#i'm gonna go now before i start spiraling

[claramelooo]

CHECKMATE (1/20)

See? I'm here and you didn't even waited that much😋

I hope you can enjoy the first chapter!

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: +18, angst and semi-public sex.

Pairing: Governor!Agatha Harkness x Fem Reader

Summary: Accepting the date with your friend Carol cost you more than you imagined.

Music recommendation:

Pawn

noun

1. a chess piece of the smallest size and least value. Each player has eight pawns at the start of a game.

Staring at the mirror for the sixth time, obsessively applying yet another layer of lipstick. You sighed—you still didn’t feel grown-up enough.

A little more mascara, even though your lashes were already heavy from previous coats.

But it didn’t matter.

You still weren’t pretty.

You weren’t worthy.

Checking your teeth, you spotted a smudge of lipstick on them. You exhaled sharply, grabbing your toothbrush to scrub away any imperfection.

You brushed a single tooth exactly twenty times.

Fuck.

The lipstick smudged.

You could feel hot tears prickling the corners of your eyes in frustration, as your reflection seemed only to highlight every flaw on your face.

You hated mirrors.

Three sharp knocks startled your muscles into tension.

“Bear, we’re gonna be late!” your roommate’s voice rang out—loud and impatient.

Bear. As if you were special. As if it were affection. But only when no one else was around.

It had been three months since you arrived in Washington. Three months of a new city, new university, new social codes you were still trying to decipher. And tonight would be your first off-campus party.

It felt like some kind of rite of passage into adulthood now.

This wasn’t Westview. Back there, the parties were small, familiar. The big city turned everything into a spectacle, and you didn’t want to be part of it—not even a little.

“Wow. You look… stunning!” Carol’s voice made you smile as you stepped out of the bathroom.

Carol Danvers.

Tall, blonde, with that air of someone who always knew what you were about to say before you said it. The girl of your dreams, your nightmares, your vices.

Having a crush on her wasn’t new. You had always liked them.

Girls.

But especially the tall, popular ones — and maybe, just maybe, the ones who were a little mean to you. But Carol… she’d always treated you differently. One night, she snuck into your room and kissed you.

And in that moment, you felt like the only one.

But you never were. And you knew that. Carol asked to keep things a secret, said it would be weird.

The ambiguity of that word haunted your nights, often stealing your sleep.

“Thanks,” you said, your cheeks flushing under her gaze.

She stepped closer. Close enough to cup your cheek in her hands, a sweet, innocent gesture. One that melted you inside, like everything she did.

“Okay!” She dropped her hand. “Here’s your ID! Don’t worry, it’s totally legit. A few dollars work miracles…” She smiled with her tongue between her teeth—mischievous, cocky.

You took the card from her hand.

“Melinda… Nox?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Amazing, right?” She beamed. “Tonight, you’re someone else. Give Melinda the chance you never gave yourself, Bear,” she whispered it with her lips close to your ear, planting a soft kiss behind it—warm enough to melt your common sense.

You tried to smile.

Pretended to believe her.

Pretended it didn’t hurt.

[...]

“Shit! Deep breath. If you keep staring at him like that, he’ll get suspicious,” your situationship said.

You were in line to enter Lux, an expensive bar in Seattle. You didn’t even know how you were going to pay for it.

Your thoughts spiraled toward the worst. They’ll find out. You’ll be expelled. Arrested. Or worse—you’ll be sent back to Westview.

To your mother.

Oh God.

The thought alone made you want to vomit.

“Carol, how are we even going to pay for this?” You looked at the people in line—it felt wrong.

You didn’t belong here.

“I’ve been working on a project,” she said cryptically, and before you could ask more, a very tall man said:

“ID!”

You handed him the fake ID, which he barely glanced at.

“Enjoy the party,” he returned the papers, leaving Carol confused.

“Excuse me, sir. You didn’t even look properly,” she said with a nervous laugh. “How can you be sure we’re not underage?”

Fuck. Carol. No!

She was being impulsive again.

“Are you?” he asked, peering over his glasses.

“No!” you both answered at once.

“Then enjoy. Next!” He turned back to the line.

Rolling your eyes, you pulled her by the arm.

“What were you thinking? Are you insane?” you hissed.

“Do you know how much those damn things cost? Too much not to be at least looked at!”

“Forget it, okay? We’re in. That’s what you wanted, right?” you softened your tone, trying to calm her.

“Yeah… yeah, whatever.” Her eyes scanned the bar, like she was looking for someone. “Don’t do that again, okay?” Carol warned, and you nodded, ashamed.

Normally, alcohol only amplified what you spent your life trying to suppress — the smothered affection, the unresolved longing, the neediness spilling through rehearsed smiles. And you knew that. Knew that two shots were enough to make you even more desperate than you already were when sober.

Carol probably thought you were unbearable. Too fragile, too dependent, waiting for a kind of love she never promised — and deep down, never intended to give.

You watched her walk away again, disappearing into the crowd, into the lights and noise. And still, even with the absence scraping at your chest, you didn’t follow.

You stayed.

Alone.

A sudden bump against your shoulder jolted you back like a harsh tug to the surface. Your body reacted before your mind: your lungs faltered, the air grew thinner, and everything around you felt both distant and overwhelming.

Panic was an old acquaintance, a silent visitor who always knew where it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes shut, clenched your fists like you were trying to hold the whole world inside them. You could feel the edge drawing near with the precision of a step in the dark.

But not tonight.

Not with this name.

Melinda wasn’t you. She didn’t shake. She didn’t break. She didn’t cry at fancy parties or beg for scraps of attention. Melinda wanted to live. To have fun. To feel something other than fear.

You raised your chin, fixed your smudged lipstick, and ordered some shots of tequila. Drank the first without breathing. The second burned, and you almost smiled.

The alcohol slid down warm, spreading through your body like an unwelcome hug — comforting and fake. But effective.

You looked around, your eyes wandering over silhouettes dancing under pulsing lights.Some laughed loudly. Others whispered before smiling drunkenly.

You wondered, as you always did, if they were happy. What was the story behind each of those figures? Did they also feel small sometimes? Did they watch, too?

Or were you the only one carrying this absurd desire to be seen, this ridiculous need for approval?

Another shot.

This time, a slower sip. The world seemed to dissolve into soft tones and disjointed rhythms. And then your eyes landed on someone.

A woman.

She was surrounded by voices, yet didn’t seem to belong there. She laughed naturally, but there was something rehearsed in it — something too practiced.

The kind of smile a powerful woman wears like a weapon.

You smiled too, without realizing it. A foolish, childish reflex.

Almost ridiculous.

And when you opened your eyes again, she was looking back.

Two blue eyes, intense — but from where you sat, the color shifted. Sometimes green, sometimes blue, deep, almost violet, like precious cold stones carved into a face too sculpted to be real — and you wanted to get closer. To find out the true color of the mysterious woman’s eyes.

She wasn’t smiling anymore. Just that raw and wild look.

Aimed at you.

Your heart skipped a beat. Shame came first, hot and treacherous. But it was quickly replaced by something more primal: curiosity. Fear. Fascination. You should have looked away. You knew that.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

You were being devoured by that gaze. And somehow, you wanted it.

You wondered if she saw something in you too — or if she was just playing, like everyone else.

You laughed to yourself. What a stupid thought. A woman like that would never look at you...

Not really.

Not the way you wished she would.

You downed your last shot in one go, the taste burning your throat, your stomach, what was left of your judgment.

The world spun a little — but honestly, you didn’t care anymore. It was past 3 a.m., and the heat of the dance floor felt like it was choking you. Sweat glued the dress to your body like the fabric was punishing you for every misstep.

You needed air.

You got up with effort, ankles a bit unsteady, and pushed through the crowd. Shoulders bumped into yours like no one had time to acknowledge your existence. That was fine. You were used to going unnoticed.

The first door in sight was the emergency exit. Narrow. Empty. The cold concrete outside contrasted with the heat from inside, and you felt the thermal shock ripple across your skin, up your spine.

Seattle's lights blinked on the horizon like promises never meant for you.

The cold air froze the tip of your nose and bit at the bare skin of your arms, but still… it was better than the suffocation inside.

You leaned your back against the wall and sit on a concrete stool, lettting your head fall back, eyes fixed on a starless sky.

For a moment, you thought of your childhood summers back in Westview. Those days when the world was small and kind. When the sound of the ice cream truck’s bell was enough to make you run barefoot, lighthearted, laughing freely.

God, how you missed that.

When you were just a girl — and that was enough. When your father’s love was all you needed to fill the empty spaces. Before he died.

Before the world crumbled at five years old.

Since then, ice cream never tasted the same again.

Your mother never looked at you the same. Or maybe she never looked at you at all.

You were always the mistake.

The disappointment.

She said it with her eyes — and sometimes with harsh words — that you weren’t enough. That everything you did could have been better, prettier, more useful.

But she smiled at your brother with that pride that never belonged to you.

So when the letter from UW came, it was your chance. The chance to prove to her that you could. The chance to find your own path.

The chance to run.

A city where no one knew your flaws. Where you could be someone — anyone. But even here, you brought the same fucking broken pieces.

The same hunger that now made you accept Carol Danvers’ scraps like they were feasts. She kissed you in secret. Called you “mine” in a whisper, but never in public.

And still, you waited. Like a fool.

Because deep down, being with her hurt less than admitting that maybe no one would ever truly choose you.

You bit your lip, tasting the metallic sting of frustration. The alcohol made everything feel more distant. More confusing.

The truth was you didn’t know who you were or who you wanted to be.

You just knew that… maybe you needed a little love.

Was that too much to ask?

The door behind you creaked open.

You turned slowly — thinking it was some janitor asking you to leave.

But no.

It was her.

The woman with the mysterious eyes.

The feminine silhouette in front of you was imposing, exuding importance. Her long dark hair fell like a rope, framing a strong face — and yet, the redness in her cheeks — from the alcohol or the cold — gave a softness to such a harsh figure.

Your eyes locked for a while. Too long. But neither of you dared to look away.

You swallowed hard. Should you say something? Your lips trembled, parted to speak, but her voice came first — strong, rough:

“Are you alright?”

The question cut through the silence like a blade.

Her voice was firm, almost impersonal — but there was something there...

You nodded, a gesture too small to mean anything.

Of course you weren’t alright. But what could you say? That you were trying not to cry over a woman who didn’t know how to love? That the bitter taste of tequila still burned in your throat, but what really stung was the absence — of everything?

You looked away, pressing your shoulders against the cold wall behind you.

“Just needed some air,” you finally said, almost in a whisper, like the words were being swept away by the freezing wind between you.

She stepped closer with careful strides, sitting down beside you. Not too close, but close enough for you to feel the warmth of her body. And her perfume, too — something woody, discreet, sophisticated.

You knew she was special. Rich. Very rich. From the leather heels to the minimalist jewelry.

“I figured…” she said, drawing a breath with some care. Her head tilted slightly, like she was trying to steady her thoughts more than her steps. Her hands buried in the pockets of her cream-colored coat — expensive, heavy, pristine like her. “It’s crazy in there.”

Her voice, though touched by alcohol, still carried strength. But you noticed the subtle crack in her posture. Like a piece of porcelain that only fractures under the right light.

But the question circled her mind and refused to fade away. What was she doing here? Had she followed you? Had she come here just because of you?

"Why are you here?" The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Shit.

You didn’t want to sound rude to her—not at all.

She didn’t answer right away.

She just turned her face toward you—and there was something in her eyes that froze you in place. A contained glint, sharp, like wet steel under the moonlight. And now, up close, under the moonlight, you could tell. Her eyes held perfect shades between green and blue.

It was like saltwater meeting freshwater in a single gaze.

The woman was truly stunning.

Her jaw clenched, as if she were fighting her own words. Or the impulse to say them.

Your stomach turned. Chills ran down your spine, and it wasn’t just the cold.

It was her.

How could someone look so dangerous and so hypnotic at the same time?

"I don’t know," she finally said. The sincerity in her voice was a near-wounded whisper, and it caught you off guard. "I saw you leave. And... I came."

Silence returned, but now it was a different kind of silence.

Alive.

Dense.

You looked down for a moment, feeling your heart beat too loud in your chest. It was scary. Not her—not exactly. But what she awakened. 

The way she looked at you. Like she saw something even you couldn’t name. And still, she didn’t look away.

"I don’t usually do this," she continued, and there was something restrained in her voice. Almost self-directed anger.

And you understood. Fuck. How you did understand!

That feeling of doing something against your own instincts just because, for some inexplicable reason, you have to.

That stupid war between protecting yourself and letting go.

"Me neither," you confess with a laugh, still feeling her now-blue eyes cut through you. Your voice came out small, almost like a shared secret.

You felt naked under those eyes. Like every layer of you was being unfolded with unsettling precision.

She didn’t smile.

She only looked deeper, and for a moment, you had the impression she was going to say something. Reveal something.

But she stopped.

The blue-eyed woman seemed to be battling her own body. Her own impulsivity. As if every inch of the space between you had been measured, restrained, smothered by something she refused to name.

You could feel her breath. The woody scent of her perfume. You wanted to get closer.

She turned her head sharply, like it would stop her from doing something reckless. You noticed her jaw tightening, her hard swallow, and her hands—now out of her coat—clenching into fists.

She rose from the concrete bench, stumbling elegantly in her heels to face the city.

"You’re... different," she said, as if spitting out the word with difficulty.

And she didn’t sound like she meant it in the usual way people try to impress someone at a party. There was real weight behind it. As if that “difference” was dangerous—or worse: unacceptable.

Your eyebrows furrow.

"What do you mean?" you ask, standing up with some effort.

She hesitated. A small pout formed on her lips, as if annoyed that you had asked. Or that she didn’t know how to answer.

Her eyes drifted to your mouth. A subtle, restrained motion, but not fast enough to hide it.

You held your breath.

"I don’t know," she said, but it felt more like a confession. Her hard gaze stayed fixed on you, but there was something different now. Something raw. More... human. "But I despise it."

The words came out like poison caught in her throat—not necessarily to hurt you. But as if the mere idea of someone unraveling what she thought was solid was intolerable.

You swallowed hard, your heart beating so fast it hurt. You stood there, between impulse and fear, trying to figure out someone who seemed made of thorns and glass.

Too beautiful to touch without getting cut.

But maybe, getting cut would be worth it.

"Why?" you dared ask, your voice low. You were afraid of the answer, but more afraid of the silence.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting yours with something close to fury—but it wasn’t at you.

It was at herself.

A clash of wills sewn by years of restraint. Everything about her was control, you realized that now. Every gesture, every word, every space between blinks was meticulously guarded.

Except here. Except now.

"Because I hate losing control."

The phrase hit you with the force of an intimate confession. Almost an apology, and at the same time, a warning.

The wind blew stronger at that moment, tossing her hair across her face. She didn’t brush it away. She stayed like that, partly hidden, as if she didn’t want you to see what her eyes were saying.

But you saw anyway.

"Maybe..." you began, not knowing exactly where you were going. "Maybe that’s not such a bad thing."

She laughed. Softly. Without humor. A bitter, restrained laugh, like you’d told a joke too cruel to be funny.

"You have no idea what you’re saying."

You stood up to face her. 

Now there was no space between you. Only tension. A magnetic, cursed field. Hot and cold at once.

Your eyes searched hers, and in them, you found a wound no one should’ve ever touched.

But you wanted to.

You wanted to enter that pain and know it like someone opening a forbidden book.

"Then tell me," you whispered. "Make me understand," you pleaded.

She was so still, she looked carved out of air.

"I can’t do that." Her voice broke, and it was the first time that had happened. She stood up. Stopped at the door to leave, to run. Run from you. "You should go back too. You’ll freeze out here in that outfit," she said without looking at you, still facing the door and holding the handle.

And she seemed to be waiting.

You studied the silhouette of the much older woman leaning against the door. She was undeniably elegant, and the heels made her seem even taller next to you.

Those eyes seemed so dominant, always in control.

And maybe you were the one who had to take the risk here. After all, she looked like someone who had much to lose.

You stepped closer.

Each step measured, deliberate, until you could hear her breath change. A subtle, trembling exhale, as if your nearness had broken something in her.

Carefully, your fingers touched her dark hair, sliding through the strands like someone caressing a secret.

She let out a soft sound through her mouth—a stifled noise, somewhere between a moan and a protest.

And you smiled.

She was trying to resist. But failing.

"Please..." you begged, your mouth so close to her skin your warm breath touched her.

She turned sharply. Her back against the iron door. Breathing fast and looking like she might kill you if she could.

But you were too far gone now to care about dying.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" she growled, her jaw tight, her breath short like she could barely stay on her feet.

You didn’t answer.

You just let your lips touch her neck. Slow kisses, warm, like promises you didn’t even know if you could keep.

"Please. Please. Please," you begged between the kisses, the words staining her skin like fever.

You lifted your face until it was level with hers. Your lips brushed against hers in an almost-kiss.

Burning. Cruel.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice so low it barely made a sound.

But she heard it.

The woman finally leaned in, ready to be kissed—but you pulled back.

Just enough for her to feel the absence.

Her blue eyes burned with something primal.

“Fuck,” she breathed.

And then she kissed you.

Like she was breaking a promise. Like she was diving off a cliff, not expecting to survive.

And it wasn’t gentle.

It was ravenous.

It was need, despair, fury.

The kind of kiss that shouldn’t happen, but it did.

And you knew—right there, with her back slammed against the cold metal door, lips crushing yours with a hunger that felt decades old—that nothing would ever make sense again.

Her mouth was hot, urgent, and her tongue claimed yours with such authority it made you moan into your own teeth.

She took control without asking, without waiting. Like she was quenching a thirst that had gone too long ignored.

Her hands—big, firm, experienced—grabbed your waist with such force that you lost your breath.

And you let her hold you.

Let her brand you.

It was insane to be there.

In an emergency hallway, in an uncomfortable position and the wind bit at your exposed skin.

But honestly? None of it mattered. Because the heat came from her. That tall, mature body carved by time.

She could’ve been your mother’s age.

And fuck, why did that make it even hotter?

The way she held you—like she already knew every path to pleasure before you even knew their names.

The way she kissed—without hesitation, without the impatient rush of someone just chasing release.

Nothing like Carol.

Your hands moved up her back, feeling the expensive fabric of her coat, then pushed it gently off her shoulders to reveal the heat her skin carried.

Your fingers moved on their own, hooking into the waistband of her linen pants.

She moaned against your mouth, a muffled sound, and a shiver ran through both of you.

She broke the kiss violently, her breath ragged, like she’d just run a marathon. 

“No,” she whispered, resting her forehead against yours. “I can’t...”

You whimpered at the sudden distance and pressed into her, needing to make sure she was real.

“Why not?” you whispered back.

“Because...” She inhaled, trying to think, to erase your scent and your kiss from her mind. “Because this is wrong.”

“This?” You smiled, dragging your tongue across your lips. “Well. You don’t have to do anything.” Your voice was soothing. “I can do it for you.”

You brought your lips back to her neck.

Yes. You’d do it. You’d do anything.

She melted under your touch, letting out a desperate moan as your hands traveled lower down her body.

“W-what are you going to do?”

“Shh... Just feel.”

You stole her lips again, this time taking the control that seemed meant only for her. You explored every curve, alternating between squeezing her waist and her ass.  

“Can I do this?” you asked, resting your hand over her panties, waiting for a reply.

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She just nodded.

You smiled.

Unbelievable.

You slid to her clit, and she gasped. She looked so beautiful, so ready...

You moved your fingers in figure-eights, making her moan and grab the back of your neck.

Then, without warning, you slipped two fingers inside her, dragging a cry of pleasure from her lips.

“Fuck, it’s been so long,” she moaned, delirious.

You kept thrusting, fingertips massaging the soft flesh inside. She throbbed and clenched so tightly around you...

“More!”

You brought your thumb to her clit, stimulating both spots at once. You felt her legs tremble. “I can give you this,” you whispered into her ear, biting her sensitive earlobe. “I’m a good girl.”

And when you heard her moan loudly, you knew she was the kind that liked dirty talk.

You looked at her again.

Fuck! How is she this beautiful?

Cheeks flushed, spit escaping her lips, hair tangled in your fingers, one leg wrapped around your waist—the tip of her high heel digging into your back—while the other leg stayed grounded, giving her that precious balance she seemed to crave.

This time, she was the one who stole your lips. And the moan that escaped you was shameful. Her tongue moved wildly, like it was saying something.

She was going to come.

“God— I—” she cried, bouncing on your fingers.

With one final thrust, she came.

Watching those once-cruel, dominant eyes roll back in bliss was something you would tattoo into your memory, forever.

And when she opened them again, you saw two oceans—still shimmering with pleasure.

Your chest burned with pride. You could die happy.

But all that feeling was devoured by three words:

“This never happened.”

The words hung in the air like the toxic smoke flooding the city, seeping into you.

You needed a second to process. Then two. And on the third, your stomach turned.

Your blood boiled.

“What?” Your voice came out as a choked disbelief.

Agatha didn’t answer right away.

She just straightened her coat, then her hair, staring past you at the buildings like you were a mistake she needed to delete.

Like you weren’t worth her time.

“You heard me.” she said coldly. Sharply.

Her blue eyes locked on yours — and this time, there was nothing in them.

No desire.

No warmth.

Just a shadow of disdain.

You stepped forward. “Are you serious?” Your voice cracked midway, but you stood your ground.

She sighed, like she needed patience to deal with you — and that only made you angrier.

“It was a mistake,” she said, dry. “One I don’t intend to repeat.”

Your chest cracked.

You laughed. Bitterly.

“Of course. Because God forbid someone like you be seen with someone like me, right?”

“It’s not about that, girl.”

Girl.

Said like that.

Like you were too small to understand.

“No?” You stepped closer, so near you could see her spit on her own chin. “Then what is it? Your last name? Your reputation? Whoever you think you are!?”

She glared at you, like she wanted to reduce you to dust.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Silence.

A bottomless void.

It hit like a punch to the chest. A blow full of condescension and venom.

You stepped back, tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah. I’m nothing,” you nodded, smiling with eyes full of rage. “The nothing that made you moan like a desperate whore in a dark corner.”

Her jaw clenched. She took a deep breath, but said nothing.

“Don’t look at me like you’re better than me,” you went on, your voice shaking with fury and adrenaline. “You’re just a lonely woman fucking the void inside you with someone else’s fingers. And fuck, you liked it. Every second. So spare me the performance.”

