#is it obvious i like pretending to sound smart...

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

✏️ Writing Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People, Not Theater Kids on Red Bull

(a crash course in vibes, verbal economy, and making your characters shut up already)

Okay. We need to talk about dialogue. Specifically: why everyone in your draft sounds like they��re in a high school improv group doing a dramatic reading of Riverdale fanfiction.

Before you panic, this is normal. Early dialogue is almost always too much. Too polished. Too "scripted." So if yours feels off? You’re not failing. You’re just doing Draft Zero Dialogue, and it’s time to revise it like a boss.

Here’s how to fix it.

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🎭 STEP ONE: DETOX THEATER ENERGY I say this with love: your characters are not all quippy geniuses. They do not need to deliver emotional monologues at every plot beat. They can just say things. Weird, half-finished, awkward things.

Real people:

interrupt each other

trail off mid-thought

dodge questions

contradict themselves

repeat stuff

change the subject randomly

Let your characters sound messy. Not every line needs to sparkle. In fact, the more effort you put into making dialogue ✨perfect✨, the more fake it sounds. Cut 30% of your clever lines and see what happens.

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🎤 STEP TWO: GIVE EACH CHARACTER A VERBAL FINGERPRINT The fastest way to make dialogue feel alive? Make everyone speak differently. Think rhythm, grammar, vocabulary, tone.

Some dials you can twist:

Long-winded vs. clipped

Formal vs. casual

Emojis of speech: sarcasm, filler words, expletives, slang

Sentence structure: do they talk in fragments? Run-ons? Spirals?

Emotion control: are they blunt, diplomatic, avoidant, performative?

Here’s a shortcut: imagine what your character sounds like over text. Are they the “lol okay” type or the “okie dokie artichokie 🌈✨” one? Now translate that into speech.

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🧠 STEP THREE: FUNCTION > FILLER Every line of dialogue should do something. Reveal something. Move something. Change something.

Ask:

Does this line push the plot forward?

Does it show character motivation/conflict/dynamic?

Does it create tension, add context, or raise a question?

If it’s just noise? It’s dead air. Cut it. Replace it with a glance. A gesture. A silence that says more.

TIP: look at a dialogue scene and remove every third line. Does the scene still work? Probably better.

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💥 STEP FOUR: REACTIVITY IS THE GOLD STANDARD Characters don’t talk into a void. They respond. And how they respond = the real juice.

Don’t just write back-and-forth ping pong. Write conflict, dodge, misunderstanding. If one character says something vulnerable, the other might joke. Or ignore it. Or say something cruel. That’s tension.

Dialogue is not just information exchange. It’s emotional strategy.

Try this exercise: A says something revealing. B lies. A notices, but pretends they don’t. B changes the subject. Now you’ve got a real scene.

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🔍 STEP FIVE: PAY ATTENTION TO POWER Every convo has a power dynamic, even if it’s tiny. Who’s steering? Who’s withholding? Who’s deflecting, chasing, challenging?

Power can shift line to line. That shift = tension. And tension = narrative fuel.

Write conversations like chess matches, not ping pong.

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✂️ STEP SIX: SCISSORS ARE YOUR BEST FRIEND The best dialogue is often the second draft. Or third. Or fourth. First drafts are just you figuring out what everyone wants to say. Later drafts figure out what they actually would say.

Things to cut:

Greetings/closings ("Hi!" "Bye!"--skip it unless it serves tone)

Exposition disguised as chat

Obvious thoughts spoken aloud

Explaining jokes

Repeating what we already know

Readers are smart. Let them fill in blanks.

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🎧 STEP SEVEN: READ IT OUT LOUD (YES, REALLY) If you hate this step: too bad. It works. Read it. Mumbling is fine. Cringe is part of the ritual.

Ask yourself:

Would someone actually say this?

Does this sound like one person speaking, or a puppet show with one hand?

Where does the rhythm trip? Where’s the breath?

If you can’t say it out loud without wincing, the reader won’t make it either. Respect the vibe.

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🏁 TL;DR: If you want your dialogue to sound like real people, let your characters be real. Messy. Annoying. Human. Let them interrupt and lie and joke badly and say the wrong thing at the worst time.

Cut the improv class energy. Kill the urge to be ✨brilliant✨. And listen to how people talk when they’re scared, tired, pissed off, in love, or trying not to say what they mean.

That’s where the good stuff is.

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // official advocate of awkward silences and one-word replies

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE:

[luveline]

i just saw someone on tiktok say “behind every girl that always wants to be around their partner is a little who’s dad didn’t choose her.” with aaron pls :(( and reader reveals her daddy issues? xxx

—hotch comforts you when you worry you depend on him for the wrong reasons. fem, 2k

You were aware of the irony. Girl who hates her father latches onto the first older man to give her any positive attention: the framing isn’t complimentary to either of you, and it’s not true, really. You love Aaron because he’s kind, and he’s handsome, and because he loves you first. You won’t pretend he’s perfect even if he might say that about you. He doesn’t have to be. 

Aaron is kind where all the other men in your life have been cruel. He is the person you go to when things go wrong, even if you don’t expect him to fix things for you. You know you have ‘daddy issues’, and you don’t want them to affect how you and Aaron are when you’re together, but it’s obvious to the both of you that you crave being looked after. The way Aaron takes care of you absolutely factors into why you love him. 

He wraps the tail end of your scarf into your coat and flattens the lump of it until it’s under your chin. “Alright?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he turns away to grab his own scarf. “Will that coat be warm enough? It might be a few hours.” 

“Fine. We’ll be inside most of the time.” 

“Mm,” he hums, reaching back to pinch your side. You laugh and he smiles but doesn’t say anything further, pulling open the front door, and holding it for you until you’re on the porch. 

“You know you don’t have to… spoil him, so much,” you say lightly. 

“It’s not spoiling, he only wants a few things.” 

You’d personally felt that Jack’s birthday wish list was a bit long, but you don’t care. You don’t have a vendetta against Jack's happiness. If Aaron wants to spend half a paycheck (alright, a quarter, if that) on some toys, he should do it. But he probably knows already that Jack won’t care if he doesn’t get all of that stuff. “I didn’t get half as much for my birthdays,” you say. 

“Believe me, honey, neither did I.” 

“One year someone’s mom got me a full box set of movies though. That was a good one.” 

“One year, I got two different pagers.” He snorts. “And now they’re useless.” 

“I never used a pager.” 

Aaron goes a bit red, self-shame or something silly like that. “Don’t tell me that.” 

“Cradle snatcher.” 

“Stop, that’s not funny.” 

It’s funny. You aren’t shockingly younger than Aaron but it’s definitely enough time to see the difference (not that you care, you quite like him with his permanent wrinkle between his brows and his big, big hands). “I really haven’t. I know what they are, of course, but I went straight to a cell phone.” 

He grumbles something unheard. Together, you get into his car and drive to the shopping centre nearest the house, a maze of storefronts with outdoor entrances, like a mall that’s been shaken and thrown out over two streets. It’s not entertaining but in a way, it’s good. Aaron holds your hand and you can walk around with your head held high, proud to be a well-dressed, in love-looking partnership. See, your face says to anyone who’ll look, I’m well-loved. 

After an hour or two he kisses your cheek and decides aloud that you need dinner. He doesn’t ask if you’re hungry, he just chooses, and you love it. 

“Thank you for letting me come today,” you say, sitting across from him behind a dinner plate and a towering glass of lemon water. 

“Did I let you?” he asks, distracted by his steak and fries, though he sounds as loving as usual. 

“You could’ve said no.” 

“I have no reason to. I like when you’re with me. Thank you for letting me bring you, then, and boring you half to death.” 

“Freezing me the other half.” 

“Ah, so smart, so clever,” he murmurs. 

“Witty.” 

“Always, aren’t you?” 

You wonder about the dessert menu, find your mouth working of its own accord. “It doesn’t feel believable, sometimes. That you want me around so much.” 

He pauses, resting his knife across his fork. With a free hand, he gestures to your hand. “Would you like more proof?” 

You aren’t sure what he means, the tennis bracelet he got you for your first anniversary, or the engagement ring that sits heavily on your marriage finger waiting to be traded for a golden band. Maybe he means the teeny silver bracelet that falls down your arm whenever you move, that one just for fun. 

“Not,” he says slowly, his eyes squinted to tell you that you’re caught, “that jewellery should be your sole proof.” 

“Would you like to prove it to me now?” 

He reaches over to squeeze your hand. “I want you around all of the time. If I could I’d have us sewn together at the hip.” He’s grinning, thumbing against your knuckles. “It might not be comfortable at night when you’re trying to climb all over me.” 

“You climb all over me, Hotchner, don’t lie.” 

Aaron nods appreciatively. “That’s right. You’re the second most important thing in my life, and that’s not your fault, only Jack is so endearing.” 

“He’s a lucky kid.” 

“No, he’s not,” Aaron says gently, “but I really do love him.” 

“Of course he’s lucky. He has a dad who loves him to pieces, his Aunt Jess is like, superwoman, and– you know, I know I’m not the same as that, but I love him.”

“You look after him,” Aaron says. 

“It’s honestly just nice that you seem to like him. You don’t act like he’s an annoyance for you, you aren’t angry to have to come out today to get him his presents.” 

“Well, no. It’s not something to be angry about. When you have kids, you’re signing up for every part of having them.” 

“I know.” 

He takes a sip of his drink and puts it down beside your own in what you know to be him buying a little time. “Honey, is there something… I don’t know, something you want to talk about? Is it Jack's birthday…?”

You feel your heart fall into your mouth, as though it began life somewhere else, heartbeat mortified on your tongue. He sees you fluster and immediately softens, turning your hand in his to stroke along the inside of your wrist. 

“Nevermind,” he says. 

“No.” You clear your throat. “It’s not about Jack’s birthday. It’s just… you know you weren’t always the best father you could’ve been.” 

He nods. “I do.” 

“But you are now. You’ve made sacrifices, you– you chose Jack.” 

“I couldn’t not.” You’re quiet. He understands. “Sweetheart, we don’t have to talk about it now. Would that be better? You can think about what you have to say, and I promise I’ll listen without judging you when you’re ready to tell me about it. Okay?” He gives your wrist a squeeze. “You aren’t upset, are you?” 

“I’m just thinking.” 

“Are you too distracted for dessert?” 

You let Aaron pick one for you. Let him pay the bill, he’d be insulted if you even asked about splitting it, and he might genuinely get annoyed if you offered yourself. You usually love it. Someone loves you enough that money is practically immaterial. Just last month he had to have the roof of the house redone, and you know his money isn’t infinite, as does he, and yet it didn’t stop you from being spoiled, because any money he has was money shared. You know if he suddenly turned pauper he’d still spoil you, same way you’re spoiled with soft touches and less chores than you should take. 

“You know I don’t think of you as my father, right?” you ask. 

Aaron chokes on a startled laugh. “Of course I do,” he says, coughing, clutching your elbow. 

“So if I tell you that sometimes the way you treat me reminds me of my father, you won’t take it the wrong way?” 

“No.” He smiles where he should frown, wraps an arm behind your back when he should be judging you. “Men are still men. And I am a father, so it makes sense that you’d have those connotations in mind sometimes.” 

“I don’t want you to be my dad, but I do wonder… I wonder if I want to be around you so much because my father didn’t want to be around me. Does that make sense?” 

“I think it makes sense to wonder about it,” he says diplomatically. 

You’re nearly back to the car and this is a strange place to bare your heart, but it’s not so dramatic, you suppose. “I just think that sometimes I cling to you so much, and it must be– I’m insecure about you.”

“Mm, but you have no reason to be,” he says, pulling you closer still, his fingers aligned against your ribs and warming through your layers. 

“My father didn’t like me, not like you like Jack. There were things that were far more important to him. But with you, I’m important, and– and I know it’s not the same relationship, but–” You groan, not sure what you’re trying to say to him, or what you want him to understand. 

“My father didn’t like me, either,” Aaron says, encouraging you to keep walking to the car. “He was not a nice person. And it absolutely affected how I feel now, even if I don’t always think about him. The way he treated me when I was young influenced the person I am now. And looking for the things I wish he was, looking for kindness, for a gentle partner, it doesn’t mean that I need a placeholder for him, does it? I know what you’re saying to me. Don’t think you’re wrong for wanting to be looked after.” 

You can’t help breathing out a sigh of relief. “Right.” 

“I’ve never been a young woman, and I don’t have a daughter, but it’s not hard to imagine how you felt. It’s okay to wish you’d been loved properly.” 

“I was never a daddy’s girl,” you confess. 

“It’s not fair. Everyone wants to be treasured when they're a kid. And it makes sense that you’re still looking for that feeling. We both know it’s not the same, but I really will look after you.” He smiles. “Okay?” 

“Okay. Sorry if it’s too weird.” 

“It’s not weird to want someone who takes care of you.” 

You bring your hands to his face. They’re smaller than his, you’ve shorter fingers with softer palms, but they fit perfectly on his cheeks. You tease the scratchy hill of his chin with your thumb before closing your eyes, reaching up for a kiss. The bags hanging from your elbows crack, crushed as Aaron gets his hands behind your back to hold you. 

“You’re too good to me,” you say softly, returning flat to your heels. 

Aaron pulls your face back to kiss your cheek. “You deserve everything you get, honey. I promise.” 

[primofate]

Confessions Series - Part 2: Description [Genshin Impact Male Characters]

In a nutshell: He asks if you have your eyes set on someone. You start describing HIS features and watch for his reaction. (Hint: He likes you too)

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Overheard)

Warnings: The usual, haven't written in a while, please forgive mistakes, bit of angst in Diluc (couldn't help it), I am a sleep deprived mother, some profanity, for some reason did not feel like writing Zhongli though he's one of my faves.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gaming, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Wriothesley, Xiao, gn!reader

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Wriothesley

Aether

"Yeah, I do," you start. "He's very selfless...He's always running around helping other people,"

Aether nods, intense gaze in his eyes while listening.

"Hmm...He has...a partner. Like a companion he always travels with..."

Aether's brows start to furrow and his head tilts the slightest bit. Paimon flying next to him has no clue who it is whatsoever.

"He's not originally from Teyvat...He's on a journey, you see..." this is where you start getting nervous

You see it click in Aether's head slowly, and his eyes start to widen the slightest bit

"Hey, that sounds an awful lot like you, traveller! Why have we never met this person before, Y/N?" Paimon asks and you only smile.

"P-Paimon," Aether glances at her and then back to you. It's silent for a moment. Paimon is super confused.

But Aether being Aether didn't want to get the wrong idea and racks up the courage to ask you one last question. "He's on a journey...to look for his twin sister?"

You smile the brightest smile you've ever given him. "Correct!"

"Ah...Well..." Aether starts to feel the heat on his cheeks. "That's..." he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...I'm happy!"

Is basically flustered when he realizes you've technically just confessed to him.

Albedo

"Simply put, I think he's dedicated to his craft," You shrug and smile

"...An admirable trait," he responds.

"He's frequently in Dragonspine. He spends a bit of time in his lab there," you decide to just go straight for the obvious.

Albedo pauses. "I...see..." Turns to you with a small smile "I wasn't aware that you were that fond of me,"

"Now you know," you simply say and try to play it off with a wave of your hand.

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to you while saying. "Well then, I suppose it's my turn to talk about the person I've set my eyes on,"

Proceeds to describe you accurately, down to your likes and dislikes. In his eyes, you seem like something so precious and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Alhaitham

"Hmm... Sort of," you explain. "He's a little...hard to reach,"

Alhaitham "...and you still pursue him?"

You laugh a bit "I'm hardly pursuing him, I'm just...observing. I like watching him, even though he has the most unreadable face I've seen,"

Alhaitham goes quiet for a moment. He catches on fast, he already has an idea but is cautious about what he says. "...I see," he doesn't ask anything else, but you continue to offer information.

"He likes reading. Really smart guy...but kind of no nonsense type. Very straight to the point," You begin to feel a little nervous so you pretend to read your own book with a small shrug.

The silence is deafening.

"I suspect that type of person will be hard to put up with," he suddenly says aloud and you chuckle in response.

"Possibly, but he seems to be putting up with me too...I guess?"

He suddenly closes his book and leans forward to pry the one in your hands away. He locks his gaze with you. "...'Putting up' is hardly the word I would use." his lips twitch the slightest bit before continuing. "He has little to no patience for other people...so if he keeps you around...perhaps it signals something else,"

"Something else...As in, I'm special?"

Again he quiets for a moment, before he stands up, chair scraping the floor. "...Precisely," he turns to start walking out of the library, waving a hand behind him. "I'll pick you up in the morning tomorrow,"

Ayato

"I do, but he's a very busy sort of man,"

Ayato "Is that so?" he pours tea for you.

"Quite. He's also a very important person,"

He hums and watches the billowing steam from the tea. "It sounds as if I might know this person," but he genuinely doesn't know it's him, he just thinks its another noble.

"...You most definitely know him. He has a sister. Lovely girl." This is where you avert your gaze from him in fear of him instantly connecting the dots.

He talks in pauses "A...sister..." His mind is starting to make connections but he can't be quite sure yet. So he prods further. "...Does she happen to have a vision?"

"A cryo vision holder, yes," you're biting the inside of your lip at this point. There's a moment of silence before you hear Ayato laughing rather gleefully, like he was amused by a story.

"I see." he ends with a chuckle. "I apologize for being so busy, Y/N," he smiles at you "I promise I'll do my best to arrange my priorities in order to spend more time with you,"

Baizhu

"He takes his job too seriously and can be quite reckless...Sometimes he even puts himself in danger,"

Changsheng catches on immediately. The snake had already known for a while. Baizhu was just being dense. "Oh here we go," the snake half whines.

Baizhu gives it a weird look before turning his attention back to you. "That does sound reckless,"

"I've told him a couple of times to think about himself too...but I guess he's just really passionate about his job,"

Baizhu sort of shrugs, "What IS his job?"

