine. “You didn’t.”

“I panicked!” he defends, eyes wide. “It was that or pretend I was into crystals. I chose the option with less homework.”

I laugh, I laugh so hard my belly hurts. I try to say that she's probably so confused as he approached her, but it gets lost in my giggles

I’m still laughing as he bumps my shoulder with his, alerting me to the fact that Ruth has finally purchased my drink, I wave for him to join our group. He tells me to wait a second,

George tilts his head toward me, mischief dancing in his eyes. “So… who’s your mate?”

I blink. “Huh?”

He nods subtly toward Ruth’s friend—the same one who gave him the full once-over when he walked over. She’s mid-laugh about something Ruth’s just said, holding her cocktail like it’s a prop in a rom-com. Cute. Confident. Exactly George’s type.

“I saw her eyeing me earlier,” he adds, all mock modesty. “What’s her deal?”

I short-circuit for a second. My brain scrambles like it’s looking for an escape hatch, and before I can think it through, I blurt out, “She has a boyfriend.”

George raises a brow. “Oh yeah?”

I nod too quickly. “Yep. Long-term. Serious. Big beard.”

It’s not exactly a lie. Ruth did say she had a boyfriend… at one point. Probably. Maybe. Or maybe that was a different friend. Or maybe I just said so I didn’t have to watch George flirt with another girl tonight. Either way, it’s out there now. Floating between us, ridiculous and unnecessary.

I glance at her, then back at George. “Actually… I think they broke up.” I wince. “I think.”

His looks bewildered at my change of pace. “Well which is it?”

“I don’t know!” I hiss. “I’m not a relationship counsellor, I’m just trying to make sure you don't end up making a fool of yourself again.”

George raises an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A fool of myself?” he chuckles, clearly enjoying how flustered I’ve gotten. His eyes flicker, something sharper flashing for a split second beneath the teasing. “I just… don’t want to make a scene, y’know?”

I nod, though I'm not sure if I fully understand his coolness about it. He can for sure tell I just lied through my teeth. I look down at my drink, stirring it mindlessly, then glance up. Somehow, despite everything, I’ve ended up talking to George and pretty much only George tonight. He looks good—when doesn't he?—like he’s barely even trying. His messy hair, the way his jacket fits him just right, the way he always seems comfortable in his own skin.

I feel something stir in me, but before I can think much more on it, a guy sidles up to the bar, leaning a little too close for comfort.

"Hey, wanna dance?" he asks, his breath hot against my ear, lingering a little too long for comfort.

I give him a polite but firm smile, leaning back just enough to create some space. “No, thanks.”

He doesn’t back off, a smirk spreading across his face as he glances at George. "Is this your bird, mate?" he sneers, eyes scanning George like he's just waiting for a response. There's a challenge in his voice, as if he's testing the waters.

Without missing a beat, George shoots him a look that’s half amusement, half something more protective. “Yeah,” he says, like it's a statement rather than a question, the kind of casual confidence that used to make me feel safe, back when we both knew the drill. He puts his arm around me, just enough to make it clear that the guy’s not going to push any further.

The man hesitates for a second, then mutters something like "Alright, mate," and slinks off, disappearing into the crowd.

"Ugh I hate being called bird. Like do you want me to chirp at you?" I look at George, half-exasperated. “You didn’t have to do that.”

George just shrugs, his expression completely unbothered. “It’s nothing. Just old habits.”

I can't help but smile at that. We used to do this all the time back in uni—keeping unwanted attention off each other. It’s one of those little perks of having an opposite-sex best friend. We always had each other’s backs, no questions asked.

I can see the guy, looking between us, clearly trying to figure out if there’s more to it, but George doesn’t give him anything else. Instead, he casually nudges me with his shoulder, as if to say, Let’s get out of here.

Before I can protest, he’s already setting his empty cup down and pulling me toward the dance floor, a grin spreading across his face.

“Come on, Birthday Girl,” he says, practically dragging me through the sea of people, “let’s actually have some fun tonight, yeah?”

I let him pull me along, a little too easily. Despite the chaos around us, the clamour of voices and thudding bass, I find myself laughing, shaking off whatever that thing was I felt earlier.