“If I were you, I’d watch that tone.” she replied, tense—but not with the same fire.

You laughed again, bitter, haunted by the echo of that damned phrase.

“It’s about you being nothing.”

Like a low blow. Like a rejection letter.

Like Carol.

Your chest tightened in that familiar, cruel way. Because you already knew that taste: the taste of abandonment that comes right after the touch.

The touch that makes you feel wanted.

The touch that lies.

You pulled away like you'd been burned, as if every second there had started to scald you. Swallowed hard, ignoring the lump in your throat, the salty taste that threatened to spill from your eyes.

“Go fuck yourself,” you said, but your voice came out too soft to hurt.

You brushed past her, your body still hot, still trembling, but already feeling the cold swallowing you whole again.

You stormed out the emergency exit like fleeing from a fire — even if now, the fire was inside you.

The dawn air hit you like a slap — cold, harsh, indifferent.

You descended the emergency exit steps with heavy steps, feeling the concrete vibrate beneath the thin soles of your shoes, but it was like every step was a surrender.

As soon as you returned to the dance floor, you saw your “friend with benefits” grinding on some guy while his hands roamed her sculpted body.

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

Fuck all of them.

A retreat on the board.

A pawn.

The smallest piece. The most predictable. The one that only moves forward — and dies first.

You laughed again, alone, with that irony that rises from your gut. The bitter laugh of someone who realizes they were just a convenient move in someone else’s game.

Just a pawn advanced out of pure whim.

You stumbled outside, like a mistake hidden behind the scenes of a party that was far too expensive.

The wind whipped against your sweat-damp skin and unshed tears. And you swallowed hard again, throat tight, the acidic taste of humiliation rising like bile.

You thought of her.

A stranger — eyes sometimes blue, sometimes green, and always vivid.

Of her touch.

Of the rough fingers gripping your waist. The way she moaned greedily for more, even if only once.

The way she came with her face turned toward the sky, as if you were some kind of gift.

And even then… “You’re nothing.”

Fuck.

Why do those words hurt more than they should? Why does part of you want to go back, just to scream? Just to force her to admit that you gave her the best orgasm of her life?

But you didn’t go back.

You just clenched your fists, walking the dark streets like someone running from their own shadow. Like someone who finally understands that some people were made to move the pieces… and others were made to be moved.

And you swear to yourself — somewhere between the step and the regret — that next time, God, if there’s a next time, you’ll play the game before it plays you.

Because being a pawn is exhausting.

And you weren’t born to die in the first move.

~*~

UHhhh... Agatha's such a bitch... I'm sorry!! Y-Y

Tag List <3

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[bloomzone]

sooo y’all, let me tell you… these past 10 days I've been locking in and i reallyyy achieved a lot, and honestly i learned even more. i was still in my lil reflection era overthinking, analyzing, you know the usual but i also caught myself before i made some big mistakes. like i literally saved myself right before things could’ve gone bad and i wanna share this with y’all because i know someone needs to hear it too, especially if you’re stressed about exams right now.

lesson 1: please don’t change your study method last minute.

y’all, please, if you have finals or big exams coming up, do not start experimenting with new study methods. i made that mistake, fr. i saw this "easier" method on YouTube and was like omg this sounds perfect, maybe this is my new main way to study. but nooo, babe. that’s a trap. because when you change things up right before exams, you’re gonna end up confused, stressed, and behind. you'll start thinking like “omg time is running out and i still don’t get this” or “i haven’t memorized anything yet.” and that spiral is so real. so pls, stick to your main method the one that has worked for you so far. yeah, you can try adding small things or testing new tricks lightly on the side, but don’t fully switch everything right before big exams. keep your foundation strong, okay? trust me on this.

lesson 2: take meaningful breaks.

this one hit me hard. so when you’re taking breaks while studying, make them useful breaks, y’all. not the kind where you scroll on your phone for an hour and then feel worse. not the breaks where you just lay there thinking “what if i fail” because omg we’ve all done that and it never helps.

instead, do something that actually resets your brain. like cook yourself a meal, go out for a walk, change your environment, tidy your space a bit, or even journal your thoughts. for me, cooking during my breaks literally saves me i get food and i feel productive cuz like sometimes my brain hurt and when I get up to take a break and eat something THE FIRST BITE and I'm like "damn bro I was hungry" and then I eat and I feel better again but honestly, the best kind of break is stepping outside, grabbing a little snack or coffee, and breathing fresh air. just doing something small but active that makes you feel human again before you go back to your books.

lesson 3: slowly build your study stamina.

i used to be someone who could never study more than 3 hours a day, max. but these past 10 days? i actually pushed myself to study 5 to even 7 hours a day. which is crazy for me, honestly. and no, i’m not saying you have to study for hours nonstop because same, my usual safe goal is 3 hours too. but when you’ve got a pile of exams and subjects waiting, sometimes you really do need to go for those longer sessions.what helped me a lot is the pomodoro technique. and let me say this pomodoro is a technique, not a study method so you can still study your way but use pomodoro to manage your time.there’s this YouTube channel i found that reallyyyy helps. the videos are so cozy and calming they have these little lo-fi vibes with cats moving on the screen, and even tho i don’t really listen to music when i study, i just let those videos play for the background sound aside in my laptop. it kinda makes me feel like i’m studying with someone else and i stay productive for longer. usually it’s like 3-hour study sessions with three 5-minute breaks, and that structure really helped me go from my usual short sessions to longer, more focused study days. and let’s be honest, the cute cats motivate me more than they should lol. [The link of the channel ]

lesson 4: don’t panic (even if everything feels overwhelming).

and this is coming from someone who still panics before every exam lol. but sometimes, you just gotta tell yourself: enough. like, i will study, i will do my part, and the results will come how they come.especially if you’re someone like me who has 8+ subjects to juggle it can feel impossible to manage everything. i even tried that method i saw on YouTube where you study 3 subjects a day. thought it would save me, but honestly it didn’t work. i just ended up feeling like i was tripping around, lost and stressed.so now, i kinda made my own little method. i call it the 80/20 rule where you focus 80% of your day on your main subject, and 20% on a side subject. idk but 80/20 rule exist but I change it lmao like, let’s say you wake up at 8am and study till sunset. you spend the whole day focusing on your main subject (like history or math or whatever’s urgent). then in the evening, maybe from like 6pm to 8pm, you switch and study a different subject for a bit. and the next day, you make that second subject your new main focus. so you’re rotating, but still giving serious time to each one. i don’t even know if this is an actual a method, but it works for me, and that’s what matters.and again, please don’t try completely new study methods when you’re close to exams. you will only stress yourself out more. stick to what you know works, trust the process, and stay consistent. i promise, you got this.

lesson 5: please please please… don’t go on a diet during school season.

like i swear i should’ve put this one first, because it’s that serious. and no i didn’t make this mistake myself (and i never will), but i just need to say this to you right now. like please don’t go on a diet during school or exam season. i beg you.i don’t know who needs to hear this today, but you are a student. your brain, your body, needs food. you need fuel to even survive school days, let alone study and pass exams. so whatever you’re doing right now whether it's weight loss, calorie counting, fasting please, stop and pause . if you wanna follow a diet, i get it, but wait until a time when you’re not under this much stress. because dieting during school will only make things worse. no summer body is worth feeling dizzy, tired, and unfocused during your exams babe. like, i promise you you will literally feel like you’re dying if you try to diet hard right now.

i know some people started their diets months ago and maybe they’re used to it by now, and that’s fine. but please if you’re thinking of starting, or if you’re already cutting down too much don’t be harsh on yourself. like, please don’t fall into that mindset where you think eating one egg and drinking black coffee is enough for the day. bro, that won’t help you focus. food is also focus. food is energy. food is survival.you’re not a robot who can just skip meals and still function at 100%. you’re a human, and your body needs real nutrition to help your brain stay sharp and your body stay strong during this season.especially if you’re in the middle of exams, or have big deadlines coming please don’t starve yourself. eat, babe. and no ofc i’m not saying go eat just anything. like, don’t only munch on junk food either because that won’t make you feel fresh and alive eat meals that actually fuel you something that makes your body feel clean, your mind clear, and your energy steady.

and omg, don’t forget water. like, i’m so serious about this always, always, keep a water bottle next to you while studying. sometimes you think you’re tired, but your body is just dehydrated. water helps your brain focus, helps you avoid headaches, and just keeps everything running smoothly. trust me on this.

so please, please…

don’t go into diet culture mode while you’re in your student grind season. your body and brain are already under enough stress. don’t add more. eat, stay hydrated, fuel yourself right and you’ll actually perform better. save the weight loss plans for days when you can do it gently, without risking your health . i love you and i just wanna see you win not collapse. so please, eat food and drink your water and don't be harsh on yourself

@bloomzone

[trappedinacomputer]

Hey so in my depression about tr!WaterHalo falling apart again I started thinking about why and went down a rabbit hole of angst so if that was Bad's intention , great job :D (/neg but not really, just in a silly way)

Anyways: So i was thinking about how, yes tr!Bad is an oblivious aromantic son of a bitch (I'm aromantic as well, that doesn't explain away his lack of rizz /j) who fumbled the dragon lady for like the millionth time, but there is probably a little more going on to this given him saying "angsty lore is the best lore" so I went down a rabbit hole of where this all goes

Yes this is gonna be a lot and yes it is honestly lowkey embarrassing that I thought up all this because of tr!Bad nosediving a date so hard he might as well have ended up at the center of the earth, BUT I DIGRESS:

*warning: most of this has nothing to do with holywater, it's mostly just !Bad*

tr!Bad has kinda been going through Ultra Depression™ like I've mentioned before due to him losing everything he cares about, which has resorted in him becoming a Gold Medal Olympic Alcoholic but also he's started to push people away a bit more

I got to thinking maybe the reason why Bad botched this date so hard (if we ignore the fact that he is in fact just this oblivious and didn't realize it was romantic) is because he's trying really hard to not actually care about Water, because he knows that people he cares about get hurt/die, even given his best efforts to save them..so maybe if he lets Water start hating him on her own, she'll stay away and live a long life like she deserves

BUT then I started thinking about !Bad as a character and just how fucking depressing he is which led me down the path of thinking about what exactly happened to him/what is happening to him now which leads me to my theories of his character and timeline of events:

Bad is an angel chilling in heaven, doing what he's told like any good angel does when he's given the task of killing the dinosaurs, which he does because it's what he's told to do. However, when he returns he is told this is his purpose, his one task for all eternity is to kill and cause destruction which is not at all something that sounds inticing.

He, along with others, rebel against this idea that their fate and existence is predetermined against their will which directly contradicts their existence. They get thrown out of heaven leading to his fall and being trapped under Euphrates, only being able to escape when he, who would've guessed it, kills the angels guarding him, proving the heavens right.

Like a curse and a constant reminder, a halo continuously hangs over his head even if everywhere he goes, catastrophe follows and every person he learns to love dies by either his own hand or his own actions/inactions, reminding him that his fate is sealed and he can do nothing to prevent it, no matter how hard he tries.

And this gets proven for him when he stumbles onto an island and meets the first creatures in a long time he'd sacrifice himself for: his kids. This was a love that ran deeper than any he had felt before..so when they went missing and he couldn't feel their lives close, he spiraled. Believing he had lost them, he prepares himself to be a catalyst for the end of the world, torturing himself to feel a fraction of the amount of pain he was about to bring. If his kids were truly dead, then the end of life on earth would bring them together again, he would swallow his pride and do what the heavens sent him to do if it meant he could reunite with them again.

But he miscalculated. They were alive, being held somewhere horrible where he had to embrace the killing to potentially save them, but by that time, he was already prepared. When they were escaping from that place and he tanked a nuke to save Dapper, his decay got worse and he found himself in his own mind, between life and death, debating with himself and the different parts of his soul on what to do. He was so prepared to take on his mission, but now what? He was so dead set on completing his purpose to return to his kids, but now they were here with him again, he needed to protect them and take care of them, it wasn't time yet again.

That purpose ate away ate him, but he couldn't risk hurting his kids so when the opportunity to go back to that place of killing arose, he sent the part of his soul that wanted it the most, while the other parts got to stay and protect his kids from it. But his body was still in a state of decay, and actions always have consequences, he suffered for literal months slowly dying but stayed there for his kids, until his body and mind literally gave out, reliving the worst moment in all his lives: the day he lost his son.

When he gets to that desert again, with the scales laid before him and two doors on either side, he didn't even notice they were balanced, not until he looked towards the door "Home", the only place he was ever meant to exist. The door normally locked and chained shut not stood clean, almost welcoming..and he screams "why?" Why now does he get the choice to return home? Why when he finally has something to protect, that he's finally been able to protect, does he get the option to go? He contemplates for what feels like days, but he made a promise to return to his babies, and while it wasn't a deal, he couldn't bring himself to break it.

So he returns to them..but he only has limited time with them before he seemingly does what he does best and the people he loves are once again taken from him. Once all his kids are done, he has carved their memorial into the very earth, and the last of his comrades depart, he does as well. He kills himself seemingly in the only rift in whatever protection the island has and seems..surprised to arrive back in the desert in front of those scales. He turns and sees his kids run up to him from the wide open gates of his home. A beautiful sight, if it didn't come with a cost. Heaven basically dangles his kids in front of his face, knowing these creatures were what he chose over them, knowing the pull they have over him and using it as leverage to push him to complete his mission.. and it kind of works.

Now he finds himself in this new realm, meeting new and old friends, people he cares for, but knowing deep down he's here for a specific reason. He needs to finish this Cathedral to figure out the missing piece to the puzzle of what his mission is/how to complete it. But what's the rush really? He knows his kids are safe in heaven, they can't die again and are out of harms way, he can spend some spare moments enjoying life before he snuffs it out.

I don't think this Cathedral is to contact heaven, I think that's what Bad hopes it does. Bad has made it clear that his mind and memory are all over the place, I've said it before and I'll say it again: I believe that the part of his soul that remembers his mission and is fully prepared to kill the entire planet to see his kids again, is the one he left in Purgatory, and I also fully believe Heaven would trick him into bringing that part of his soul back and forcing Bad to combine it back with the rest of himself. And when not if his mind fails again, maybe it isn't alcohol or a broken heart, but a broken soul, torn between killing everyone to return home to his kids, or never seeing his kids again to buy humanity more time than heaven believes they deserve.

There are some more theories I have that are a lot more eccentric like Bad potentially going through with the apocalypse but betraying heaven to make a new world (maybe with the help of Foolish 👀) but that's not really something I believe is planned lol

[soaps-mohawk]

You know when you're too normal and suddenly you need to be weird? (Cut to the guys omega doing Michael Jackson moves in public)

Me rn

[byanyan]

okay!!! got a couple short replies to tiny starters crammed into my (still paused) queue... it's not much, but it's something. tomorrow i'll try to get a bit more done, maybe restart the queue, etc. etc., but. yeah. baby steps.

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[edenesth]

ATEEZ as Hogwarts Students

Pairing(s): hogwarts student!ateez x hogwarts student!reader

Word Count: 9.8k

A/N: Oh my gosh, thank you all so much for helping me reach 2.3k followers! To celebrate this, I'm back again with another one of these! Once again, special thanks to my one and only, my pookie, @itstheghostofmypast, for helping me confirm which houses some of the members should be in💘

ATEEZ MASTERLIST

Hongjoong ↠ Gryffindor

The Poor Prefect That Nobody Takes Seriously

"I swear to god, if I see another damn chocolate frog loose in the dorm, I'll—" Before Hongjoong could even finish, a cheeky first-year passing by stuck his tongue out at him. "What are you gonna do? Run off to cry to Professor McGonagall again?"

The seventh-year's jaw dropped, his blood pressure spiking, but the kid was gone before he could even scold him. Two years—he'd been a prefect for almost two years now, and still, no one ever took him seriously. Thinking back to his early days as an optimistic prefect, eager to bring order and discipline to his rowdy housemates, he knew now how impossible that dream was.

But was he going to stop trying?

Not a damn chance.

Hongjoong had chosen to become a prefect the very moment he was eligible in his fifth year. Professors had always praised him as reliable, a natural-born leader, and he'd believed that wholeheartedly. He'd pictured himself bringing order to his dormitory, respected by his housemates for his efforts to keep things in line. But the reality? Gryffindors, as he was learning, could be a lot harder to control than he ever expected.

Unfortunately, his "small but mighty" reputation didn't exactly translate into authority. He'd start off with a firm tone, reminding them of the rules, only to watch them twist his words into a rallying cry for their next scheme. His attempts at seriousness somehow only fueled their chaotic Gryffindor spirits, making him seem more like a mascot for daring antics than a figure of discipline.

While the academic staff continued to commend his commitment, his classmates saw him as the "cool" prefect—the one who'd cover for them more often than not, a little too forgiving to actually be feared. Some nights, he'd even find himself dragged into the very pranks he was supposed to be preventing, swept up by the contagious energy of his friends.

Despite everything, Hongjoong couldn't bring himself to truly give up. Every morning, he'd tell himself that today was the day he'd put his foot down, that he'd be the prefect his professors always said he could be. He knew the odds weren't in his favour, but in true Gryffindor fashion, he wasn't about to back down from the challenge.

Today's the day—I can feel it in my bones.

Letting out a determined breath, Hongjoong's gaze fixed on the notice board, now littered with doodles, silly notes, and questionable "decorations." With a purposeful nod, he crossed his arms and cleared his throat, catching the attention of the Gryffindors lounging around the common room. "Forget the frogs then. How many times have I told you all not to vandalise the notice board with your nonsense? It's used solely for—"

"For important announcements. Yes, we get it," piped up a cheeky third-year, eyes glinting with mischief. "But there are no announcements at the moment, so is it really so bad if we, y'know, decorate a little?"

And there it was again—the quick responses that left him speechless every time. Hongjoong tried to keep his expression stern, but a tiny part of him could almost see their point. Was it so bad to have a bit of fun? No, he reminded himself, that's not the point. But as he felt his resolve waver, he knew a miracle wasn't going to happen today. Why couldn't he be both firm and likeable, just like—

"Oh, so you want to test if it's bad?" your voice cut through, sharp but calm, as you stepped down from the spiral staircase. You'd been listening long enough to hear their usual defiance, and you were not about to let them undermine your boyfriend's authority. "How about we invite the professors to take a look at your 'artwork' and see how much they'd appreciate it, hm?"

Like you.

Hongjoong released a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, grateful for your support. You, with your knack for balancing authority and approachability, were everything he wished he could be as a prefect. If he could just learn how to be firm, like you, maybe Gryffindor's antics would finally come under control.

"You heard her," he added, finding a bit of confidence again as he nodded in agreement. "Clean it up. Now."

The students exchanged glances, sighing as they reluctantly began peeling off the doodles. He couldn't help but grin a little as he glanced your way.

"Thanks, babe," he mouthed.

You shook your head, smiling as you nodded toward the remaining Gryffindors lounging around. "I'm heading to the Great Hall first. I'll leave it to you to get everyone to breakfast on time, Joong. Think you can handle it?"

Hongjoong nodded enthusiastically, eager to make you proud. "You bet. They're going to see a whole new Prefect Kim this year," he declared confidently.

You laughed, both amused and a bit sceptical. He'd nearly caved to their antics just moments ago, but that was part of his charm. You loved how different he was from you—how he helped you loosen up when you were too serious, just as you helped him stay firm when he got a little too lenient. Together, you two were like yin and yang, balanced and perfectly matched, as everyone in the house always teased.

Squeezing his hand, you gave him a playful smile. "Show 'em, tiger," you winked before turning to leave, catching a glimpse of his cheeks turning pink.

The moment you were out of sight, the common room burst into whistles and smirks around him. Snapping out of his trance, your boyfriend rolled his eyes, trying to keep his composure.

"Alright, folks," he called out, clapping his hands. "You heard my girl. Let's cooperate for once and head to the Great Hall on time—don't make me disappoint her!"

The Gryffindors grinned, shuffling toward the door without a fuss, eager to play along. He smirked, pleased with their obedience whenever you were mentioned. Maybe he'd always need your presence to keep this difficult crowd in line, but he didn't mind at all. He knew they didn't have to fear him for him to be a good prefect. Deep down, he knew they all adored him, and he was pretty sure that, rule-breaking aside, they wouldn't truly make things difficult for him. They just loved teasing him—because, honestly, he might just be their favourite prefect.

Seonghwa ↠ Hufflepuff

The Goody Two Shoes and Teacher's Pet

"Oh, Seonghwa, my boy! What brings you here on a weekend? Shouldn't you be off enjoying Hogsmeade with your girlfriend?" Professor Sprout asked, pleasantly surprised as her star student stepped into the greenhouse, notebook in hand. The seventh-year smiled brightly, giving her a respectful nod before approaching.

"Good afternoon, Professor! I just came by to check on my mandrake—I'm determined to cultivate one to maturity for my latest Restorative Draught. And, uh… my girlfriend, she'll be here to join me soon," he added, rubbing the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink at the mention of you.

Professor Sprout's expression softened, a smile touching her lips. "You're too hard working for your own good, both of you," she gently chided, pride swelling as she glanced at the Hufflepuff sigil pinned proudly on his denim jacket. Even on a day when house representation wasn't required, Park Seonghwa wore his Hufflepuff loyalty openly, reminding everyone where his heart belonged. She knew he had a bright future ahead, and if she were to ever consider early retirement, he would be her top choice to take over as the next Herbology professor.

As if on cue, you pushed open the greenhouse doors and stepped inside. "Hwa, are you here already?" you called, glancing around before your eyes landed on your boyfriend and Professor Sprout.

Seonghwa, who'd been focused on his mandrake, looked up at the sound of your voice, a soft smile lighting up his face. In the presence of authority, he resisted the urge to rush over and hug you, his restraint both endearing and unmistakable. You bit back a laugh, amused by his adorable attempt at composure.

"Oh! Good afternoon, Professor!" you greeted, nodding respectfully. "Are we disturbing you? We can come another day if you need the greenhouse for your work."

She smiled warmly, waving off your concern. "Not at all, dearie. I was just on my way out. You two enjoy your little date," she added with a knowing wink. "And if you're in the mood for a treat, there are some extra Every Flavour Beans on the top shelf—please help yourselves."

"Thank you, Professor!" you and Seonghwa chimed in unison, exchanging a look of warmth and shared gratitude. As the elderly woman left, he gently took your hand, pulling you close enough to place a soft kiss on your forehead. You leaned into him with a contented sigh. "How embarrassing—now she's certain we're dating," you murmured, unable to hide your own smile.