"...Well for starters he owns a pharmacy around town,"

To Baizhu the realization hits all too slowly. It's not that he was slow or dense, but he was having a hard time believing that it was him you were talking about, specially when you hadn't said it outfront.

"...You do realize I'm the only one who owns a pharmacy around town?" he asks, eyes piercing through you and awaiting your answer.

Changsheng is the one who answers for you. "Yes you ridiculous doctor, Y/N's pertaining to you!"

It's the first time you've seen him blush and he turns his head away when he does so. "I-I see, well...that's rather, unexpected...but not unwelcome,"

Clears his throat "Just give me a moment"

Changsheng would roll its eyes if it could.

Bennett

"Has a lot of energy...Sometimes I wonder where he gets all of it. I really like him for that though."

Deflates as soon as you start talking about your "crush". What kind of answer was he expecting anyway? That you had eyes for him?

"He has a bit of a...problem when it comes to luck," you continue

Bennett stops, you look at him and you can practically see the gears in his head starting to turn a little faster.

"Y-Y/N? Are you talking about..." then the gears suddenly stop. "Oh what am I saying, it can't be. Ahahaha! Let's go!" starts walking again as if nothing happened

Your jaw drops and you're forced to just DIRECTLY tell him you're talking about him.

"...Oh...Oh! F-For real?! Oh...Sorry... I just thought... there's no way! B-But, I'm really glad! Really!"

Chongyun

"Hmm...He's a little shy...but he's very responsible,"

Chongyun stares at you intently and nods as if taking notes.

"He doesn't like spicy stuff,"

Chongyun nods twice, eagerly.

"He's very dedicated in learning about thaumaturgy,"

Chongyun blanks out, brows furrow but still nods. Slowly.

"He's really good with a claymore too!"

Chongyun stops and stares at you, you see a hint of red gracing his cheeks "Y/N...You can't possibly be...talking about... m-m-m-"

Can't seem to say it, so you outright say that it is, in fact, him.

Combusts into a tomato red

Cyno

"How do I say this...He's a pretty strict guy." The two of you are playing Invokation TCG during this convo.

"Mmhmm..." Cyno is focused on his cards, frankly he doesn't give a craps ass who you're into. He didn't even know why he asked, he just dug himself a hole.

"...but he really only takes his work seriously. It's his job to be serious, I guess. I think that's what Matras need to do," he finished his turn and its yours now, though he's still studying his cards intently. Until you get to the Matra part.

"He's a Matra?" You rarely see a surprised face on Cyno so you focus your gaze on him. "Which one?" He further asks. Honestly he looks about to murder someone.

You blank out a bit at how intense his stare was, "Well...You know. That one, the one who's really into Invokation TCG,"

He immediately follows up without missing a beat "I don't know anyone else who's into--" then it clicks.

It was so damn silent for a good 10 seconds. You clear your throat, tear your eyes off him "Um, it's your turn,"

STILL doesn't budge until he finally goes back to his cards with a whisper, you can't really tell but he looks slightly bashful and you can barely, BARELY hear him "...If I win then we go on a date,"

"Okay, and if you lose?"

Cyno "...I'm not gunna lose,"

"See, I told you he's a really serious guy,"

Dainsleif

"I think he's a very dedicated person," you get lost in thought a little, thinking about him. "Whenever I look at him...Sometimes I feel as if there's a certain sadness in him... Perhaps he blames himself for not being able to protect his nation,"

He IMMEDIATELY knows. And he knows that you hurt for him too. How could he not?

"He searches for answers... I don't know for how long, I suppose a long, long time," you close your eyes, imagining how long he must have been wandering Teyvat.

You only open your eyes when you feel a hand brush against yours. He's looking straight at you, neither happy nor sad. "...You don't have to feel that way, for my circumstances,"

The brush against your hand disappears and reappears next to your cheek, his fingers gently resting on it "...Knowing that you feel that way, has taken away some of the burden that I shoulder,"

His gaze suddenly hardens and his voice drops to a whisper, "But please, just don't end up in the same way as everyone else,"

Diluc (I don't know why I end up writing a whole novel for this guy. I guess he's my OG favourite)

You pause for a moment, wondering how to describe Diluc. "...Sometimes... I feel as if I know a lot about him and yet... he's still far off in the distance,"

Diluc, rifling through paperwork, doesn't even look at you. "...That tells me nothing about him," there's a bit of bite in his statement.

You sigh a little, "I mean, simply said he's a hardworking man. He always has Mondstadt's best interests in mind...but he prefers to work alone,"

He's silent, but you can still hear the paper shuffling.

"....but people love him. They care for him. I suppose I understand why he keeps a distance but..." at this point you don't even realize that you're just rambling and staring into space. Sort of in a daze of thinking out loud. "...isn't it lonely? ...I suppose I shouldn't assume how he feels. Maybe he's fine with it...I just wonder how long till he sees us..." there's silence, no ruffle of papers, you're still just staring at the bookshelf and you continue in a monotone voice. "...or sees me,"

You blink, and all of a sudden its as if a magic spell is cast on you and you wake up to the reality that you've been rambling about him. You sit up straight "Oh," then turn to him with a careful smile. You don't think he knows what or who you're talking about anyway. "I better get going," you stand, "Jean must be waiting for me."

You leave, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't really think anything of it, feeling as if your whole monologue was very vague...but to your surprise he knocks at your door in the evening, there's a bit of rain falling.

"Diluc? You're drenche--"

"I see you,"

The determination in his voice lulls you to keep quiet and only stare up at him, wondering if he had more to say, but instead of saying something, he leans in, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead on your shoulder, as if he had been defeated.

You only welcome his embrace, and, for the first time in a long time. Diluc finally feels like he's home.

Gaming

"Passion!" You nod your head as you say it. "He knows what he wants to do and is incredibly dedicated to it!"

Gaming looks surprised, has no idea you're talking about him. "Huh! That's really cool!" He thinks he's the total opposite. "Wish I could be as dedicated as him."

You kind of laugh out loud and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Gosh you really sell yourself short," you shake your head "Anyway, this guy, right, he kinda works two jobs," you put out your hand to count one and two "One, for the Secure Transport Agency and two, he's in a Wushou Troupe,"

Gaming instantly straightens his back and looks at you wide-eyed. You figure you had to be direct when it came to him otherwise he'd never get it with how modest he was.

"...You're...talking about...me?" You smile at him sympathetically.

"You know, Gaming, I wish you saw yourself the way others saw you. You're a great person,"

Big smile, but legit looks like he's about to cry. "Between the two of us? I think you're greater Y/N,"

Heizou

"...Honestly he's kind of a flirt," you raise your eyebrows at the fact and kind of question yourself why you like this kind of person. "Makes me wonder if he does that to everyone, you know?"

Heizou hums and puts his hand under his chin in a "thinking position"

"That's not enough evidence to go by. Perhaps we can investigate this guy together to see if he's worthy,"

You look at him, pursing your lips while musing and giving him a suspicious look. You're not sure if he's figured it out.

He's got no idea. I mean, it was a pretty general description. "Any distinguishing features?" he asks.

You look at him in a deadpan manner. "Red hair, I guess. And moles under his eyes,"

He looks back at you with a matching blank face.

Then breaks into a wide, close eyed grin. "I see! From experience, that person is truly trustworthy,"

You sigh a little, "Is he though?"

He chuckles heartily. "I promise you he is," offers you his hand with a genuine smile. "Let me show you,"

Itto

"Ummm... big, tall, strong looking guy. Intimidating at first look but he's actually a dork," you explain.

Itto crosses his arms above his chest with an unamused face. "Tch! No way! Ain't no one taller than me in Inazuma!" Then he looks smug again. "Anyway, keep goin'. What else?" Only asked you because he wants to see what your "type" is.

"...Popular? Nah... Infamous is the word, I think. He kinda gets into a lot of trouble,"

Itto raises a brow "You serious? Whaddyou want with someone like that?" as if he wasn't a troublemaker himself.

"I mean... He also loves life and somehow always sees the good side of things."

Itto "Eh... guess that's a good thing..." folds his arms behind his head and huffs.

This guy is never gunna get it so you drop more obvious hints. "He's an oni who has his own gang."

For a split second he looked like he was going to get it, and then... "WHAT?! There's another oni who wants to challenge the Arataki Gang?"

"That's not what I--"

punches his fist onto his palm "Lead the way Y/N, let me at 'em!"

"I'm talking about you!"

"Huh?"

"Itto, there's no other oni around town!" leave it to him to make you exasperated.

He quiets for a few seconds. "...But Y/N..."

You expectantly stare at him, curious what he was going to say about your confession.

"...Did you just call me a dork?"

Of course that's what he picks up on.

When he finally processes it though, he's stoked and on an all time high.

Kaeya

"...good at talking to people, and he knows it... Exudes charisma like he breathes air," You're saying this with a glare.

He chuckles and rests his head on his fist. "Why, pray tell, do you look angry when saying that?"

"Not angry..." you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing away from him. "Just... probably a lot of people like him,"

"And you don't like that?" He smirks. He totally knows.

"...No...Well...I'm okay with it... It's just... I think he's so much more than what he shows to others,"

That, he wasn't expecting. He actually feels genuinely touched.

"Sure he jokes around a lot...Is good at making people feel comfortable...but he's also kind...and you can always count on him," there's a faraway gaze in your eyes now, a small smile on your face. "To me, he's...a safe space."

Kaeya's smile drops. It looks like he's unhappy and you think that maybe you've made a mistake. Still...there's no way he knows that it's him, right? It was kinda vague...

You're about to stand and excuse yourself but he catches your wrist easily. "...You know..." he starts, meeting you eye to eye. He looks at you as if he's looking into your soul, his eyes the gentlest you've seen them.

"You make it so hard, not to fall deeper in love with you,"

Lyney (I have no idea how this ended up so dramatic)

"He isn't exactly a trickster...but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve,"

Lyney "Oh?" Raises an eyebrow. Something kind of clicks in him, but he shakes it off. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

You stall a little, thinking of the answer, knowing that he's Fatui. "The...good...kind,"

"You don't sound very sure," he gives you a lopsided smile.

"It's complicated," you admit. "Regardless of the circumstances though, I think he's a great magician,"

You watch his face turn into surprise quite quickly, but he still looks and feels unsure of himself. "Oh, perhaps...I can learn a thing or two from him?"

Your smile turns forced and hard. He can't be serious? He STILL doesn't know, or...what?

"I...Well..." You don't know what to say next, but he seems to get the idea.

"Sorry, have I put you in a hard place? Ahaha..." Scratches the back of his head. "My apologies, I was just curious,"

This, for some reason, really puts you off and you feel as if you've been rejected, even though you technically had not outright told him that you're talking about him.

It seems silly for you to get upset, but you are. So you stand, and make a request of him. "Can we... just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" and you give him some sort of excuse that you need to run an errand or something, and you're off, leaving him feeling...guilty. But he doesn't know why. Or does he?

Lyney would look like the type of person who would be confident about himself. But, really, as a magician, he had to be 1000% sure about something before he went ahead with it, and so...that's where his doubt stemmed from.

Lynnette is really the one who knocks some sense into him. "...and you...let Y/N leave?" after hearing the story from him.

"Oh, Lyney... Regardless of what Y/N feels... For you, next to Freminet and I, is there someone else that you love dearly?"

That's how he ends up at your doorstep. Though you've seen his disappearing rose trick hundreds of times, he was the most sincere at that moment, when he says sorry that he didn't get the hint and to give him a chance.

Neuvillette

"Serious person. He seems to put his work first, above all else," you say. "I respect him a lot for that,"

Neuvillette is interested in what you say, but doesn't know at all that it's him. "He does sound quite respectable," he says while looking through some files.

"A long time ago he said that he feels like he's an outsider...but really I feel like there isn't anyone who knows Fontaine the way that he does,"

Neuvillette, moves the file he was reading downwards, just to look at you questioningly. "He's from Fontaine?" this was surprising to him.

"Well...he currently resides in Fontaine, yes," you nod.

"Ah," he answered curtly. "And I have never met him?" he asks.

"...He's very busy." you bite your lip, about to say something and you know that the next sentence is the point of no return. "He's the Iudex...so it's hard to catch him,"

You swear you can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

You see him put his files down and just stare at you with a sort of...unsure look.

His shoulders relax, he wasn't even aware he had been tense that whole time. "That... must have taken a lot of consideration and courage to say," he clears his throat.

You only nod your head slowly, moving your gaze away from him with an awkward smile. Hand absentmindedly grabbing a book and flipping through the pages...you had no idea what you were doing out of nervousness.

"I apologize...I'm unfamiliar with what to do in these kinds of situations... However," he pauses and seems to think carefully about what he was going to say next. "Please don't take it as a rejection. I'd be honored to navigate this with you, if you would so graciously have me,"

Scaramouche

"He's an asshole," you bite back a laugh.

He instantly knows.

"Actually he acts all tough only to give in to his inner-kind-of-agreeable-personality,"

He snorts

"What? Am I wrong?" you challenge him. You KNOW that he knows. The two of you have been hovering around each other for a while, and there's a certain closeness between the two of you. Though that line was never crossed.

He doesn't answer you back but prods you more. "Is that all? You like that he's an asshole? Are you some type of masochist?"

You almost laugh. "No, you moron. I'm saying he has a weird way of showing he cares. He's always biting my head about not being careful enough. But if he really didn't care he wouldn't be screaming at me, you know what I mean?"

Scaramouche grumbles something under his breath and crosses his arms, turning away from you.

"Say that again?" You ask, not hearing what he said.

"...I said, you're not as stupid as I thought you were," shrugs his concealed embarrassment off and turns back to you all nonchalant again. "Anyway, stop yapping and get going, we got things to do,"

Snatches your hand and starts pulling you to walk with him.

Tartaglia (I feel like this is ridiculously short but I also feel like Tartaglia would have known a LONG time ago if the two of you had the feels for each other)

"Oh man...Probably the most reckless man I know,"

Also knows. Instantly. But shuts his mouth just so he can listen to you talk about him, but it gets deep real quick.

"In my opinion he's a handsome guy. Real charming," you smirk the tiniest bit. "but I don't know if I can keep up with him, honestly. It's a little hard not knowing when he's going to come back...or if he's even gunna come back at all,"

You weren't going to hide the fact that you were scared shitless he didn't return from Fontaine for ages. You legitimately thought he had died.

Tartaglia stops you there, by suddenly cradling your cheek. "Y/N," he's wearing a pained expression. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be, it's your job, right?" You reassure him, and shrug.

He sighs "Yes, but I'll promise this to you as I've promised my family," he smiles, the most confident smile you've seen on him. Even more confident than when he wields his blades. "I'll come back to you, I always will,"

Wriothesley

"Er... How do I say this... He kind of has some... big boss energy?"

"Oh?" he sips at his tea, glancing at you while he looks at today's paper. "So he's a bigshot?" he asks curiously.

"Somewhat, yes. Intimidating at first look, but...he just has a great sense of responsibility," you pick at the selection of cakes and cookies he has.

"Huh," he lets out in a quick huff. In the deepest, DEEPEST parts of his mind there is a NANOSECOND that he thinks its him but it gets erased so quickly he's not even sure that he had thought about it.

"Sounds like a good person... Any interesting, weird quirks?" he grins as he says this, yet again glancing at your expression.

Your lips tremble a bit at what you're about to say, because you're SURE he was going to get it once you say it. You gulp and feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand before you say out loud "He likes tea. I kind of wonder if it's an addiction," you can't meet his eyes.

He's looking at the paper he's reading but nothing.registers.in.his.brain.its.like.it.stopped.working.

You shift in the uncomfortable silence but he calmly folds up the newspaper and places it on his table. "...I'm inclined to ask, because it would be embarrassing if I got the wrong idea,"

"Mmhmm," you pop a cookie in your mouth to distract yourself.

"By any chance, are you...talking about me?"

"Mm," you nod your head, still not looking at him and glue your eyes on the cookies instead, out of embarrassment.

Suddenly chuckles. You brave a peek at him, now covering his eyes with a single hand, head tipped back to rest on his chair.

You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Sorry, no, it's just... I didn't think it would happen this way." Visibly takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. Seems to have regained his composure and is back to his confident self, smiling at you. "Thanks Y/N, I... don't think it's much of a secret that I enjoy your company too. I'm just a little embarrassed that you beat me to it...some big boss energy huh?"

Xiao

"...He takes on everything by himself. I worry about him," You look at the stars as you say this. Xiao doesn't say anything.

"But I'm glad that he's opening up a lot more now. It's great to see him among friends,"

Xiao has a feeling at this point, that its him you're talking about, but he still doesn't say anything and keeps his gaze in front of him rather than on you.

"Yes, the road in front of him is long but...he's also already come a long way," you sigh a little "The time of Rex Lapis has long gone, but he still sticks to his principles. I think his dedication is part of what I like about him,"

This is when he turns to you, blank look on his face, contemplating on what to do. When you turn to meet his gaze, its then that he decides to bridge the gap between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, leaning in sideways to catch your lips in a chaste and rather shy kiss.

"You should give a bit of credit to yourself, for putting up with me all these years, Y/N,"

End!

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[prlssprfctn]

Jason Todd is anxious about decorating places he lives at.

It sounds funny, absolutely ridiculous, but it is true, and this feeling is there, always sitting deep inside his chest, since he was a little child.

His old room in the Manor is... simple, almost too plain. He knows that he can do with it whatever he wants (Bruce told him so, and Alfred even suggested helping him with decorations if needed; he also saw Dick's room, and it was very... him), but he can't.

What is the use of decorating it if he is not sure, will he leave it or not? What if he gets kicked out tomorrow? He never knows. So, why bother?

He keeps it simple. One poster of metal rock group, one photo frame, and a bunch of books that technically don't belong to him. And he hides an "escape bag" under his bed, of course.

Once he dies, there is very little indication whose exactly room it was.