And for a moment, it’s just us again. Just the two of us, like it used to be.

“George, no—” I protest through a laugh, but it’s already happening. We’re weaving through bodies and basslines, and he’s grinning like a man on a mission.

“It’s a foolproof plan,” he says, dragging me into the beat. “You pretend to be my girlfriend. We dance. Everyone wins.”

“That is not how foolproof plans work,” I say, but I’m already moving with him.

He spins me dramatically. I nearly trip. He catches me by the waist, laughing into my hair.

For a moment, it’s just the two of us again. Dizzy. Stupid. Easy.

I still feel a little bad about lying to him about Ruth's friend, But George isn’t pressing, isn’t thinking about it. And maybe that’s the part I’m clinging to—that he doesn’t need anything from me right now except this.

Just music, and limbs, and the dumb safety of knowing you’re someone’s favourite dance partner, even if only for one song.

After a few more songs—some iconic, some unrecognisable—we slip off the floor, breathless and flushed. George grabs his drink from where he left it and downs the last of it in one go.

“I think the lads are heading to Lucky’s,” he says, nodding toward the door where Chris is already half-waving, half-coaxing the others out. “You coming?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Ruth’s booked us a karaoke room at that grimy place on the corner. I’m morally obligated.”

He grins. “God help you.”

“She’s promised tequila and emotional support,” I say with a shrug.

George smiles, softer this time. “Text me when you’re home, yeah?”

“Always.”

There’s a moment—just a flicker—where we linger in each other’s space like maybe there’s something more to say. But there’s no goodbye hug, no drama. Just an easy pat on my shoulder and a, “Don’t sing Mr. Brightside. Again.”

“I make no promises,” I call after him.

He heads off with Chris and the rest of the boys, swallowed by the dark edge of the bar crowd, and I turn toward Ruth and our chaos-bound karaoke mission.

There’s no ache. No longing. Just… fuck… a flutter. A stupid, persistent flutter that starts low in my chest and rises like it’s got something to prove. I tell it to shut up. To get a grip. It’s just George.

It’s always been just George.

And yet… my stupid heart won’t listen.

xxx

The night’s winding down, and I've just hit an absolutely phenomenal rendition of Everybody Talks. The buzz of laughter and chatter hums through our private room like a fading song. My head is warm, the tequila and the night mixing into a comfortable fuzz. My phone buzzes in my pocket, making me jump a little.

I fish it out, squinting at the screen. It's George.

Are you still out?

I smile, fingers hovering over the keyboard. I’m still out, technically, but the bar here called last drinks 10 minutes ago, Ruth is half asleep on the couch and I’m tired. So tired that my bed sounds way more appealing than going to another bar. I don’t even question when someone says that the uber is £70.

I type back.

Yeah. We’re about to head home though.

I pause. The Uber price pops back into my mind like a punchline I can’t unhear.

Fuck, Ubers are £70. Who’s pricing London like this?

My phone buzzes again almost immediately.

Crash at mine!

That was part of our deal.

I stare at the screen, breath catching for a moment. It’s simple, casual, but somehow exactly what I needed to hear. Like a lifeline thrown over a sea of overpriced rides and fading energy.

I glance around at my friends, then back at my phone. A slow smile spreads across my face.

Maybe tonight isn’t done yet.

xxx

I step Into George’s flat, the door clicking softly behind me. I expected the usual buzz—Chris and Arthur sprawled on the couch, music thumping, the familiar chaos of a late-night kick-on.

But it’s quiet.

Too quiet.

Only George is there, sitting on the worn sofa, looking a little too casual for this time of night. No Arthur teasing him about the playlist, no Chris talking a little too loudly about something I don’t care about. Just George, and that weird flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he sees me,

I drop my bag by the door and lean against the frame, suddenly aware of how still the room feels without the usual noise.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice light.

He shrugs, grinning that lopsided smile. “Figured I’d hold down the fort.”

I smirk, dropping onto the couch beside him. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Ghosted. Probably found a better party.”

I laugh softly, feeling this strange mix of relief and something else I can’t quite name. Just George. Just us.