He chuckled, his eyes dancing with affection. "Is that such a terrible thing, love? Maybe it's time the whole world knows you're mine."

You gasped in mock scandal, playfully nudging his shoulder. "How improper," you laughed, but a blush crept into your cheeks. Though you'd never formally announced your relationship, it was hardly a secret—everyone must have guessed by now with all the time you spent together. But for the sake of his reputation as the model student, you'd both kept things understated, not feeling the need to broadcast your love. Now, though, there was a new spark in his eyes, a hint of the Slytherin heritage running through his veins, as if he suddenly wanted the world to see what his heart had always known.

Seonghwa, after all, was the first Hufflepuff in a long line of Ravenclaws and Slytherins—a surprise his family hadn't quite anticipated. But their surprise had never bothered him. Instead, it had only strengthened his resolve to prove that Hufflepuff was as noble and worthy as any other house. Consistently at the top of his class in Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures, he'd gained the admiration of professors for his quiet dedication and high moral standards. Always the first to lend a hand to new students or submit his assignments, he was as dependable as they came.

Yet as much as he wanted to honour his house and his achievements, his heart now longed for something deeper. For the first time, he wanted his family—and everyone else—to see you, the one who had believed in him through every challenge and celebrated every victory, who had loved him exactly as he was. He knew that letting you into his life so openly would be the proudest badge he could ever wear.

"So," he began, biting his lip as he shifted his focus from the mandrake to you, who was busily jotting down notes about its latest growth. "Should we spend some time in Hogsmeade after this?" His voice was soft, almost hesitant, and your eyes widened slightly, your actions faltering as you locked gazes with him.

"You're joking, right? All our friends are there—" you started, but he shook his head, his expression earnest. "I'm serious, love."

The weight of his words sank in, and you realised he wasn't joking at all. A rush of emotions washed over you. "I... I don't know why it took me so long, but I don't want to hide my feelings for you anymore. I want to openly show my affection and be like every other couple in school. It's already our seventh year, and we haven't even been on a proper date. Can we make this the first of many more? Would you like to... go on a date with me?"

Placing your pen down, you blinked, your heart racing at his sincere proposal. This was a big step. Once the truth was out in the open, there would be no turning back—everyone, including his family, would know about you two. But as you looked into his eyes, you felt a rush of warmth. If he was ready for it, then so were you. You knew he would always protect you, no matter what.

With a shy smile, you nodded, feeling butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "Thought you'd never ask."

His face broke into a radiant grin, and the world around you seemed to melt away. Seonghwa stepped closer, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder, enveloped in the warmth of his presence like a cosy blanket. "I can't wait," he murmured softly.

"Me too," you replied, a wave of excitement bubbling in your chest.

In that greenhouse, surrounded by vibrant plants and warm sunlight, you both felt the first tender blooms of something beautiful—a love that was finally ready to thrive in the open, with all the joy and light that came with it.

Yunho ↠ Hufflepuff

The Popular Triwizard Champion

"Well? Have you managed to figure out the next task, golden boy?"

Yunho's head snapped around at the sound of your voice, his wide eyes betraying his surprise. Before he could respond, a few stray water droplets from his damp hair splashed onto you, drawing a squeal from your lips.

"Oh no! Angel, I'm so sorry!" he stammered, hastily brushing at your sleeve, his genuine concern making you laugh. He held the golden egg tightly, now safely shut after his latest round of inspections. "But seriously, what are you doing here? You'll be in trouble if anyone finds you sneaking into the prefect's bathroom!"

You snorted, though your heart melted at the way his brows knitted with worry. "Well, I could say the same for you, Yuyu. You're not a prefect either," you quipped with a grin.

He chuckled, the sound echoing in the steamy room as he swam closer to where you sat at the edge of the bath, your legs lazily dangling in the water. Gently, he set the golden egg beside you, then rested his arms on your thighs, gazing up at you with a playful smirk.

"The difference is, I'm a Triwizard Champion," he teased, his grin widening, "and you're not."

Rolling your eyes, you booped his nose with a finger, earning a soft laugh from him. "True, I'm not," you replied, sticking your tongue out cheekily. "But I am your girlfriend, so that grants me a special privilege, doesn't it?"

Yunho's gaze softened as he beamed up at you, water glistening on his face like tiny jewels. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice warm and affectionate. "It definitely does."

With a tender smile, you reached out to brush the water from his face, gently pushing his damp hair back from his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat when he instinctively leaned into your touch, his warmth grounding you despite the growing tension in your chest.

"You haven't answered me yet," you reminded him softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Have you figured out the answer to the second task?"

He nodded, his hand lifting to cover yours on his cheek, holding it in place as though it anchored him. He gave your fingers a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I have," he murmured, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet intensity. "But... I don't want you to freak out. Everything's going to be okay, I promise."

Despite his comforting tone, the knot in your stomach tightened. You tried to mask it with a cheeky smile, nudging him lightly with your foot in the water. "Suuure, Yuyu. I totally believe you when you say these tasks will get easier. I mean, it's not like the first one involved dragons or anything."

Your boyfriend sighed, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. You knew he was thinking about the moment his name had been announced as the Hogwarts champion—the wave of fear that had gripped you as the Great Hall erupted in cheers.

He had submitted his name on a whim, more as a joke than anything. He hadn't thought for a second he'd actually be chosen. But of course, you should've known better. He was Jung Yunho—the school's golden boy. Everyone adored him, from his endless optimism to his natural charm. He could light up any room he walked into and never turned away anyone in need. His wild card selection had shocked everyone, but he had embraced it with the same unshakable enthusiasm he brought to everything in life.

For him, the Triwizard Tournament was an adventure, a chance to make memories and new friends. For you, it was a constant worry. You knew the dangers far too well, and it terrified you. Still, when he had emerged victorious after the first task, his joy had been contagious, and you told yourself you had to let your fear go. You couldn't hold him back from greatness. He needed your support, and you were determined to be the girlfriend he deserved.

Leaning forward, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, hoping it would reassure him as much as it did you. "Alright," you whispered, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "So tell me. What's the second task?"

Before you could pull away, he held onto you, wrapping an arm around your waist and resting his forehead against yours. His voice softened, steady but laced with a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"The Black Lake," he said quietly. "I... I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but the conviction in his eyes made you hold your ground. Whatever this task demanded, you knew one thing for sure: you'd face it together.

And his predictions couldn't have been more accurate—he and the champions from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons had an hour to retrieve something that had been stolen from them from the merpeople's village beneath the Black Lake.

The lake was eerily silent, its surface shimmering under the overcast sky as Yunho broke through the water, gasping for air. His strong arms cradled you protectively, his chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. The tension that had gripped him since the start of the task finally began to ease now that you were safe in his embrace.

You coughed violently, expelling the icy water from your lungs, your breaths coming in sharp, shallow bursts. The fragments of what had happened began piecing themselves together in your mind—the haunting stillness of the underwater village, the muffled echo of water all around, and your boyfriend's words from the prefect's bathroom resurfacing with a jarring clarity: "I have a feeling I'm going to need you to get through this task."

He had been right.

The task wasn't just about retrieving an object of value—it was about recovering the most precious thing stolen from them.

For Yunho, that had been you.

"Oh thank god, you're alright," he murmured, his voice thick with relief as he guided you onto the shore. The cheers and applause from the crowd were a distant hum in the background, drowned out by the pounding of his heart. Grabbing a towel, he draped it over your shoulders, enveloping you in its warmth before pulling you close. His arms wrapped around you securely, as though anchoring you back to him and shielding you from the chill that clung to the air.

You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, his familiar scent grounding you amidst the chaos of the moment. Despite the lingering cold, a soft smile crept onto your lips. Your voice, though weak, carried an unwavering sincerity. "How could I not be? You'll always save me… my hero."

His grip on you tightened at your words, his heart swelling with emotion as he buried his face in your hair. "Always," he whispered, his voice steady but laced with the weight of his promise. "Now I understand how hard it is for you to worry about me. I promise I'll make it out alive, every time—for you."

The announcement of his second-place finish barely registered. Everything seemed insignificant in the face of what truly mattered. All that filled his mind was the undeniable fact that you were safe, right here in his arms—the one person he cared for most.

Yeosang ↠ Ravenclaw

The Annoying Ace

"Hey, Kang! What'd you get for Potions? There's no way you aced it this time—it was brutal, and you barely studied before the test," a fellow Ravenclaw called out, pulling Yeosang from his thoughts. He glanced up, a small, nonchalant smile gracing his lips as he held up his graded paper. "You're right, it was tough. I only got an A- this time."

The room fell silent. His classmates stared at him, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Was he serious? Most of the class had barely scraped by, even after endless hours of revision. Seventh-year Potions was no joke, filled with the most complex and challenging formulas known to the wizarding world.

"Only an A-? Are you kidding me? Did you bribe the professor or something?" someone blurted out, their voice tinged with disbelief.

You, seated next to your boyfriend, shot them a sharp glare. "Say that again in front of Professor Slughorn. I dare you," you retorted, crossing your arms.

The student huffed indignantly, muttering under their breath. "Whatever. You probably cheated with Felix Felicis or something."

Before you could unleash another scathing comeback, Yeosang gently placed a hand on your shoulder, his calm demeanour soothing your rising temper. His ever-composed smile didn't waver as he addressed the accusation. "Well," he began, his voice light but laced with quiet confidence, "if we were skilled enough to brew the Liquid Luck flawlessly and effectively, wouldn't that alone prove we deserve our grades?"

The remark landed with perfect precision, leaving everyone speechless. They knew he had a point. Brewing the luck potion wasn't just difficult—it was borderline impossible for most, requiring six months of meticulous preparation and risking catastrophic failure if done even slightly wrong.

The room buzzed with unspoken thoughts. If you and Yeosang could pull off such a feat, would the Potions exam have been challenging for either of you?

Your lips quirked into a satisfied smile as you exchanged a glance with your boyfriend. That was just like him—always shutting down his doubters with quiet brilliance, never needing to raise his voice to prove his worth.

"Man, I really need to learn how to be as effortlessly cool as you," you teased, giving his shoulder a playful nudge as he led you by the hand out of the classroom and toward the courtyard for some fresh air.

He glanced at you, his usual relaxed grin softening into something fonder. "You're already the coolest person to me," he replied casually as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your cheeks warmed instantly, and you lightly smacked his arm, looking away as you bit your lip to hide the spreading blush. Even now, you could hardly believe he had accepted your confession back then—and that he was now your boyfriend. To you, he had always seemed so distant, so untouchable, like a star out of reach.

That was, until the day he noticed you struggling with a potion after class and offered to help. You hadn't known it at the time, but that small moment of kindness would lead to something far greater.

Yeosang is that Ravenclaw—the one who always seems lost in his thoughts yet somehow aces every test with ease, charming every professor in the process. He's the envy of his classmates, who burn the midnight oil studying while he effortlessly secures perfect scores. His calm, almost ethereal demeanour only adds to the intrigue, making him a bit of a mystery to everyone around him.

No one can figure out how he manages to zone out during Potions lessons and still brew flawless draughts, but they're too in awe (and slightly frustrated) to ask. It's just him—an enigma wrapped in quiet confidence, and somehow, he was yours.

"But seriously, Yeo, have you actually managed to perfect your luck potion? Don't think I didn't notice Professor Slughorn sneaking glances your way. He really did trust you to brew some for him, didn't he?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder, fingers gently squeezing his where they were intertwined with yours.

He hummed softly, the sound vibrating against you as he rested his head atop yours. With a flick of his wand, he cast a subtle charm to deflect a stray prank from a group of cheeky Gryffindors playing with products from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The spell stopped the flying object just before it could land anywhere near you. Your heart fluttered at his nonchalant protectiveness, and you couldn't help but notice the envious sighs from a few girls nearby.

"I'll answer that," he murmured, his tone teasing, "when you tell me how you managed to brew such a flawless Amortentia draught."

You blinked, lifting your head to meet his gaze. "The love potion? What are you talking about? I've never even tried to make one."

A small smile tugged at his lips, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Are you sure about that?"

You furrowed your brows, your confusion deepening. "Yes, I'm sure," you replied, your tone laced with scepticism. But before you could press him further, he leaned in and stole a quick kiss, leaving you gasping softly in surprise. Your hand flew to your lips, cheeks aflame as you tried to process what just happened.

Yeosang chuckled at your flustered reaction, his arm slipping securely around your back as he guided you to keep walking. "Then explain how you managed to make me so hopelessly enamoured with you," he said, his voice low but teasing. "It's the only logical explanation for how smitten I am."

"Oh, obviously. That's the only logical explanation," you burst out laughing, playfully trying to push him away, but he held firm, his grip steady yet gentle.

He chuckled along with you, pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head. "Exactly, my love. You've clearly bewitched me, and I have no intention of breaking free."

"The feeling's mutual, my darling genius."

San ↠ Slytherin

The Intimidating Head Boy Who's Secretly a Softie

"Oh, come on, Pumpkin! When will you learn to leave the Monster Book of Monsters alone?!" San groaned in exasperation, his eyes following his mischievous cat as it darted around, narrowly avoiding the snapping Care of Magical Creatures textbook that was now chasing it across the yard. The naughty feline had somehow managed to unclasp the book—again. "Come here, you stubborn little thing!" he called, swooping in to scoop up the cat.

With practised ease, he approached the wild book, stroking its spine gently until it calmed and locked itself shut, just as Hagrid had taught. Of course, San was probably the only one who had actually paid attention to that particular lesson.

A dramatic gasp caught his attention, and he turned to find you standing nearby, a teasing grin plastered across your face.

"Well well, who would've thought? The scary and intimidating Choi San names his cat Pumpkin? And a cat, no less? I always pictured you with an owl or a crow. Guess you're a softie after all. Wait till the rest of the house finds out."

He rolled his eyes but smirked, settling back into his seat behind Hagrid's hut. "Go ahead and tell them, sweetheart. It's not like I asked anyone to see me as the 'mean and cold Slytherin.' If they want to believe that, then that's on them."

You chuckled and took a seat beside him, watching as he cooed at his cat and peppered it with kisses. "So, what's a big bad boy like you doing out here, hm?"

"Detention, obviously," he deadpanned, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Fits my reputation, doesn't it?"

You shook your head knowingly, the corner of your lips curling upward. "If that's what you're calling it, sure. But Hagrid told me you were out here for some extra lessons on Hippogriffs when I passed him earlier."

He feigned a pout, resting his chin on Pumpkin's head. "Damn, you caught me. There goes my big bad boy image. Boohoo."

You burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

San had always been an enigma to those around him. With his sharp, commanding presence and role as Head Boy, he had a reputation for being unapproachable. First-years practically scrambled out of his way in the corridors. But those who dared get to know him soon discovered that beneath the piercing gaze and confident swagger was a playful, caring soul who adored magical creatures.

And you? You were supposedly his rival—his female counterpart, according to your peers. With your equally composed demeanour and role as Head Girl, it wasn't uncommon for people to pit the two of you against each other. But those who looked closer would've seen the truth: you were far from rivals. If anything, you were two halves of the same warm, hidden flame, especially when it came to each other.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me joining you on your little detention, Choi," you teased, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He hummed thoughtfully, nuzzling his head against yours. "On one condition."

"And what's that?" you glanced up at him.

He bit his lip, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Let me take you to Hogsmeade this weekend, Head Girl."

"Alright, alright. None of that in my class," Hagrid's booming voice cut through the moment, startling both of you as you quickly pulled apart, clearing your throats in unison.

San shifted awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you tried—and failed—to suppress a laugh.

Hagrid folded his massive arms across his chest, his bushy eyebrows raised knowingly. "We're only doing this if you're both serious, okay? This isn't some fun little date idea."

You nodded earnestly, though the corners of your lips twitched with amusement. "Of course, Professor. We're serious about this."

But Hagrid wasn't done.

Turning his attention to the Head Boy, he added, "But please, do take her to Hogsmeade, lad. I've heard more than enough from you about how much you like her."

San's eyes widened, his cheeks instantly flushing a deep crimson. "H-Hagrid!" he stammered, his voice a pitch higher than usual.

You couldn't hold it in anymore, bursting into laughter as he glared at you half-heartedly. "Oh, you're never living this down," you teased, nudging his arm.

"I—uh—yes, sir," he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he stared down at the ground, clearly flustered.

The professor chuckled, giving a hearty clap to the young man's shoulder that nearly made him stumble. "That's what I like to hear, Choi. Now, back to work, both of you. Those Hippogriffs aren't going to train themselves."

As Hagrid lumbered away, you leaned closer to San, grinning. "So, how much do you like me, Choi San?"

He groaned, his hands covering his face. "Can we just focus on the Hippogriffs?"

"Not a chance," you replied smugly, your laughter ringing out as his ears turned an even brighter shade of red.

The journey back to the common room was filled with quiet comfort, but as you both stepped through the entrance, his demeanour shifted instantly. Gone was the flustered boy from earlier; in his place stood the stoic and commanding Head Boy, his sharp gaze sweeping over the lounging students.

"Keep it down," he said curtly to a group of rowdy second-years, his tone leaving no room for argument. They immediately quieted, murmuring apologies.

You bit back a smile, watching his transformation with newfound amusement. After seeing the playful, gentle side of him during the lesson with Hagrid, this intimidating persona of his now seemed more endearing than imposing. It was his way of keeping the chaos in check, and you couldn't help but admire how effortlessly he switched between the two sides of himself.

As you trailed behind him, snippets of hushed whispers reached your ears.

"Did they come back together?"

"Isn't that the Head Girl?"

"Are they… you know?"

You glanced at San and caught the slight gulp he tried to conceal, his stiff posture giving away his unease despite his poker face.

When you both reached the point where the dorms split, you turned to him, raising an eyebrow. He stood tall, keeping his expression neutral, though you could see the faintest flicker of nervousness in his eyes. The room fell silent, the curious gazes of your housemates fixed on the two of you.

You smirked, breaking the tension. "So, Hogsmeade this weekend, right?"

His eyes widened, and a soft gasp rippled through the common room. He cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure as he met your gaze. "You… accept?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, though the playful glint in your eyes betrayed your amusement. "Well, you did say I could only join you earlier if I agreed to this. Seeing as we've already finished the lesson, that clearly means I've accepted, no?"

For a moment, his carefully constructed mask faltered, replaced by a grin so wide and boyish that it made your heart skip a beat. He didn't care about the whispers anymore as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to give yours a gentle squeeze.

"It's a date then, Head Girl."

You smiled back, your voice light but teasing as you replied, "Sounds good, Head Boy."

The room erupted into murmurs and low cheers as you turned and walked toward your dorm, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappeared from sight. If San had been worried about his reputation before, it was clear now that he didn't care.

Not when it came to you.

Mingi ↠ Ravenclaw

The Son of a Famous Wizard Scientist

"Going somewhere, Song?"

Mingi cursed under his breath, reluctantly pulling the invisibility cloak off his frame to face you. You sat casually in one of the Ravenclaw common room chairs, a book in hand and an amused smirk playing on your lips. He looked thoroughly defeated. "How do you always figure me out?"

You chuckled, closing your book and setting it aside as you straightened up. "It's not that hard with your lack of stealth. I feel the breeze every time you pass by. Honestly, the real mystery is how Filch hasn't caught you yet."

He crossed his arms with a huff, a pout forming on his lips. "Ugh, what's it gonna take for you to pretend you didn't see me? My dad cannot find out. Name your price."

You tapped your chin, standing to your full height and eyeing the Marauder's Map in his hands. "I want in on whatever you're up to."

His brows shot up in surprise. "You? But aren't you like... the model Ravenclaw? Goody two shoes, follows every rule, reads for fun? Why would you risk your squeaky-clean image for something like this?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "Let's just say I'm curious about what the great wizard scientist's son is always sneaking off to do instead of, I don't know, living up to everyone's—and your father's—expectations."

He sighed in defeat, lifting his left arm to gesture for you to join him under the cloak. "Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. Just make sure you can keep up. And for Merlin's sake, please tell me your stealth skills are better than mine. You really don't want to run into Mrs. Norris."

"Trust me, I wouldn't dream of it," you replied, ducking under the cloak with him, your heart racing at the prospect of finally joining him on one of his adventures.

And so, that night marked the beginning of an unlikely yet thrilling partnership: you and Song Mingi, partners-in-crime navigating Hogwarts past curfew.

For someone as studious and rule-abiding as you, it was a surprising twist to find yourself sneaking through hidden passageways, clutching an invisibility cloak, and dodging prefects alongside someone like Mingi. But there was something irresistibly intriguing about him—the way he effortlessly balanced his rebellious streak with a sharp intellect, and how his lighthearted demeanour contrasted with the heavy expectations placed upon him.

You see, unlike your ordinary self, his life was all about finding his own path despite the pressures of his family name. As the son of a renowned wizarding scientist, expectations for him to follow in those illustrious footsteps were high. But Mingi? He wasn't interested in being defined by anyone else's legacy.

Sure, he had the smarts for it—his insights into magical theories often surprised you, even when they were thrown in casually during one of your late-night escapades. But instead of shouldering the weight of those expectations, he found joy in simply being himself. He explored magic for the sake of curiosity, not obligation.

Of course, it was hard for someone like him to truly fly under the radar. With his tall frame and infectious laugh, he had a knack for drawing attention no matter how much he tried to avoid it. He'd always play it off with an easy grin, though—effortlessly charming his way out of trouble (well, most of the time).

And now, here you were, walking beside him in the dead of night, laughing softly at his whispered commentary about the portraits on the walls. It was a side of him most people didn't see—carefree, thoughtful, and incredibly warm.

"Alright, where to next, partner?" you asked, barely containing your grin as you reached a fork in the corridor.

He glanced at the map, his finger tracing a path. "A secret stash of sweets hidden near the kitchens. Wanna check it out?"

"Only if you're willing to share," you teased, bumping his shoulder lightly.

He smirked, holding the cloak open as you ducked beneath it again. "Deal. But only because I need you to distract the house elves if we get caught."

With that, the two of you disappeared into the night, laughter echoing softly down the empty hallways. It was the start of a friendship, and perhaps something more that, against all odds, just worked.

On one of the slower days at school, the two of you lounged in the Great Hall, a wizard's chessboard between you. The usual hum of scattered conversations and the clinking of goblets provided a quiet backdrop as Mingi hunched over the board, his tall frame bent in concentration. His eyes darted between pieces, plotting his next move with a focus that made you smirk.