Then, Jason is alive again, and there is no place for him to live at all. He has a room in League of Assassins that is completely empty, excluding his designs of Red Hood suit and some stalking material on Bruce, but he is a guest here, of course.

And when he is back in Gotham, his main apartment just... exists.

He never knows what will happen tomorrow.

It continues like this until he is once undercover with Roy. They need to rent a house together for a whole month — just thirty day, nothing more, nothing less — and Roy? Roy starts decorating his part of the room.

Obviously, it is nothing too grand, nothing too rich or huge, just some stuff he finds around and thinks it fits. It looks like Roy, too.

And Jason is... flabbergasted.

'You know we are leaving in a month, right? Why are you doing this?' He asks, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, pretending that this doesn't somehow shatter his whole perspective of life.

'Month or not, I want to feel like at home, duh? Who cares, honestly?'

It feels stupidly... smart. Obvious. But exactly what Jason needed to hear, maybe.

When they finish with the mission and Jason is back in Gotham, he starts slowly thinking about it more.

His attempts to decorate are awkward at first. What is supposed to fit him? How should he know what kind of decors he likes, even? How would he know where to place these things? He is not sure.

And then, there is another struggle. He feels anxious over actually changing anything in there. He knows that it is his place. He pays for it. He owns it. But there is a ridiculous, childish-like fear of being kicked out somehow. Or a irritation of ruining something by the accident, something that cost money.

But he still tries.

He starts with cutting off some printed stuff that he likes, sticking them on the wall. Then he starts bringing some thrifted furniture for decoration — not something he needs for living, just beautiful stuff. Vases. Old desks he chooses to stock books on. Old vinyl player. Plants.

Slowly, but surely, the place begins to feel like home. Like something he wants to return to — not because he is tired after patrols, but because it is cosy.

And, yes, he still is not sure if he returns in this place tomorrow, but-

But at least, it is his.

[jellyfishsthings]

The Gravity Between Us

navigation , dc navigation

Summary: Dick yearning for a nerdy girl who constantly talks about her new books or new science inventions, he doesn't understand shit and they have to look stuff up constantly trying to keep up with her

requests are open

dividers by @cafekitsune

Dick didn’t believe in love at first sight.

He believed in proximity. Shared moments. Laughter over mismatched socks and long nights spent brushing teeth in silence. He believed in the slow build—accumulated glances, casual touches, the way someone’s name sounded when said too softly, too often.

But if there was ever a moment that could challenge that belief, it was the first time he saw you.

You were arguing with the Dean of Gotham University’s Applied Sciences Department in the hallway. Over orbital velocity.

You weren’t angry, not really—your hands moved too freely for that. You were passionate. Bright-eyed. Electric. You rattled off calculations like poetry, numbers and terms Dick didn’t understand but wanted to memorize anyway.

She’s speaking Latin, he thought. No. Star-language. This woman is built of solar flares and syllables I don’t know how to pronounce.

He was there for a guest lecture on criminology. You were late to a meeting. You brushed past him, eyes distant, your bag slamming into his side without apology.

Dick fell in love with the sound of your thoughts.

He asked Barbara who you were.

“She’s scary smart,” Babs said, smirking over her coffee. “Don’t get your hopes up, Grayson. I tried to get her to help me debug something once and she built a better algorithm in ten minutes while eating a croissant.”

So of course he pursued you.

Like any normal person, Dick decided to attend your public seminars. Which meant sitting in the back of overcrowded rooms next to grad students who whispered things like Did she really reverse-engineer a nuclear model for fun?

He didn’t understand 70% of what you said. But he liked the way your eyes lit up when you talked about gravitational wave detection or microbial communication. You swore like a sailor when you explained things and always had chalk on your hands, like your mind spilled out of you faster than you could contain it.

He wasn’t your type. That much was obvious.

You liked brilliant, slightly aloof, lab-coated types who forgot to eat dinner because they were too busy decoding the genetic memory of fungi. Not acrobats who carried grappling hooks and read crime scene reports for breakfast.

Still. He wanted to know you.

You met properly during a blackout in the city.

You were in the lobby of your building, trying to coax a neighbor’s ancient cat out from under the vending machine with a laser pointer and tuna.

“Need a hand?” he asked, half-laughing, crouched beside you in the dark.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Something shifted.

“I’ve seen you before,” you said. “You’re the guy who keeps showing up to my astrophysics lectures and pretending to take notes.”

Dick flushed. “Guilty.”

“You looked very confused during the part on dark matter.”

“To be fair, I was still trying to figure out what the Standard Model was.”

You smirked, tugged the cat out gently, handed it off to a grateful neighbor, and turned to him.

“Buy me coffee and I’ll explain it to you.”

He did. He also fell in love with the way you dunked your biscotti and talked about string theory like it was a romance novel.

Dating you was like orbiting a star.

You were radiant. Intense. Impossible not to be drawn to. You had ten books on your nightstand and a half-finished whiteboard formula in your kitchen. You wore socks with chemical structures on them and got distracted mid-sentence to scribble ideas on napkins.

And Dick—he tried.

God, he tried.

He watched documentaries. Asked Babs for help. Subscribed to every science podcast with a halfway decent host.

You’d curl up beside him, humming as you flipped through papers, occasionally whispering things like, “Did you know Venus rotates backwards?” or “There’s a protein in tardigrades that basically makes them immortal.”

He didn’t understand half of it.

But he loved listening. Because you came alive when you spoke. And every time he saw your hands moving, sketching new ideas in the air, he swore the rest of the world went quiet.

It wasn’t all stardust and poetry.

Dick had his own shadows. Long nights. Bruised ribs. The part of himself that couldn’t always talk about where he was or what he saw.

You didn’t push. But sometimes he saw the questions in your eyes. And sometimes, when you were halfway through explaining a recent breakthrough in bioluminescent engineering, you’d stop, tilt your head, and say:

“You’re not really here, are you?”

“I am,” he always said. “I’m trying.”

You’d nod, but the distance would settle in like fog.

One night, you found his emergency burner phone in the couch cushions. The message on it: “Warehouse raid at 2 a.m. Bring backup.”

He expected you to yell. Or leave.

Instead, you said, “You’re him, aren’t you?”

“What?”

“Nightwing.”

Dick froze.

You looked calm. Tired, but calm. “I’ve cross-referenced your injuries, time away, and your avoidance of any real explanations. You’re either a spy or a vigilante. And given your gymnastic abilities and the way you keep bruising your ribs…”

He blinked. “You figured that out from my rib injuries?”

You shrugged. “The pattern matched a common trajectory of reinforced police batons. I ran the math.”

He laughed. Then kissed you. Then cried a little into your shoulder when you said, “I still want you to be safe. But I’m not leaving.”

One night, you were on the phone with your lab while cooking stir fry with your free hand and explaining CRISPR to Damian, who’d just dropped by to borrow a biology textbook.

Tim was there too, sitting at the counter with a furrowed brow and an empty notepad.

“Wait—wait, can you say that again?” Tim asked, already flipping through his calculus workbook.

Dick walked in and stopped in the doorway.

There you were—hair messy, glasses askew, hoodie half-tucked—and two of the smartest people he knew were hanging on your every word.

Tim scribbled notes while you corrected a theorem. Damian asked about mitochondrial DNA. You didn’t even pause while plating dinner with your foot.

And Dick?

He leaned on the doorframe and watched you—half in awe, half jealous.

Because he used to be the one who lit up when you talked. He used to be the one who asked all the questions, tried to keep up. Now the boys were stealing your brain, your laugh, your look at this cool thing I just discovered!

He sighed a little too loudly.

You turned, eyes wide. “Hey, babe. Hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Tim looked up. “She just explained the Schrödinger equation using scrambled eggs.”

“Of course she did,” Dick muttered, kissing your temple. “Because that’s sexy now, apparently.”

You grinned. “Oh? You jealous?”

Dick looked at your two very eager pupils.

“…Maybe a little.”

Later that night, you found him in bed with a beginner’s book on astrophysics.

You laughed. “Babe.”

“I need to catch up. I don’t want to lose you to Tim and Damian.”

“You’re not going to lose me.”

“They understand your brain.”

You crawled into his lap, took the book from his hands, and kissed him softly. “You don’t have to understand everything I say. You just have to listen.”

“I do listen.”

“I know. That’s why I love you.”

Dick paused. Blinked. “You love me?”

You smiled. “Was that not obvious?”

He pulled you into his chest and whispered, “I’m in orbit, sweetheart. Always have been.”

And you?

You curled up against him, heart steady, mind quiet for once, knowing that no matter how fast your thoughts spun, he’d always be right there—trying, listening, loving you through it all.

[nottswitch]

— if you’ve been nice, you get…

─────────────── 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲 & 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭. ─

summary: during your trip to hogsmeade, you decide to pop into the famous honeydukes for some sweets. who would’ve guessed that your best friend would find the sight of you with a lollipop so enticing?

pairing: bsf!fred weasley x reader

cw: 18+ smut, friendship without boundaries, oral (m receiving), semi-public sex, praise, slight gagging, candy play, cursing

wc: 1.5k

a/n: for all my fred lovers out here!! let us all indulge in some sweetness <3 and dick

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; fred m.list ; kinkmas 2024

────────────────────────

The atmosphere inside of Honeydukes was everything you could expect from this time of year – despite it only being the beginning of December, the students already started feeling the holiday spirit. The shop was filled to the brim with what felt like the entire Hogwarts, from rowdy squealing first-years to the seventh-years who still had a soft spot for sweets despite pretending to be too cool for that. Hogsmeade residents groaned and huffed, trying to squeeze between the buzzing bodies, irritated beyond belief about Hogwarts students flooding the village once again.

You were standing next to the shelf filled with different lollipops, absently browsing, because you already had one in your mouth – a long green stick flavored apple and cinnamon, just right for the Christmas atmosphere filling the space around you. Your mind was drifting, and you didn’t even notice someone approach before a pair of strong, long arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind, encircling your entire form.

“Merlin!” you exclaimed, immediately knowing who that was – you could almost feel the cheeky grin against the back of your head.

“Just Fred would do.”

His voice was just as cheeky as his smile when he pulled away a bit, easily turning you around to face him. You were ready to retort with a snarky remark, as you usually would, but something stopped you, something that was as familiar as it was unexpected – the look in Fred’s eyes. The way they weren’t looking into yours at all. The way they were fixed firmly on your lips, currently wrapped around the tip of the green lollipop.

“Mhm,” you hummed to yourself, tilting your head to the side a bit as you took in the situation. You felt like you could read your best friend’s thoughts in real time, as if they were being broadcasted in a running line right across his face. And you didn’t mind the implication. Not at all.

“I see you’re being smart right now,” Fred made a remark, the grin on his face turning into an understanding smirk. He wasn’t shy about his obvious desire, on the contrary, he wanted you to see it. He also knew that you, being a good little friend, wouldn’t say no – you would even encourage it, being the tease that you always were next to him.

You chuckled, deliberately sucking on the lollipop this time, the wet sound of the candy going in and out of your mouth filling the close proximity between your faces.

“You wanted something?” you asked, pretending to be clueless, even though you knew you weren’t going to keep the act up for long – Fred had this effect on you that seemed to mirror your own on him, and his playful yet undeniably hungry gaze was doing wonders to warm up the space between your legs right now.

“Oh, come on, hun.” Fred rolled his eyes, an amused chuckle escaping him. “We both know exactly what I want. And, may I add, what you want as well.”

It was your turn to play annoyed, because he was, of course, as right as always; over the years of friendship as close as the one you shared, he learned to read you like an open book that he didn’t even have to open – it laid exposed right in front of him.

“Where?” was your only question, your eyes briefly darting around the stuffy, crowded room of Honeydukes. Fred followed your gaze, biting the inside of his cheek as he thought of a solution. A moment later, a smirk grazed his lips again as his eyes fell somewhere behind you.

Without another word, he grabbed your hand and started leading you away from the shelves, shamelessly pushing through the endless number of students blocking your way – he was too damn impatient. Your steps stuttered after his long ones, your fingers gripping the lollipop stick so that it wouldn’t fall to the floor – you had plans for the candy, after all.

The tiny space Fred squeezed you into looked like some kind of a utility room, but the lack of space was the last thing on your mind at the moment – not like you’d need much of it anyway. Once the door was locked thanks to him casting a spell, Fred leaned against the wall, looking at you expectantly; as much as he liked enjoying you and your body to the fullest, now was not the place or time. You instantly understood him – and you didn’t protest. Sinking down to your knees, you ran a hand over his thigh, ending up right on the straining bulge between his legs. Fred groaned, his mouth parted as he looked down, catching the sight of your face right next to his already aching cock, your lips wrapped seductively around the lollipop.

“Gonna be a good girl, huh?” he murmured, his voice breathless yet still containing the playfulness that never seemed to leave it even for a moment. “Come on, love.” He gently nudged your head closer to his crotch, and you followed his touch, nuzzling your face against his clothed length, feeling how hard and ready he was, all for you.

Your hand swiftly moved to unzip his trousers, pulling them down along with his boxers just enough to free his member. It sprung free from the confines, immediately staining the hem of Fred’s jumper with precum, which made you chuckle at his eager state. The lollipop left your mouth with a pop, and the hand holding it wrapped around the base of Fred’s cock, holding the candy right next to it. Fred raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting this particular direction, but the words died in his throat when you took him in your mouth, your tongue swirling around his tip and the tip of the lollipop at the same time.

“I knew you were a little freak, love, but this…” He was cut off by his own moan when he felt the pressure of the candy against his dick as both were suddenly shoved into your mouth. “…Shit!”

He had to muffle himself with the sleeve of his jumper, because the way you made him feel threatened to expose you to everyone currently swirling around the Honeydukes shop. You hummed around him, feeling your lips stretch at the corners from the lollipop significantly adding to his thickness. The saltiness of his precum mixed with the sugary sweet taste of candy, creating a completely new yet strangely welcome sensation.

You started bobbing your head up and down, only able to take half of Fred’s cock due to the lollipop being in the way. Fred didn’t seem to mind – the added pressure of the candy seemed to make up for the lack of your usual technique. You pulled away for a moment to drag your tongue from the base to his tip again, slurping up the sticky, sweet and salty liquid that was formed by your saliva. You spat some of it back into his cock and the lollipop, lowering your head once again to continue the job.

“Making a mess of me, huh?” Fred moaned out, glancing down and seeing drool running down your chin, slimy strings dripping down onto the floor underneath you. “Such a good girl, love. Such a good fucking girl.”

His praise encouraged you to increase your pace, your head moving even more enthusiastically. You could feel a generous amount of liquid filling your throat, making you gag a bit as the sweetness of the lollipop tickled your glands, but it didn’t make you stop at all. You knew Fred was close – from your position on your knees, you could see the way his eyes fluttered close every so often, the way his chest heaved deeper and faster than usual. Your tongue swirled around the tips again, your cheeks hollowing out as you sucked them in, creating more friction between the sensitive flesh and the hard, sticky surface of the candy. Fred’s hand gripped your hair without actually moving your head – he just needed something to hold onto.

“Fuck, love,” he raggedly breathed out as his cock ended up pressed between the inside of your cheek and the lollipop once again. “Gonna– F-fuck!”

He didn’t have time to warn you; you felt his length twitch in your mouth as the hotness of his cum hit the back of your throat, mixing with the saliva gathered there and making you gag again. Your lips trembled a bit around him as you swallowed, slowly lapping up the remnants of his release and the significantly thinned out candy. Fred’s head fell back against the wall, and he let out a breathless chuckle, his eyes darting down to your wet, fucked out face.

“Gonna have to get you some more of those, yeah?” he murmured, taking the lollipop out of your mouth and placing it in his, a teasing smirk appearing on his lips. You scoffed in response, giving his thigh a light smack. You knew he liked what had just happened, though, and you didn’t mind giving him another sticky treat.

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 || 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary_ where the salesman has to hide his true nature because he was too interested in the foreigner student living across his street.

warnings_ AGE GAP (reader in her early 20s and American), ANGST, FLUFF (soft!salesman), implied sex (very mild and bad), plot twist at the end. No proofreading yet…

notes_magnetic and switch were on replay while writing this <3 SOMEONE ANSWER MY QUESTION AT THE END!!!

♫ ♪ the worst playlist 4 gong yoo

✰ Index (+ fics here)

୨ৎ───୨ৎ───୨ৎ———୨ৎ───୨ৎ

It wasn’t a day without music.

You weren’t trying to sound cringe when you admitted you couldn’t live a day without music.

While showering, cooking, studying, painting your nails, walking to take the subway, or working in your office, you always have your EarPods or cable ones plugged into your ears.

And while that happened, you rarely looked at your surroundings. You knew you were in safe neighborhoods all the time.

After living for only a month in Namyangju in Seoul, you moved when a bright opportunity arose in a wealthier neighborhood.

The building across the street was sophisticated, futuristic, and bigger in comparison with yours; which could be considered vintage but cozier.

Hence why you didn’t know who lived there. And certainly, you were clueless about the neat man in an elegant suits and sweet smile coming out of said building each morning.

Men never approached you. Since you were a foreign woman, you were an outcast and outsider. And Korean society was not very fond of foreigners. Not that you could generalize, but it was an obvious fact.

And you weren’t looking for a boyfriend either. You had learned to enjoy the solitude after entering your twenties. With no boyfriend and few girlfriends, you would make it.

It was a very late winter, almost spring Saturday when you arrived at your favorite sushi spot near your apartment.

The place had a special roll of ahi tuna with spicy mayo, avocado, and fresh cucumber on top that you really loved.

It was slightly warm and orders were being shouted while you waited for your takeout.

It was then when you first saw him.

“A salmon sashimi order, please…” he said and you eyed him.

Tall, fit, great haircut, elegant suit. Overall, very great looking.

But you quickly turned back to your phone because there was no way a seeming bachelor like him would pay attention to you.

Plus, you weren’t looking for a boyfriend.

Plus two, that type of man would never be into you.

“Do you come here often?” you hear and you almost froze after seeing the handsome man facing you.