We settle into the living room like it’s our own private island amid the quiet hum of the city outside. The faint clink of glasses from earlier still lingers in the air, but it’s just the two of us now. No crowds, no distractions—just George and me.

He’s sitting on the edge of the couch, and I’m perched opposite on the other side, both of us locked in that comfortable rhythm of teasing and banter.

“You owe me a rematch on FIFA,” he says, grinning like he’s already won before the game’s even started.

“Oh please,” I fire back, voice light but eyes sharp, “you’re just scared of losing again. You barely even know the controls.”

He throws his head back and laughs, that rich, easy sound that always catches me off guard—like a secret only I’m allowed to hear. “Scared? Never. I’m just letting you think you’ve got a chance. Gotta keep the game interesting, right?”

I arch an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Is that what you call it? I’d say it’s called ‘underestimating your opponent’.”

He leans forward, that mischievous glint in his eye making my heart do that stupid little skip it’s been refusing to quit all night. “Maybe I’m just playing the long game. You know, lull you into a false sense of security before I completely wipe the floor with you.”

I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling too wide. “You keep dreaming, George. One of these days, I’m going to break your winning streak.”

His grin widens. “That day can’t come soon enough. Until then, I’ll be enjoying watching you try and fail.”

I lean in a little, lowering my voice. “Better watch out. When I win, I expect you to perform me victory dance, call it a birthday present.”

He raises his hands mock-defensively. “Deal. But be warned—I’m known for my killer dance moves.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, I saw those earlier. Didn’t exactly strike me as ‘killer’.”

“Oh, you wound me.” He points a finger at me, feigning offense. “Maybe I’ll let you be my dance partner. Then you can judge my moves up close.”

I catch that look he throws—like he’s daring me to say yes, like he’s hoping I will.

It’s ridiculous how much I want to.

But I just grin and flick his forehead. “In your dreams, George.”

He catches my hand before I pull away, holding it a moment longer than necessary. “Dreams are where the best things happen, don’t you think?”

I glance down at our hands, then back up at him, breath catching for a second. “Maybe.”

I shift in my seat, my heart pounding louder in my ears. It’s ridiculous—I’m telling myself it’s just friendship. Nothing else. But then, almost without thinking, I lean forward and press a quick, impulsive kiss to his cheek.

Immediately, the world tilts.

George freezes, his eyes wide and unblinking, locked onto me like I’m suddenly some impossible riddle he can’t solve. My heart thuds so loud I’m sure he can hear it, and my breath catches, sharp and ragged in my chest. Panic crashes in like a tidal wave, dragging me under before I even have a chance to catch myself.

What the hell did I just do?

I’ve spent so long tiptoeing around this—around him—pretending like the last few months didn’t come with a price. Like I didn’t know exactly how fragile this all was. And now I’ve gone and thrown a grenade into the middle of it.

Did I not learn my lesson?

Every warning bell I told myself to listen to—every quiet voice in the back of my head screaming don’t do this—I ignored it. Because it felt good. Because it felt like maybe, just maybe, there was something worth risking.

But looking at him now, the way his whole body stiffens, the way his jaw tightens like he’s swallowing a storm—fuck, I’m terrified.

Because I know that look. That’s the look of someone who’s about to build a wall so high it’ll take years to climb back over.

And I’m the one who place the first brick.

I want to reach out, to explain, to tell him it didn’t mean what it always means. That I’m not trying to ruin everything. Again. But my throat tightens, words catching like stones.

I’ve broken us once before. Maybe I’m just stupid enough to do it again.

And the worst part? I don’t know how to fix it.

I swallow hard and try to steady my racing heart, but the damage feels already done—impossible to rewind.

I wanted this to be different. I wanted us to be different.

But maybe some things are just too broken to mend.

And I don’t think I'm strong enough to watch him walk away again.

I pull back even further, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Sorry,” I mumble, cheeks burning, “That was— I don’t know what that was.” I instinctually start to think about where my bag is, where my phone is, if I it worth just firming a £70 Uber after all.

My hands are shaking slightly as I lean back, instinctively searching the room for my bag. My phone. Somewhere safe, somewhere away from this mess. I’m already mentally mapping out a quick exit strategy, but grounded to the couch, trying to ignore the way my chest is still tight, still buzzing with that kiss that feels like it’s carved into my skin.