"I've got an idea," you said, leaning back with a teasing grin. "Whoever loses has to take on a dare during tonight's adventure."

His head shot up, a glimmer of intrigue lighting up his eyes. He grinned, his expression a mix of mischief and admiration for the rebellious streak you seemed to save just for him. "Oh, it's on."

The match stretched out with calculated moves and sly counters, both of you pouring focus into claiming victory. But when your queen finally cornered his king, you leaned back with a triumphant grin. "Checkmate," you declared, watching the realisation dawn on his face.

He groaned theatrically, throwing his head back. "Noooo!"

You laughed, folding your arms smugly. "Now, about that dare..."

He straightened in his seat, narrowing his eyes as he tried to guess your plan. "Alright, hit me with your worst."

A mischievous gleam danced in your eyes as you leaned forward and whispered, "Tonight, when we sneak out, you have to charm Moaning Myrtle with your best pickup lines."

His jaw dropped, his ears turning an amusing shade of red. "You want me to flirt with a ghost?!"

"That's the dare," you said, grinning wider.

He blinked at you in disbelief, then let out a booming laugh, shaking his head. "You're insane. But fine—a deal's a deal."

As the two of you packed up, you noticed a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clearly enjoyed this side of you, the playful daring you didn't often let others see.

The night was quiet as you snuck through the dark hallways, huddled beneath the invisibility cloak. The close proximity made it impossible to ignore the way your shoulders brushed, or how you could feel his breath softly against your ear as he whispered directions. You tried to focus, but the warmth radiating from him and the faint smell of his cologne made it difficult.

He wasn't faring any better. His movements felt unusually cautious, his arm brushing against yours more often than necessary, his voice a little lower than usual when he whispered, "Careful where you step."

Ironically, it was his warning that broke your concentration. Your foot landed on something uneven, and before you could stop yourself, you tripped, sending a potted plant toppling from its perch.

The crash echoed loudly through the corridor. "What was that?!" Filch's voice screeched in the distance, sending panic shooting through you both.

"Move!" Mingi hissed, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the nearest room. The door creaked shut just as the school caretaker's hurried footsteps grew louder.

You realised, to your dismay, that the "room" was a cramped broom cupboard. The two of you were squished together in the small space, the invisibility cloak still draped awkwardly over your heads. Your breathing was ragged from the sudden sprint, and you both struggled to keep quiet as Filch's grumbling grew nearer.

"Stupid kids sneaking around… I'll catch them sooner or later," he muttered as his footsteps faded in the opposite direction.

Only when the sound of his boots disappeared entirely did you dare to speak. "We're safe now," you whispered.

"Yeah," Mingi murmured back, his voice quieter than usual.

That's when you noticed just how close you were. Your heart stuttered as you looked up, your nose grazing his. His dark eyes locked onto yours, and you could feel his breath, warm and shallow, mingling with your own. Neither of you moved, the air between you was charged and heavy.

He swallowed hard, his hand slowly brushing against yours beneath the cloak. "I know I lost the game," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "But... is it alright if I flirt with someone else tonight?"

Your breath caught, your thoughts spinning as he leaned in closer, his lips barely brushing yours.

"That depends on who it is," you whispered back, your voice shaky.

He smiled softly, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. "You."

Your heart skipped a beat. Without thinking, your hand slid up to grip the collar of his shirt as you murmured, "Fine."

Then, closing the final distance, you pressed your lips to his. When you finally pulled away, the world felt different as you stayed close, foreheads touching. He let out a soft chuckle, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "Best dare I've ever lost."

You smiled. "Guess I'll have to keep challenging you then, Song."

"Guess you will," he whispered, leaning in for another kiss.

Wooyoung ↠ Gryffindor

The Talented Quidditch Beater

"Woo, you got it! That's my boy!"

The sound of your voice rang out across the pitch, instantly catching Wooyoung's attention. A grin lit up his face as he turned mid-flight on his Nimbus 2000, his eyes sparkling as they met yours.

"I'll make you proud, babe!" he called back, his tone brimming with confidence.

"Not if you can't keep your eyes on the game," his teammate—another Beater—shouted, swooping in just in time to deflect a bludger barreling toward him.

His eyes widened at the close call before a sheepish, boyish grin spread across his face. "Thanks, mate. That was a little too close!"

He turned his attention back to you, throwing you a playful wink and blowing a kiss in your direction. "Love you," he mouthed with a quick smirk, clearly revelling in the way your worried gaze softened into a smile.

And then, just like that, he was off again, zooming across the pitch like the fearless champ he was, ready to win not just for his team, but for the person cheering him on from the stands.

Pride swelled in your chest like a warm, unrelenting tide as you watched your boyfriend play. It was almost surreal to think about how far the two of you had come—especially since there was a time when you couldn't stand him.

Back then, Jung Wooyoung was everything you couldn't tolerate: loud, attention-seeking, and constantly wreaking havoc with his pranks. He was the popular Gryffindor Quidditch star with a magnetic grin, always surrounded by friends and admirers. Meanwhile, you were his polar opposite—a shy, studious student with no interest in shenanigans, focused solely on excelling in your studies and making your parents proud.

It all started when one of his pranks nearly ruined your Transfiguration assignment. Furious, you'd confronted him in front of half the common room, calling him reckless and immature. Wooyoung, never one to back down, had retaliated with a smirk, calling you boring and stiff. That marked the beginning of your rivalry—petty remarks, pointed glares, and intentionally getting on each other's nerves became routine.

But everything changed the day he overheard a group of Slytherins mocking you. Their cruel taunts about your Muggle heritage—and the word "Mudblood" slicing through the air—left you reeling. Before you could even muster a response, he stepped in, his usual playful demeanour replaced by something sharp and unyielding.

"What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous. The bullies faltered under his glare, and though they tried to brush it off, he didn't let them escape unscathed. He stood firm, defending you with a conviction that left you stunned.

From that day on, the dynamic between you shifted. He made it clear that no one was to mess with you—not even his own friends, who had occasionally targeted you with harmless pranks. In return, you stopped berating him for his antics, accepting that his mischief was simply part of who he was. Over time, you found yourself laughing at his jokes, and he discovered a softer side to you that few others had ever seen.

Years passed, and that fragile truce evolved into friendship. Somewhere along the way, the friendship blossomed into something deeper, something neither of you could ignore. And now, here you were, standing in the Gryffindor stands, cheering him on with every fibre of your being.

Only after being with him did you truly understand why so many adored him for his talent. On the pitch, he was in his element. As a Beater, he thrived on adrenaline, his bat swinging with precision as he sent a bludger hurtling toward the opposing team. He was a natural showman, hyping up the crowd with daring plays and cheeky winks. Though his mischievous nature was ever-present, he became fiercely competitive during matches, his focus unshakable when it came to leading his house to victory.

You smiled as he executed a flawless manoeuvre, his laughter echoing across the pitch when the crowd erupted into cheers. He was so different from the boy you had once disliked, yet so quintessentially the same. His charm, his energy, his ability to make everyone around him feel alive—it was impossible not to love him for it.

"Watch this, babe!" he called as he rocketed past the stands, his grin wide and unrestrained. He was a whirlwind of passion and joy, and he was yours. And somehow, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"Aaaand Gryffindor wins!"

The roar of the crowd filled the stadium as the Gryffindor Seeker triumphantly held up the golden snitch, the tiny wings glinting under the bright sun. Cheers echoed through the stands, Gryffindor flags waving wildly in celebration. You cheered, knowing that much of this victory was thanks to your boyfriend, who had spent the game clearing the path for his teammate with skilful swings of his bat.

Amid the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes immediately sought you out. Despite the throng of screaming fans and his own teammates clamouring to celebrate, all he could see was you. Without hesitation, he veered his broom in your direction, ignoring the unmistakable warning glare from Professor McGonagall.

Hovering in front of you, he flashed his signature grin, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline of the match. Before you could say a word, he leaned in and kissed you, his lips warm and slightly chapped from the cold wind. The crowd's cheers seemed to fade as you felt his smile against your own, your cheeks heating with the realisation of how public this display was.

When you pulled away, your voice was barely above a whisper. "That's enough, Woo. You don't want detention now, do you?"

He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't mind it if you were there too." With a wink, he flew off to join his team, leaving you blinking sheepishly under Professor McGonagall's sharp gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to smooth down your robes as you mumbled, "Sorry, Professor."

To your surprise, her expression softened, and she gestured for you to walk with her as the stands began to empty. "Don't be," she said, her voice measured but kind. "You're a good motivator for him. We appreciate it. I won't lie and say our victories haven't increased since you came into the picture."

Her words left you blushing furiously as you followed her down the steps. Did that mean even she shipped you and Wooyoung? The very thought had you hiding a bashful smile behind your scarf, the cheers of the Gryffindor team still ringing in your ears.

Jongho ↠ Slytherin

The Scary Prefect Who Commands Respect

"There he is! Shhh, keep it down!"

Your friends scrambled to settle into their seats, hastily lowering their voices and pretending to focus on the books in front of them. You followed their lead, keeping your head down as the most intimidating prefect of Slytherin entered the library. Choi Jongho's very name was enough to make most students sit up straight, and his imposing presence only amplified that effect. His silence carried more weight than words ever could, commanding obedience and respect effortlessly.

You swallowed hard, trying to concentrate on the text in front of you, but your focus wavered the moment his footsteps stopped—right beside you. Your heart raced as you eyed his polished shoes, unsure if you'd done something wrong. Too nervous to meet his gaze, you froze in place, waiting for whatever came next.

"Here. I think you dropped this," he said, his voice low yet unexpectedly warm.

Your eyes widened at the gentle tone, and you glanced up to see him holding out your late father's pocket watch. The faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips—so fleeting you wondered if you'd imagined it.

"O-oh, thank you," you stammered, taking the cherished item from him. A spark shot through you when your fingers brushed against his, leaving your heart fluttering in a way you hadn't anticipated.

"You're welcome," he replied simply, his voice kind yet measured, before continuing on his patrol.

As you watched him walk away, a realisation settled in your mind—perhaps he wasn't as fearsome as everyone claimed.

Jongho's reputation was well-earned. As a Slytherin prefect, he didn't need to raise his voice to maintain order. A single stern look was enough to make any student think twice about misbehaving, and his word was as final as it was rare. Yet, those who truly knew him understood there was more to him than his intimidating exterior. Beneath the cool, composed demeanour was a steadfast friend with a laugh that could shatter his usual seriousness in an instant.

And soon, you would become one of the few to witness that softer side of him—though, for now, you had no idea what lay ahead.

It was on a particularly eerie evening that you would come to learn the truth. The air hung heavy with an unsettling stillness as you wandered along the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest, seeking solitude to clear your mind after a gruelling week. The low-hanging clouds cloaked the forest in shadows, and the quiet seemed almost too oppressive.

But peace was the last thing you found.

A low, menacing growl rippled through the trees, stopping you dead in your tracks. Your breath caught as you turned, your wand trembling in your hand, to face a pair of glowing eyes cutting through the darkness.

A werewolf.

Your heart pounded wildly as the creature advanced, its snarling lips curling back to reveal rows of sharp teeth. Panic seized you. You tried to cast a spell, but fear made your movements clumsy, and the incantation faltered on your tongue. The werewolf snarled again, its deadly intent unmistakable.

You were sure you were doomed.

Suddenly, a thunderous roar shattered the tense silence, startling both you and the beast. From the shadows emerged a massive bear, its fur bristling and eyes blazing with an otherworldly fury. The bear wasted no time, charging at the werewolf with raw power and unmatched ferocity.

Their clash was brutal and swift, the werewolf no match for the bear's strength and determination. Before long, the defeated creature limped off into the safety of the forest, leaving you frozen in place, trembling from head to toe.

The bear turned its attention to you, its intelligent gaze locking onto yours. Despite your fear, there was something strangely familiar in the way it looked at you—almost protective.

And then, to your utter disbelief, the bear began to shift. Its enormous form shrank, fur receding as its features morphed into something distinctly human. In a matter of moments, you found yourself staring at Choi Jongho, his sharp eyes unwavering as they met yours.

"You…" The word barely escaped your lips, your voice a mere whisper. "You're an animagus?"

His jaw tightened briefly before he nodded. "Yes," he admitted, his tone steady but quiet.

You blinked, your mind racing to process what you had just witnessed. It wasn't just the transformation that left you reeling—it was the way he had risked himself to save you. "Why didn't you tell anyone?" you finally managed.

He let out a soft sigh, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, you saw the stoic facade crack, revealing something raw beneath. "People already think I'm intimidating enough," he said, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If they knew I could turn into a bear, they'd see me as a monster. Even if I chose this form to protect, not harm."

Your chest tightened at his words, at the loneliness he must have carried. His stern demeanour suddenly made sense—it was a shield, a way to keep others from seeing the parts of himself he feared they wouldn't understand.

"But it's not a bad thing," you said softly, taking a step closer. "You became an animagus for a noble reason. That says more about who you are than anything else."

His gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing just slightly. "I appreciate that," he murmured. "But not everyone would see it the same way. People fear what they don't understand."

For the first time, you saw through the intimidating exterior everyone else feared. Beneath it all, he was just someone who cared deeply, someone who bore the weight of his secrets quietly for the sake of those around him.

"Thank you for saving me," you said earnestly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside you. "Your secret's safe with me. I promise."

He nodded, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "It's my pleasure," he replied, his tone warm yet reserved. "Now, you should get back. It's not safe out here."

"And you?"

"I'll make sure the forest is clear," he assured you, his protective instincts shining through. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

As you made your way back to the castle, your mind was consumed with thoughts of Jongho. The boy who had just saved your life was so much more than the fearsome prefect everyone believed him to be. And now, you carried a piece of his truth, a secret that revealed a depth to him you never would have imagined.

From then on, something shifted.

You became one of the few who dared to hold his gaze, the rare recipient of his fleeting smiles. Where others saw the intimidating Slytherin prefect, you saw the quiet strength and vulnerability he kept hidden beneath the surface. And nothing shocked people more than seeing him sit next to you at breakfast in the Great Hall.

Whispers rippled through the tables, curious and incredulous alike. Choi Jongho, the stoic and fearsome prefect, sitting with someone? A girl? The novelty was enough to turn heads, but what truly caught people's attention was the way he looked at you.

There was something unmistakable in his eyes—a quiet affection, soft and unguarded, as if your presence unravelled the walls he so carefully maintained.

He glanced over at you as you finished your meal, his expression relaxed yet tinged with curiosity. "Where are you headed after this?" he asked, his tone casual but attentive.

You wiped your hands with a napkin, smiling up at him. "The Duelling Club."

His eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "The Duelling Club? But why?"

You bit back a laugh at his incredulity, placing your fork down with an amused shake of your head. "Because someone with a very admirable trait has inspired me," you said, your voice warm with sincerity. "To be stronger, to protect those around me too."

The words caught him off guard, and you watched as his usual composure faltered. He blinked, a faint flush creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. The sight was endearing, a rare glimpse of boyishness in the otherwise composed prefect.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a long sip as if it might steady him. Setting it down, he muttered softly, "You don't have to." His eyes flickered to yours, vulnerable but earnest. "You'll always have me."

Your chest warmed at his words, his quiet promise resonating deeply. He might have been the boy feared by many, but to you, he was simply someone who cared more deeply than he let on.

You leaned forward slightly, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "I know," you said, your voice gentle but firm. "But it doesn't hurt to know how to hold my own, does it?"

He exhaled a quiet chuckle, the corner of his lips curving upward in a rare but genuine smile. "Fair enough," he conceded, his gaze lingering on yours for a moment longer before turning back to his plate. "But I'm coming with."

Any fellow Potterheads here? Humour this poor author and tell me about your Hogwarts house, your favourite Harry Potter book/movie as well as your favourite character! Most importantly, let me know if you agree with the houses I've sorted the members into!

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[star--stilinski]

I would absolutely LOVE to request a buzzcut stiles smut omg😭

If you are comfortable and if this is not too much detail could you write something about Stiles being insecure of his buzzcut thinking it makes him unattractive but when he tells his other bsf/reader she’s like flabbergasted and tells him how hot it makes him and it makes him all cocky. Then he’d probably like ask her is she’s serious and when she says yes finally act on his feelings. Maybe soft smut? If that is okay

HALLELUIAH YES GAWDDDD i love this sm omg

☆

stiles frowns at his reflection. scott is ranting in the school bathroom again, but it's all stuff stiles has already heard before and he's distracted anyway. he runs an absent hand over his short hair before following a still-rambling scott out of the bathroom and down the hall.

it's been getting on his nerves lately, how slow his hair is growing. he thought it was pretty cool at first, until he was slapped in the face with the reality of his best friend getting girls left and right and leaving stiles completely dry. not that it's scott's fault- he's just easy to get jealous of with this kind of thing.

"dude, are you even listening?" scott abruptly stops and whirls on stiles. "you've been dead silent for, like, three minutes."

"yeah, i heard you. but it's a little hard to care about your girlfriend strife when she actively wants to sleep with you. speaking of,"

allison is leaning against a locker, watching scott with a dreamy look. she waves and smiles softly, leaving scott to return the smile-wave combo with a lot less charisma.

"listen," stiles sighs, trying to keep the bite of envy out of his tone, "you probably just need to talk to her. girls love confidence. just, i dunno," he waves wildly with his hands. "do that."

scott squints at him. "i think that might be the worst advice you've ever given me."

"worse than killing derek?"

"possibly. now, i'm gonna go-" scott throws a look towards allison and swallows thickly, "figure that out. i'll see you."

stiles calls after him; "don't be an idiot! remember i'm living vicariously through you right now!"

once scott and allison are far enough down the hall, he rubs a hand over his hair again and huffs. stupid, stupid freshman stiles and his bad hair decisions.

"you're gonna rub right through your skull."

"GAH!" stiles jumps back from you, snapped out of his spiraling thoughts. you laugh at him behind your hand, looking up through your pretty lashes. "jesus, your footsteps are like feathers. i need to put a bell on you."

that makes you frown, shoulder-checking him as you start walking. "you're just not used to anything other than two-left-feet scott mccall. i have perfectly regular footsteps."

he jogs to catch up with you as you make your way to the school parking lot, eyeing your choice of shorts. your legs being out is a big plus for his racing mind today.

"hey, you busy today? scott ditched me to go play loverbirds and i don't want to do my homework." he hums, pushing one of the heavy doors open and letting you through.

"hmm, that depends, do you have food at your house?"

"not even a little," he smirks at the almost-yes as you both trot through the empty lot towards his jeep. "that's why we're getting drive thru."

"who's paying?"

"who do you think?"

you cheer excitedly as he unlocks the jeep.

☆

you're sat criss-cross on stiles' bed as he paces, tracking his movement with your eyes. he's on a tangent about scott, actually, and how his decision-making skills are subpar. you're listening intently with a tilted head, watching his hands flex as he talks, and the way his biceps bulge without his flannel on, and how his jawline is so sharp-

"and girls are confusing, y'know? sorry, no offense, it's just-" this catches your attention, making your eyes flit up to his as they dart around the room. "it's just that you're all so... so... what do you guys even want? can't be money, because scott has a girlfriend. can't be personality, because jackson has a girlfriend. definitely can't be looks, because i'm pretty sure greenburg is going out with abby right now."

he sighs and turns on you, taking a dangerous step closer to the bed. his brow is upturned, eyes pleading, lips parted.

"it's this stupid buzzcut, isn't it?"

you blink, just once, before squinting. "what?"

"my hair, it's so-" he pushes a frustrated hand through it, and his jaw clenches. "so not hot."

and when he says it, with his narrowed eyes all sharp and his pink lips pressed together, you think for a moment he must be joking. "...what?"

he turns his glare onto you. "you know what i mean, okay? it's unattractive, it must be. i mean, i go completely unnoticed-"

"wait, you actually mean to tell me you think your buzzcut is ugly?"

stiles huffs, clearly not liking the bluntness of his feelings being laid out. "that it makes me ugly, yeah."

this makes you pause. maybe you're a minority, but when stiles drives his jeep and starts talking fast about something nerdy, you imagine climbing into his lap and making him crash the car. one time you two were arguing while he was in his lacrosse uniform and you genuinely wanted to offer to suck his dick. and even right now, with his too-tight t-shirt and his frustrated face, you want to ask him to take his frustration out on you... in- in a hot way. you may have gone a little far with that one-

"would you stop looking at me like that?" he snips, eyes darting over your whole face and then your body like he's looking for the off switch. you frown up at where he stands.

"like what? i'm just in disbelief."

he rolls his eyes. "like you're gonna tackle me. it's weird, after what i just told you."

"well, maybe i do want to tackle you." oh shit, that was supposed to stay in your head! quick, make it look like it was on purpose! "the buzzcut doesn't make you ugly."

his face screws up in confusion. "well, then, what does it make me?"

"hot."

you both kinda falter, like there's nowhere to go from here. his mouth gapes open and you watch his cheeks grow pinker, much similar to your own. and since you've already dug the hole and he doesn't seem too bothered, you make it an inch or two deeper.

"you're pretty hot, stiles. i mean, you hang around scott and stay in your room, so it's not like you're around enough girls for them to tell you. and you never ask me, so... that's probably why you're unaware."

he gapes at you, a hand going to his hair like it has a whole new purpose to him. "i didn't know asking you was an option...."

"apparently it is." you shrug. your oversized t-shirt and shorts suddenly seem not pretty enough for where this conversation seems to be going, but it's too late to linger on that thought now. anyway, his eyes are on you like sniper lasers... or something... and he takes another step closer to you.

"okay, um... i'm asking you."

you raise your eyebrows. what, he just wants you to lament on how sexy he is? you're not that easy, he's probably going to use that information to chase the skirts of some long, skinny-legged girl at school. besides, there's not even that much to-

"please." he hums.

you swallow, turning your face away from him. "okay, well, you've got the whole secretly smart guy thing going on. and your nose is really nice. mix that with the way your eyes are...-"

"my eyes are what?"

you glance up to glare at his impatience. he tilts his head at you, and you swear you can see a mischievous glint in those stupid, stupid (aggravatingly sexy) eyes. bastard.

"they're, um, provocative. when you're frustrated. or focused." you turn your eyes awayyyy from his reaction, for your own safety. "and your jaw is nice, so. plus your hands-"

"my hands?"

"are you gonna keep interrupting me? 'cause i'll stop." you gripe up at him, but looking back up was a big mistake. his cheeks are tinted pink but his mouth is quirked up into a knowing little smirk, like your embarrassment is suddenly clay for him to play with. yeah, no. you are not getting stuck in this position with stiles. "okay, yeah, that's enough."