You were shocked.

“Sorry?” you ask just to clarify if you had actually heard him speaking English.

“I asked if you come here often…”

“Mostly every Friday or Saturday,” you say and he nods, offering you a polite smile.

“Me too. I had never seen you before”

His pronunciation was almost perfect and he had a sultry tone of voice that made you feel nervous and intrigued.

“Either you come too early or too late” You don’t want to sound like you’re flirting, you don’t think the man in front of you is interested. You decided that after being shocked. “I’m usually spent up with college and all”

“You’re a student?” you nod at him, attempting to smile for the first time.

The man in the suit smiles back and the attraction is undeniable.

“Yes, one more year and a half to graduate” Your hands were shaking but you pretended too well to not look bothered by the handsome man talking to you. “But I’m already an English teacher for kids with my associate's degree”

He didn’t know much about the occidental education, but he believed you were smart enough. At least you seemed like that.

“That’s great,” he says and you hear your order is ready.

You smile at the handsome man one last time and you are ready to leave, fully mentally set that it was only a friendly gesture to talk with a man like him.

“Care to join me for dinner?” You turn, shocked once again.

He offered a sweet smile that you couldn’t refuse.

“Where to, sir?” he smirked, pleased.

He had you right where he wanted.

“Wherever you’d like…”

Yeah, he seemed older, maybe late thirties, but he looked nice, he was approaching you, he could be single and you couldn’t miss the chance to say a neat guy like him showed interest in you.

“Sure” you finally accept and he starts leading the way.

“I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have missed your vibrant clothing if I had seen you before,” he says as he keeps the door open for you to come out.

“Well, it’s not like I’m the most interesting or appealing woman, sir” he chuckles.

“If that were true, I would say there are no mirrors in your place, dear” You instantly blush, your legs feeling wobbly and a smile creeping up your face.

And you considered yourself fine, you had so much self-love. Still, you were thrilled to see how a man like him was interested in you

But he was lying. He had seen you for the first time a month ago….

…

You’re sweaty but freshly waxed.

Only you were imprudent enough to bake on a hot day. Your music was playing from your iPad charging in the kitchen when there was a knock on your door.

Your bare feet drag you across the living room and into the little reception room and when you open your door, you smile deeply.

“I brought our dinner” There is your salesman, in a dark grey suit, black tie, and dress shoes. Briefcase in one hand, takeout in the other.

“I baked cookies” you reply, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t miss the smell…” he had never tried American cookies before.

Things were going well, to say the least.

The salesman was actually interested in you and turned out to be great company.

It would always amaze you how two different people could fit so well, like puzzle pieces that connect to totally different things.

His polished shoes rest near the entrance beside your sequin mary janes. His blazer was hanging beside your salmon coat and his hand was rubbing soft circles around your back.

Your legs were hanging over his lap and you were laying, one arm in the armrest of your coach while you admired the man beside you.

His eyes screamed he was falling in love, he knew. There was an unspoken rule about keeping private his identity and protecting the games. But no clause stated he couldn’t have interpersonal relationships or marry.

So there he was giving doe eyes to an American woman who was younger than him.

“If I didn’t know you, I’d say you have the eyes of a sweet sociopath” Both of you burst into laughter. Him actually finding the fun in your words.

If only you knew…

“And I’d say you have the eyes of a lovely perfectionist” you huff, playfully pulling his tie out of place.

“I’m not a perfectionist” he eyes your place as you laugh, noticing all the books and trinkets you had. “I just gave you half-burned cookies”

“And you also waited in advance to wait for your college website to open your registration window”

“Registration is a vital thing, handsome” he smiles and stares deeply at you, making you feel nervous but eager to smile back.

The comfortable feeling of being with him causes you to have an epiphany.

A realization from your heart.

Your fingers trace the fabric of his dress shirt and he pays closer attention to your touch.

“Will I ever see you with some clothes that are not nice suits?” He chuckles before leaning closer, applying pressure, your thighs pushing against your stomach.

“You could see me without the suit…” your cheeks burn and he notices it, smiling at the sight. “Don’t be shy, baby”

“You make me nervous all the time” you admit, a little giggle coming out involuntary.

“Really?” He asks feigning doubt, smiling, and grasping your chin.

You roll your eyes.

“Just kiss me already” he wastes no time and quickly pulls you into his lap.

What starts as a soft but deep kiss slowly turns into a needy one. Your fingers curl into his soft hair and his hands land in your hipbones, just to start urging you to grind against him.

“Don’t make me say it” you manage to say, out of breath as he started kissing your neck. “Just know that I want it so bad”

“As you wish so…” You didn’t know how badly he wanted to tie you up and see how much he could ruin you.

His lunatic behavior is well hidden under rough but lovely touches and nibbles all across your body.

His long fingers cherished each mole, scar, and stretch mark in your figure, only making you accept how much you liked him.

You pulled a handsome man like him and it only made your ego boost.

The salesman was made for you.

…

Over the months, while being abroad, you mastered your loneliness to the point where you had started to explore the city by yourself.

Now you have a boyfriend, but he gives you a lot of independence during the week.

Three weeks ago he took you to dinner and on the way back, while passing by a park, both of you acknowledged that dating would be fine.

There weren’t a lot of things in common between you two. Your salesman was older, he liked music from his childhood years from the eighties and loved grunge music from when he was a teenager. But he mostly loved classical music. He liked traditional Korean dishes and enjoyed sitting on your little terrace to simply enjoy the view.

When it came to you, you enjoyed all types of music but mostly from your childhood in the 2000s and 2010s, music that was released nowadays and from the fifties or sixties. You always missed dishes from back home and your boyfriend urged you to show him what you liked.

He was sweet but rough. A real gentleman who never made you feel insecure or uncomfortable, purely devotion.

The relationship remained new, but you could tell it was looking too good to be true.

You asked for a smoothie with spirulina and collagen. The smurf blue painted a little bit of your tongue as you sipped your drink outside of a coffee shop.

It was sunny and a little foggy at the same time, and you were utterly relaxed that you almost gagged when someone called you.

“… y/n?” when you turned to your left, you saw your boyfriend, in another suit, briefcase, and two bags full of bread in his hands.

You chuckled and frowned confused.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, taking off your sunglasses. “And why did you got all that bread?”

He wasn’t expecting you near him that morning. In fact, he wasn’t expecting you for the rest of the day. It was on the weekends when he was attached to the hip with you.

He could play the card of an obvious and innocent boyfriend very well.

“It is my day to buy treats for the workmates” he explains with a sweet smile, you sigh, smiling and nodding.

“Ah, I see” you reply, not knowing what else to say. “I had a very short lecture”

“Are you going home now?” He asked, not really worried but wanting to make sure you were not going to the park across the street. Just where he had plans…

“I think so. Maybe I’ll go to get some new trinkets from the mall” he nodded, debating whether to get closer to you or not. He wasn’t sure making contact with you in public was correct.

It was you who walked away, only turning to say goodbye.

“Call me tonight. And be safe, dear” you say smiling while blowing him a kiss.

It touched him. He had to be very careful now that he had you. Right where he wanted to.

…

There is no steam, but it should be.

It was another Friday, no more burdens until Monday.

And you weren’t alone.

“Fuck, y/n…” you had your salesman cursing and moaning your name in the shower.

“Just a little rougher, baby” you beg, savoring the cold water running down your throat and towards your breasts.

One of his hands skillfully carried your left leg up, so your knee was brushing his ribs.

“Aww, my girl wants more?” You nod, closing your eyes to focus on not cumming yet.

And out of nowhere, between deep and rough thrusts of him, you hear him saying something.

“I have to leave tomorrow,” he says between pants, with his eyes closed and battling with how good you were taking him. “Conference outside Seoul. Just a week, baby…”

Your pleasure is paused by his words.

“Why you waited to tell me a day before you’re leaving?…” he stops fucking you.

He realizes you didn’t take well the news and it makes him feel bad. He could swear there were almost tears in your face.

“Oh, no, my blossom. Don’t be sad…” you almost tear up, pathetic. But it took you by surprise and you hated saying goodbye even if it was temporary. “I’ll call you as soon as I can”

You do not say anything. You try to disguise your discomfort with the way he is still inside you, hard and ready to be back to action.

But he already knew you too well.

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell with anticipation next time” You eye him and you realize you love him.

“It’s okay. I understand”

Soon you forgot how well he went back to fucking you. Feeling so full of him, you kept tasting the way he moaned your name and kissed your chin.

But in the morning, just as you touched the cold and empty sheets, you missed him.

And as a woman, you couldn’t ignore the omen building up.

…

The first fight with your salesman wasn’t tremendous but it sure hurt.

You were utterly disappointed after not receiving a text or call from him in almost four days. You didn’t argue when he called, but it was beyond obvious that you were irritated. And it ended up in a bittersweet conversation and you hanging up abruptly.

The salesman was expecting you to yell and argue nonstop. But he was surprised by your short answers and tired tone of voice.

It made him feel bad. Like genuinely bad for worrying you.

But he couldn’t call you while being on the island. He had to wait an extra day to avoid suspicions from his boss. And now that he had a new task; to be extremely careful while being in Seoul because Seong Gi-hun was searching for him.

The salesman was stressed but as soon he heard your sweet voice, he almost felt bad.

You were his most precious thing in life.

The only thing keeping him from totally being insane. Like a magnetic pair, meant to fit despite being totally opposite.

You had such a strong hold on him that the salesman even found questioning his life decisions.

So he did a great job apologizing to you for not calling you sooner.

And a week later, he promised to take you to some thematic fancy bar in Gangnam.

He was smoking, a bad habit he had passed to you. But it was kind of a warm afternoon and he was waiting for you near the subway station.

A couple of minutes had passed when the salesman found himself out of breath after watching you arrive. Rarely does he see you in dresses, always vivid coats, shoes, and tops but never dresses.

That afternoon you had a cream satin gown, cowboy boots, and a long black coat. With red lips and sparkling eyes.

“By the way you’re looking at me… I might believe I look great” is the first thing you say, wrapping your arms around him and urging him to give you a peck. He chuckles, hugging you back.

“You also look too good, dear” his deep voice sends shivers through your spine.

He also looked too damn fine. Dress pants and a black turtleneck sweater, making him look younger and sexier-if that was even possible.

“Not too bad yourself too, honey” you compliment him and both of you start descending to the station.

You were excited because your salesman had shown you pictures of the bar, it was futuristic and you told him he had to take a lot of pictures of you in the restroom because it was all dark and it had neon lights. He rolled his eyes but assured me he would be your photographer.

By the time both of you were waiting, the salesman looked around.

Just to be careful. But to his surprise, it was more than that.

He studied the face of Seoung Gi-hun, he had only seen him once years ago. Now, it wasn’t only him the problem, but the shark loans he befriended.

A group of men looked around while seated on a bench, then texting.

“Let’s take a cab better” your boyfriend announces before grabbing your hand and dragging you upstairs again. “Wait- why?”

He doesn’t say anything, you look back and see a man staring at you in the distance.

Interesting…

“Are you telling me what the hell was that?” You ask again once you are back outside, on a sidewalk.

Your boyfriend eyes you briefly before turning away to gesture for a cab to stop.

“Didn’t you see that man? In maroon shirt and disheveled hair?” He asks and you frown.

“No?” he shrugs, opening the cab door for you. “Doesn’t matter… I just didn’t like how he was staring around. Maybe it was just me being paranoid”

You chuckle.

“As if they were looking for you…” his eyes snap open, and he turns to look at you after telling the directions to the driver. But you’re looking at the passing street.

He stares too much until something clicks.

Something he had completely missed.

…

Great food, great drinks, great pictures taken, and great kisses and subtle touches in the darkness of the dance floor.

When you open your eyes, you see only your desk lamp is on, everything else is quiet and dark. You are tied in a chair.

“How fun was to play detectives?” you hear him, standing up from your couch. “You’re the detective Seong Gi-hun hired”

The fucker had made you drink more than intended.

It was a few months after completing your first semester in Seoul. You needed money and Gi-hun needed a subtle person that wouldn’t draw much attention. A foreigner was perfect. He promised to prioritize your safety and be fair.

“I accepted the deal before I had even met you”

“Since when do you know?” He asks, demanding an immediate answer.

“The day I saw you at the bakery” you admit, sighing.

He chuckles, turning his back to you.

“Too damn smart, my girl” you should be scared, but you aren’t.

“Yeah no shit” you huff, your hands opening and then clenching in distress. “Now I’ve been playing dumb for weeks. Pretending I haven’t got new clues that lead to you…”

“That’s sweet of you…” he turns back to face you.

And lifts his arm, pointing at you with a revolver.

Suddenly not so romantic.

“Gonna kill me, honey?” you smile, feigning innocence.

“I should do so, according to my boss” he presses the gun against your forehead, but you don’t flinch.

Based on stereotypes and some intersectionality, he thought it was ‘so American of you’

“Then do it” you dare him, feeling how was paying more attention to the fallen straps of your nightgown dress. “Pull the fucking trigger, handsome”

“I really should kill you” Your lips taste the metal of the gun, your salesman is a little insane.

“But I love you” he chuckles, leaning, putting both his hands in the armrest of the chair.

Inches away from you.

“I love you too” Your lips brush against his, the tension increasing.

It was so weird for him to admit he loved someone. After spending more than two decades unable to feel genuine human emotions, he was nonchalant, but deep inside, he was scared.

So he untied your hands.

“So what we’re going to do about this?”

It’s unbearable to be so close to him and not throw you against him. Your arms hugging him and pulling him closer.

“We both hush, honey” you whisper in his ear.

He kisses you, sliding an arm under your legs and the other on your back, carrying you to bed.

“As long and far as we need to” he promises and you nod, kissing him.

…

SOMEONE, PLEASE TELL ME IF GONG YOO’s CHARACTER DIED OR NOT IN THE SILENT SEA 🗣️

[kxsagi]

Helloooooooo

Pretty please can I get reader learning the blk boys language. (Like a year into learning it and they're pretty fluent) Then telling them they only know a few phrases. The boys messing with reader and later reader gets them back. I thought of Sae with Spanish, Rin with Japanese, and Kaiser with German.

I just read your post where reader gets lost and those 3 help them. I loved it. It was sooooo good. I feel like Kaiser would mess with reader hardcore.

“𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐢𝐦𝐛𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫”

a/n: i can only speak japanese so the other two languages made me resort to AI 😭

english translations of each title: “baby girl, you understand that right?” (german), “i don’t understand, but tell me more” (spanish), and “i don’t know, but your voice is cute/wakannai demo kimi no koe kawaii” (japanese). 

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi sae, itoshi rin

𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥 – “𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐝𝐮 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐡𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐬, 𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐫?”

you sip your iced coffee slowly, perched on the edge of kaiser’s kitchen counter, pretending not to understand a single word he’s saying as he rifles through a drawer, muttering to himself in rapid-fire german. 

“wo ist mein verdammter pass? (where is my damn passport?)” he grumbles. “er war genau hier, ich schwöre (it was right here, i swear)–” 

you blink innocently. “what?” 

kaiser turns, flashing you a sly grin. “you didn’t catch that?” he asks, far too casually. 

you shake your head. “i told you, i only know, like... ich liebe dich and wo ist die toilette, and that’s about it.” 

he places a hand dramatically on his chest. “you only know i love you and where’s the toilet? wow. romantic and practical.” 

you giggle, but the second he turns back around, you narrow your eyes. you’ve been studying german for a year. you’ve aced listening comprehension. you just watched three episodes of a german show without subtitles. you could pass for a confused exchange student in berlin right now if needed. but he doesn’t know that. 

and michael kaiser – cocky, annoying, too-pretty michael – needs to be humbled. 

and so it begins with deliberate mistakes. 

“hey, what does du bist mein schatz mean?” you ask sweetly one night while cuddling on the couch. 

“it means you’re my treasure,” he replies, beaming. 

you blink at him. “oh. i thought it meant... ‘you smell like cheese.’” 

he chokes. “where the hell did you get that?!” 

“i dunno,” you shrug. “tik tok?” 

it spirals from there. kaiser starts testing you like a smug little menace. whispers things like “zieh dich aus” (take off your clothes) and then chuckles when you pretend to think he’s asking for snacks. 

“you know, for someone who’s been in germany for months,” he says one morning, “you’re oddly helpless.” 

“i’m cute. i don’t have to be smart,” you reply. 

“fair point,” he nods. 

until one day, you flip the script. 

he walks in, phone in hand, ranting about some teammate being late to practice. 

“weißt du, ich schwöre, ich bin von idioten umgeben (i swear, i’m surrounded by idiots),” he huffs. 

you look up from the couch. “ja, das stimmt (yeah, that’s true).” 

kaiser freezes mid-step. “what did you just say?” 

you blink innocently. “oh. just agreeing. sounds like you’re surrounded by idiots.” 

he squints, slowly lowering his phone. “you understood that?” 

“i understood all of it,” you say, grinning. “especially the part yesterday where you told your coach i was hot. thanks for that.” 

he sputters. “you! how long?!” 

you lean in, voice low. “let’s just say... du bist nicht der einzige, der spielen kann, schatz (you’re not the only one who can play games, babe).” 

his mouth drops open. you’ve never seen him so scandalized. so shook. so deeply, deeply humbled. 

you win. 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞 – “𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨, 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐦á𝐬”

sae itoshi is obvious when he’s being a menace. 

it’s the tiniest smirk. the smallest tilt of his head. and it’s always followed by a sentence in spanish that is way too fast and absolutely not beginner-level. 

“perdón (sorry)?” you ask, batting your lashes. 

he leans closer. “aw. too fast for you?” 

you sigh dramatically. “you know i only know, like, five words.” 

“and you choose to date a man who speaks spanish?” 

“for the aesthetics,” you reply. “and the thighs.” 

he laughs. “at least you’re honest.” 

except here’s the thing. 

you’ve been learning spanish in secret for a whole year. private classes. podcasts. novelas. everything. you just like watching sae get smug about it. 