Maybe I can just throw myself into the £70 Uber, call it a night, and pretend it didn’t happen. That’s always the easy out, right? Just pull the drunk card, laugh it off. Oh, I always kiss Ruth’s cheek, sorry, I’m just sooo wasted.

He doesn’t say anything. Just reaches out, fingers brushing my arm, cautious. There’s a pause—barely a heartbeat—where his hand hovers, and I it's like he’s weighing every possible outcome behind his eyes. Then, with a quiet resolve, he takes my hand and gently pulls me off my place on the couch.

I stumble a little as I rise, and he guides me between his knees. One arm slips around my waist, the other steadies my hip, and then he's tugging me down into his lap. Our controllers drop to the floor with a soft thud, forgotten.

Now I’m straddling him, knees braced on either side of his thighs. My chest is almost flush with his, barely any space between us, and I can feel the rise and fall of his breath—shallow, nervous. His hands settle on my waist, fingers splayed, thumbs brushing circles through the fabric of my shirt.

The heat of him seeps into me. Every point where we touch feels electric, like a current passing through skin and bone. The air around us grows heavy, charged, as if the room itself is holding its breath. I am too.

My heart pounds so loudly I wonder if he can hear it. I’m terrified—but I don’t want to move.

Then his lips find mine.

It’s immediate, a shock of heat. The kiss starts slow, hesitant, like he’s feeling his way through the dark. But then, without warning, it deepens, his mouth pressing harder, demanding more, like he’s been holding back forever and can’t anymore.

There’s a desperation to it, but it’s not just hunger. It’s… something else. His lips move against mine with a kind of urgency that makes my whole body hum. Each touch, each breath, builds into something hotter, more dangerous, until I’m gasping for air, my chest burning with every shallow inhale.

My hands are in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel more of him. The world around us blurs, fades into the background—there’s nothing but this, nothing but the fire between us.

And then, just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he pulls away.

I’m left there, dazed, my heart pounding in my chest, like I’ve been thrown into the ocean and can’t quite find the surface. My pulse is still racing, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

He’s looking at me, his eyes dark, impossibly intense. There’s no confusion in them, no second-guessing. Just something raw, like he knows exactly what this is and what it means. But neither of us is ready to say it out loud. Not yet.

I swallow hard, my voice shaky as I speak, barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d ruined it.”

His eyes flash—something sharp, fleeting, almost imperceptible. “Shut up.”

His voice is low, rough around the edges. Not cruel, but desperate—like he’s trying to strangle the doubt in its cradle, to silence that voice inside me that always wants to dismantle everything good before it can begin.

The space between us feels impossibly small now, strung tight like a wire. One wrong move and it could all snap. The kind of silence that teeters between breaking everything... or changing everything.

We’re frozen, breathless. Neither of us dares to move. Not yet. Not while the air is this thick with unspoken things and nearlys.

And then, before I can even fully exhale, he moves.

One hand slides up my back, firm and certain, and he pulls me in, swift and sure. His lips find mine in a kiss that doesn't ask—it claims. There’s nothing hesitant now, nothing careful. Just months, no years, of tension unravelling in a single heartbeat.

It’s not perfect. It’s messy, rushed, mouths colliding more than meeting. But it’s real. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.

My hands fist in the fabric of his shirt as I kiss him back, everything else falling away. No fear. No doubt. Just this.

Finally.

xxx

TagList: @meglouise00 @migilini @thankyoulovely @mosviqu @formulaal @jonnybernthalslover @tiredqzl @mrswillne @ravenaz @mellucyx @capnjosh

[motherra]

SOME OF MY POLYTRIX HEADCANONS BECAUSE I AM OBSESSED WITH THEM😫(a.k.a. The Triangle of Pining, Violence, and Emotional Damage)

💋 Domestic & Dumb Shit:

Every morning starts with someone missing from the bed and two others tangled like snakes. It's always a gamble who makes breakfast. Nine times out of ten, it’s the one with the least trauma that day.

They’ve tried cooking together exactly once. It ended in a mini explosion, a burnt ceiling, and someone crying over how "the onions look like little people."