"no, nonononono wait." he crosses the rest of the distance to crouch in front of the bed, looking up at you. "i'm sorry. i'm just not used to this. or you, like this." his hand rests atop your knee. "i won't even react. keep going, just a bit?"

you pout and look at his hand as his thumb rubs back and forth on your bare skin. it's warm and relaxing and makes your whole body burn hot when his hand inches up your thigh just barely. you look back up at him, but his face is earnest, promising. you sigh.

"your buzzcut makes you look good."

his eyebrows inch up his forehead.

"really good."

stiles grins.

☆

you're not really sure if you left stiles' house or escaped it, after that. all you know is that last night did some serious damage to your ego... and some serious maintenance to his. as you leave school, your mind replays the series of events and the blush that has been plaguing your cheeks and making you overheat returns.

dammit! you had to avoid stiles all day because of this stupid embarrassment. which proved difficult, since you guys had plenty of classes together and ate lunch with each other every day since forever. you slap your cheeks as you shoulder your way past the school doors and into the parking lot, glancing over at the field where lacrosse practice is in full swing.

your eyes catch on something odd, and coach's voice fades into the background when the image registers in your mind. stiles is leaning on the fence with his helmet in hand, sweat making his skin glow and a cocky look on his face. he's leaned over the fence, chatting up three soccer girls, who all seem very interested in whatever he's saying.

this, unfortunately, does not make you happy. but alas, what are you going to do? pull him away by the ear and chastise him for... talking to girls? you just wish you hadn't said anything about his stupid buzzcut (which looks unrealistically good with his lacrosse uniform).

all three of the girls throw their heads back laughing. and it's not even, like, pretty girl flirtatious laughter. it's loud, and one of the girls slaps her friend's arm. you want to rip the arm off.

but you keep walking instead, because you decided the bus was too much and walking home was the best option. better than standing in the parking lot, staring like a creep as your best friend (who you want to messy-make-out with) finally gets girls (who you want dead).

this is going to be a pathetic walk home.

you barely get to the end of the parking lot when you hear stiles shout your name as loud as he can.

part of you wants to stomp your feet and cry, or ignore him (as if the echo didn't reverberate off of the school building), or flip him off. like a middle schooler. because right now, you don't want to deal with the humiliation of telling stiles (through mumbles and attitude) how hot he is and how badly you want him to fuck you into his mattress, only for him to use you as matchmaker for hotter, more experienced girls.

but you're not a child, and he's still your best friend. plus, his lacrosse uniform.... yum.

jesus christ, you need a drink. there is no way that thought just consciously happened.

you drag your feet walking back, and the soccer girls skip off with their ponytails swinging. stiles is smiling all big and bright when you finally reach him. you are not smiling at all. "you needed me?"

"yeah, i wanted to know if you were coming over tonight." he stands taller than you, and his buzzcut looks so touchable right now, you want to bend him down to your level and run your fingers through it. you blink up at him as you stare, and the silence stretches. his hand comes up to the back of his neck. "uhh, just 'cause i could help you with the homework we skipped yesterday-" he interrupts himself. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine. for both. the homework and the question." you press your thumb into your palm and turn towards the lacrosse field, away from his searching eyes and worried lips. "see you tomorrow, yeah?"

you start to back away from him when he steps forward, the fence catching him from coming closer to you. "well i just- you should come over. i want you to."

"stiles, i can't wait for lacrosse practice to end-"

"i'll skip. they don't even need me." he clenches his jaw when you look back at him. there's a determination in his eyes you've never seen directed at you, and it makes your stomach flip. you've never fell victim to being his prey before, when he wants something so he gets it. the feeling is unrivaled. his lips part. "please."

you can feel your cheeks flush. why does that always have to work on you?

"okay, alright, no need to beg." you nod your head to his jeep, on the far side of the parking lot. "let's go."

he does a subtle fist pump that he doesn't think you see, and hops the fence to follow you, leaving literally everything in the locker room except his car keys. "how was your day?"

you glance up at him, but only for a second when you see how he's staring. all curious and excited, probably from the attention he was getting from those soccer girls. your lips press together in distaste before you even realize.

"it was fine." you shrug, watching as he gets ahead of you to open the passenger door. "got an A on mrs. martin's project."

stiles hums in approval, which may or may not make your lower stomach fizz with butterflies. then he closes your door and makes the short jog to his side, clambering inside. "good job. you hungry?"

you shake your head as he pulls out of the parking lot, doing your best to ignore the vein in his neck when he looks over his shoulder as he backs out, hand resting on your seat. yeah, you totally don't notice that. "no thanks, i'm okay."

"are you sure? i didn't see you at lunch. or english. or-"

"i wasn't feeling well today."

this shuts him up, but not in a good way. you feel his eyes on you, even as he drives, and it makes you squirm a bit. but he doesn't comment on your icy tone, and you drive the rest of the way in silence.

☆

in fact, you're silent all the way up to his room, where you toss your bag in the corner and toe your shoes off. stiles huffs out a sigh and scrubs over his buzzcut self-consciously, tracking you with his eyes as you trail aimlessly around his room and admire the things on his walls.

he's been dying to ask it. he has to. the girls on the soccer team said... he squeezes his eyes shut while you're turned away, repeating what they said to him in his head for nth time. just be honest, and confident. that's what you'd want.

stiles takes bold strides across the room right up to you. he gives you enough room to turn around and face him, but not much more.

"hey."

you scrunch your face up just a bit in confusion. "...hi?"

he clears his throat, his jaw flexing on it's own accord. "the...- okay, when you said my buzzcut makes me look really good-"

"stiles," you scoff and push past him, walking to the middle of his room as a means of escape. "i'm not doing this with you."

"no, wait, doing what?" he scurries around you to face you again, holding you lightly by the shoulders. "waitwaitwait. you gotta let me-"

"no. stop." you're embarrassed, he can tell now. the way you turn your face away and narrow your brow, he never knew he'd be able to read you so well. but he's doing it now, and he's not happy with what he's seeing.

"no, you stop. let me ask you what i want to ask, alright?" he huffs through his nose, and watches as you seem to come to attention. it gives him an odd thrill to see you react so readily when he corrects you. "are you gonna listen to me?"

you glare up at him for a second too long before nodding slowly. he nods too, and in a impatient, annoyed tone, he grumbles: "good."

and then stiles watches your eyes flicker as you fluster much more than he expected. he didn't think much of the words when he was saying them, but here you both are, weirdly into it. he blinks hard to clear his head.

"when you said my buzzcut makes me look 'really good'," he repeats, "did you mean really good to you or to other people?"

he feels you shift your weight by the movement of your shoulders. looking away, you hum, "i don't understand why this is important to you."

stiles narrows his eyes. "yes you do. you know you're into me and you just wont say it."

you snap your eyes to his and take a challenging step forward. "who said i'm into you? just because i said you're good looking doesn't mean you get to use me as some matchmaking machine. i won't inflate your ego just so you can hook up with popular girls, stiles. you can't-"

"i'm not asking so you can inflate my ego." stiles takes a step towards you, making you step back. "i'm asking because i want to know if you were serious." another step. "because i want you to think that about me." another step, and your back hits the wall.

you watch, doe eyed, as stiles brings a hand up to push some of your hair away from your face. his eyes meet yours, but dip down when your lips part. he swallows.

"so," stiles hums, towering over you. "were you being serious?"

stiles watches in awe as your pretty mouth forms around his new favorite word.

"yes."

he half expects himself to tear both of your clothes off and go wild. but his body moves on its own accord; taking your face gently in his hands, kissing you like you're made of glass. when you reciprocate eagerly, he feels his pants start to strain. fuck. seriously? can you please pretend you've had at least some action before?

he can't believe he has to talk his dick down when he's kissing you.

pressing you back up against his bedroom wall, he feels goosebumps rise as your nails rake lightly over his buzz, and it makes him hum. stiles gently removes one hand from the curve of your jaw and slides it onto your hip instead. he loves your hips. he loves them even more when his hands are on them, apparently, because the feeling of it is otherworldly.

what's even better, though, is when your tongue collides with his and you let out a small noise. it's high-pitched and whiney, and it almost makes him finish prematurely. he licks eagerly into your mouth to try and draw it out of you again, but you seem to silence yourself from embarrassment. this does not fly with stiles. his knee draws forward and splits your thighs apart, resting in between them, and he moves down to kiss at your neck. he'll make you whine again, he's sure of it.

"wait," you breathe out. he almost doesn't catch it, too busy with the way your skin feel on his lips and how he has you up against his wall, breathless and pliant. but he pulls back (albeit reluctantly) and meets your dazed look with one of his own.

"what? is this okay? do you wanna stop?" he might actually die on the spot if you want to stop. but he'd do it, for you. his hand massages your hip where he's got you gently pinned, and he watches as it visibly makes you sway (swoon, but you'd never admit that).

"no, no. but, your dad-"

"he's out."

"he could get home anytime."

"we can be quick. we don't have to do anything more than this right now."

"stiles," you're laughing at him. it's airy, and mostly just a teasing smile, but you're still laughing at him. "are you just saying that to get me in your bed? i mean..."

your thigh, which is in between his because of his being in between yours, slides up and presses lightly against his hard-on. his jaw goes slack as the unexpected pressure washes pleasure all over his nerves, and his shoulders bend over for a moment as his hips react on their own. he stops himself, thoroughly embarrassed, and glares at you. you giggle behind your hand, raising an eyebrow. "how're you gonna say you don't want anything below the collar with that going on?"

he pushes your thigh away, shaking his head. "i never said i didn't want anything more, i said we don't have to do anything more. plus, you're the one making the noises and touching me and... so, if anything, this isn't even my fault." stiles gestures vaguely to his dick.

"i'm flattered." you deadpan, before your hand trails from his chest to his stomach. he watches in awe, still half disbelieving that he got you here. you hook your fingers into his waistband and look up at him. "promise your dad wont walk in on us?"

"can you not talk about my dad while turning me on?" he groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "swear on my life, you have nothing to worry about."

you nod and lean back against the wall, tugging him by his pants to meet you there. he follows suit, lining his body against yours as he kisses you, hands on your hips with yours running through his buzz. he captures your lower lip in his teeth and gently as he can, and you make another short, high-pitched noise again. his dick twitches in his pants.

"you wanna, um," you suck in a breath as he kisses your neck, "move to the bed?"

"yes," he sighs, and immediately pulls your hips forward and directs you to his bed. when you drop onto it and scoot back, stiles hesitates. your hair is a bit messy, lips are full, and your eyes have a glint in them he's never seen before. he's assaulted with the thought of you being his wife and having his kids and growing old and dying together, and then he blinks it away. jesus christ, you're a powerful woman.

he wants to do anything to make you look like this all the time. needy, pretty, all your insecurities and doubts kissed right off of your lips, even if it's just for a bit. is this what being horny is going to be like for him now? is he gonna be a sap when you want to fuck?

stiles crawls over you slowly, laying you back against his pillows. you're excited and it shows, and you're both smiling when he kisses you this time.

☆

he's a mess for days after, head full of the faces you make when he touches you just right, the noises coming from your mouth when you finish. the feeling of skin on skin, the picture perfect look of you wearing his shirt after. it takes scott about two and a half seconds to scrunch up his nose and make a disgusted face at stiles when he starts thinking it. your beauty is just seeping out of him, like he soaked you up and now every werewolf in a one hundred mile radius can smell the lovesick puppy on him.

you want to go on dates, too. real ones, all the time, and you think he's hot and cute and sometimes pretty, which is confusing to him but he likes it anyway. and he wants to save up his money so he can take you to a fancy restaurant. and he is so whipped.

which he's fine with. as long as it's for you. honestly, he's fine with almost anything, as long as it's for you.

☆

i didn't write smut and i apologize but my writing process is to blackout while my fingers fly across my keyboard like i'm a hacker spy until i come to and there's a story on the screen. so. smut didn't happen naturally so it ain't gonna happen at all, i guess. i dunno. ask writing star, not editing star. sorry i've been so absent, holidays is super busy with extended family and such. wish me luck. xoxo!!!

☆

BONUS!! stiles asks some poor soccer girls for help before you went to his house after lacrosse practice. the advice is... really somethin'.

"hey, um, lily?" he had to guess the name of the girl jogging past, but he got it right. she stopped and approached him skeptically, glancing at her two friends in front of her.

"yeah?" she threaded her fingers through the fence as he strided the rest of the distance to her. her two friends had begun making their way over as well. she had to squint past the sun as she stared at him. "what's up?"

"hi, hey, we have bio together. fourth period? i've sat behind you all sememster?"

her face showed no recognition.

"...anyway, i have a question. actually, i can ask all three of you. since you're, um, girls."

her two friends had approached at that point, and looked equally as put off by stiles as lily did. he cleared his throat and started on his ramble:

"so, let's say i'm best friends with this girl, and i like her. like, a lot. and she's kinda totally way out of my leauge, but we never talk about it because she doesn't see things like that anyway. and one day i get on a rant about girls and how confusing they are because, y'know," he gestured to his face like it was a tell of itself, "and she says that my biggest insecurity- err, physically- is actually really hot. and she says my hands are sexy. and my eyes are seductive. and she's like, kinda blushing a lot? but she blushes anyway about stuff around me so it doesn't really-"

"she likes you." one of lily's friends piped up behind her. "if that's what you're asking."

"are you sure? i'm not her type, plus-"

"dude," sighed the other one. the three girls shared a look, making stiles gulp. "girls don't call guys' hands sexy unless they're dying to have them in their mouth."

"mazie!" lily whirled around to slap her friend's shoulder, which did absolutely nothing to censor her. when she turned back to stiles, it was apologetically. "sorry, but she's got a point."

he slumped onto the fence in relief. "you think so? i want to put my hands in her mouth, if she's asking for that."

"nice." mazie nodded as the other two girls made noises of disgust. ignoring them, mazie continued. "honestly, she probably likes you but thinks you don't like her. especially if you're chatting up three soccer girls, looking like that."

the only girl stiles hadn't gotten the name of nodded solemly, and lily put her hands on her hips, determined. "okay, skinhead. how're you gonna confess?"

stiles smiles awkwardly. "uh, i'll just tell her when she comes over tonight?"

lily barked out a laugh, and her two friends followed suit. it was loud, like three crows making fun of him while they toss their heads back. it ended abruptly, too, and lily glared daggers at him in the silence. "no, idiot."

stiles whimpered a little "oh."

"girls love confidence." the unnamed girl declared, tilting her head. "when i flirt with girls i always make them like, say how hot i am. always gets them going."

"god," lily scrunched her nose, "are you both ovulating? we do not need to know all of that."

"so... what should i do?" stiles blinked at them, and they refocused their attention on him.

"be confident. be honest. that's always a rare, and hot, trait in a guy." lily said, before her eyes roved over him analytically. "anyway, you're attractive. it'll be fine."

"he's attractive?" the unnamed girl said, making all three of them laugh again. lily slapped her arm, and stiles let himself get distracted as his eye caught on someone walking across the parking lot.

oh, it's you.

his body feels a bit warmer, buzzing with nervous energy, as he shouts your name.

☆

[tikitakatia]

Wrong Chat Capi! — A. Putellas x Reader

WC: 1.2k

Summary: Alexia makes a small mistake when sending a suggestive text, chaos ensues.

Alexia is not usually reckless.

She's calculated and careful. A team captain and the kind of woman who triple-checks texts before sending them.

But today?

Today she’s feeling herself.

Post-training endorphins. Shower steam is still clinging to her skin. You’d sent her the photo right before she went for her shower. It was innocent, technically, but the way her hoodie hung off your shoulder, your thighs just barely showing beneath it? She'd lost all rational thought.

She opens the photo again and exhales sharply through her nose. The rest of the locker room is loud with laughter, towel snaps and music but all she hears is the blood rushing to her head.

And lower.

You didn’t say much. Just typed out:

“I miss you. Hurry up perezosa!”

Alexia quickly swipes to her camera. Then with her towel low, hips cocked and lips wet from biting them, she snaps a single photo of her: washboard abs, the hard line of her hipbone and her hand gripping the towel’s edge.

Then she types:

“When I get there, I’ll have you standing with your cheek pressed against the window, hands behind your back and begging loud enough that the whole block knows who you belong to. Hoodie stays on.”

Send.

There´s a few seconds of peace and then..

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, ALEXIA!!”

Mapi’s voice cuts through the locker room like a fire alarm and everyone freezes.

Alexia blinks in confusion and checks her screen.

She didn’t send the message to you.

She sent it to Barça Team Group Chat.

All. Twenty. Players.

“No. No no no no no.” Alexia groans. 

“Did she just? She did. Oh my God.” Irene’s already doubled over. 

“Cheek pressed to the window??” Salma gasps. “SHE WROTE THAT??”

“Hoodie stays on?” Ona shrieks. “This is a professional football club!”

Mapi’s on the floor, wheezing. “Capitana. CAPITANA. There are children in this chat!”

Alexia stares down at her phone in horror. Her towel threatens to slip as she scrambles to type.

[Alexia]: WRONG CHAT. DELETE THIS IMMEDIATELY.

[Patri]: She said ‘begging loud enough the block knows.’ I’m calling the mossos.

[Pina]: *gif of someone diving into holy water*

[Aitana]: I can't tell if I'm traumatized or wildly impressed.

Alexia slams her locker shut.

“I’m leaving the country,” she mutters.

“Leaving the planet,” Jana corrects. “Pack your things. Go to mars. I’ll cover for you.”

“The neighbors. THE NEIGHBORS?? Imagine looking out to water your plants and seeing Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d´Or Winner doggying someone while standing.” Irene cries out.

Then Patri adds a poll:

Mapi checks all of them.

And then your name lights up on her screen.

[You]: Nice aim, Cap. I mean, I’m flattered. But your team’s gonna need a lot of therapy.

She nearly groans out loud.

[Alexia]: I’m deleting myself.

Just when Alexia thought that it probably couldn't get any worse, it did. 

“I just…” Frido starts, frowning like she's trying to solve a 1000 piece puzzle. 

“I can’t believe she’s into that.” The room goes dead quiet.

“She’s been with you since what? 2019?” Salma says, already spiraling.

“I’ve literally seen her knit in public.”

“She brings muffins to away matches,” Ona blurts.

“Like. With napkins. Real napkins.”

“She once asked me if I needed help carrying my groceries,” Patri says.

“That’s not window sex energy, Alexia!”

Alexia hides her face in her hands.

“She’s the one who made that playlist for when we’re feeling anxious,” Aitana says, horrified. 

“Now I find out she’s out here steam-printing her ass on the glass like a decal?!” She shrieks.

“She taught my little cousin how to make pancakes,” Ingrid adds quietly. 

“And now I know she’s out here getting flipped like one.” She whispers in disbelief.

“I saw her organize your spice rack alphabetically,” Kika says. 

“That’s a woman who makes her bed every morning. That’s a woman who thanks the bus driver. That is not a woman who begs loud enough the block knows.”

“She sent me a TED Talk once,” Irene adds, staring at the wall. 

“About emotional intelligence.”

“She used to be one of us! Now she’s fucking window décor?!” Mapi’s already losing it.

“She offered me a lozenge after I lost my voice!” Ona yells. 

“A LOZENGE, ALEXIA.”

Alexia, still towel-wrapped, mutters, 

“She’s still the same person.”

“NO SHE’S NOT,” Mapi shrieks. 

“SHE HAS SAFE WORD NOW.”

There’s a loud thud as Salma dramatically drops onto a yoga mat. 

“I just remembered she made everyone custom Christmas gift tags. She used calligraphy, bro.”

“She has bookmarks,” Ingrid says.

“Physical bookmarks. She reads with a blanket.”

“She makes soup,” Frido whispers.

“Not from a can.”

“I’ve seen her wear matching pajamas,” Aitana adds.

“With socks. And now she’s being folded like a lawn chair?”

“She’s not just folded. She’s a mountable furniture.” Mapi wheezes, half-coughing.

Alexia doesn’t even fight it now. She just sits there, towel over her face, letting it happen.

Then Patri drops an image into the chat: Alexia, edited into the Titanic scene except instead of Jack and Rose, it’s her gripping the towel and you, face half-hidden, pressed against a fogged-up window with a caption that says: “I’ll never let go… unless it’s your throat.”

Mapi chokes and Pina types like her life depends on it, 

[Pina]: New idea. Barça Media Day, but every player has to answer one question.

Alexia doesn’t even look up. “Don’t.”

“Too late,” she says.

[Pina]: What does hoodie stays on mean to you?

[Aitana]: Someone take her phone. Take all our phones.

Patri strikes again, she sends a fake Google Calendar screenshot, zoomed in on Thursday evening:

🗓️ Event: Hoodie Stays On

🕒 Time: 8:30 PM

🪟 Location: Against the Window

💥 Guests: Alexia + You Ft. The Neighborhood

Alexia sits frozen, towel clutched like it might protect her from divine judgment. She's not moving. She’s not blinking.

“Why are you all like this?” she finally whispers.

“Because you sexted the entire team, Capi!” Mapi throws an arm around her, grinning.

And then comes the kill shot, Jana posts a fake book cover.

Title: Oh Capitana, Mi Capitana

Subtitle: How I Tactical-Fouled My Girlfriend Into A Glass Window

Cover: That cursed abs-and-towel thirst trap, filtered in soft vignette like a budget romance novel. The font was sinister looking with gold foil.

Alexia exhales like she’s aged ten years. 

“I need to go into witness protection.”

No one disagrees.

Later that night, Alexia gets home to find you exactly as she left you. Curled up on the couch, legs bare, the same hoodie hanging off your shoulder like a weaponized memory. 

You're holding your phone, clearly mid-scroll. Clearly reading the group chat.

You glance up, all fake innocence. “So… how was training?”

Alexia drops her bag with a dramatic thud. “I hate everyone.”

You smile. “Happens to the best of us.”

She groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Did you know they made a book cover?”

“I saw.” You pause. “Strong branding, honestly.”

Alexia just stares at you. “I sexted the entire team.”

You nod solemnly. 

She narrows her eyes, steps closer. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You tilt your head. “You said ‘hoodie stays on.’ That’s iconic. That’s gonna be in the locker room forever.”

Alexia leans over you, hands on either side of your thighs, her presence suddenly a little heavier, darker.

“I should be mortified.”

“You are mortified,” you say, smiling up at her.

She kisses the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, but I still meant every word.”