“te ves muy guapa hoy (you look really pretty today),” he says casually over breakfast. 

you glance at him. “no idea what that means, but thank you.” 

“mhm,” he hums, sipping his coffee, smug levels: critical. 

so one day, when he mutters under his breath “dios, esta chica me vuelve loco (god, this girl drives me crazy)”, thinking you won’t understand, you grin. 

“aw, i drive you crazy?” 

his spoon clinks against the bowl. slowly, he turns. “you understood that?” 

“mmmhm,” you say, leaning on your elbows. “also, i heard what you said on the phone with rin last week. something about how you’re ‘so whipped you’d move to mars’?” 

he stares. “you–how long have you understood spanish?” 

you raise an eyebrow. “suficiente para saber que eres un payaso (enough to know you’re a clown).” 

he narrows his eyes. “so this is revenge.” 

“maybe,” you chirp. “maybe i’ll just call your mom and tell her what you really said about her cooking.” 

sae drops his spoon. 

you win. 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐧 – “わかんない。でも君の声かわいい。” 

you thought you could get away with it. 

“sorry, i only know basic stuff,” you lie, twirling your straw in your drink as rin talks to the waitress in quick japanese. 

he looks at you. “like what?” 

“uh… konnichiwa? arigatou? and suki desu? that’s about it.” 

he shrugs. “that’s enough.” 

but you see it – the tiniest glint of mischief behind his deadpan stare. the itoshi brothers are quiet menaces, and rin’s no different. 

it starts small. 

he’ll murmur something under his breath while brushing your hair out of your eyes. or whisper something in japanese when he thinks you’re asleep. 

“かわいすぎる (kawaisugiru/too cute),” he says one night. “うざいくらいに (uzaikuraini/annoyingly so).” 

you pretend to be asleep. your eye twitches. he just called you annoyingly cute. and he thinks you don’t know. 

interesting. 

so, naturally, you begin collecting evidence. 

“君は俺の (kimi wa ore no),” he mutters one day, tugging you close. you’re mine. 

“hmm?” you blink. 

“nothing,” he replies, far too smug. 

you let it slide. for now. 

but your revenge is poetic. 

you wait until dinner with his teammates. they’re all chatting in japanese, and you just sit there, nodding along like you don’t understand a thing, until one of them jokes about rin being unusually soft with you. 

“ほんと、彼女の前だけ甘いよな (honto, kanojo no mae dake amai yo na/seriously, he’s only sweet in front of her),” one of them says. rin snorts. 

you glance up sweetly. “あ、そう？じゃあ、彼の前で甘くしようかな。(a, sou? jaa, kare no mae de amakushiyou kana/oh, really? then i’ll just be sweet in front of him too.)” 

rin chokes. the entire table goes silent. 

you sip your tea. “what? did i say it wrong?” 

he turns to you, completely betrayed. “you speak japanese.” 

“a little,” you shrug. “but i’m really good at understanding liars.” 

he stares. “how long?” 

“long enough to know you talk to my dog in a baby voice when you think i’m not home.” 

you win. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[ohtobelovedbyme]

"What do you think of me?" | yjh [ch1]

Pairing: YJH x Reader

Genre: best friend’s brother to lovers (or something), FLUFF, romcom, office setting, yjh and his sister are nepo babies Summary: Now that you've just graduated, you don't know which direction to follow next in your life. That is, until your friend recommends you to start working at her family's company (coincidentally, the same company where her brother works).

A/N: Okay, here's the first ever chapter of (please feel free to include some improvement points!!). It's also super long, just keep that in mind. I just winged this and my friends were also the ones who proofread, so props to them 👩‍🦰👧 Lastly, MILITARY HAIRCUT JEONGHAN>>>

Teaser | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Chapter 1

Graduating sucks. Graduating from elementary school was weird, you didn’t even notice that you’d already started middle school. Graduating from middle school wasn’t that bad, actually, but then there was high school. You were a new adult, freshly turned 18, and thrust into an unfamiliar city with skyscrapers taller than your local buildings.  Fortunately for you, you had your best friend, a certified “city girl,” beside you. And right now, she still is.

Your dorm right now is a mess. All of your things are scattered on the floor, and very few were properly organized in boxes. Unfortunately for you, it’s your last day here since you’ve just graduated. Your best friend was lounging on a box labeled “Do not sit,” phone in her hand, pretending to work. Although it’s obvious that her phone is doing all the work.

She finally looks up to you as you’re trying to bite a piece of scotch tape, and says, “You know what you should do?”

You look at her, confused about what she’s asking about, when you were finally able to tear the tape off.

“Apply to our company.”

You blink at her while placing the tape on a box full of picture frames. Your best friend of 8 years never fails to show her nepo-baby tendencies. Ever since you two were teenagers, she has had a habit of suggesting pretty random shit that you’d consider impossible if you said them. 

You knew that she was trying to help you out, after all, you’ve always mentioned how you didn’t know what to do after graduation. But, isn’t it kinda weird since, you know, that would be considered a nepo internship? Besides, her family’s company screams tight-ass.

“Your family’s company?” you repeat. “You mean the scary high-rise building with the marble floors with interns that look like they belong in the Truman Show?”

“Exactly! It’s pretty chill,” she says. “I’m already there anyway. Besides, you’re smart enough to get in. Imagine us slacking off in the break room together.”

You snort out a bit, taking the tape again. “That sounds… corrupt.”

“That’s the goal. Yours and mine.”

Right on cue, as you laugh at her, a knock is heard from the door.

Yoon Jeonghan. In black slacks that elongate his already long legs, with his perfect medium-length hair tucked behind his ears, he gets ready to push up his sleeves like some villain getting ready to torture his captive. 

“You said you were done packing twenty minutes ago,” he pestered as his eyebrows furrowed.

Your friend throws your pillow at him. “I’m supervising.”

He catches the pillow mid-air like it’s choreographed and tosses it on the couch. “Oh, I can tell. You’re sweating from all the effort.” 

Then he sees you.

And smiles.

Smiles?

As his sister steps outside with her suitcase, you find yourself alone with him. Jeonghan moves closer, picking up a box of yours like it weighs nothing.

“You moving back home after this?” he asks, his voice low and placid.

“Uh-huh, just for a bit, though. Job hunting.”

He hums. “That won’t take long. You’re competent enough. Despite… this.” He gestures vaguely to the chaos that is your dorm floor.

You glance up from organizing. “You sound confident.”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs. “You’re not stupid. I know that ‘cause my sister won’t shut up about you and your work.”

You stammer something like "thank you" but it’s probably closer to “th-thank-you” and he just tilts his head, looking amused. You’re still gathering the fact that he has heard about your work. 

As you were overthinking everything he just said, he stepped closer. He looked at your face for just a moment, then his gaze dropped. To your mouth. A sudden wave of heat instantly flushed your cheeks.

His fingers hover near your lips, just short of touching. He doesn’t move.

You can count the seconds.

 One… two…three… Oh god, are you dying? Is this your ticket to heaven?

He finally steps back. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath underwater.

But he pauses, standing a little too close. “You’ve got tape.”

“Huh?”

“On your face. Right there.” He gestures vaguely near your mouth, his fingers stopping just short of touching your skin. “Very chic. Love the DIY lip gloss.”

He grins pretentiously at your wide-open eyes, your cheeks heating up from either the embarrassment of having tape on or how his fingers almost touched your lips.

Jeonghan cockily walks away as you quickly try to remove the damn tape.

Fuck, isn’t this embarassing.

After giving it some thoughts, you finally did agree to applying for your friend’s company. With your best blazer on, you walk into the conference room. Your heart was pounding in your ears as memorized words started to jumble in your head.

You haven’t even noticed that you were already sitting when a manager from the panel cleared her throat. You look up to see a few respectable managers on the panel. 

A stern-looking lady whose voice it was. HR, probably

A bald man with the most glittery eyes you’ve ever seen. …Production? I guess so.

A man in round glasses looking at at presumably your file–

Yoon Jeonghan.

Shit?

When your friend told you he also worked in their family’s company, you weren’t surprised. But for him to be in a managerial position? Nope, you had thought he was somewhere higher? 

You nearly fall off your chair. All the nervousness from preparing and now this? 

He doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. He just stares at your resume like it personally keyed his car.

“You coordinated multiple campus events,” he says, voice as neutral as a gray wall. “Tell us about a time you resolved conflict, without any real authority to back you up. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

One of the other managers glances at him like bro, what is your damage?

Before this, he hadn’t even asked any questions to the past interviewees. Hell, he hadn’t even talked.

You blink rapidly. “I-I mediated disputes by implementing sanctions? And promoting emotional… uh… clarity?”

He nods slowly, then his gaze flicks to your shoes. “You’re nervous.”

Sir.

“Well-yes,” you mutter. “Interviews are stressful.”

He finally writes something down. “You think this is stressful? You should see our Slack group chats.”

A pause. Then, he says very softly:  “You’re doing fine, by the way.”

Which, somehow, makes it worse. The Sahara itself would be jealous of how you’re now a puddle on the floor.

After a week of radio silence from job portals and spiraling in jobless anxiety, you return home. Only to find your best friend sitting at the dinner table with your parents like she’s the daughter.

“Why are you here?” you ask, baffled and admittedly peeved.

“Dear, don’t talk to your friend like that.” Your mother suddenly stops her conversation with your friend midway, welcomes you home, and starts talking to your father about some whatnot-home-recreation-whatever.

You sit beside her with a dramatic sigh. “Dinner,” she says. “Also, I have something to tell you later.”

“You better take me out for some soju after this because life is hard.”

“No, it’s way better.”

Your parents chuckle as she leans toward you, whispering with a smug look on her face: “You got the job.”

“You’re in. My brother pulled some strings.”

You scream. Out loud. No shame. You pull her into a side hug, both of you bouncing in your seats.

“Wait, your brother? Jeonghan?”

“He’s the one who insisted,” she says, smug.

“I thought I fucked it up!”

“You were sweating so bad,” she agrees. “Like a broken faucet.”

You groan. “Shut up. You’re the worst. Wait, how do you even know that?

“First off, nope, you’re the worst. Secondly, Jeonghan told me.”

Jeonghan? Oh God, whyyyyy?

“God, you probably looked like how you did when you confessed to Seungcheol back in middle school.”

“OH MY GOD, SHUT UP. DON’T. DON’T EVER MENTION THAT EVER AGAIN.”

“I’m imagining your 14-year-old sweaty head attached to your adult body stuttering–”

You’re mid-lunging at her when you freeze.

There was a soft chuckle behind you.

Jeonghan steps out of the hallway, unhurried, like he’s been waiting his whole life for this exact moment. He’s grinning like the devil got a promotion.

“I think she made the right call,” he says, as he sits beside you, sipping from a glass like this is a family drama and he’s the cool second lead who actually gets the girl.

Your head turns to him so fast you feel whiplash. “Oh, god, you’re here. Why are you here? How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he says with a shrug. “Also, seriously? Seungcheol? That’s your type?”

Your parents are laughing now, and your friend is conveniently stuffing her face with rice to avoid eye contact.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I hate everything.”

He sets a glass of water in front of you, his voice low.

“I don’t,” he says. “Not even close.”

You peek through your fingers at his smirk. Of course, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Later that evening, you step outside with the siblings to see them out. Your best friend gets in the backseat of the car to place the 20-something dishes your mom packed for them.

As you waited outside to say your goodbyes, Jeonghan walked closer to stand beside you. He drifts closer, his steps unhurried. He’s close enough that you could smell him. His signature sandalwood scent, mixed with the spicy aroma of kimchi and… lavender. A little too similar to yours. Close enough that you wonder—did he pick it on purpose? Or are you just imagining things? Either way, you're drunk on the mix, and it’s hard to tell where your perfume ends and his begins.

“You did fine in the interview,” he abruptly says, while putting both of his hands behind his head.

You raise a brow. “Even if I was a nervous wreck?” Even when you asked me if I was the nervous wreck?

“I’ve seen worse,” he pauses, then continues with a lower voice, “Hell, I’ve been worse.”

He clears his throat. “Anyway. Is that the perfume I gave you?” 

He leans forward slightly, as if about to say something else—or get closer.

“Jeonghan, get in here! I can’t adjust the passenger seat!”

He halts mid-step, clicks his tongue softly. “Next time, then.”

Your hand, which was unknowingly clutching your heart-shaped necklace, suddenly loosens its grip. As he walks to the other side of the car, your friend takes his place and notices the swift blinking of your eyes, pointed towards him.

“Honestly, if Jeonghan wasn’t my brother, I’d think he had a thing for you.”

Then again, your answer is cut off as it was her brother’s turn to call her. 

“See you next week, ex-roommie!”

She ducks into the car like she didn’t just detonate a bomb.

What the hell?

Tags (ngl this is so exciting, lol): @sumzysworld, @lixisoul99, @viciousdarlings

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c - (+18) - exes & oh's!

pairing: siren!reader x rafe warnings: suggestive; nudity.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s too fucking hot, even with the ocean breeze cutting through the dunes. Sweat slicks the back of Rafe’s neck, and the bonfire dancing twenty feet away only makes it worse. Music’s blaring, someone’s shirtless and backflipping off the pier into the dark water.

Rafe's got a beer in his hand and his eyes on a nuisance.

Correction: you.

When Topper said, "bring her or don't come," he should’ve stayed the fuck home.

Now you’re sitting in a faded Tommy Bahama beach chair, drink untouched in the sand, wearing some sheer little cover-up that doesn’t cover shit and is not the bikini Rafe told you to not wear around his friends.

Your thighs are crossed, mouth glossed, and attitude lethal. People stare when you walk past, you turned this into a fucking catwalk instead of a party. 

You also haven’t looked at him once since you got here.Which he’s sorta happy about, it means you’re staying away.

He watches you now, body angled enough to show off without it looking obvious. You’re listening to some asshole go on about a story, biting your thumbnail, pretending to laugh.

Rafe downs the rest of his drink.

"You're pissed," Kelce says, catching up beside him.

"No shit."

"Look at her. What’d you expect?”

“I didn’t think she’d—” he breaks off, eyes narrowing as you lean in and say something into the guy’s ear, "—flirt all night."

Kelce shrugs. “That’s just her face.” 

His friend is already drifting off—free beer tends to scatter friends like pigeons—but Rafe stays rooted, eyes fixed on you. He assures himself he’s only checking in case you do something reckless.

He should’ve known. 

You were annoying the whole car ride up, feet on the dash, sunglasses sliding down your nose, whining about how his playlist was “a frat house funeral,” and trying to change the song with your toes.

He told you to stop, told you to be normal.

“Can you behave…tonight?” It took him every bone in his body to ask, “Don’t start with the drama, okay?”

"I’m not doing anything," you’d argued. “God forbid I show up and breathe like a normal girl.”

He reminded you to stay away from him when you got there, to blend in. He told you all of it while you looked him dead in the eye and said, “Fine. I’ll behave.”

Now you’re across the fire, bare legs crossed, arms shimmering with whatever oil you slathered on earlier, laughing at a joke that's not funny. It’s petty, but Rafe knows it lacks any humor because that guy you’re laughing with can’t be smart enough to pull that sound out of you. None of them are.

Topper strolls up with two beers in hand, one already almost gone, the other he tries to hand to Rafe, who doesn’t bother to look at it.

Instead, he stands stiff, breathing hard through his nose, watching you like you offended his entire bloodline. Which, funnily enough, you have on numerous occasions.

Topper follows his gaze.

“Damn,” he says, impressed. “Still can’t believe you get to live with that every summer.”

Rafe finally drags his eyes off you long enough to scowl at him. 

“Yeah. Fuckin’ nightmare.”

Topper almost chokes on his beer. “Nightmare?”

He’s already mid-eye roll, muttering, “She’s awful, man.”

Topper whips his head around so fast his neck pops, looking between you and Rafe “Awful?!”

Rafe gestures vaguely in your direction, like that proves everything. “Look at her. Look what she’s doing.”

“She’s sitting?”

“Flirting her way around.”

Topper throws his hands up. “She’s insanely hot. That’s not a crime.”

Rafe scrunches up his nose.

“She’s not.”

Topper starts laughing so hard he nearly drops his drink.

“Bro.”

Rafe turns on him, insulted. “What?”

Topper’s wheezing now.

“Do you wanna switch places or something? Seriously, say the word. I’ll house swap; she can scream at me and wear tiny bikinis and ignore me in public—please.”

Rafe bristles at the comment.

“She’s not all that. I don’t know what the fuck you mean.”

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am!” Rafe insists. “There’s plenty of other hot girls here.”

His best friend tilts his head, lips stretching wide like he’s about to pounce.

“Okay. Name one hotter.”

Rafe’s eyes dart around the party, he spots a girl in a red bikini laughing near the pier. One of the older kook girls flips her hair, flashing a white smile. A blonde walks past, bikini strings swinging.

“...That girl over there,” He eventually offers, motioning vaguely toward someone in the dark.

Topper squints. “The one eating corn?”

“She’s not eating corn.”

“She’s absolutely eating corn.”

“I didn’t mean her.”

“Okay. Then who?”

He doesn’t answer because he can’t; none of them come close.

Most of them are pretty. One has long legs, another has a tiny waist, and a designer bikini she bought just for tonight. There's tan skin, glossy hair, white teeth, and shiny things everywhere.

But they all look the same in his head. 

They don’t glow like you do. None of them are smirking with secrets tucked under their tongue. None of them roll their eyes like they’re doing him a favor just by showing up.

That’s what pisses him off most.

He needs them to come close, prays for the distraction.

But they’re not you.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Shut the fuck up, Top.”

Rafe shoves the empty into a trash bag and digs for a fresh bottle. Ice water burns his knuckles. He hears Sarah laughing with Kie by the volleyball net and someone’s screwing around with a Bluetooth speaker.

Stay busy. 

That’s the plan, if he’s busy, you won’t have a second to mess with his head.