“Group therapy” is just three traumatized hot people trauma-dumping in the same room until someone kisses someone to shut them up.

🩸 Emotional Carnage:

One of them always thinks they’re the “least loved” and the others constantly switch off proving them wrong with disgustingly dramatic displays of affection. One time it involved a full orchestra. No one talks about it.

Their love languages are:

Person A: Touch-starved menace who wants to be cuddled but acts like they hate it

Person B: Writes threatening poems and stares at you across the room like a cursed Victorian wife

Person C: Would commit tax fraud in your name without asking

All of them think they’re the most emotionally stable. All of them are wrong.

🕷️ Petty & Chaotic:

They have a group chat called “THRUUPLE TROUBLE 💀💦” and it’s just them sending screenshots of thirst comments under each other’s posts.

Someone always wakes up in the middle of the night to the other two fighting over which movie to watch. They always pick the third option: crying in silence to Studio Ghibli.

They keep a “who’s the most feral” scoreboard on the fridge. It gets reset monthly. The winner is rewarded with 24 uninterrupted hours of cuddles. The loser has to do the dishes and apologize for their crimes.

🫂 Soft Moments™:

They have a “shared trauma nap pile” routine. No talking, just collapsing onto one another in a nest of blankets after particularly hard days.

When one of them is spiraling, the others just wordlessly show up. No questions, no pressure, just silent presence. Sometimes with junk food. Sometimes with a knife.

They have matching rings, but they’re all different colors. One has vines engraved, one has flames, one has stars. None of them admit who chose whose.

🎭 Unhinged but I Love Them:

One of them is the designated "shut up you're bleeding" person. Another is the "let me kiss it better" person. The third? “Lick it it’s funny” energy.

They've all made out in weird places. None of them top "the abandoned church at midnight while being hunted."

One of them writes poetry about the other two. One of them secretly reads it and cries. The third one uses it as blackmail.

That's all for now but God am I inlove with them💔

[mafiadad5]

Teach me to not love, Epilouge: Haechan’ s Journal.

Read: Teach me to not love -> Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

W/c- 1.3k

Now playing: Journey Mercies- Mark Lee

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #1 – The Day You Left

I messed up.

I keep replaying her face from that night— when it all finally hit her. She looked so exhausted, so tired. Not just physically, but like her soul had been carrying too much for too long.

Yeah, Jaemin was part of it, but so was I. Probably more than I want to admit.

I tried to protect her, but it was too late— and in the worst way. I thought just being there, having feelings, meant I was doing something right, but love isn't enough if your actions don't show up with it.

I wanted to explain everything. I wanted her to scream, to cry, to throw something, anything but just walk away, but I slipped up, and made it worse. Everything she said before she left... about me ending up alone... it hurt. Not because it was new, but because I've told myself that for years. Hearing it from her made it real though. Because she tried, she gave me a chance, and I blew it.

I drank myself sick that night. Don't even remember calling her. But when I woke up and saw her there— water on the nightstand, trash can by the bed, I knew I didn't deserve her.

I don't really know if I'm writing this for her or for me, maybe both.

But I know one thing: I want to be better. I have to be.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #2 – A Week After You Left

Therapy's weird.

I hate silence, but this kind of silence... it pulls the words out of you. And once I start talking, it's like I can't stop.

Today I told him I feel like I ruin every good thing that touches my life. That even my own parents didn't really want to deal with me. He asked when I learned to survive like that.

I didn't say anything at first, then I said everything.

We talked about control, about how I hold back, how I try to manage pain by never letting anyone get too close.

I realized something. I didn't just want her, I wanted the moment she chose me and I wanted to hold on to that moment forever. That's not love, that's fear dressed up as romance.

Real love lets people walk away, and still hope they find peace.

I'm starting to understand that.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #3 – One Month Later

If she ever comes back, and that's a big if... I'm not going to be the guy who just says, "I've changed."

I want her to see it. 

I'll show her patience. Speak softly, even when I'm hurting. I'll listen, even when I want to argue.

If she needs space, I'll give it. If she says no, I'll respect it. If she doubts me, I'll understand.