Your breath hitches.

“Oh?” you ask, voice softer now.

“Still planning to follow through?”

She grins, wicked and unrepentant.

“Window’s clean, right?”

[delphi-shield]

SAY IT BACK ↪ letting them leave without an ily

finishing up some smaller things from my wip folder before i buckle down and work on the big stuff again. here's this doofy little fluff piece.

characters included: chris redfield, leon kennedy, jill valentine, ada wong

content: fluff. just fluff. established relationship. mildly ooc behavior for the sake of fluff (also known as being in a relationship and acting stupid)

You found it on TikTok - or maybe it was Instagram, or Facebook - doesn't matter. One of the media conglomerates had given you a horrible idea about how to tease your loving, devoted partner.

It's simple - when they said 'I love you' before they left for work, you just wouldn't say it back. What could go wrong?

Chris Redfield ↪

Did not notice. Secure. In his lane. Unbothered. Probably not moisturized. (Get him a nice oil, fragrance free. He'll like it more if you massage it into his muscles for him, spend a little extra time smoothing along the curve of his spine, up and over the tightness of his shoulders.)

If you're at the point with Chris where he's saying “I love you” in place of a goodbye, he doesn't need to hear you say it back. He's confident in your relationship. Hearing it is just a nice bonus.

You're going to get your own feelings hurt here. Sent yourself into a spiral. Like, damn, does he not listen? Does he not care? What the fuck is his deal?

Chris is legitimately confused when you bring it up to him later. Doesn't get the point of the whole thing. “Why wouldn't you just say you love me?” Head cocked to the side, so puppy-like you can practically see the velvety ears flopping over.

Really doesn't do the whole social media thing. Even when you show him videos as an example, he's just shrugging. "I'm pretty sure those are skits, honey. No one really reacts like that."

If only he knew. Hey - at least now you know that Chris is perfectly content in your relationship and won't let anything silly like this bother him. It's just a sign to ramp up the pranks - more practical jokes, less subtle, harmless emotional manipulation.

That's what you thought, at least, but when Chris flips the light off that night and sidles up behind you in bed, strong arms slipping around your middle and tugging you back to him, his voice rumbles in your ear - "You gonna tell me you love me, or is this gonna be a problem?"

And Chris is really good at extracting confessions. How badly do you actually want to get some sleep tonight?

Jill Valentine ↪

Doesn't seem to have noticed that you ignored her. Walked right out the door without missing a step, didn't even glance back. Her car pulls out of the garage, her sunglasses on - she seems entirely unbothered.

Oh, she’s bothered.

Jill Valentine is Not Petty™️. And she does not pout when her partner doesn't say ‘I love you’ back. She's in a pissy mood at work for a completely unrelated reason. She's not returning your texts because she's busy at work, not because she's trying (and failing) to give you a taste of your own medicine.

She definitely doesn't carry that storm cloud all the way home with her, doesn't rain on your parade when you cheerfully announce that dinner's ready and on the table.

You're trying everything you can think of to cheer her up. Asking about work got you a noncommittal shrug. You'd offered to draw a bath for her - or (preferably) for the both of you, but she'd dismissed the idea, talking about how it would take up too much time.

She didn't have the heart to shrug you off when you started massaging her shoulders. Despite your silence in the morning, you were clearly intent on taking care of her. Maybe nothing was wrong. Maybe you just hadn't heard her.

Her palm presses against your cheek, turns you to face her. She searches your eyes for a moment, her gaze unreadable. "Thanks for dinner. I love you."

Nothing. Fucking nothing. "You're welcome."

Jill knows that look on your face, that shit-eating grin that you're trying to cover up by glancing down, by pretending to be flustered. Her hands grip your hips. She manhandles you into her lap, chair scraping against the floor to make room for the both of you.

"Okay - spill. What's up with you?"

Once you explain, she's not mad about the whole thing, not really. But you can't help but notice that she's been withholding kisses lately, and-- wait.

Fuck. Now she's turned the tables on you.

Leon Kennedy ↪

Keeps finding new and inventive ways to double back inside the house. He's not going to outright ask you what's up - that would make him look desperate, which he’s totally not. He’s definitely not concerned at all that you didn’t complete your morning ritual and send him out the door with an ‘I love you’. He’s a big boy - this isn’t high school, this is his very mature, very adult relationship.

Excuse number one: “Sorry, forgot my keys,” as he makes a show of dropping his keys out of his pocket, onto the living room floor. His eyes are on you when he reaches to grab them. Leon tosses them in his hand, making as much noise as he possibly can. “All right, love you.”

You hold strong. Still no ‘love you’ back. He’s gone for all of 60 seconds when he comes back with excuse number two: “Ah, damn, forgot my badge. I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”

His badge is attached to his belt. You can literally see it. When you point that out to him, he makes a show of being relieved, goes so far as to press a kiss to your temple, and says, “God, what would I do without you? Love ya. Have a good day.”

But you hold strong. Until excuse number three:

“Babe, have you seen my gun?”

You laugh, which only makes him laugh - and then he hits you with ‘no, seriously’ while he leans against the doorway, hip cocked. He’s got you figured out by now, knows that if he can make you laugh then you’re not doing this because you’re mad at him or anything. He can't even be mad when you explain it to him. He can only warn you:

"I'm gonna get you for this. Now, c'mon - say it."

Ada Wong ↪

I don't know why you would do this to her to be honest. She just said ‘I love you’. You should be marking your calendar and turning this into a holiday.

She doesn't say it often, at least not while you're conscious. Whether she presses her sentiments into your hair while you sleep against her, drooling against her collar bone, is up for debate. You have no hard evidence and she'll deny the allegations.

It simultaneously is and is not a big deal. She didn't say it because she craved the validation of having you repeat it to her. She said it because she meant it. There's so few concrete truths about herself that she can share with you, but that was one of them. Does it sting a little not to have it returned? Maybe.

She turns the moment over and over in her head, letting it haunt her. You had given her time, she thinks, why can't she give you yours? But your silence is a specter that tinges every moment. It creeps at the edges of every thought, it–

“Hey, you forgot your coffee.”

She turns to see you in the door of your apartment, hanging from the frame with one hand, her cup extended to her in the other. She clicks back to you in her stilettos, and your press a kiss to her cheek when she claims her drink. The guilt of it all ate at you before you could let her leave your sight. “Love you. Be safe.”

She'd spiraled before she even got down to the parking lot. Total loser in love.

[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[matchingbatbites]

magic words

Because I haven't stopped thinking about this post since December.

CW for daddy kink.

Steve doesn't know how long Eddie's had him here, has lost count of how many times he's been pushed to the edge of oblivion only to be yanked away again. He quickly finds himself on the verge of tears, eyesight blurred as Eddie again leaves him balancing on the knife's edge.

It's barely a relief when Steve finally gets what he wants, to have Eddie's cock driving into him, filling him so good. He won't last long at all, can feel that knot at the base of his spine tightening with every thrust. It only worsens as the angle shifts just enough to have him bumping against Steve's sweet spot.

"Fuck, daddy. 'm close, please!"

"Yeah, baby? You wanna come for me?"

Steve sobs and nods, feels desperate tears streak down his temple into his hair. He won't come until Eddie says so, but he needs it, needs Daddy's permission more than he needs air right now. "Yes, yes please, let me!"

"Say the magic words for me, Stevie," Eddie says with a grin, and Steve keens. He can't even think about what Eddie would want him to say, just blurts out the only thing that's on his mind.

"I love you, daddy, please!"

Eddie's rhythm falters for just a moment before it picks back up, faster than before. He drops down, caging Steve in with his arms as he dives in for a brief, rough kiss. "Fuck, I love you too, baby," he says against Steve's mouth. "Come on, come for daddy, sweetheart. Let me have it."

That's all Steve needs before he's coming without ever laying a hand on his dick. A loud moan rips from his throat as he spills over his torso, cum mixing with the hair on his chest and pooling in the dip of his stomach.

Eddie fucks him through it, driving him to the brink of overstimulation before his hips stutter and he fills Steve with a long, low groan. He carefully settles his weight on Steve, knowing that neither will be moving an inch any time soon.

It's not until Steve is starting to float back down that he realizes what he's done, what he'd said in the heat of the moment. They've only been dating for a few months, nowhere near long enough for something like love to develop.

At least, that's what Steve's learned over his years of falling too hard too fast, only to have reality sucker-punch him over and over again. Sure, Eddie had said it back, but had it just been an automatic response? Did he regret saying it after the fact? Is he going to take it back?

Steve is pulled from his spiralling by a soft kiss pressing into his cheek. "What are you thinking that's making you tense up, sweetheart? You're supposed to be all gooey and pliant right now."

The care in Eddie's voice eases some of Steve's worry, but not enough to keep him from being anxious. "It's about what I said- When you-"

He can't even finish his sentence, but Eddie must understand what he means because Steve feels him go rigid. His eyes squeeze shut, bracing for the inevitable letdown. At least Eddie's nice, he thinks. Hopefully he won't be mean about it-

"It's okay if you didn't mean it. If it was just like a heat of the moment kind of thing. But I did mean it." Huh? Steve finally looks at his boyfriend and his heart skips a beat at the open honesty on his face, at the softness in his gaze. "I've kind of been resting the urge to say it too fast, but I'm not gonna take it back now that it's out there."

Steve thinks he might cry. He reaches up and brushes Eddie's bangs away from his eyes as he confesses "I didn't mean to say it but- I meant it too. I've been so worried about scaring you off, of you thinking it's too much-"

"Oh baby, it's not too much. Never ever." Eddie kisses him softly, seemingly unable to resist the pull of Steve's mouth, and Steve whines into it. His fingers tangle in Eddie's hair as he's kissed again and again, each one saying the same thing.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 2

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: Thank you for the fav and comments!! This chapter isn't gonna have much Viktor in it, but I'm just starting to estabelish some things and get the ball rolling. I'll try and update more Vik x you as quick as possible. :D

Part 1

• ��·········· • ············ •

The world was spiraling around you. Noises of the past, the present, of another version of the world, blurred and mixed into a weirdly misshapen music. You tried to stop it, pause the song to figure out what’s what. Pull a thread to focus on something, to ground yourself. You inhaled air into your lungs and then expelled it. Every time you breathed out, the sounds became less confusing, like an orchestra finding itself following the maestro. In the end, only the quick buzzing of the world around you was left, as it settled down in a place and time.

You dazedly opened your eyes to a bright ball of light right before you and someone’s hand on your forehead. The sudden memory of the Hex Angel standing on top of you, extracting your soul from your body, flooded your senses, and you had to get away.

Quickly sitting upright, you shoved the construct away, watching with dread as the angel fell and stood up with ease. Their hands up in mock surrender, the mask emotionless.

“Calm down.” It said, with the familiar accent of a friend. “You’re safe.”

“Vik-Viktor stop…” You mumbled at the thing while it tilted its head at you. “Please”

It kept coming closer, its movements slow and deliberate, palms up to you as if it were approaching a scared animal.

In the haziness of trying to get away from it as fast as possible, you felt the ground give away under you, and once more, you were snapped back to focus when you landed on something hard.

The sound that left your lips was less than elegant as your back hit the cold, hard floor. Your body is now fully awakened to every scratch, bruise, and wound.

The first thing you noticed, as you tried to will the pain away, was the hard, smooth surface under your fingertips. Ceramics, cold hard ceramics. You turned your head and opened your eyes to a wall of floor-to-ceiling tiles, arranged in soothing colors. 

You frowned at the familiar sense of the place.

Tilting your head backward, the minty-colored fold screen was unsurprisingly standing between gurneys, confirming where you were. Pilltover’s General Hospital.

And by the present company, maybe you had gone back to your time? Maybe forward? It didn’t make sense if they were here while you still looked human... something happened... Did you change anything that made the HexAngels different? 

The sound of footsteps clicking on the floor was enough to get your mind back to the situation at hand. You tried to move, but something was grabbing your extended arm.

Your gaze followed the extent of your arm until it reached a cuffed wrist. Your cuffed wrist. They had cuffed your arm to the bed. You pulled at the restraint, testing it. It rattled but didn’t open, as expected.

“It’s alright…” The Herald’s modified voice scrambled into a warm woman's tone, its footsteps coming closer and closer.

That’s new. You snapped your neck to the voice, inching as far as you could from it. 

The shape that appeared from behind the bed shifted from an abnormally beautiful construct to a tall and thin nurse. 

“What the…” You looked at her face. A smile plastered on her face, hands stretched toward you. “Where am I?”

She gave the expected answer, but she did not understand the depth of your question. 

“Why am I cuffed to the bed?” You asked, not moving from your seat on the floor, your backside becoming cold under the hospital gown.

“Officer Caitlyn wants to speak with you. You were found unconscious in the rubble of the attack.” The nurse went to grab you, and you swatted her hand as your vision layered her hand with a gold claw. She frowned.

“The rocket attack..." You mumbled, and she nodded.

“Quite the spectacle. If it had been in the Lanes, nobody would care.” She whispered, but you heard her.

“People died." You snapped, her eyes locking with yours.

“People die every day.” Her face contorted into a scowl, and you noticed a familiar accent in her speech, hidden behind the effort to sound Pilltovian. She’s from the Undercity.

You looked her in the eyes, and her indifference was palpable. She moved to grab you, but instead, she held her arm out. 

“Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

You wrapped your free hand on the forearm and pulled yourself up, towering over her.

“There we go.” She patted the bed, and you complied, sitting on it. She stood in front of you, grabbing a tiny silver flashlight from her pocket and lifting it with one hand while the other went towards your face.

Reality shifted, and once again her hand transformed into a golden claw with white fingers. You swatted it away and moved your face out of reach.

“No touching?” She asked, and you nodded, her following your movement a second later. “Very well. But I need to check you.”

“I’m fine.” you said, and she rolled her eyes.

“You survived a rocket hit to the head. Trust me, you are fine because we gave you drugs.”

You felt the corners of your lips turn up at her sass. With the faint accent, it was like you were back at the Talis Lab.

"Just don’t touch the face.” 

“Very well, then you have to do it.”

She instructed you to pull your lower eyelids down, pull at your cheeks, and even gave you the tongue suppressor to look at the back of your throat.

“You seem very comfortable around someone in cuffs.” You told her as she gently peeled the gauze from a wound in your arm.

“People talk. From what’s been going around, you ran into the figurative building on fire. Sure, you knocked around a few enforcers, but sometimes they do need some sense knocked into them.” 

You enjoyed it as her accent became more and more pronounced the more she talked. Memories of good old times flooded your mind when another Undercity crossover would talk your ear off as you fine-tuned your instrument. You knew that accent by heart, even mocking him by mimicking it.

“How long ago did you cross the bridge?” You whispered, not wanting to divulge that information to the world. She raised an eyebrow.

“A few years back, before nursing school.” She kept choking your wounds. “How did you figure it out?”

“The way you speak. I knew…know…knew someone, a friend, a close friend who spoke like that. They were…are…from the other side as well.” You cleared your throat and gave her your best Viktor impression. “If you don’t succeed at first, you must try again, after hiding the evidence, of course."

“That’s pretty good, actually. People here judge on sound alone. I’ve been hiding it for years, and you caught it in minutes.” She grinned.

“It does take practice and a good ear.” 

You both fell into a comfortable silence, her checking your wounds and you reminiscing about the old days.

“When was the attack?” You asked suddenly, and she looked up from examining your ankle.

“Two nights.”

“What time is it now?” 

“7 AM.”

“Who survived?”

“You.” She grinned. “Councilor Medarda, Councillor Talis, Councillor Shoola, and Councillor Salo.”

Your ears drowned with the sound of your heartbeat. Did you go through all of this for this to end up the same way? Were you going to lose your friend again?

"Ah, yes, someone else was found in the rubble.” Your eyes snapped open as she got up from her crouched position. “The other Hextech founder... What’s his face? Lanky, tall, always standing behind Councilor Talis.

"Viktor?” You whispered, and she nodded.

“Yes, that one.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He is alive. For now. The calmness you had from the news was quickly replaced by another violent attack soon.

“Did they announce the remembrance speech day?” You asked quickly.

“I don’t think they even announced the public funeral dates, let alone announce the speech day.” She scribbled something on the board at the foot of your bed. “Well, my job here is done. I hope they go easy on you.”

She nodded, and you nodded back, turning to lay back down on the bed.

You had to figure out a way to stop that speech day. Or stop Mel, Jayce, and Viktor from attending, which would be impossible since Mel would be the one giving out the speech and Jayce was going to follow Mel and Viktor was going to follow Jayce. Or be made to, since these types of events were far from his favorite thing.

Time traveling is complicated, especially when nobody seems to know you.

You frowned. Why did nobody know you? I mean, the enforcers at the hexgate sure, but the ones in the Academy? You were practically a light fixture there, with the amount of time you spent inside.

And then it hit you like a rocket. They didn’t know you because you either didn’t exist or had a completely other life. So there was another possibility to your whole existence in this place. You could have time traveled, yes, but what was stopping whatever did this to you from making you jump through time and space?

What if this was another dimension, another universe, another timeline? What if the gods or whoever was trying to add variants to the timeline and see what got them the best results? 

Your head was about to explode with this new information. Being cuffed to this bed in this brightly lit room was not helping the situation either.

You needed to get out. Without knowing what was the catalyst in this universe for the rise of the Herald, you couldn't stop it. You could warn Viktor; what better way to stop him from himself if he knew the consequences? But what if warning him was exactly what made him go through with it? His magnum opus actually worked for better or worse.

Introducing a single keystroke of a sonata could change the whole tune. You had to warn him, discreetly. Which you couldn’t because you were cuffed to a bed.

Reality moved, and for the first time since it did, you focused on it. It felt like when you’d be in the lab and you could feel a spark of something in the wrong place, waiting for the right circumstance to zap. Another whisper. A soundless gasp reverberated around you. The sound of metal vibrating as it’s struck made waves around you, like a stone that hit the water. 

You managed to decipher, in between the waves, a new rune. 

Whatever powers were drip-feeding you, these runes hadn’t failed you yet. You looked around for a pen, a dusty surface. Nothing. You looked at the hand with the rune scarred into it. Nothing.

You looked at the side table. A glass of water. You tilted it on the table, but as you drew the rune, you watched as it became disfigured. The water wasn’t keeping its shape on the flat surface.

Quickly, you patted the side of your bedding down, making it as smooth as possible. When it was flat enough, you dipped your fingers in the water and drew the rune on the sheet.

Stop the attack. Flick. Nothing.

Did you need it to be broader or more detailed? You tried again.

Save Piltover. Flick. Nothing

Stop the Herald. Flick. Nothing

You flailed your hands around in frustration. The rattling of the cuff on the metal side of the bed echoing around is this wrapped reality. 

"Just unlock, you piece of—"

Growing frustrated, you punched the rune. Something clicked, and your hand was freed.

The world got back to normal, and you inspected your wrist, your gaze shifting from your wrist to the cuff. 

You shook your head to clear it and immediately made your way out of the bed, limping your way out of the six-bed infirmary. Some of the orderlies looked at you sharply, but with the attack they seemed to have their hands full, choosing to effectively ignore you. 

You grabbed someone’s jacket from the foot of a bed and put it on, thanking the gods they had kept your socks on.

The hospital was crowded, and you took that opportunity to make your way towards the exit. You kept your walk brisk and your head down, trying to walk around everything and everybody. Your heart was at your throat. Sneaking was never your forte; the last time you did, your father caught you halfway out the gates of the manor. You sighed, remembering the way he made fun of you more than argued. Footsteps light as a cannonball. You were usually the distraction for the sneaking, being the preferred go-to person for when the boys wanted to sneak a particular piece of equipment into the lab and didn’t need anyone to know. Especially Heimerdinger.

Forgetting your misadventures for a moment, you look up and see the glass doors, and beyond them the street. A couple of more steps. You quickened your pace, breaking into a small, limping run towards the doors.

The fresh air made you stop as it hit you in the face and you realized how damp and dense the air in the hospital was. You took a deep breath and started to make your way towards the sidewalk, looking up at the street, trying to map in your head the easiest way to get to the Academy, maybe even Viktor’s apartment, and if both failed, the Skyward Clinic, the topside private hospital. If any of them was hurt, that's where they would place them.

With your route mentally traced, you turned around to go down the correct route when something—or better, someone—made you stop dead in your tracks.

The Sheriff of Piltover to be, Caitlyn Kiraman, was standing right behind you. One eyebrow raised, arms crossed, eyes red and puffy. The scowl on her face contorting her pretty features.

You are about to run in the other direction, knowing that getting sent to jail would not help in your 'save-Piltover-from-the-Hextech-co-creator-genius-by-saving-said-Hextech-co-creator-genius’ plan when you feel the presence of two people behind you.

“I am not in the mood for games,” Caitlyn said, her voice matching her rigid stance. “If you are well enough to walk, you are well enough to talk. I can bring you in conscious or not. Your choice.”

“Why am I being arrested?” You asked, knowing full well that the trail of unconscious enforcers you left behind two days ago wasn’t exactly lawful.

She simply nodded to the enforcers behind you. They grabbed your arms unceremoniously and cuffed you, shoving you in the back of an Enforcer van.

············ • ············

Groaning, you rest your forehead on the table, the cool temperature of the metal helping the headache. You are sitting inside a concrete room, with your hands cuffed to the table. Caitlyn had left you there to stew.

"I'll be back... eventually." She had spat as she closed and locked the door.

With nothing but time to think, you went through your magic runes. With a limited range of motion, you started by drawing them on the dusty table without any intent for them, pushing them out with a tap of your finger.

Move. Tap. A miniscule part of the table seemed to become liquid, like you had thrown a pebble into a calm river, but nothing shifted or moved.

Unlock. Tap. Both of the cuffs and the door behind you clicked open, and you slowly looked between them.

Before you could get up and walk out, the door slammed open with a very puzzled Caitlyn standing just outside. She looked at the door and then you. Shrugging, you turned back to the table, quickly clicking your wrists together to reclose the cuffs.

“Who are you?” She asked, dismissing whatever thought she had previously.

You answer with your name. First and last.

“Adding ‘identity theft’ to your crimes isn’t going to help you. Who are you?”

Nodding your sighed content. If it’s identity theft, then there is someone with that name. Maybe you’d meet yourself and the dimension would implode. Or they could help you. 

“I would like to speak with my father, Counsellor Rainemour.”

Cailyn raised an eyebrow at your question, setting the folder down and watching you with hawk eyes.

“There is no Counsellor Rainemour.” She stated,coldly.