He pops the cap, tips the beer back. He shoulders through a knot of kooks, lifting the mini–kegerator so they can slide a crate underneath. Easy grunt work, no mental load, no you.

He lingers while Topper lights the tiny mortar shells and pretends the metallic whine and powdery after-smell are interesting. But when a red bloom explodes overhead, he reflexively glances across the sand, searching for your silhouette backlit in crimson sparks.

He's only doing a headcount for field sober rides, starting a mental note list, a flimsy excuse to pace the shoreline, scanning for you.

Half an hour later, he’s wedged between the dunes with a handful of guys from Coastal. Somebody passes a pack. Rafe doesn’t usually smoke, but a spark feels good between his fingers right now. 

Nicotine scalds his lungs, settles meanly in his chest. He thinks about you swiping one of Ward’s cigars when you were fifteen, grinning around the fat thing like a cartoon villain.

Rafe had been furious; he is now, at the fact that memory tastes sweeter than the cigarette.

“Yo, Cameron,” one of the Coastal dudes says, “Your girl’s—”

“Not my girl,” Rafe clips.

“Whatever, bro. She’s down by the water, about to drown some chick.”

“Fuck’s sake."

 Rafe’s flicking the half-smoked cigarette into the sand. 

Not his girl, no his fucking problem. Except it is.

The sand is hot beneath his feet, damp against the rubber soles of his shoes as he jogs toward the water. His beer sloshes warm in his stomach, the bass from the speaker fades the further he gets, replaced by the rush of waves and the unmistakable tone of your voice.

He knows that tone.

You’re standing close to someone, body rigid, chin lifted, and then he sees her, familiar highlights, the baby voice.

His ex. Gemma, was it? Great.

He slows, trying to catch the tail end of whatever’s being said. You’re pointing now, nails flashing under moonlight, voice raised.

“—you think I don’t know what you’re doing? You’ve been staring since I walked in.”

“You walked in wearing nothing, sweetheart,” Gemma replies. “Don’t get mad at me just because he still doesn’t want you.”

Rafe has a second to register it before you're lunging forward, all teeth and fury and swinging limbs, not drunk-girl flailing. 

“Hey—” He surges forward and wraps an arm around your waist from behind, hauling you back as your fingers swipe air, inches from hair you were aiming to yank out. “Fucking chill—fuck, hey!”

You’re struggling in his grip, kicking sand, barking over your shoulder.

“I’m gonna talk to her—”

“Talk to her? With your fists?”

“She started it—"

He’s got you locked to his chest now, arms around your middle like a seatbelt, trying not to laugh.

“Yeah?” he huffs, lips brushing your ear. “Then how come I’m the one holdin’ you back right now?”

You stop squirming for him to think you’re done, then you kick backward and catch his shin with your heel.

"Fuckin' psycho.”

“Let go of me.”

“In a sec,” he mutters. “Soon as you stop channeling Mike Tyson.”

“You didn’t hear what she said.”

“I heard, alright.” He’s still laughing, with adrenaline. “Believe me, baby, the whole fucking beach heard.”

You wriggle harder at that, hissing something murderous, but he’s grinning against your neck now, too proud for a guy who claims to despise you on a good day.

You’re impulsive, you never do what he tells you. 

“Stop it,” he tuts, turning you toward him as your chest heaves. “What the hell got into you?”

“She was talking shit,” you snap, brushing sand off your thighs with a sharp flick of your hand.

“Me? You were the one hitting on him while we were together!”

Gemma’s not lying.

You lurch forward but Rafe catches you in time as you growl, glaring over his shoulder. 

“If I’d wanted him, I’d have had him.”

Unfortunately, that’s true. 

Rafe knows it like he knows his name; knows it in the worst, most inconvenient way. If you wanted him back then—even now—he wouldn’t stand a fucking chance. It makes him wonder what it would be like if you ever stopped playing and smiled at him genuinely. 

His arms tighten, effectively confining you. 

“Okay. Okay, nope. That’s enough.”

His ex laughs ugly. “Sweetheart, he hates you.”

You tilt your head, “Yeah?”

Yeah, he’s said that.

He said it to your face more times than he can count, and he meant it, too, mostly. But hearing it from his ex, delivered with venom, sounds ugly and brutal.

You’re not looking at him, you’re still smiling, but your posture has changed: shoulders slightly higher.

Rafe recalls the way he used to rant about you to his ex. He’d make it sound like you were this mosquito in his ear, a pest, only a problem.

But he never told her about the nights he’d spend re-reading your texts, never told her how his stomach twists in that specific way when you show up at his house every June.

He does hate you, but not the way she thinks.

“That’s enough,” he says again, directed at both of you.

Gemma shrugs, flippant. “Didn’t know you went for sluts now—”

Rafe’s head snaps toward her. “Shut the fuck up.”

“She tried to assault me!"

“Yeah,” Rafe says dryly, arms still wrapped around you, a rabid animal in a sequined bikini. “That’s why I grabbed her.”

She blinks. “So…?”

“So what?”

“So aren’t you gonna say something?”

He’s got one arm keeping you from tackling her and the other braced, in case he needs to start breaking up round two. 

His ex scoffs as you twist around to look at him, smirking even though you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar, but also bit the other kid who tried to take the last one.

Gemma all but cries out, “She threatened me, Rafe!”

“You kinda asked for it.”

You suck in a pleased little breath and lean into him.

“Aw, look at you defending me.”

“You’re taking her side? Rafe—Rafe—this is me. She’s just—”

“I’m not your boyfriend.”

Your head turns sharply to meet his eyes over your shoulder.

“I mean—fuck,” he mutters. “Not her boyfriend either.”

“Yikes,” you whisper, clearly delighted. “Say it with a little more venom next time, Romeo.”

“Shut up,” he hisses, releasing you like you’re radioactive.

You spin on your toes, unbothered, brushing imaginary dust off your chest.

“The fuck did I just say?” Rafe snaps, stepping between you fully now, body blocking like a shield. “Go.”

Gemma scoffs again, but there’s a wobble in it; she’s never seen this version of him.

“Unreal,” she mutters, backing off with that bitter, glossy pout.

He turns to you then, you’re still fuming, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged at the corner, hair wild from whatever scuffle nearly happened. You look insane. Gorgeous.

Rafe considers turning around and walking into the goddamn ocean.

You’re vibrating with leftover rage, a lit fuse with nowhere to burn. He knows you wanted the fight, and he’s never seen anything hotter in his entire life.

He should be pissed. 

Instead, he’s standing here with your voice still ringing in his ear and his palms tingling from where they touched you for so long.

He hadn’t meant to hold you that tight, to lean in close enough to smell your shampoo.

“You didn’t need to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts in, hating that you get to him. “You’re deranged.”

“You’re easy to rile up,” you hum, but it sounds like you’re complimenting him. “She thought you were going to play white knight for her. How embarrassing.”

“You think I forgot how she keyed my truck?”

“She said it was her cousin,” you reply, batting your lashes.

You both know it wasn’t. Rafe had to park backwards for three weeks so no one would see the dick and balls etched into his door.

He scrubs a hand down his face, trying to wipe the glee off it. 

“You’re so—fuck me, you’re so annoying.”

You step back before he can say anything else, turning on your heel and sashaying up the beach like nothing happened, like you didn’t almost throw hands with a girl you hardly know while he was trying to be a good fucking person.

He follows you.

You’re like poison in his bloodstream, something he can’t sweat out or sober up from. And maybe it’s the fight in you, or the chaos, or the way you never let him forget he’s still got a pulse, but fuck, he likes it.

“What did she say anyway?”

He won’t tell you he’s dying to get the gossip.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Rafey.”

You’re covering up half your body in that sheer little thing, and shit, if that isn’t distraction enough. It's clingier than a second skin, and the way it hugs your hip...Rafe’s trying to hide the gawking, but you got him slipping up like a rookie.

You’re already halfway to the chairs, tossing him a glance over your shoulder. He follows—obviously —dragging his gaze up from the curve of your ass because, goddammit, he’s better than this.

Supposed to be. But you make it impossible.

Then you stop, turn, and look at your face, and he knows you’re about to do something stupid.

You start untying your bikini top.

He chokes on air. 

“Okay. What the fuck?!"

You’re peeling it off like it’s nothing, teasing, playful, like the whole beach isn’t ten feet away. His head snaps side to side, checking if anyone’s watching, but you're too fast, shrugging it off your shoulders.

Rafe lunges. 

Instinct overrides logic, and he pounces on you, arms around your bare back, shielding your chest with his body like a human barricade. He’s cursing under his breath, tugging the damn cover-up closed around you like he’s saving a life.

"What are you doing?!”

You smile up at him, “What?”

His eyes are up, must stay up, and his whole body’s screaming.

You’re topless now, he can feel it. You lean in again, brushing your mouth near his ear like a dare. 

“I’m gonna skinny-dip.”

Rafe jerks back. “The fuck you are.”

“Why not?”

“Why—” He splutters, “Because I’m telling you not to, that’s why. Get dressed.”

You whine, long and drawn out, five seconds from throwing a tantrum. “Nooooooo.”

Rafe’s eyebrows lift so high they could fly off. “No?”

If he lets go, you’ll sprint naked into the waves and make him chase you.

“You’re not doing this,” he asserts, trying to be the adult, the voice of reason, while your bare skin is brushing his chest and he’s a second away from exploding.

You tilt your head. “You gonna stop me, big boy?”

He stares at you, glaring more like, but his fingers are twitching, his ears are red and his swim trunks are doing nothing to hide how much you’re getting to him.

You giggle, spinning out of his grip and sprinting toward the water, sheer cover-up fluttering behind you like a flag of war. He curses under his breath, watching the ridiculous bounce of your hips as you hit the surf, laughing like you haven’t just ruined his night, his plans, his fucking life.

“Get back here!” he shouts.

“Join me, you uptight asshole.” 

He’s already chasing you.

The water’s cold, or maybe it’s the shock of what he’s doing, running full speed into the ocean after a half-naked girl with no regard for public decency or his very fragile sense of self-control.

He should’ve left you back there, flashed the entire beach and dealt with the consequences. But no, he ran to you.

He splashes into the surf after you, muttering curses, saltwater hitting his chest as you twirl like a drunk mermaid just out of reach.

“I’m gonna fucking kill you,” he growls, wading closer.

You turn to face him, water just shy of your collarbone, yeah, he’s looking. Hair slicked back, eyes glittering with trouble, skin glistening in the moonlight—it’s cruel.

Your silhouette is bare and ethereal and not what his brain is equipped to handle right now.

“You didn’t have to follow me.”

“You’re naked.” His voice is strangled.

“So?”

“So—what if someone sees you?”

You swim closer, “Then maybe they’ll get a better look than you.”

.The ocean is dead quiet and his thoughts are just static and "fuck, she’s trying to end me."

He looks up, he has to, or he’s not gonna survive this. Your lips are quirked, that wicked smile that confesses you know what you’re doing to him.

 “You’re blushing.”

“I’m going to drown you.”

You laugh.

He closes his eyes like that’ll help. It doesn’t. When he opens them, you’re floating backward, arms splayed like you own the whole fucking ocean.

He follows and wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck he’s going to do if you ever stop letting him chase you.

He finally catches up, not because you slow down but because your laughter trips you up. A wave hits your back, you sputter, and he grabs your waist before you can go under.

You blink up at him, water streaming down your cheeks, eyelashes stuck together, looking like trouble wrapped in moonlight.

"Who was that guy earlier?"

The words come out clipped.

“What guy?”

“The one you were talking to.” His tone is flat, but his hands are gripping you harder now, afraid you’ll leave with the tide.

You stare at him, chest rising and falling with the ocean.

“My ex.”

He lets go of you, not all the way, enough to make the space feel colder than the water.

“You’re joking.”

You shake your head slowly.

He breathes out, long and bitter.

“You let that dumb motherfucker put his hands on you?”

You tilt your head, mock-thoughtful. 

“I mean…” You drag it out, “He is dumb.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare.

“But,” you add, features stretching wickedly, “He’s great in bed. Or in the back of his car, more like.”

Rafe blacks out for a second.

“You—” he chokes, about to throw a punch at a wave.

Your words play on a loop, over and over, some sick little horror movie with you as the star. The backseat. Of a car.

You, your laugh, your thighs, those sweet, breathy sounds you probably make when you’re teasing, when you're close—you gave that to him.

Rafe can’t stop it, his mind painting it out in vivid fucking detail: you gasping, legs draped over some busted seat, eyes fluttered shut, whispering someone else’s name while that idiot touched what he shouldn’t have even been allowed to look at.

He turns his face away from you. 

 “Don’t worry,” You confide in mercy, lips so lethal he swears the moon flinches. “I was thinking about you every single time.”

Then, you float backward, arms spread like a siren, meant to leave that wreckage in your wake. 

He’s still burning when you disappear into the water.

[paisleypens]

hii i love your writing sm!!

would you write a love it blind board game spencerxcastreader?? i can almost see it like if spencer had a crush on reader and they have absolutely no idea so he tries to make it obvious in the game and then it’s just super fluffy and cute at the end of the game??

love is blind… or blurry | spencer agnew x reader

you find out your colleague has a crush on you through an unlikely combination of pods, engagements, and improv

⸻

The moment you walked onto the Smosh Games set, you knew it was going to be another gloriously chaotic day.

Courtney was already spinning in a cape, Shayne was scribbling fake poetry into a leather journal, and someone had set off the fog machine way too early. Classic.

It was Love is Blind: The Board Game—round three. At this point, the crew had ditched any attempt at playing it straight. Now it was just an excuse for everyone to dress up in unhinged characters and flirt badly in front of cameras. You adjusted your clipboard (labeled "Red Flags") and gave a mock-serious nod to Spencer, who had just emerged wearing a turtleneck and a tragically earnest expression.

He smiled at you—half in character, half not.

“Ready to fall blindly in love?” he asked.

“Only if it’s ironically,” you shot back.

“Is there any other way?”

⸻

The Pods Phase

“What’s your ideal date night?” you read aloud, checking the options. “Something adventurous, something cozy, or something chaotic.”

You circled “cozy,” of course. Your character didn’t believe in grand gestures or jumping off cliffs for love. Across the room, Spencer smiled to himself. He also chose “cozy,” then scribbled in the margins: “with someone who makes silence feel like music.”

Trevor, peeking over a shoulder with his magnifying glass, muttered, “Suspicious.”

Shayne stood up dramatically. “This question… it wounds me! For how can a man know his perfect date when he hath never known love?”

“Sit down, creep,” Angela deadpanned. “You said that exact line last time.”

⸻

The Proposal Phase

Courtney waved her arms. “It is now time to choose… your person. The one your spirit calls out for… blindly.”

You were flipping through your notes when a ring box slid toward you across the table.

You looked up.

Spencer was holding out a second ring box in your direction, avoiding eye contact in a way that was half in-character, half… not.

“In the silence of the pods, I heard a voice. Steady, smart, and skeptical. It sounded a lot like… you,” he said in character, but his voice wavered just slightly.

You laughed, raising an eyebrow. “That’s either a really good improv line… or you’re actually trying to propose to me.”

Spencer shrugged, cheeks a little red. “Can’t it be both?”

Courtney gasped. “Wait. Is this—”

“STAY IN CHARACTER,” Angela shouted.

You smirked. “Alright, I accept your ironically sincere proposal.”

⸻

The Apartments Phase

Now in “couples mode,” you and Spencer were seated together, side by side, answering more questions. The goal: match answers and earn hearts.

“What’s your go-to comfort food?” you asked.

“Mac and cheese,” you both said at the exact same time.

Angela rolled her eyes. “That was suspiciously in sync.”

“Probably rehearsed,” Shayne said, pretending to take notes for his novel.

Next question: “What’s your biggest fear in a relationship?”

You glanced at Spencer.

He hesitated, then said softly, “Being too afraid to say how I feel.”

You blinked. You had written the same thing.

Trevor leaned over the couch. “I swear, if this is a bit, it’s the best slow burn we’ve done on the channel.”

You and Spencer both laughed, shoulders brushing slightly. His hand lingered close to yours on the table.

⸻

It was time for the final tally. Couples who reached ten hearts won the game. You and Spencer had eleven.

Courtney gasped. “They’re the winners!”

Angela smirked. “Of course they are. Spencer’s been extra weird today.”

As the video wrapped, Spencer pulled you aside stopping you from leaving the set.

“Hey,” he said, a little quieter than before, the character slipping away.

You turned to look at him.

“I know we were joking around in the game, but, uh… I wasn’t really kidding about the part where I picked you because I like you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve kinda had a crush on you for a while.”

Your face warmed. “You… actually meant all that poetry stuff?”

“Okay, the poetry was mostly garbage,” he said with a laugh. “But yeah. The cozy dates? The matching answers? That was all me.”

You smiled. “So… was this your master plan to ask me out? Through a Love is Blind board game parody?”

He shrugged. “Smosh Games is my love language.”

You bit your lip, trying not to grin too hard. “Then yeah, I’d love to go out with you. No ironic characters. Just us.”

⸻

thanks for reading! this took me for EVER because i really really wanted to get this formatting right and i adored this prompt <3

[midnightquips]

Flight Risk

Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: For you, Bob Floyd is just the kind of guy you want. Smart. Sweet. Soft-spoken. The kind that won't break your heart. For Bob, you're the kind of woman that takes his breath away. Calm. Cool. Stunning. The kind you'd want to sweep off her feet. So this should be easy, right? Right?

Themes: Dagger Squad teasing, slow burn, jealousy, sexual tension, meddling

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, explicit sexual content, nsfw, praise kink, soft aftercare, oral sex, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

Author's Note: Sometimes I feel I get too caught up in the slow burn that I feel this pace is too fast. But come on, Bob deserves some love. Don't y'all agree? Would love to hear your thoughts. ❤︎

💫 Flight Risk Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Chapter 3: High Stakes

It starts with a look.

