#it's her one day off a week and everything :(

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine Being Isekai'ed into KPOP DEMON HUNTERS. (part 9)

I'M BACK! Sorry I took a break! BUTTT we're nearing the end guys!(i think either one more big chapter or 2 chapters, not TOO sure) BUT DON'T FEAR! I DO HAVE EXTRA SCENES/BLOOPERS THAT WILL ALSO BE WRITTEN! Now, This chapter IMO does feel a little rushed but PLEASE ENJOY IT ANYWAYS. As always, my tag list is full. HAVE A GOOD READ! (Also thinking of covering Free as well XD)

Previous

The days following that were gruelling.

The idol awards were fast approaching and Y/N had spent the week buried in work for What It Sounds Like. Takedown was supposed to be released in two days, during the Idol awards along with What It Sounds Like.

The song required much more work than the other tracks she had previously worked on, from creating MIDI tracks to timing vocals and tuning harmonies. Everything was meshing together, creating a splitting pain in her head.

Just as Huntr/x was busy, the Saja Boys were also busy. Their influence spread faster than the black plague in the thirteenth century. Edits were being made, dance covers and even ships between the boys. (Y/N was blissfully unaware of the fact that there were a plethora of them shipping her with each of the boys, due to her permanent working status.)

The sheer complexity of layering, and the realisation that she didn’t have access to a crowd’s cheers, created a intricacy that Y/N was struggling to recreate.

‘Girls, I’m sorry. I don’t think I can get What It Sounds Like out in time with Takedown.’ Y/N said, pressing her palm against her forehead, feeling a dull ache.

‘That’s okay! We’re already winning so many awards with Golden!’ Rumi said cheerfully, voice crackling through the speaker.

‘I’m so sorry Rumi. Zoey and Mira too, I’m sorry to have let you down.’ Y/N closed her eyes, sitting down at her kitchen counter. She slumped over as the phone on the other end was passed to someone else.

‘No, it’s okay Y/N/N! Please don’t overwork yourself!.’ Zoey’s voice filtered through the noise of the dressing rooms. They had just finished taping another awards show where this time, they had taken a win from the Saja Boys.

‘That’s right Y/N. We care about you more than a performance. Do you need us to do anything? Re-record lines? Get you some food?’ Mira’s tone was calm but laced with an almost undetectable hint of concern. The girls were so sweet, she didn’t know how but, it seemed as if they were closer than before Y/N had transmitigated into this world into this character.

‘I’m alright Mira I promise.’ Y/N laughed, somewhat enjoying the girls fussing over her. ‘You guys did everything perfectly, there's just things I don't think I’ve gotten right so far. I just need a little more time.’

‘Alright, if you say so.’ Mira relented, with a soft breath. ‘But call us if you need anything okay?’

‘You got it Mira!’

The girls had said goodbye in union just as the elevator doors opened, revealing a mildly annoyed group of men.

‘Ugh, did you see the look those hunters gave us when they won?’ Beom grouched, taking off his shoes, placing them neatly on the shelf before running over to collapse on the sofa.

‘Welcome back guys.’ Y/N said, sprawling over her own marble counter top, her voice weak. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to eat or drink that day. It was just that she had completely forgotten due to the immense stress she had placed herself under. Unintentionally, work had come before anything else.

‘Did you work all day again Y/N?’ Jinu asked, his voice was similar to a wife’s soft, scolding tone.

‘Uhh…’ Jinu fumbled, walking over to the kitchen with a red neck.

‘I’m sorry honey, I’ll do better next time.’ Y/N mumbled into the crook of her arm sarcastically.

Jinu’s face flushed a bright red, as four glares found their way to his back.

Suddenly a voice from the television filled the comfortable silence, cutting through the entire apartment.

‘Hey, everybody.’ Rae’s voice began.

‘Our fan club just hit fifty million fans!’ Abel continued before Rae took over again.

‘We have to give a shout out to Huntr/x! We couldn’t have done it without their support.’

‘And to our fans?’ Min interjected, voice low and almost menacing, ‘Thank you, we really feed off your energy.

Y/N frowned, lifted her head as the boys hurriedly switched to another channel.

‘In other news, the amount of missing reports have tripled in the last twenty four hours.’ The news lady said, just before the boys shut off the television hurriedly.

‘What?’ Y/N said, tone eerily calm, eyes narrowing.

‘Um…’ Beom winced, looking at Jinu.