Clarity is something I need to meet, not fight.

Now, I just want to deserve her.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #4 – The Night You Came Back

She came back.

It felt like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

She looked different, not in a physical way, but like... whole. Like she found pieces of herself I never even realized she lost.

When she said she was willing to try again— slowly, I didn't feel like I got her back. I felt like I was being given a chance to love her right this time.

And that's the only way this works.

If this is all we are... soft steps forward, quiet moments, a journal and a promise, I'll take it.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #5 – One Month Later

We're still taking it slow.

Some people think slow means uncertain. Like we're tiptoeing around something fragile, but it doesn't feel like that.

It feels calm. Like we're both learning to breathe again in the same space, at our own pace.

She smiles more now. Not the kind of smile that hides things. This one's different, it's soft, real, and sometimes when she doesn't know I'm watching, it breaks my heart in the best way.

I didn't know watching someone else heal could feel like healing too.

I still get urges to rush— reach for her hand, kiss her, ask if she's mine yet, but I don't act on them. Not out of fear, but out of respect.

And honestly? I like this version of us.

If love is slow and steady, I'm finally ready for that kind.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #6 – Two Months Later

I think I'm ready to ask her out.

Not in the casual, "let's see where this goes" way. I mean for real, with intention.

I've thought about what I'd say. I'd tell her this isn't about our past, it's about what we've built through it.

That loving her like this— slow and steady... with care, has been the best thing I've ever done.

If she says no, I'll be okay.

That's how I know I'm really ready. I don't need her to say yes to feel whole. I don't need her to love me back to believe I'm worth loving.

Still... I really hope she says yes.

══════════════════════════

Journal Entry #7 – Five Months Later

She said yes.

I asked her while we were walking, hands in my pockets, stumbling over my words. I was so nervous, it probably didn't even make sense.

She laughed, then she smiled and said yes.

It wasn't fireworks, it wasn't some big cinematic moment. It was quiet and it meant everything. 

We're not perfect. We still have tough days, we still talk things through slowly, but now there's honesty.

She doesn't wonder if I'll change. I don't worry if she'll leave.

We both did the work. First alone, then together and now we're here. Still growing,  still healing, but in love— for real this time.

And if this is where the story ends... I wouldn't change a single word.

══════════════════════════

You stayed up later than you meant to. The apartment was quiet, just the hum of the AC and the soft rhythm of Haechan breathing beside you, out cold after insisting he "wasn't tired" and falling asleep twenty minutes into the movie.

The journal sat open in your lap.

You hadn't expected him to hand it over so casually tonight. Just said, "If you're ready... I think I want you to read this now."

And you were ready, you didn't realize it until the first few lines, then you couldn't stop.

Entry after entry— his fear, his shame, the way he tried and failed, and tried again. The way he broke things, the way he realized he wanted to fix them... not just for you, but for himself. The way he started to become someone better, even before you said yes.

You wiped your cheeks more than once.

Not because it was sad— but because it was honest.

And now, sitting here in the glow of the hallway light, with his words still fresh in your mind and his arm gently brushing yours in sleep, you felt it for real. 

You weren't the same girl who spiraled at parties and mistook chaos for love. He wasn't the same boy who ran when things got too real. You both unraveled and then rebuilt yourselves in the quiet, and in doing that, you somehow found each other again, not as broken people clinging to each other, but as two whole people finally learning how to hold love the right way.

You closed the journal, laid it on the nightstand, and slid under the covers beside him. He stirred slightly, mumbling your name like it was instinct. You smiled to yourself, letting your fingers trace gentle patterns along his back.

You weren't sure what the future held, but tonight, you were sure of this:

You were healed. You were in love. And this time, you weren't losing yourself to keep him.

══════════════════════════

a/n- hi guys ! Thank you so much for reading, I truly hope you enjoyed it. I poured so much of myself into this, so it’s a little bittersweet to let it go… but also kind of a relief, lol.

Just a quick reminder: part one, two, and the beginning of three portray a VERY toxic version of love. This is not how you deserve to be treated, so If you ever find yourself in a similar situation— run 😭.

And with that… goodbye 💋 <333

© mafiadad5 2025