You walk into the hangar, fresh from a debrief, sipping coffee from your dented thermos when Bob glances up from across the room. His eyes catch yours like a magnet. It’s just a flick of connection but enough to spark something. You smile. So does he.

It should be nothing. But it feels like everything.

You're not touching. You're not even standing close. But your skin hums like he's brushing against you. You don’t miss the way Phoenix clocks it instantly.

“Y/N,” she drawls as you approach, “you’re practically sparkling.”

You roll your eyes, tucking your thermos under your arm. “Must be the jet fuel.”

She grins. “Uh huh.”

Everyone's already gathering for the morning briefing. Rooster is fiddling with his flight gloves. Hangman is pretending he’s not eavesdropping from behind a clipboard. Payback and Fanboy are mid-argument about who’s late more often.

Bob stands beside his locker, trying not to look obvious. But when you pass by, you brush your hand across his lower back like it’s second nature.

And maybe now, it kind of is.

The next few days are more of the same but louder, bolder.

You and Bob end up partnered for inspections, simulator drills, and gear checks. It should feel routine, but the air between you crackles. You're both good at pretending it's all professional, but the way he watches you when he thinks no one’s looking? It gives everything away.

“Hey Floyd,” Fanboy calls out on the second day, watching Bob fumble a wrench. “You always this chatty when checking fuses?”

Bob stiffens. You just smirk.

“I bring out the best in him,” you say without missing a beat.

Payback whistles. “More like the blushing.”

Phoenix, overhead, doesn’t even look up from her notes. “He’s been blushing for three weeks. You’re just late to the party.”

Hangman strolls by, flicking Bob’s shoulder. “Down bad, Lieutenant.”

Bob mutters something under his breath. You catch his eye, amused, and mouth: You okay?

He gives you a subtle nod and a faint smile. Worth it.

By day three, things escalate.

Bob joins you for lunch in the base cafeteria. You’re seated at a quiet corner table, picking through fries when he appears with a tray and a nervous smile.

“Is this seat taken?” he asks.

You gesture at the empty chair with a smile. “It is now.”

He sits, close enough that your knees bump under the table. 

He takes a sip of his drink and glances sideways at you. “You always sit alone like this?”

You pop a fry into your mouth. “Only when I’m hoping someone will come flirt with me.”

Bob’s smile curves, soft but full of meaning. “How’s that going so far?”

You glance at him over the rim of your drink. “Promising.”

He shifts closer, his thigh brushing yours under the table. The warmth makes you very aware of how small the table actually is. When he picks up one of your fries without asking, you raise an eyebrow.

“Bold move, Lieutenant.”

He shrugs, chewing. “You said I should be more confident.”

You lean in just slightly, enough to let your shoulder graze his. “Careful. I might start liking it.”

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth, then flick back up. “Noted.”

You laugh, a quiet, breathy sound. He watches you like he wants to bottle it.

You swear he’s about to reach for your hand at one point, but instead he lets his fingers hover close to yours on the table, pinkies nearly touching. It’s nothing, and somehow everything.

“You always this charming on base?” you ask.

Bob smiles shyly. “Only around you.”

You feel your stomach flutter and bite your lip to hide the smile spreading across your face.

That night, after drills, Kari and Iris don’t even ask. They just look at you across the locker room bench with smug, satisfied expressions.

“Well?” Kari says, arching an eyebrow.

“Well what?” you ask, toweling off.

Iris grins. “Is he a good kisser?”

You freeze mid-swipe, then glance around to make sure no one’s eavesdropping.

Kari hoots. “That’s a yes.”

You throw your towel at her. “You’re both terrible.”

“But we’re right,” Iris says.

You sigh, sitting down and pulling your hair into a bun.

“He seems to be more daring now. Touching your back and everything,” Kari adds.

“I saw it,” Iris nods. “Like, full hand. No hovering.”

You groan. “You guys are exhausting.”

“But also correct,” Iris grins.

You laugh, trying to play it off. But your stomach flips anyway.

Because they're right.

And whatever this is—you’re not hiding it as well as you thought.

Bob is late to the break room and immediately regrets it.

“Finally,” Payback says, tossing a stress ball from hand to hand. “Lieutenant Slow Burn has arrived.”

“Have you even bought her flowers?” Fanboy grins.

Bob walks straight to the coffee pot and tries to become invisible. He does take note of the flowers though.

“Seriously though,” Rooster pipes in, leaning back in his chair with a toothpick between his lips, “what’s your play here, man?”

Bob glances up. “What do you mean?”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. “He means... what exactly are you doing with Y/N?”

Bob hesitates. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow?” Hangman echoes. “Buddy, tectonic plates move faster.”

Payback laughs. “She clearly likes you. You like her. So why do you keep acting like you’re waiting for a permission slip from Command?”

“I don’t want to rush her,” Bob says quietly.

Fanboy shrugs. “What makes you think you’re the one pushing the pace?”

That quiets the room. Bob glances around, suddenly unsure.

Phoenix softens. “Look, we know you’re careful. That’s why we trust you. But Y/N? She’s the kind who won’t wait around forever. And this is a Navy base. People notice her. Someone else might make a move.”

Bob stiffens slightly. Something flickers in his jaw.

Hangman smirks. “And she’s hot. Don’t fumble this.”

Rooster nods. “You like her? Show her.”

Bob sets down his coffee, determination renewed. “I will.”

He asks you out the next morning.

Not to dinner. Not to the Hard Deck. A picnic.

Just off base, in a quiet clearing tucked behind tall grass and weathered fencing. There’s a checkered blanket, sandwiches in brown paper, iced tea in mason jars. A small speaker playing soft oldies. It’s low-key, thoughtful. Perfect.

You wear a short sundress. It’s casual but cute. The breeze toys with the hem, brushing softly against your thighs as you settle on the blanket barefoot, the sun warming your skin. Bob notices immediately. His gaze lingers longer than usual.

He sets everything out beside you, his movements careful but relaxed.

“I didn’t know you had this in you,” you murmur, taking a sip of tea.

He sits cross-legged, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. “I had help.”

You glance at him. “Phoenix?”

“And Fanboy. They’re... terrifyingly invested.”

You laugh. “Well, they did good.”

For a while, it’s quiet. You eat. Talk about anything but you two. He listens when you rant about a delayed supply drop. You listen when he describes a ridiculous new maintenance protocol.

Then he shifts.

“Can I tell you something?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Always.”

Bob leans forward just slightly, his fingers toying with the edge of the picnic blanket. “You looked really pretty this morning.”

You blink. “That so?”

He nods. “That bun you had? The lip balm?” He clears his throat. “Distracting.”

You smile. “You’re noticing things.”

He tilts his head. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” you say, suddenly softer. “You’re hard to read.”

He leans in a little more, his voice low. “I notice everything about you, Y/N.”

That makes your stomach flip.

Then he reaches out, fingertips grazing the hem of your sundress where it rests on your thigh. His touch is light, almost idle, but deliberate. He glances up at you as his fingers trail the edge.

“This dress…” he murmurs, “it’s really working for me.”

Your breath catches. The brush of his fingers alone makes heat rise to your cheeks.

He leans in, lips just beside your ear. “You look irresistible.”

You pull back slightly, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

He grins. “You heard me.”

“You’re getting bold.”

Bob shrugs, his eyes locked on yours. “You make it hard not to be.”

You’re still flushed when he leans back, sipping from his juice like he didn’t just make you forget how to breathe.

Later, he drives you home. The silence in the car is warm and charged. Your fingers graze his on the center console. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he presses back.

At your door, you pause. “Wanna come in?”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The second the door closes, his mouth is on yours. You stumble back against the couch as he follows, hands on your hips, backing you into the cushions. You fall together, laughing softly between kisses.

His mouth finds your neck. You gasp.

“God,” you breathe, “you’re really going for it today.”

He pulls back just enough to say, “I’m done hesitating.”

You tug him in by the collar.

Your thighs spread to straddle him, knees bracketing his hips. The hem of your sundress rides higher as you settle into his lap. His hands slide up instinctively—starting at your knees, gliding over your bare thighs, slow and firm.

He kisses you again, deeper this time. Hotter. Mouth open, breath quick. His hands move up to your waist, then back down, then up again, greedy for contact.

You’re not sure where your hands end up—his shoulders, his neck, his chest—but you can’t stop touching him. Can’t stop wanting.

He pulls your dress higher, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. His mouth is on your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

You whimper when he bites gently at your neck.

“God,” he whispers. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

You shiver. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

You roll your hips again, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut. His hands clutch your thighs tighter. You reach for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. His hands suddenly hold yours, stilling it.

“I need to stop,” he says, barely above a whisper.

You nod, even though every nerve in your body protests. “Okay.”

You stay there, panting together, still tangled in each other. You understand, you really do. But it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t leave you frustrated.

You untangle yourself off him, then rest your head on his shoulders. His fingers intertwined with yours. 

He gives you another soft kiss. “I’m gonna go or else I’m never going to leave.”

You smile softly. “Never wanted you anyway.”

He chuckles and nods in agreement. He gets up slowly and walks to the door. He looks at you one last time before you close the door behind him. You lean against it for a long moment.

Happy but also confused. Unsure whether maybe this is becoming one-sided.

Bob doesn’t sleep that night. He lies awake, berating himself. Why did he stop? Was it fear? Was it self-sabotage? Was he reading into things too much?

She’d wanted him. You’d pulled him in and kissed him like you meant it.

He groans into his pillow. He knows you deserved clarity. You deserved more. But why can’t he take that next step?

The next day, you find Kari and Iris already mid-conversation when you enter the locker room.

“Morning,” you mutter, grabbing your towel.

Iris narrows her eyes. “You’re quiet.”

“Everything okay?” Kari asks.

You pause, then sigh. “Yeah. I think so.”

Iris lifts a brow. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You sit on the bench, pulling your hoodie tighter. “It’s just… maybe he’s not as into this as I thought.”

Kari blinks. “Wait, what? I would have thought you guys were already making out in every corner of the base.”

You groan. “Well… That’s the issue. We can’t seem to move past the making out.”

Iris leans forward. “Maybe because he actually respects you? And wants to do this right?”

You sigh. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being easy but I just thought it would feel more clear to him by now.”

Kari exchanges a glance with Iris.

Later that afternoon, unknown to you, Iris and Kari find Phoenix and Rooster leaning by the lockers. They’ve decided that perhaps it’s about time for some meddling.

“You two want to help give Bob a little nudge?” Iris asks.

Rooster smirks. “Always.”

Phoenix crosses her arms. “What’s the plan?”

Kari grins. “Make him jealous. Just enough to wake him up.”

Phoenix laughs. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”

It starts with whispered coordination.

Iris corners Kari by the locker room sinks. “It’s time.”

Kari doesn’t even hesitate. “Rooster?”

“Already on board.”

Phoenix joins a moment later, arms crossed and smirking. “You sure this’ll work?”

Kari grins. “Nothing lights a fire like a little competition.”

The Hard Deck is busy but not packed, music humming low and lights warm as always.

You sit at the bar with Phoenix and Iris, sipping a beer and laughing, unaware of the machinations swirling around you. You’re wearing a soft blouse tucked into fitted shorts that show off you legs. It’s casual, comfortable, and gorgeous without trying. You’re relaxed, even glowing, the kind of smile that makes people turn their heads.

Rooster waves someone over. “Y/N, this is Mason. He’s new to the team.”

Mason is good-looking in the clean-cut way. Confident but not cocky. He shakes your hand and falls into conversation easily. 

You think he’s charming. He doesn’t have the appeal that Bob has on you but he leans in just enough when you talk that it’s not hard to get into the conversation. He says something genuinely funny that makes you laugh, makes you forget a bit that there’s an aviator who’s still confused about you. Perhaps a little distraction won’t hurt, right?

Bob walks in ten minutes later, shrugging off his jacket as he scans the room. He finds laughing. Lit up with someone who isn’t him. His chest tightens.

He heads toward the pool table, trying to play it cool, but Phoenix sees him immediately. Her eyes follow his line of sight, and her lips curve like she’s been expecting this.

Hangman nudges Bob’s elbow with his drink. “That guy’s been at it for a good fifteen minutes. Pretty sure he’s making progress.”

Bob’s jaw works silently as he watches.

Mason leans closer, murmuring something in your ear. You laugh again, nudging his shoulder. When he touches your elbow in return, Bob’s hand curls into a fist around his glass.

He watches for another moment. He sees how easy you are with him, how comfortable. It gnaws at him. That should’ve been him sitting there, making you laugh like that. He knows you guys are not exclusive but why does it make his chest tighten thinking about the possibility that someone else might call you his? Maybe he can only blame his self doubt for this.

He knows it’s ridiculous and he’s never been possessive. But when finally, you rest your chin on your hand and smile at Mason like you’re genuinely enjoying yourself, Bob moves.

He walks over, casual but purposeful, and stops behind her barstool.

“Hey,” he says, voice low.

You turn, startled at first. Then your expression shifts. “Bob—hey.”

Mason senses the shift instantly. He stands, offers a friendly nod and backs up slowly. “I’ll let you two catch up.”

You smile at him to wave him off.

You turn to Bob with a flicker of surprise. “You okay?”

He leans a forearm on the bar beside you, gaze steady. “Didn’t expect to see you with someone new.”

Your brow lifts slightly. “Mason? He’s Rooster’s friend. He just got transferred here.”

Bob nods slowly, but doesn’t move away. “He’s... charming.”

You tilt your head in confusion. “He is.”

There’s a beat.

Bob’s eyes flick to your lips. “I didn’t realize you were looking.”

The irritation rises within you, hot and fast.

You straighten your back. “I’m not looking.”

Bob’s gaze returns to your eyes, questioning but quiet.

“You think I’m out here trying to find someone else?” you ask, voice low but sharp. “After everything?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He knows you're right.

“I’ve made it pretty damn clear who I want,” you add, standing up. “You’re the one who keeps acting like you’re not sure.”

You grab your bag, brushing past him.

“Y/N—”

“Good night, Bob.”

You don’t respond to his texts.

You kick off your boots when you get home, toss your bag onto the change and change into a soft take and cotton shorts. Your hair out of its clip, cascading over your shoulder while you brush it. You’re simmering with irritation. Where does he even get the audacity to question you like that?

You stare at your reflection in the mirror, frustration painted across your face. What more could you do? You believe you’ve shown enough interest in him. 

Then… A knock. It’s sharp. Urgent.

You walk out of your room and look at the door. You hesitate while walking to the door. Opening it slightly, you find Bob standing there. Surprise overtakes you and you slowly open it until your fully standing in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice soft but stern. Arms crossed in front of your chest.

 Bob doesn’t say anything. He only steps forward, cups your face, and kisses you.

There’s nothing soft or hesitant about it this time. And it’s devastating.

His mouth crashes into yours with weeks of restraint burning away. One hand in your hair, the other gripping your hip as you stumble back into the apartment, gasping against his lips.

He kicks the door shut behind him. Your back hits the wall, and he pins you there with his body, pressing every line of himself against you.

Your hands tangle in his shirt, dragging it up, and his groan vibrates between you. His fingers dig into you thighs, then sweep up to your waist, bunching the hem of your tank as he kisses you deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

“You were right,” he pants against your lips. “I’ve been holding back. But I’m not anymore.”

You don’t answer with words. Just pull him down again, your kiss fiercer now, fingers trailing along his belt. You exhale softly when he sucks gently at you neck.

When you finally break for air, he leans his forehead to your, chest heaving.

“I’m sure now,” he whispers.

You stare up at him, dazed and pink-lipped.

“You better be.”

Another pause. You hand finds his. And this time, you lead him inside.

Taglist: @jesterghuleh @sorry75 @midnighttithe @sneak-fic @Arriii @thatonedogwithablog @dragoste-lunes @yellowjm @kniselle @werockyeah @tgmreader @cummun1sta @holymacaroni84 @mericas-ass @rainymitskicain @wowitsafemale @jonnybernthalslover @funkyfable @msbyjackal @yaaawswn @luminous-beings-are-we-not @rikr3d@roc-haze

[yvaineseleneposts]

When it rains

Requested: no

Pairing: Jack Hughes x reader

Words: 1k

Warning(s): none

Jack Hughes didn’t usually go to bookstores. Not because he didn’t like them, he did. Quietly. Secretly. But life had got so loud in the past few years that it felt like he had forgotten how to enjoy anything that wasn’t game tape, protein shakes, or a plane ride to somewhere new.

But there was something about this one, tucked into a corner of Montclair, small but curated like someone actually cared, that pulled him in on a slow Tuesday afternoon. Hoodie up, sunglasses on. Anonymous enough, he hoped. He didn’t expect anyone to talk to him. That was kind of the point. So when the girl behind the counter looked up and said, “You look like the kind of guy who buys poetry and pretends not to read it,” he blinked.

She didn’t know who he was. Or if she did, she didn’t care.

“I—uh, I wasn’t pretending,” he said, already fumbling.

She grinned. “Relax. I think it’s cool. Most guys come in here looking confused and leave with a coffee-stained paperback of Bukowski.”

Jack laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Okay, I was going to buy Bukowski. But now I feel like I need to prove I have range.”

She slid a copy of Ocean Vuong’s Night Sky with Exit Wounds across the counter without a word.

When he left the store twenty minutes later, the book was in his hand, and her name, written in small, looping handwriting on a post-it note, was in his pocket.

He didn’t go back for ten days. He told himself he was busy. Practice. Travel. Life. But the truth was simpler: he didn’t want to seem obvious. When he did return, she didn’t act surprised.

“Back for more sad poetry?” she asked.

“Back for something,” he said, then immediately wished he’d picked different words.

She didn’t flinch. Just raised an eyebrow and said, “Let me guess — something that makes you feel smart but not too sad?”

“Sure,” Jack replied. “Something that makes me look like I have emotions but still, like, emotionally repress them.”

She laughed, and he remembered the sound more than anything he read that night.

The third time, he stayed longer. She was shelving returns when he wandered in, but she waved him toward the front.