‘Abel. You promised me.’ Y/N said in a flat tone, nails digging into her palms hard. Her eyes were fixated on Abel’s face, painted with shame. His orange-brown eyes refused to meet Y/N’s. Abel could feel the sheer intensity of Y/N’s gaze, burning a hole into his side profile.

‘Darlin’ we aren’t the ones-’

‘I don’t wanna hear it. I’m going out. Don’t follow me.’ Y/N grabbed her keys off the table, pulling on her shoes and storming out of her apartment.

Abel was right, he had promised he would try his best. He also did say he himself wouldn’t take any souls, and in that aspect, she knew that was true. Yet, hearing his explanation wouldn’t make her feel better.

But, here she was, hoping that somehow, she would’ve made a difference. That she somehow had made it better, made a change.

A familiar rumble came from Y/N’s side. Derpy had appeared from a portal again, from the elevator floor.

‘I guess you can come with me.’ Y/N sighed, unable to resist the warm hearted nature of the blue tiger.

Derpy gave a happy grumble. Bumping their head against Y/N’s hand, prompting her to give Derpy it’s head pats as they exited the elevator doors. The sun already had begun to dip below the horizon, strangely enough the awards show was filmed during the day.

‘Y/N…’ A voice called from behind her, wary and soft.

‘What do you want, Rae?’ Y/N stood still, her back still turned to the tallest group member. She had only made it about ten meters away from the complex. Derpy circled Y/N, rubbing its tail along her back reassuringly.

‘You left without a jacket again.’ Rae’s voice was closer now, right behind her in fact. A toasty large jacket being placed over her shoulders. It smelt just like him, a warm, sweet, and elegant scent.

‘I don’t want to talk right now.’

‘Okay.’ Rae fell into step beside her, staying silent as he matched Y/N’s stride.

Y/N walked aimlessly, strolling until she found a park, abandoned for the day in the setting sun.

Derpy trotted happily along, pouncing at pigeons along the way.

Entering the ungated park, she made her way towards a swing set, sitting down on the left side, resting her head in her hands. Between her fingers, she could see the tips of white and yellow sneakers in front of her.

‘Rae…’ Y/N sighed, letting her hands fall limply to her sides.

‘Yes Y/N?’ He whispered back, bending a knee, gently lifting Y/N’s chin slowly.

‘I didn’t change your mind at all did I?’

‘No, of course you did. Y/N you’re so much more important than getting souls back to-’ Rae groaned, pain flashing across his face, stumbling backwards quickly. Derpy looked up from the potted plant it was messing with, eyes blinking unevenly.

‘Rae?!’ Y/N stood quickly in alarm. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah, ‘m fine Y/N/N, Gwi-ma just didn’t like what I was feeling.’ Rae gave a weak smile, waving off her worries with a shaky hand.

‘Rae…’ Y/N stepped forward, fingers twitching, aching to check on the wincing man in front of her.

‘I’m fine, don’t worry.’ Rae flashed an unconvincing smile, beautiful nonetheless.

‘Is Gwi-ma still…’ Y/N trailed off, her gaze was wavering, filled with tears. She wasn’t one to cry normally, however today proved to be filled with emotions. Derpy gave an unhappy grumble, walking over to lay it’s large head on Y/N’s lap from the side.

Frustration.

Anger.

Disappointment.

Self-doubt.

All the emotions had reached a boiling point, now bubbling over. The entire situation felt like it was slipping out of her hands, like grains of sand trickling through her grasp. Y/N was sure that she had been placed here to fix things.

But if that were true, why did it feel like nothing was changing? As if she had done nothing to change the contents of the movie? Like nothing she did mattered.

‘Y/N.’ Rae’s hands gently cupped the girl’s face, brushing a cautious thumb over her cheeks bringing the girl out of her spiral. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘I just… I wanted to help.’ Y/N whispered, gazing into Rae’s searching, lavender eyes. ‘I thought that somehow I could make it so that you guys could be free.’

A single tear dripped onto Rae’s skin, as he brushed it away with his thumb.

‘Oh sweetheart. You don’t see it do you?’ Rae gently led her by the hand, walking back toward Y/N’s apartment.

Derpy happily followed, remembering the way back home. The tiger disappeared slowly, sinking into a portal. Blinking it’s goodbye, knowing that the two would soon follow.