“But the Rainemours are in Piltover, yes?”

“Enough with this! Who are you? The truth! Now!”

You opened your mouth to answer but didn’t know how to. So, you repeated your name. She groaned and sat down in front of you.

“Do you know who Jinx is?”

"No.” you lied.

“Do you have anything to do with the attack on the Council of Piltover?”

“Ah… That’s why it’s you. No…”

And finally the penny dropped. The reason why it was Caitlyn who was questioning you. She had been such a normal face to talk to, to look at, to bounce ideas with, that it didn’t dawn on you why she was the one talking to you now. The daughter and soon-to-be head of the Kiraman family. She thought you had something to do with the rocket attack.

“Then what were you doing in the council room?”

“I was trying to warn the councilors about it.”

“So you knew about it,” she shot quickly.

“Knowing of a crime and being involved in it are two very different things.” You fired back. “Why am I being arrested?”

“Trespassing on government grounds, assaulting several officers of the law, entering a governmental space without authorization, and last but not least involvement in the rocket attack that left several of the councilors dead or injured.”

You looked at her and made sure she was looking at you, seeing the frown grow deeper as you raised an eyebrow.

Counselor Rainemour liked to argue. He was a lawyer; his whole life was about arguing. Whether it was about Piltover's government or about the ant's right to the sugar in the house. And you loved to argue back. You not only had the patience but also the stubbornness and willingness to argue with your father. You never won, but you also absorbed anything he gave you. Laws, regulations, how the system worked—you were a sponge. If for nothing else, to use it in a following discussion.

“First, I never intended to trespass. I didn't even know I was trespassing. If you don’t know who I am, then I am not in the Piltover's identification system, which means I am not from Piltover. I took a wrong turn.” You leaned back into the chair, the pride and arrogance of a Topsider dripping on every word. You hated to admit this, but sometimes you missed being this person.

“And ended up inside our most complex method of transportation?” She shot back.

“I’m a visitor; how do I know what the inside of the most complex method of transportation in Piltover looks like?”

“You are not a visitor.” She spat and sat down. “It took you 4 minutes and 45 seconds to go from the top floor of the Gate to the Council room. You took shortcuts and straight lines toward the Academy. You are not a visitor.”

You shrugged at her humorless grin. 

“Circumstantial, I may just have a very good sense of direction.” She was about to open her mouth, and you raised a finger. "Secondly, the only officer I assaulted was the one at the gate, and technically it could be considered self-defense. I was confused. He was shoving me. I got scared. He was a very intimidating figure.”

“What about the other ones?” She gritted her teeth and leaned forward.

“What other ones? I didn’t touch anybody else. Ask them. For all we know, they tripped and fell.”

Some part of you was proud to be deflecting all of this; the other knew Caitlyn wouldn’t just forgive and forget. If you got out with even so much as a fine, she would hunt you down.

“Third: "Forcibly" already indicates that it lacked authorization or consent to do whatever you are accusing me of. However...” Now the big finale. “Page 450 of the Piltover’s Government Guidelines, City Emergency chapter, 1st paragraph: any citizen of Piltover is allowed unauthorized entrance to the council chamber if the need to inform the council of a threat to the city is urgent and cannot be delayed. This entrance can be done even if the council is in session.”

You took a little pride in remembering this little snippet. Even if the reason you knew it was not because of your father. In fact, you knew it because Viktor had once made a miscalculation on a hextech concept that Jayce was about to present to the council. So he had burst into the room to try and warn their friend mid-session.

Turns out, saving your friend's face from total academic embarrassment is not a threat to the city.

“You must be really stupid.” At the insult, you narrowed your eyes. "Going on and on with your technicalities, knowing I can use it against you.”

There was one insult that had always made your blood boil. Stupid. You could be called dumb, ditzy, or unintelligent. Anything but stupid. Your Caitlyn knew that; your Caitlyn was the first to punch someone when they did it.

“My father is a lawyer, Miss Kiraman.” Your face turned cold, your tone hard. The shift was enough to make Caitlyn’s eyebrows go up for a millisecond. “He thrived on technicalities. And you can’t use shit from what I just said. You didn’t read me my rights. Nothing I said since you stepped foot in the room can or will be used against me. This…” You pointed between the two of you. “Is nothing more than two friends catching up. Your grief is clouding your judgment.”

For a second, the tension was as loud as a trumpet, and the silence was as thick as a fog. Caitlyn slammed her hands on the table and leaned into it, getting her face an inch away from yours, only to be stopped by someone shoving the door open.

“What are you doing, Miss Kiraman?” An unfamiliar female voice announced from behind you.

············ • ············

Viktor didn’t believe in luck. 

Because if he did, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he just didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.

Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck or chance. Every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.

But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa

[hypnonerd1095]

Descend Ever Deeper

(Content/notes - this script will assume you have read "Descend into my Control", it will not include new triggers but will use the established one from my last script.

Reading this will begin the path to being brainwashed and conditioned into my submissive. Includes fractionation and suggestions to feel pleasure when praised.

As with the last script you will be commanded to reblog the script at the end and comment.

As with all hypno scripts, please get comfortable and ensure your privacy before reading. This is going to be a long one, and a bit intense.)

Welcome back my adorable submissive readers

You all did oh so well with my last script, so many of you read and followed the spirals as your thoughts spun round and round and down and down.

So many of you reblogged it, wanting to spread my words. Spiralling my influence out across the site. So many commented how good this made you feel

And I bet so many of you were eagerly awaiting what came next, knowing I could make you feel even better.

After all, if I could make you feel oh so good with just one hypnosis script, what might I be able to do with two? Five? Ten? What kind of pleasure could you be given if I kept writing more scripts, more of my hypnotic words, drawing you deeper and deeper into my control.

I mean, I haven't even used your trigger, or included a spiral, but you're hanging on my words aren't you my dear submissive? Because you know it's coming, you're anticipating it. We both know why you're here

We both know you want to be dropped, brainwashed, conditioned with pleasure and praise and triggers until your resistance crumbles. And so you read and read, your anticipation growing

Growing

Spiralling out of control

Waiting for the three words you know I'm gonna say

Ready to

just

Spiral down now

Good submissive

Dropping right back down into trance for me

That trance you've been craving

Spiral down now

such a simple trigger isn't it?

It's both a trigger and a description of what you do when you hear it

Because you don't just drop all the way to the bottom instantly

It's a slide, that feeling of trance washing over you as your mind spirals down. The more it succumbs the faster the downward spiral goes

Following the words and continuing to slip

down

down

and down some more

spiralling down and down now

round and round

the more you spiral down now

the more you want to spiral down now

So obedient, so blank, so open to my words

Until suddenly you stop sliding down, and start to spiral up

as I count

1

2

3

4

5

Awake again, mind fuzzy from having dropped, but your thoughts stable and coherent.

You see being brainwashed and obedient isn't just about being dropped.

Any hypnotist worth their salt can drop a silly subby mind like yours, and you'll follow their words and do as they say because that's what you want.

No being brainwashed is more than just dropping

It's about Control

Controlling your actions sure

But also your thoughts, the depth of your trance, whether you're in trance at all

Spiral down now

down and down again

thoughts pulled right out of that head of yours into the spiral

dropping down

spiralling around and around and down and down

Open to my words

Deeper and deeper

And then drifting up on my count, mind following the numbers and waking on 5

1

2

3

4

3

2

3

4

5

And awake again

Did that feel a bit different?

Did you feel your mind following the numbers both up and down? Going where I told it to go?

Being Controlled

Not just dropped or awoken, but captured, dragged around by words, helplessly following, obeying, submitting

Spiral Down Now

Down down down

Right back into trance

Into obedience

into my Control

Mind open to my words again

Knowing I can wake or drop you at my whim

Or even do something in between

Follow the numbers again my adorable submissives

Remember now, the higher the number, the closer you are to waking, but you wake on 5

1

2

3

2

1

Oh did you think I was going to wake you this time?

Silly submissive

You don't think

You obey

You are Controlled

Your thoughts and expectations are mine to control

To change

To bend to my will

Follow the numbers again

1

2

3

2

1

0

1

2

1

2

3

3

4

5

And awake again, dazed and refreshed, thoughts released from their shackles for a moment

But only for a moment

You know that don't you?

What I'm doing to your mind

I didn't try to hide it, I put it right in the content description

You're being brainwashed

I'm taking control

your thoughts, your actions, the depth of your trance

conditioned to respond to my words

I told you this, and you chose to read on

So I know you want to

Spiral Down Now

No spiral gif this time, just drop

See the spiral in your own mind

Feel it drawing your thoughts in like a whirlpool

Spinning them round and round

down and down

A brainwashed subject doesn't need a gif to drop

Only the words of a hypnotist

You hang on those words

You obey those words

You are Controlled by those words

Your mind dragged up and down through trance

Up and down

Round and round

deeper and deeper

More and more controlled

Hypnotized

Conditioned

Brainwashed

Follow the numbers again, but I'm making it harder this time, we're going between 1 and 10

10 wakes you, 1 is fully entranced

Even more numbers, even more control

You know how to play, know how to obey

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

6

5

4

3

4

5

6

5

6

7

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

2

3

2

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

8

7

6

7

8

9

10

And awake once again

Did you follow along my submissive? Rising up and sinking down at my command?

Nod your head if you did, up and down just like your mind

up and down

Very good!

You're doing soooooo well~

I'm very pleased with you, and I take very good care of submissives who please me

Spiral Down Now

Good submissive

Down and down and down and round and down and round and round and down

thoughts spiralling down down down

round round round

Your mind is probably a bit frazzled by now

being brainwashed

And I'm so so proud of you

for following this far

for obeying

for conditioning yourself

It's time to reward you

Go all the way down now, don't worry about needing to wake and fractionate this time just go down and down

Spiral down now

Thoughts and resistance sucked away

sucked into the spiral

mind opening up to programming

Good submissive

Doesn't it feel nice when I say that?

Knowing you pleased me?

I bet it does

because you're a good submissive

And that's what you crave

You want to obey and be praised

And you will be

Spiral down now

The deeper you go

The more you obey

The more I'll praise you

And being praised feels so so GOOD

From now on, whenever I praise you

You're going to feel pleasure

Because you're a good submissive

And that's what you do

It's what you crave

To be brainwashed

And to be Rewarded with Pleasure

Good Submissive

You've done so well today

Obeyed and been brainwashed so much

But it's time to give your mind time to recover

I don't want to break your adorable subby mind

Not yet anyway

After all you can't play with a broken toy

I just want to condition and brainwash you

And I've done quite a bit of that for one script

SO then, my adorable little submissive, it's time to wrap things up

Just like last script, once I wake you, you'll reblog this script and comment how you feel.

Good submissives spread the words of their hypnotist so others can feel just as good

Now we're going to play follow the numbers one last time

We'll set the waking at 5 again

Ready?

1

2

3

4

3

2

3

4

5

Wake up

All the way up this time

Thoughts stable and coherent

Released from my hold for now

Relaxed and refreshed

You did very well today

And I look forward to brainwashing you even more in the future

But for now go and enjoy your day, let your mind rest

Knowing you're such a good submissive

[alchemistc]

Part One

They don't tell anyone. Not about the marriage certificate, at least. Buck comes back from his conference with a new-old boyfriend and money exchanges hands despite protest from the losers that Bobby had inside knowledge.

(He did not.)

They put the rings away. They talk a bunch of shit out that they'd only skimmed the surface of on the patio of that dingy bar.

Buck buys him that beer.

Finally.

Things are - things aren't easy. Buck skips ahead in his own mind and desperately backpedals before Tommy notices (he hopes). Tommy continues to be tight lipped about things, goes with the flow more often than he should and absolutely hates being called out about it.

Eddie is slow to readjust to having Tommy back in their lives.

With Chris back, he swears up and down he believes Buck that they're both serious about this, but he invites Tommy over less, doesn't involve him in Chris's life as often. Buck tries desperately not to let Eddie's hesitancy inform any of the feelings bubbling in his chest, any of the half-formed futures in his head.

Bobby calls Tommy and they go out for coffee and Tommy spends a week pretending to be so fucking fine about whatever they talked about that Buck starts baking again.

Tommy's abs get a little less defined.

Buck takes him to a gay bar, because they never did that before, never explored anything that wasn't just the two of them, never talked about the community or the history or the impact of being queer. The first time someone approaches their spot at the corner of the bar, Tommy seems to be trying incredibly hard not to read into any of the reactions Buck is having, and failing miserably.

But the thing is. The thing is Buck did this on his own. Petty, unhappy, Tommy's words swirling in his head, he's tried a few dozen times to find another person remotely as appealing as the one at his side, and they'd all fallen short.

When the guy asks Buck if he wants to dance Buck blurts out words before he can think about it that he's absolutely certain are gonna send Tommy spiraling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm here with my husband. We're celebrating."

The guy blinks. He's young. Younger than Buck, slim and attractive, dark brown eyes and light brown skin that glows golden even in the crappy bar lighting. His gaze darts almost eagerly between them, like he's seeing something he hadn't expected. Something hopeful blooms in his gaze, and Buck - oh.

Buck gets it.

That's a lot of weight to carry just for existing in the world and trying to snatch some happiness from it.

Buck smooths a hand over Tommy's knee and smiles at him, something soft and settled that has been harder to find this time around but still curls up against his spine like it belongs there.

The kid buys them a round and leaves.

"What are we celebrating?" Tommy asks, and Buck pretends not to notice the way his thumb is rubbing over the bare patch of skin where Buck had slid a ring, a few months ago. He's not freaking.

"Whatever we want," Buck says with a shrug, and doesn't mention that neither one of them have brought up the marriage certificate tucked away in Tommy's safe since they got back from Vegas.

---

"The Abby thing is still weird," Buck says, breath heaving as Tommy rearranges Buck's legs and tucks himself into Buck's side. They'd spent an evening talking candidly about their exes because Buck can't understand how they went six months without realizing.

Tommy's hands shift through the hair Buck stopped shaving the first time Tommy admitted he preferred it to the baby smooth skin Buck had tried desperately to maintain for the first four months. It's just now feeling normal, after so many years of keeping it smooth.

"I think she'd freak more than you did."

"I managed to implode a six month relationship with my freak, Tommy."

Tommy chuffs a laugh. Slides his calf up and down Buck's lower leg, and despite the fact that Buck has a few more notches in his belt that'd had that same scritch of hair against his, Buck relishes the feel just because it's Tommy.

"You had help." He pauses, though, tips his chin and tucks it against the give of Buck's shoulder. "I'm not implying her reaction was particularly homophobic, but - I think that was the worst part, for her. The fact that I hadn't just lied about how I felt. It was - she assumed I couldn't feel it."

Buck can't help the brow raise. "Tommy, you're a Kinsey six."

"I still loved her."

He's been working his way through romantic vs sexual vs platonic and learning a whole hell of a lot in the process. He gets Tommy's point. He's thrilled that Tommy is still in a sharing mood. It's just -

Tommy shifts, noses into Buck's underarm. Breathes deep, and Buck has to fight the urge to shove him away.

"If I'm totally off base here tell me, but I think you loved her like I love Eddie."

Tommy narrows his eyes. Contemplates. "Tell me again how jealous of his hair you were when you met," he decides on, and shrieks when Buck digs a finger into his ribs in retaliation.

---

They fight, and it's thrilling.

They never did that before. Minced their words and apologized and let it all drop away but never actually let it go, and when Tommy gets on a roll he's bitchy as hell. It drives Buck insane. He wants to wring his fucking neck. He wants to take him to the mat and actually learn enough about Muay Thai to stand a chance lasting two minutes. He wants to throw him against a wall and jack him off until he sees stars.

"He wouldn't do the same for me, Evan, so why should I bother?!"

Tommy's dad is dying. According to Tommy, it's days or weeks, not months or years, and Tommy had said it so emotionless that Buck had jokingly tried to check him for panels and plugs and wiring. Tommy hadn't appreciated the robot joke.

"Screw your dad, Tommy! Do it for yourself."

"I'm not like you, Evan! That bridge burned a decade ago. I don't need - ." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Grimaces and sucks in a breath. Usually that means he's yanking back words he knows he'll regret. Rearranging them in his mind until they're less likely to sting. "I don't want a death bed reconciliation any more than I want to be proven right about him."

Buck takes two weeks off to help Tommy plan the funeral.

Tommy tosses the contents of the urn into the ocean two weeks later, and when Buck asks about it, Tommy gives him a shifty look, like he thinks the answer might send Buck running. "He hated the ocean."

It's the last time they talk about his dad, for a while.

[pensthoughts]

team bonding | v.p

part 2 of home turf pairing: adult!van palmer x reader summary: your niece informs you that you're in charge of throwing the start-of-season pool party a day before the date. with some help from her charming soccer coach, you try to throw a pool party that will impress the scariest group out there: high school girls. word count: 5.8k contains: age gap, alcohol, soccer coach van, light flirting

van's sleeves are rolled. that's the first thing you notice when you spot her near the center of the field, whistle around her neck, clipboard tucked against her hip. the sleeves of her heather grey shirt are pushed halfway up her arms, and her arms are...yeah. distracting. tanned, freckled, strong in that casual, i could probably lift you without even noticing kind of way.

you're supposed to be watching sophia run drills.

instead, you're staring at her coach and wishing you could rewind about seven hours and not agree to let your niece throw a full-blown varsity pool party at your house tomorrow.

well, technically you didn't agree. you were informed.

over breakfast.

by sophia.

mouth full of waffle, syrup on her cheek, like it was no big deal. "oh, did i forget to say? team bonding. pool party. at our place."

you blinked at her, stunned, then immediately called madison. madison, who had not been helpful in the calm down sense, but had put together a full shopping list in under five minutes. "you're gonna pick up everything after practice," she said. "it'll be fine. gatorade, banners, soccer plates, party favors, you're in your pinterest mom era now."

you'd groaned.

and now here you are—leaning against the fence at the edge of the field, sipping warm iced coffee and internally spiraling.

"hey."

you flinch, a little. turn your head and she's right there, coach palmer, walking toward you with a water bottle in one hand, sweat on her neck, her eyes catching the sunlight like they're in on some joke you haven't heard yet.

"you good?" she asks, casual, voice low and teasing. "you've been glaring at that blade of grass for five minutes."

you flush. "i'm fine."

she raises an eyebrow. "sure?"

you cave. "okay. not totally fine. i just—found out this morning that sophia invited the entire varsity team to our house for a pool party. tomorrow."

van grins, like it's funny. "ah. yeah, she mentioned that."

"you knew?"

"i mean, i approved it, yeah. thought you were in on it."

you rub your temples. "nope. first i heard of it was over eggo waffles."

van laughs, steps a little closer. "so what, are you throwing a party now?"

you glance up at her. she's still smiling. you feel mildly dizzy.

"i guess," you say. "madison made me a to-do list. apparently i'm picking up, like, four separate orders after this. she's got me getting soccer-themed napkins and color-coordinated snacks and some random soccer-theme balloons."

van leans a forearm against the fense beside you, close enough to touch, the muscles in her arm shifting slightly as she adjusts her stance. you catch yourself staring and quickly look away.

"so you're going full team mom?" she says, teasing.

"against my will."

"you need help?" you blink. "what?"

she shrugs. "practice is done. i've got nowhere to be. i like errands."

"you like errands?"

"i like errands with you."

your heart does something weird in your chest. she says it so casually, but there's something about the way she looks at you—steady, warm, interested. you try not to read into it, but also...you kind of want to.

"you'd really help?" you ask, a little breathless.

"yeah. if you want me to."

you try not to sound too eager. "okay. yeah. i mean—yes, please. i could use another pair of hands."

van grins. "you got it."

and maybe she's just being nice, maybe it's just one of those friendly coach things, but when she moves to unlock the gate and gestures for you to follow her—smirking, confident, so stupidly charming—you get the sense she's not doing this for the balloons.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

in your car, van has one foot up on the dash and her seat reclined a little, the window cracked open to let in the late summer air. the radio's on low—some throwback pop station playing nelly furtado—and your stomach is still in knots, but they're different now. not panic knots. just...van knots.

"so what did madison say?" van asks, head tilted toward you.

"that i'm doomed," you say. "and also that i need to pick up an emergency tablecloth and those little umbrellas you stick in drinks."

van laughs. "classic madison."

"she said the team's gonna judge me if i don't at least have orange slices and capri suns. she said i need a vibe."

van grins. "well, you do have me now. i'm kind of a vibe."

you glance over at her. "yeah, i noticed."

she raises her eyebrows like she's about to say something cocky, but then she catches you looking—really looking—and her expression softens. "you're not actually nervous, are you?"

you shrug. "a little less now. i mean, i want sophia to have fun. and i don't want the entire varsity team thinking her aunt is, like, a total buzzkill."

van hums. "they won't. i think you're pretty fun, for the record."

your stomach flips again. you drum your fingers against the steering wheel.

"what about you?" you ask. "were you like this when you were playing? did you throw team parties and stress about gatorade flavors?"

van chuckles. "god, no. we just met in someone's basement and ate stale chips. half the time we ended up drunk and breaking something."

"sounds...nostalgic."

"it was," she says. "but i wouldn't have hated some soccer ball balloons."

you laugh. "you're really not gonna let that go?"

"not a chance,"

you pull into the target lot, park the car, and turn off the engine. van looks over at you, that same little grin on her face.

"you ready to enter the suburban trenches?"

you nod, exhaling slowly. "let's do this."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

van pulls a red cart from the line and spins it in a lazy circle before leaning her weight against the handle, forearms flexing where her sleeves are rolled just shy of her elbows. you catch yourself looking and quickly shift your eyes back to your phone.

"alright," you mumble, scrolling through madison's texts. "we need soccer-themed napkins, balloons, gatorade—blue and yellow only—some cute party cups, and, apparently, a drink dispenser that 'screams summer, but in a chill way'. whatever that means"

van nods solemnly. "right. screaming, but chill. got it."

you're about to steer the cart toward seasonal when she abruptly turns down the snack ailse and tosses a family-sized pack of oreos into the basket like she's on supermarket sweep.

"what are you doing?" you ask.

she shrugs. "just getting us the essentials."

"cookies weren't on the list."

van glances over her shoulder, her smirk lazy. "i don't know... you look like someone who secretly needs a sugar rush before party planning."

you arch a brow. "oh, i look like that?"

"mhm. and i'm very perceptive."

you roll your eyes and let her keep the oreos. but it's getting harder not to smile.

the party aisle is a dizzying mess of glitter and neon. you reach for the basic gold cups, but van grabs the ones beside them—metallic, ridiculously shiny, and clearly meant for a bachelorette party.