“There’s coffee in the back,” she said. “Not good coffee. But warm.”

He took it, sipped it, winced. She smirked.

They talked about nothing for a while, her favourite books, his favourite cities (he didn’t say he’d played in most of them), the weird quiet that settles in on rainy afternoons.

He didn’t flirt. She didn’t either. But their words started to circle something softer. Not a crush. Not yet. Just that rare kind of comfort that sneaks up on you.

Before he left, she said, “You always come in when it rains.”

Jack glanced outside. “I guess I like quiet places when the world’s loud.”

She tilted her head, almost smiling. “Yeah. Me too.”

They didn’t exchange numbers until the fifth visit.

Not because they were playing games, but because it hadn’t felt necessary. The bookstore became their middle ground no label, no pressure. Just a place to be.

But that day, something felt different.

“I’ve got to close early tomorrow,” she said, fiddling with a receipt. “My cousin’s getting married. Which is weird, because she’s my age, and I still eat cereal for dinner.”

Jack smiled. “What kind of cereal?”

“Froot Loops. Obviously.”

He laughed, then hesitated. “Do you... want to text me? If you ever want to talk about cereal, I mean.”

She didn’t hesitate. She slid her phone across the counter. “Only if you promise not to send me hockey memes.”

“No promises,” he said, already typing.

They texted more than he expected. Not all day. Not always deep. But enough.

A photo of the sky from the rink. A blurry cat she saw on the pavement. A quote from a book he didn’t understand but said he liked anyway.

Jack started showing up more. Sometimes with coffee, sometimes with no reason at all. The bookstore always smelled like paper and cinnamon tea. He liked that.

She never asked about hockey. He never brought it up.

Until one day, she was watching the news on her break and froze.

“That’s you,” she said, eyes wide. “That’s literally you on the screen.”

Jack looked sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry.”

She stared for a second. “You didn’t think that might be relevant information?”

“I liked being just a guy who likes poetry,” he said. “Not someone people yell at in airports.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Then she leaned across the counter and whispered, “You’re still that guy. You just happen to be really fast on skates.”

It changed after that, but not in a bad way.

They still texted. Still talked books and bad coffee. But she started watching his games quietly, alone, never live tweeting like fans do. Just watching.

When he’d play well, she’d send one line: You looked like you.

When he didn’t, she’d still text: Still your best fan. Still Froot Loops for dinner.

It grounded him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

One night, she closed the store late. He offered to walk her home. It was cold, that kind of pre-winter chill that bites at your cheeks.

They didn’t talk much. But halfway down the block, she slipped her hand into his.

“Your hand’s freezing,” he said.

“Your hoodie is thin,” she shot back.

“Do you want it?”

She stopped walking. Looked at him, really looked.

And then, quietly, “I want you to kiss me.”

He did. No flash. No music. Just the soft crunch of snow underfoot and the sound of her breath catching in the space between them.

Jack Hughes didn’t usually go to bookstores. But now, every time it rained — or didn’t — he found himself there. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes they didn’t. But every time, she looked at him like he was just Jack, not a highlight reel, not a jersey, not a headline. And somehow, that was the thing he’d always needed most.

[liveyun]

ALMOST, ALWAYS

You love him first. You love him hardest. He never loves you at all.

pairing. jeon jungkook x oc (no gender specified)

genre. mature, angst, hurt/no comfort

warnings. jungkook and oc are both adults here! unrequited love (like... real bad), toxic fwb kinda situationship, overthinking, jungkook is emotionally unavailable, hints to insecurities/self image, toxic attachment, yearninggg, a lot of quiet heartbreak, no fluff :,)

wc. ~1.2k

────────────────────────

He always came to you when the sky was gloomy.

The first night it happened, it was raining. The kind that sounded like the universe was pouring their cosmic heart out to the earth, a dull roar that drowned out your thoughts. You were wrapped in a blanket on the couch, scrolling past the fourth rom-com you didn’t have the energy to watch, when your phone lit up.

[00:28]

jungkook 🤍 : u up?

Of course you were. You always were.

You told yourself it was just casual. He made that clear the first time he kissed you — soft and slow and like a promise he never meant to keep.

But still, you let him in. Let him take you. Let him moan your name, let him hold you after the highs of the pleasure subsided.

You let him do it all.

────────────────────────

You met him at a friend’s party, pop music thrumming through the floorboards and lights blinding your soul. Drunk bodies mingled with eachother, and the whole place reeked of booze. He was laughing at something someone said, wearing a denim jacket with nothing underneath, and you could hear girls chatting about him like they were the paparazzi.

You weren’t the girl who caught his attention at the first glance. But he did, almost when it was the end of the party.

“You’re quiet,” he’d said, when you were nursing your drink in the corner. You were surprised you were approached at all.

“You’re loud,” you’d replied.

He grinned like you’d just told him a secret.

That was all it took. One smile. One night.

One text that said come over, and you did.

Like always.

────────────────────────

You tried to be smart.

You swore to your friends it was nothing. “We’re just hooking up,” you’d say. “It’s not a big deal.” But you knew it was a lie the second you let him inside your apartment like you always do. The moment he pulled your sweatshirt over your head and called your name like it meant something.

He never stayed the night. But sometimes, if you asked quietly enough, he’d stay just a little longer. And that was enough for you.

For a while.

────────────────────────

It was once in a blue moon when he was in your apartment and you two weren’t fucking.

His body warmth was so close to you — your thighs brushing his knees as he sat beside you, slurping up some udon noodles which you were having for dinner. It was raining outside, and everything — him — had you feeling soft for some reason. It felt domestic, it felt warm.

The conversation was light and easy going, till he told you that he wasn’t “built for relationships.” Said it like a joke, like he wasn’t breaking something when he did.

“I’m just not good at that stuff,” he’d said as he’d switched between tv channels mindlessly. “Too much pressure.”

You nodded. Said you understood.

But in your chest, your heart whispered, I could be easy to love. If you let me.

If only he would.

────────────────────────

The first time he disappeared for days, you stared at your phone like it owed you an answer. He hadn’t blocked you.

Just. . . . gone quiet. Vanished.

When he finally came back, all he said was: “Sorry. Things got messy.”

You didn’t ask what things. You just opened the door and let him in.

As always.

────────────────────────

There were others, as obvious they were and as oblivious you pretended to be. You never had proof, but you didn’t need it. The late-night texts, the half-lies, the lipstick on his collar that wasn’t yours, the mixture of overwhelmingly sweet perfumes which he smelled of — they were enough.

Still, when he touched you, you forgot. That was the problem.

You remembered everything until he kissed you — and then you remembered nothing but him.

You let yourself burn in the flames of a man named Jeon Jungkook.

────────────────────────

You loved him first. You loved him hardest.

You remembered his favourite character being hello kitty, the name of his childhood dog, the way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was nervous. You noticed the scar on his cheek, the way he was terrible at goodbyes, the way his whole body twitched when he was just about to fall asleep.

He remembered your apartment code. That was about it.

────────────────────────

You finally said it on a Thursday night. Not I love you. You weren’t that reckless.

But you said, “I think I like you.”

Jungkook looked up from your bedsheets, blinking slow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t say it back.

He didn’t say anything at all.

Just leaned in, kissed you, and made you forget why it hurt so much.

As always.

────────────────────────

You stayed anyway.

Because sometimes, he held you like he didn’t want to let go. Because sometimes, when he looked at you, it felt like the air shifted. Your heart raced, like the idiot it was.

You told yourself that meant something.

It didn’t.

────────────────────────

At a party, months later, you saw it for what it was. He was laughing with a girl you didn’t know, arm draped lazily around her shoulders. She giggled like she’d already memorized the sound of his voice.

She was beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. He was handsome. And somehow, he looked happy. Happier than you’ve ever seen him to be.

You stood in the kitchen, plastic cup trembling in your hand.

He looked up. Saw you. Smiled. Grinned.

Not an apology. Nothing. Just a smile.

Later, when you found him outside, you asked, “Is she the reason you’ve been distant?”

He blinked at you like you’d said the most ridiculous thing ever to be known to mankind. “Don’t start catching feelings.”

You just stood and looked at him then, really looked.

And for the first time, you saw the truth.

He had never even tried to like you.

────────────────────────

Still, that night, you let him in.

He showed up at your door like always. No explanation. No excuses. Just the quiet but rushed knock you had memorized.

You hesitated.

But you opened the door.

...as always.

He didn’t kiss you like he loved you. But he kissed you like he knew he’d always be let in.

You let it happen. You didn’t ask him to stay. You didn’t ask him to mean it.

Later, when he was asleep beside you, you stared at the ceiling.

It was silent. Cold. Final.

You turned to look at him — this boy you had broken yourself for. This boy who had never once asked you to.

You whispered, “I love you.”

He didn’t hear it.

He never did.

────────────────────────

In the morning, he was gone.

You were still staring at his text screen, his last message being three days old.

That was the last time he texted you.

-

You sat on the floor of your apartment, his absence booming louder than his presence ever did. It didn’t feel like heartbreak. It didnt feel like anything.

You stared at his name in your phone. Stared at the thread full of one-sided memories.

There was a very weird ache in the centre of your chest. Like a barbed wire wrapped around your heart, squeezing the muscle with each moment as it splurted out the pain out of you.

It took you a second to delete his nunber. Not to forget him, but to remind yourself he was never really there.

-

You still love him. You still ache for him. You still hope that you’ll hear those three knocks on your door at 2 AM.

Even when you know the aching truth.

He didn’t ruin you. He didn’t destroy you.

He never broke your heart — he just never planned to keep it.

────────────────────────

A few days pass. Things don’t really improve, but you don’t cry. You just stop looking at the door like it’s going to open itself.

Then one night, at 2:14 a.m., there’s a knock.

Soft. Familiar. Three gentle taps, spaced just far enough apart to make your chest tighten.

You don’t move.

You stay on the floor, back against the wall, blanket wrapped around your shoulders more as a habit than a need.

The knocks continue. Once. Twice. Then they stop.

You wait another hour in the quiet, but the knocks dont return.

That drags you down the realisation, once again, that you were never his.

You were just a place he came to feel wanted.

────────────────────────

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hi! Your writing is superb and I love your fic with the reader and Crosshair bantering. Do you think you could do a Crosshair x Fem!reader where she finally gets him flustered and blushing? Maybe a bit of spice at the end if that’s ok? Xx

“Right on Target”

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Warnings: No explicit smut, but it’s definitely mature

⸻

Crosshair was used to being in control—of his aim, of his surroundings, of people. He liked it that way.

What he didn’t like was how you always had a retort ready for him, sharp as the toothpick between his teeth.

“Your stalking’s getting obvious, sharpshooter,” you drawled, slinging your rifle over your shoulder as he fell into step beside you. “Didn’t know you liked watching me walk that much.”

“I wasn’t watching you walk,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So you were watching my ass. Got it.”

He glanced away, jaw tight, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

Score one.

“You’re lucky I’m into grumpy, brooding types who pretend they don’t care.”

“I don’t.”

“Mmhm,” you said, voice thick with amusement. “That why you always hover when I’m patching up, or growl when I flirt with other clones?”

He stopped walking. You didn’t. Not until he grabbed your wrist, tugging you back with just enough force to make it known he was done playing.

“I don’t growl.”

“Oh, honey,” you smirked, stepping in close. “You practically purr when you’re jealous.”

His eyes narrowed, but his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips. You hadn’t meant to touch his chest—but your hand was there now, and he wasn’t moving.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low.

You tilted your head. “Why? You gonna shoot me?”

“No. But I might do something you’ll like.”

You gave him a slow, wicked grin. “That’s the idea.”

And that’s when it happened—the blush. Subtle at first, just a dusting of pink across those high cheekbones. But you saw it. He knew you saw it.

“You’re blushing,” you whispered, grinning like you’d just landed a perfect headshot.

He scoffed. “It’s hot in here.”

“We’re on Hoth.”

Silence. You let it stretch. Delicious, victorious silence.

“…You gonna keep staring, or—”

You silenced him with a kiss—soft, heated, and just enough tongue to make his breath hitch. His hand gripped your waist in reflex, grounding, needing.

“You gonna let me keep talking like that,” you breathed against his lips, “or are you finally gonna shut me up properly?”

He backed you into the nearest wall faster than you could blink, lips crashing against yours harder this time, heat surging between you both like a live wire. When he pulled back, his voice was husky, feral.

“Be careful what you ask for.”

You smirked, heart hammering. “Right on target.”

The wall was cold at your back, but Crosshair was not.

His body pressed flush to yours, lean and strong, caging you in with one hand braced above your head and the other gripping your hip like you might slip through his fingers if he didn’t anchor you.

“You’ve got a real smart mouth,” he muttered, voice dark and ragged.

“I know,” you breathed, dragging your nails lightly down the front of his blacks. “You like it.”

He growled—a low, almost feral sound—then tilted your chin up with his gloved fingers and kissed you again. This time, there was no holding back. Teeth, tongue, heat. He kissed like he fought—focused, controlled, but with a dangerous edge that said he might snap.

You wanted him to snap.

Your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, dragging along the sharp dip of his waist. His abs flexed beneath your touch, and his breath caught.

“What’s wrong, Cross?” you purred, nipping at his jaw. “You usually have so much to say.”

“I’m busy shutting you up,” he rasped.

And oh—he did.

His hands were everywhere now, sliding up your thighs, gripping your hips, tugging you closer. You rolled your hips against his and felt just how not unaffected he was. The air between you grew hot, heavy, thick with need.

“You wanna keep teasing,” he whispered in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “I’ll make good on every threat I’ve ever made.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the promise laced in his tone. He sounded dangerous. And you? You’d never wanted anything more.

“I dare you.”

He chuckled, low and rough, and it did something to you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Oh, I do,” you said, curling your fingers in his shirt and pulling him closer. “And I want all of it.”

He kissed you again, slower this time—possessive, claiming, his. His teeth grazed your bottom lip as he pulled away, eyes locked on yours, pupils blown wide with heat.

“Later,” he murmured, brushing his mouth over yours. “When we’re not seconds from being interrupted by someone like Wrecker.”

You groaned. “He would walk in right now.”

“Which is why,” he said, voice sharp and wicked, “you’re going to think about this all day until I do something about it.”

He stepped back, leaving you breathless, flushed, and absolutely wrecked.

And the smirk he shot you?

It said he knew exactly what he’d done.

[oddballwriter]

Could we possibly get some BBQ!ENA Headcanons or a one shot were the reader is lesbian but is still shy/nervous about expressing it and has a massive crush on ENA that they try to hide from her? Either SFW or NSFW works, whichever you prefer! I love ENA sm and would love to see more content of her if you’re willing! Thank you! 🙇🏻‍♀️

BBQ ENA w/ a lesbian reader who has a crush on her and tries to hide it

Warnings: pining like a bunch of idiots, the mention that you and ENA make out sometimes at the end. Nothing here is actually specifically explicit, there’s just the mention of ENA flirting with you and then yall kissing

Author’s Snip: IT BEGINS

Notes: I’m so excited to have a new babygirl. I love Marc, Steven, and Jake but they need to share the podium.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

You liking women isn’t a big deal to her. But when she finds out about your very obvious crush on her, she’s a bit of a menace

I’m gonna admit, it originally flew a bit over her head a bit. Her salesperson side saw you as a great “work companion” already and Meanie could tolerate having you around. It was actually Froggy who noticed it first. The fact that you get all giddy and excited when you talk to ENA compared to everyone else. He asked ENA about it because he was curious. Saying “Yo, ENA. What is it between you and them? No judgement or nothing. It’s all cool. But you guys got some weird chemistry and I can’t tell what exactly it is.”

When ENA appeared to be clueless, Froggy spelled it out for her in a way that she could understand, ENA’s face buffed for a brief moment like she was actually thinking about everything for the first time before she puts her usual grin back on and says “Well, I never thought of a it as them offering a free of charge complimentary intimate duo bonding and workplace romance. But to be considered a highly valued work target and customer of their affection does sound like an interesting and unique personal business offer.” “HOW DISGUSTINGLY MUSHY. FILLS MY STOMACHS WITH ANNOYING BUGS!”

She likes you back lol

Well, more like she entertains the idea in her head and when she looks at you after this is unveiled to her, she finds that she also might be interested in you too

THAT’S when she becomes a menace to you

She just straight up starts flirting with you every now and again in her own ways

Her sales side starts subtly flirting with you in her business lingo. Calling you “A marvelous specimen of workplace smarts and generous assets.” and her “lovely assistant” and watches you get all red in the face and trying to pretend like it doesn’t do anything to you. She finds it both entertaining and amusing.

And her Meanie said starts talking to you in a way that feels a little less mean-spirited and a little more teasing and bantering. Maybe even a bit of some light-hearted name calling that’s just her using petnames

“Come on, sweetheart. We don’t got all day.” “Get your head out of the clouds, sunshine.” “Hurry up, don’t make me have to pick you up and carry like some type of princess.”

She knows what she’s doing. She knows.

At this rate it’s not even like it’s one-sided pinning. You’re not fooling anyone, not even ENA, but you’re just there still trying to hide it meanwhile you’re giving her goo-goo eyes when you think no one’s looking. At this rate everyone in the whole plain of existence knows that you like ENA and you still think your ‘secret’ is hidden

Babe the closet is made of fucking glass and the door is wide open. Just get out.

Once your little one-sided will-they-won’t-they thing is over and you two become a couple, or as salesperson puts it, “partners who privately and personally make deals of intimacy and romance” it’s just the same as it was before except you two kiss now

Froggy tries to tell you “no canoodling on work hours” but you’d by lying if you and ENA said that you haven’t shared a particularly intense moments of romantic tension and smooched it out somewhere private

You guys still subtly flirt with each other and Meanie still makes little remarks towards you with the names

Honestly, when Froggy says “no canoodling on the job” he sort of just means “no canoodling in front of him and other people” because he knows that when he dents you two off, alone, together, you’ll probably get distracted a bit and he’s just decided “whatever”