‘You’ve changed so much. Jinu is cooking, Beom has empathy. Min actually puts up his hair at home and you’ve got Abel, completely wrapped around your finger. None of us have even thought about taking souls ever since meeting you.’

Y/N stared at the back of Rae, as he spoke, watching the way he kept his shoulders more relaxed than they used to be.

'Well, other than yours in the beginning.' Rae gave a quiet laugh.

‘And you?’ Y/N asked, voice almost getting lost in the gentle breeze.

‘Me?’ Rae paused, turning around slowly, Y/N’s wrist still in his hand.

‘You make me believe that there’s hope, that maybe one day, we can be normal again.’ Rae’s eyes flashed gold, his purple patterns glossing over his skin for a moment.

‘Or as normal as a demon can be.’ He smiled ruefully, going to turn back around.

‘Rae listen-’ Y/N reached forward, placing a hand over the man’s hand.

A fluorescence of colours, emitting from her fingertips, dancing across Rae’s skin, turning his patterns a bright white blue for a second before his human visage flashed back into view.

‘What in the world?’ Rae gasped, shakily letting Y/N’s hand go, bringing a hand to cup at his forehead.

His head had been muddled, a polluted sea of shame and resentment. And yet, in an instant, the sea of pollution had been cleared. A rush of clean water, pushing back the murky surroundings, leaving the clearest, pool possible.

‘How am I doing this?’ Y/N blanched, staring at her hands, looking extremely confused.

‘Was this you?’ Rae looked up, his eyes shining with wonder. His hands were shaking as he ran a hand through his hair. ‘I mean… Is this how Beom and Abel managed to be free of Gwi-ma?’

‘I think so. But, I don’t know how I did it? I don’t even control it.’ Y/N frowned, still staring at her splayed palms as if it would reveal all the answers. It hadn’t happened the first time she talked to Rae alone but now, she had changed his patterns. What was the difference?

When she had first touched Abel, all she remembered was feeling concerned for him. Y/N wanted to help him. With Beom, it had been wanting to comfort him. To let him know that mistakes were just that, mistakes. Y/N wanted Beom to see that his talent wasn’t borne from Gwi-ma, but rather, the demon king just helped give Beom a push.

And now Rae?

She wanted Rae to know that normal was subjective. That the norm perceived by society, honestly, wasn’t all that great. That to be who and what he was, was already enough.

Each one of these interactions had been sparked by a strong emotion on Y/N’s end. But was her emotions the only thing that caused this?…

‘Y/N do you know what this means?’ Rae asked, nerves abuzz from adrenaline. ‘This means we wouldn’t have to help Gwi-ma take souls. We could help those hunter things seal the Honmoon! We’d be on this side of the shield, with you.’ Rae was talking a mile a minute still flickering his gaze between Y/N and his own skin.

‘Rae, what if Jinu doesn’t feel that way? What about his memories? I couldn’t ask him to live with reminiscing about the worst parts of his history.’ Y/N shook her head, as her large apartment complex came into view.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him. But, while she didn’t approve of Jinu’s deal with Gwi-ma. She understood where he came from, people were, after all, inherently selfish by nature.

‘Y/N, that’s for him to decide. Jinu’s…’ Rae hummed, waiting for Y/N to swipe her key card into the door.

‘He’s changed. He’s softer, even. He was the second last to join our group. For four hundred years, he was distant. I don’t think I’ve seen him smile at anyone but us since we found him.’ Rae continued, as the pair moved into the elevator continuing their conversation as the elevator whirred into motion.

‘I don’t know Rae, but I’ll talk to him. Maybe tomorrow tonight, I’ll speak with him alone?’ Y/N leaned back against the elevator handrails. Looking wistfully at the floor.

‘Sounds good to me!’ Rae gave a patient smile, patting Y/N on the shoulder.

As the doors opened, Y/N was met with not only the smell of barbecued beef. She was also met with all four of the Saja Boys who had not followed her out of the apartment. They all spoke together quickly, words crashing over each other.

‘Y/N I’m sorry. I should have tried harder. I didn’t-’ Abel rushed to say.

‘Y/N we can fix this! We’ll think of something!’ Beom said at the same time, rushing through his words. His usual handsome face was panicked, as if thinking Y/N was about to disintegrate and disappear from before his eyes.

'I should have said something. I'm so sorry-' Min got out, his violet hair tied up.

‘Y/N-’ Jinu also said, trying to explain himself, looking equally as desperate as the rest of the men.