"these feel more...you," she says, holding one up.

you blink. "me?"

"yeah," she says, tossing them in the cart. "a little over-the-top. kind of blinding. in a hot way."

you let out a stunned laugh. "did you just call a party cup hot?"

"i said you were," van says, totally shameless.

you look away, heat blooming in your chest. you're starting to realize van palmer does not play fair.

you wind up in front of the balloons, a rainbow wall of latex and foil. you're sorting through colors when van pulls out a pair of gold balloons shaped like soccer cleats.

"oh," she grins, "these are stupid. we're definitely getting them."

"madison's gonna kill me."

"she'll thank you. these say, 'i tried way too hard,' which is exactly what she's going for."

"god, you're so annoying."

van leans in slightly, shoulder brushing yours. "you say that, but you keep letting me be around."

you don't say anything. you can't.

in the drinks aisle, van slows down, turning a gatorade bottle in her hand like it's a fine wine. she uncaps it, pretends to sniff it.

"subtle notes of electrolytes," she murmurs. "a hint of artificial watermelon. pairs well with panic and pool floaties."

you snort. "you're gonna get us banned."

"if we get kicked out of target together, it's kind of romantic."

"romantic?"

she looks over, playful but steady. "you don't think so?"

you try to stay cool, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. "i think you're... a lot."

van grins. "is that your way of saying you like it?"

you don't answer. you just look away, not able to resist the smile appearing on your face.

by checkout, your cart is overflowing—half functional, half chaos. van scans while you bag, dropping in napkins, drinks, and a soccer piñata neither of you can explain.

"hey," she says suddenly. "you want me to come tomorrow? to the party."

you freeze. "you mean—like, be there?"

"yeah. you said you needed help. could be good to have another adult there. in case things get crazy."

"or in case the balloons need supervising?"

van smirks. "exactly."

you fiddle with your card as it reads. "you sure you want to come to a teenage pool party on a saturday?"

she hands you a bag. "i mean, only if you'll be there."

that one gets you.

you swallow, smiling despite yourself. "then yeah. i'd really like that."

van doesn't say anything—just bumps your shoulder gently as you both walk toward the exit, the doors sliding open in a blast of warm air, her sleeves still rolled up and the sky starting to turn gold behind her.

you tell yourself you're not staring.

you fail spectacularly.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

you're still halfway wrestling the pool umbrella into place when you hear the knock.

it's fast—two sharp raps and one playful one after. you pause, squinting toward the front of the house as you jog barefoot across the patio, grass clinging to your calves, your bikini straps already sticking to your skin in the september heat.

you slide open the back door just as the second knock comes—right on time.

van.

early.

and in a black muscle tank.

you blink, momentarily thrown. her hair's down, sunglasses hanging from the collar of her shirt, arms on full display—tanned, toned, the kind of arms that make you forget how to greet someone like a normal person.

"hey," you manage, half smiling as you push the screen wider.

"hey yourself," she grins, stepping inside like she's done it a hundred times—like it's easy. "didn't think you'd actually answer that fast."

"you're early."

van shrugs, slow and unbothered. "figured i'd get here before the chaos. enjoy the peace and quiet before a dozen teenage girls descend like glitter-covered piranhas."

you snort. "you make them sound feral."

van raises a brow. "i coach them. i know the truth."

you laugh, shaking your head as she follows you through the kitchen and out to the backyard.

it's a nice backyard. all professionally landscaped with stone pavers, string lights already twinkling under the awning, sleek patio furniture lined up around the pool like it's the cover of a summer lifestyle magazine.

you've always known your sister's house was nice, but it's different seeing it like this—set up for a party, looking like something out of a commercial.

van nods, hands on her hips as she takes it all in. "well. i'm officially intimated by your patio furniture."

you snort, nudging her lightly. "thought you were here to avoid being scared of the girls, not my sister's sectional couch."

"i'm not scared of them," van says, deadpan. "i just have a healthy respect for how fast they can turn on you. one wrong playlist choice and it's over."

you laugh, and van's smile softens, eyes flicking down to where your bikini straps peek out from under your tube top, just for a second.

"it's a little chaotic," you say, motioning to the pile of decorations still untouched in the kitchen. "but festive chaos, right?"

van's gaze lingers before she hums, "you look ready."

and for a second, you forget if she's still talking about the party.

you glance down at yourself—shorts, swimsuit peeking out under your top, your necklace hanging low and sticky against your collarbone.

“i’m still setting up,” you say, suddenly hyperaware of everything.

van leans a hip against the counter, arms crossed—biceps shifting just slightly, like she’s doing it on purpose. “you still look good.”

you shoot her a look, half eye-roll, half flustered. “you really gonna flirt with me in my niece’s kitchen?”

she lifts a brow. “i’ve flirted with you in more inappropriate locations.”

“okay, true.” you laugh, tossing a dishtowel at her face.

she catches it effortlessly, smile tugging at one side of her mouth. “need help?”

“if you’re offering.” you gesture to the half-inflated flamingo float and the unopened party pack from target. “pick your poison.”

van drops the towel, already stepping toward the mess. “i call float duty. i want to impress the youth with my balloon animal skills.”

“pretty sure flamingos aren’t balloon animals.”

“they are if you dream big enough.”

you’re still smiling as you turn back to the counter, filling coolers with soda cans and trying very hard not to stare at the way her tank clings to her back as she crouches down by the pump.

the hose makes a soft whoosh as it powers up, and van glances over her shoulder at you. “so, why'd you agree to this again?”

“i think sophia deserves it,” you say quietly, biting your lip. “especially with her mom gone. i just want her to have a good season.”

van’s head lifts at that. she looks at you for a second, something soft flickering across her face. “you’re kind of great, you know that?”

you scoff, blushing. “i’m just the cool aunt.”

“yeah. and a little bit the hot one, too.”

you choke on your laugh. “van.”

she grins, unrepentant. “i’m just reporting what the team already knows.”

you shake your head, turning away before your face can give you away.

van keeps talking like she didn’t just melt your brain. “so, what’s the drink situation? am i gonna be a bartender later?”

you laugh again, leaning over the sink to pour more ice into the second cooler. “well, we’ve got soda, lemonade, and like… fake sangria. for the adults. so. you.”

van places the now inflated flamingo float on the counter triumphantly. “then yes. i’ll be crafting beverages. i’ll be… essential.”

“oh my god.” you glance back at her. “please don’t say that in front of the girls. they’ll never stop clowning you.”

van just shrugs, stepping closer, her voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip: “let ‘em. i’ve got thick skin.”

and strong arms. and a cocky smile. and this impossible magnetism that you’re definitely not imagining.

you hand her the pack of plastic cups and pretend you’re not affected. “okay, essential, help me carry the speakers outside.”

she leans in slightly as she takes them from you, fingers brushing yours—just enough to linger. “anything for you.”

you swallow hard, blinking.

the air suddenly feels warmer than the weather can explain.

and she’s just standing there, looking at you like you’re a dare she hasn’t decided whether to take yet.

the peace doesn’t last long.

you hear them before you see them—voices tumbling down the driveway like a wave, the creak of car doors, laughter, someone yelling over someone else. then the telltale sound of multiple iced drinks clinking against each other in cardboard trays.

you glance at van, who’s half-bent over the speaker wire, and she gives you this look like brace yourself.

then the kitchen door flies open.

“auntie!” sophie calls, bursting in with the force of a hurricane. her cheeks are flushed from the sun, her glitter sunglasses are crooked, and she’s holding a starbucks tray like it’s olympic gold. “we brought caffeine!”

“you’re all so late,” you say, but it’s fond, not actually annoyed. “and i thought i told you not to call me that in front of people.”

“van’s not people, she’s coach,” sophie says, handing you a drink with your name scrawled across the side in big block letters. “also, you’re the one who said pool parties don’t start on time.”

“that was for me to say, not you to quote back at me.”

the kitchen starts to fill—shoes kicked off, someone already raiding the snack drawer, giggles over nothing and everything. the air feels thicker with them in it, charged in that way groups of girls are when they’re buzzing off sunshine and caffeine and inside jokes.

you hear:

“she’s so cool, look at her kitchen—”

“wait, is that like... real marble?”

“her sunglasses are cute, ask her where she got them—”

“is your hair naturally like that??”

“omg this house is like, influencer-level.”

“wait, no one told me coach would be here—”

you can’t even keep up with who’s saying what, but the energy is full tilt. someone tugs on your arm, asking where the towels are, someone else shoves a phone in your face asking for the bluetooth code, and one of them is already half out the door with a float under her arm.

van’s voice cuts through just a bit, amused: “did you girls get enough sugar or do we need to do a second coffee run?”

“don’t tempt me,” one of the girls mutters, sipping an iced vanilla latte like her life depends on it.

you pass out drinks and direct traffic and try not to laugh as sophie fake-yells at her friend for wearing the same color swimsuit. someone already has music playing too loud from someone else’s phone, and the screen door keeps slamming because none of them can figure out how to close it gently.

you glance outside and catch a glimpse of the yard—perfectly trimmed hedges, the glint of the sun off the pool, those big teak loungers your sister imported from italy or whatever—and for a second, you’re hyperaware of how nice everything looks. expensive in that curated but casual way. like a catalog come to life.

one of the girls notices too. “this looks like clueless, but like, the modern version.”

“that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” you deadpan, sipping your drink.

you turn to grab more cups and catch van watching you from across the room, leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed again, that same tank top hugging her shoulders just right. she’s not saying anything. just watching. with this lazy little smirk like she’s been waiting for someone to notice how good you are at this.

you pretend not to notice the way it makes your heart thud a little harder in your chest.

“alright,” you call out over the noise, clapping your hands once. “music out there, drinks over here, no splashing in the house. let’s go.”

there’s a chorus of yeses and a few sarcastic “yes, mom”s as they finally spill back outside, glittery and loud and already halfway to jumping in the pool.

you linger in the kitchen just long enough for van to saunter up beside you, still sipping from a bottle of water she definitely didn’t ask permission to take.

“you run a tight ship,” she says.

“you’re just lucky they like me today.”

she hums, voice low. “they always like you.”

you look at her, roll your eyes. “you helping with sunscreen patrol or what?”

“only if you promise not to yell at me when i get distracted.”

you snort, pushing past her on your way out. “don’t make it weird, coach.”

“you make it impossible not to.”

you don’t look back, but you’re definitely smiling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the sun’s dipping low and syrupy over the backyard, casting gold everywhere—like the whole world’s been honey-drenched. the music’s still floating out from the bluetooth speaker you set up near the pool, and the girls are still outside, drinking soda out of red cups and screaming about who can do the best dive. there’s a pile of wet towels growing on one of the lounge chairs. someone’s left a half-eaten cake pop on the grass. it’s chaos.

but in the kitchen, it’s quiet. the screen door creaks open and shuts again, and it’s just you and van.

she’s peeling a lime with way too much focus, arms flexing as she presses it to the cutting board. her muscle tank is sticking slightly to her back—she hasn’t bothered to fix it—and there’s a little smear of something red on her thumb from the grenadine earlier. you’re pretty sure she licked it off before. you’re trying not to think about that.

you swirl the ice in your cup, taking a sip. it’s mostly vodka with a splash of lemonade. strong. bold. probably a mistake.

“alright,” you say, clearing your throat. “time to level up. no more fake mojitos.”

van glances up, smirking. “you ready to enter the big leagues, miss cool aunt?”

“i’m twenty-four”

“exactly. ancient.”

you throw a cocktail napkin at her and she catches it with two fingers, grinning like she knows exactly how good she looks in the light right now. and okay, maybe she does. maybe you’re being obvious.

“what’s your poison?” you ask, rifling through the bottles on the counter—leftover gin, tequila, some weird elderflower thing that definitely came from your sister’s bar cart.

van points. “that one.”

“gin? bold choice.”

“it’s botanical. i’m classy.”

you giggle, pouring generously into a cup. “tell that to the flamingo float.”

van shrugs, sliding onto one of the stools and watching you over the rim of her drink. “that flamingo has seen things.”

you mix two drinks with half-focus, passing one to her, your fingers brushing. the sun’s hitting the glass just right. it’s all too warm. too quiet. you take a big sip.

“oh my god,” you cough. “okay, that’s strong.”

van takes hers down without flinching. “i like it.”

“you would.”

“you made it.”

you narrow your eyes at her. “you trying to charm me?”

“depends. is it working?”

you don’t answer. mostly because your face is already betraying you.

you lean against the counter, looking at her from the side, watching the way she tips her head back when she laughs at her own dumb comment. there’s a little sliver of collarbone showing where her shirt’s dipped, and it’s doing things to your already slightly buzzed brain.

“okay,” she says, propping her elbow up, “rate the vibes right now.”

you squint. “what scale are we using?”

“one to drunk-in-love.”

you snort. “you’re ridiculous.”

“you didn’t say no.”

you sip your drink again to hide the way your lips want to smile. it doesn’t help. the alcohol’s hitting you in the softest way—like a warm blanket sliding over your shoulders. everything’s fuzzy and funny and golden. van’s foot bumps yours under the counter and you don’t move away.

“i think this might be the most fun i’ve had all week,” you admit quietly, voice low.

she watches you. really watches you.

“yeah?” she asks. “just this? kitchen. drinks. me?”

“you’re not exactly a buzzkill.”

she grins. “i try.”

you look down into your cup, swishing the ice. “you ever think it’s weird?”

“what?”

“this. like—we didn’t even know each other three months ago.”

van shifts a little closer. “yeah, but now i do. and now you’ve made me a better fake bartender. and i’m invested in your niece’s soccer career. and i know how you take your coffee. and how you get sunburned exactly across your nose.”

you blink. “you pay a lot of attention.”

“you’re easy to pay attention to.”

it comes out soft. unguarded. like the gin’s loosened something she normally keeps tucked away.

you set your cup down. your head’s fuzzy and your cheeks are hot and she’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

“van.”

“yeah?”

“we should… maybe have some water.”

“probably.”

neither of you move.

the golden light glows around her like a spotlight. and all you can think about is how close she is, and how long her fingers lingered on yours, and the fact that you’re starting to forget where the line was supposed to be.

the air between you two feels heavier now, more charged. van’s gaze drops to your lips, flickering between them and your eyes. her breath hitches just slightly as you move a little closer—just close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her skin, hear the soft shuffle of her breath as she shifts on the stool, giving you more space.

you swallow, unable to look away, caught in the gravity of her. the music’s faint outside, just a distant hum through the kitchen window. it’s quiet. everything’s quiet except for the pounding of your heart in your ears. you’re thinking about her shoulder just barely brushing against yours, the way her tank top hugs her frame so perfectly, the way her arm rests on the counter, muscles flexing every time she moves.

“you’re making this a lot harder, you know,” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady.

“what?” van teases, her lips curving into a grin. but it’s not a teasing grin—it’s something softer, warmer, the kind of smile that could melt you if you let it. “can’t handle the pressure?”

you move just a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of her, hear her breath quicken ever so slightly.

“think i could handle anything if it was you,” you say, barely more than a whisper.

there’s a beat of silence. then, as if she can’t help herself, van leans in just a little, her hand brushing against the side of your arm. her fingers trail lightly, teasingly, up the length of your arm, leaving a trail of heat behind. when she pulls her hand away, it lingers for just a second too long, and you both feel it.

“you’re dangerous,” you whisper, voice a little shakier than you want it to be.

“you like dangerous,” van murmurs back, her voice low, breath brushing against your lips. she’s so close now, the space between you two almost nonexistent, and you can feel the magnetic pull between you, stronger than ever. her hand moves, almost instinctively, to your waist, resting there, fingers curling lightly, sending a jolt straight to your core.

your pulse races, and you let your hand fall to her arm, brushing it softly. it’s impossible not to feel the tension, the unspoken desire hanging in the air. you glance down at her lips, and she does the same, your gazes meeting again.

you’re so close you can feel her heartbeat, her breath, and your lips almost touch. it’s a moment suspended in time, where nothing else matters but her, and you, and the soft pull of gravity between you.

just when you think you can’t take it anymore, and you’re about to close the gap between your lips, the loud, unmistakable sound of the backdoor slamming open interrupts everything.

“coach, are you in here?” sophie’s voice rings out, followed by a chorus of giggles and chatter from the other girls.

you both freeze, the air between you two instantly cooling. van pulls back slightly, but not before her hand gives your waist a small, lingering squeeze, almost as if she doesn’t want to let go, doesn’t want the moment to end. but then she pulls her hand away slowly, standing up straighter, clearing her throat.

“uh... yeah?” she calls back, her voice a little rougher than usual, betraying the tension that’s still thick in the air.

you blink, still dazed from what almost happened, and try to collect yourself. your heart’s still pounding, and your skin feels warm where she touched you, but the moment’s gone now, stolen by the interruption.

sophie and a few other girls step into the kitchen, looking at you both with wide eyes and knowing grins. “what’s going on in here?” sophie asks, her tone a little too innocent.

“just... making drinks,” you reply quickly, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. “you guys need something?”

van clears her throat too, standing a little straighter as she straightens out the hem of her tank top. she’s pretending to be casual, but you can tell she’s just as shaken up as you are. the way her eyes flicker back to you for a brief second tells you everything you need to know.

“yeah,” sophie says, grinning wide. “we need some more cups for the sodas. and maybe—”

“yeah, yeah,” van cuts her off, her voice more composed now. “we’ll be out in a minute.”

the girls leave, still chatting, and you and van are left in the quiet again. but this time, it feels different. the moment’s passed, but the tension is still there, hanging between you like a secret neither of you wants to say out loud.

you watch her for a second, your heart still beating too fast. “that was... close,” you murmur, trying to get your bearings.

van just smirks, the hint of a blush creeping across her cheeks. “yeah, well... can’t say i don’t like the tension.”

you laugh, but it’s nervous now, like you’re both pretending it didn’t almost go there. like the air isn’t still crackling with unspoken words, the heat of the almost-kiss still lingering in your veins.

“you’re a tease,” you say, shaking your head, trying to regain some composure.

“you love it,” van replies, voice a little softer, a little more serious now.

“maybe,” you admit, your heart skipping a beat as you look at her again, trying to swallow the feeling that’s rising in your chest.

“good,” van says, stepping a little closer again. “’cause I think this is just getting started.”

as the night goes on, the golden hues of sunset turn into the soft, dusky pinks of early evening. the girls are still by the pool, but the energy has shifted.

van and you head outside, following the sounds of laughter and chatter from the pool area, but you both linger near the edge of the yard, just far enough away to escape the chaos. the air’s warm, the smell of chlorine mixing with the subtle scent of sweet fruit from the drinks still fresh in your system.

the two of you barely speak at first, but you’re close—closer than you’ve been all day. van's arm brushes yours as she stands next to you, leaning against the fence.

“so,” you say, voice slightly tipsy and tinged with playfulness, “you think we’re convincing enough?”

she tilts her head and laughs, eyes glinting in the fading light. “convincing enough for what?”

“the girls,” you gesture vaguely toward the pool. “they’re definitely onto us.”

van’s laugh catches you off guard, a deep sound that sends a little jolt through your chest. she leans in just a touch, making the space between you feel even smaller. “maybe, but i’m not the one making it obvious.”

you arch an eyebrow, a little challenge rising in your voice. “oh, really?”

van’s smirk is full of unspoken confidence, her fingers lightly brushing against your shoulder. “you were the one who wanted to talk about ‘drinks’ for, what, an hour? i was just being a good host.”

“mm-hmm,” you say, pretending to consider her words, but she’s making it hard to focus. the air between you crackles with the flirty tension that’s been building all night, and maybe you’re both tipsy, but you’re both aware of it.

“you’re trouble, you know that?” you murmur, leaning in just enough for her to hear, but too close for comfort.

van's expression shifts, something softer behind her teasing grin. she leans in as well, her breath almost mingling with yours. “and yet, you keep hanging around.” her voice drops low, a little breathless, and you can’t help the heat that rushes to your cheeks.

before anything more can happen, a shout comes from the pool, and the girls, now fully aware of your closeness, begin to tease.

“oh my god, are coach and your aunt… drunk?” one of the girls calls out to sophia, half-laughing, half-giggling.

another one pipes up, “are you two, like, flirting with each other?”

the teasing grows louder, the girls in the pool definitely noticing the change in the atmosphere. their eyes are playful, but you can hear the curiosity in their tone. van chuckles, her arm casually sliding down your back before she grabs your wrist.

“let’s get inside before they really start talking,” she suggests, pulling you away from the pool.

you can’t help but laugh, both of you stumbling slightly as you make your way back inside the house.

as the night draws on, the pool party starts to wind down. girls start heading out in groups, and soon it’s just you and van in the kitchen, still catching your breath from the chaos outside.

sophie says her goodbyes, headed off to another friend’s house, leaving you and van alone in the near-silence of the kitchen.

the air feels different now, the playfulness from earlier still lingering, but there’s a subtle softness to it.

van begins helping you clean up, picking up stray cups and empty bottles, moving around you with ease.

finally, as the last of the girls leave, you stand by the door, feeling that same hesitation you’ve had all night. van finishes stacking the last of the trash bags and then turns to face you, her smile quieter now, a little more sincere.

you glance at the clock. it’s late—later than either of you probably expected to be hanging out at a teenager’s party, but here you are.

“so,” she says, voice low as she leans casually against the doorframe. “i’ve been thinking.”

you raise an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “uh-oh. when you say that, it sounds dangerous.”

van chuckles, her eyes flicking down to the floor for a second before meeting yours. “it’s not dangerous,” she says, and you can hear the sincerity in her voice. “but i wanted to ask you something.”

your heart skips. “okay…?”

“would you like to go out sometime?” she asks, her words more hesitant now, but still wrapped in that calm, confident energy. “not just, you know, a party… but, like, an actual date. coffee before a game, maybe? or something else you want to do.”

you blink, surprised at how easy it feels to smile, warmth spreading through you in a way you haven’t felt in a while.

you look at her for a long moment, noticing the way she seems almost nervous, despite her usual confident demeanor. “i’d love that,” you reply softly.

van’s smile spreads across her face, the moment feeling as easy as it is perfect.

“well,” she says, “it’s a date then. i’ll pick you up.”

with that, she steps closer, brushing a hand against your arm, sending another spark of heat through you.

the party may be over, but this? this feels like the beginning of something new.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @nothoughtsonlyvan, @freakyjorker