‘Is something burning?’ Y/N raised an eyebrow, craning her neck to look into the kitchen.

‘Oh crap.’

Turns out, the boys had been staring out of the windows, trying to spot when Y/N would walk back. Jinu had begun cooking meat on a barbecue plate stove, one he had bought specifically for today. He had seen that Y/N was working hard for the past week and wanted to surprise her with a meal he knew would perk her right up.

Yet, when they saw Y/N and Rae making their way back home. The boys had abandoned the kitchen, to eagerly await their return. Thus, burning the expensive meat slightly.

Or as Jinu wanted to call it, charring.

As the night drew closer, the moon fully resided in the blanket of night. The stars doing their best to shine amidst the twinkling city lights. Dinner had been finished, leaving all six people feeling renewed and content. The boys had done the dishes while Y/N showereed and finished up her nightly routine.

Beom had whined, whilst being dragged away by Min by the back of his collar. They had to practice for their performance and they only had two nights to do it.

Jinu had insisted that the boys practise away from Y/N’s apartment, so that they were able to let Y/N get a full night of sleep.

While it was different, Y/N didn't see any issue with it. It just meant that they finally would go back to their own apartment and Y/N could rest easy, knowing the boys were in their own area.

However, something was amiss.

Due to the way she had been suddenly thrust into a stress and work filled weak, she had neglected to open her prized notebook. The one where the last few pages were missing.

The words and music sheets of Your Idol had been meticulously torn out of the book. As if they had never existed.

In Jinu’s hands, as Y/N tucked herself into bed, after finishing her night routine. Were a set of papers, familiar with Y/N’s hand writing.

–

‘You took the song from Y/N?’ Min frowned, his hair was still tied up with one of Y/N’s elastics. His perfectly arched brows drawn together in a pinch.

‘Well I took it after we did Soda Pop. But, now I want to use it to surprise her! We can deal with the background music ourselves.’ Jinu explained, looking down, sighing noticing the hesitant look in his friends eyes.

‘In the beginning, I took it because I wanted a guarantee that we would get a good song. But now, I want the world to see how great Y/N’s song writing is! I mean just look at the lyrics. They match us perfectly!’ Jinu’s voice and eyes were void of lies. It was true, he had no ill intentions in his actions.

‘Hm, we’d better explain to her right after the show then. Otherwise it may seem misguided. However, I am for the idea of surprising Y/N by performing her song.’ Abel nodded along, his knuckles propping up his chin.

‘I agree, as long as we specify in the beginning of the performance. Maybe we can make a quick announcement.’ Beom looked thoughtful, staring into the apartment across from their own.

Although he couldn’t see Y/N’s room from here, he could see the jumper he had left there, along with random items the other boys had left there. Y/N’s penthouse had become their home, more than their own apartment. Long had it been, since they spent more than ten minutes in the apartment they had bought. (With fake conjoured cash.)

‘Maybe we can say something along the lines of, “To our song writer and producer, we’d like to dedicate this performance to you. You’ve made us who we are.” Something like that?’ Min suggested, tilting his head, his chin between his thumb and index finger.

‘Yeah, that sounds good.’ Rae nodded, standing up to walk over to Jinu. ‘So, you gonna handle the music?’

‘Ah hah. I may have already finished it…’ Jinu rubbed a hand over his neck nervously, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘She really inspired me.’

‘You and us all.’ Min smiled, ruffling Jinu’s hair. ‘I’m glad you’re finally letting yourself express how you actually feel about Y/N.’

‘Hey… She’s a great friend!’ He whined, protesting against Min’s teasing tone.

‘Yeah right, friend.’ Beom snickered, rolling his eyes.

‘Uh huh?’ Jinu slowly advanced on Beom with raised hands and a playful smirk.

‘No, NO NOT AGAIN. Abel HELP ME.’ Beom screamed, running for his life.

‘Oh, Beomie!’ Jinu called out, racing after the youngest boy his eyes glowing a devious yellow.

‘Can’t help you there. I’m working with Rae to choreograph this number.’ Abel chuckled, listening to the music Jinu had provided on his phone.

‘NOO I’m SORRY I WON’T DO IT AGAIN.’ Beom screeched, flailing his arms as Jinu pounced on the younger man, wrapping his limbs around Beom in familiar stance.

‘Yeah? You gonna tease me again?’ Jinu held Beom’s waist with his legs, his hand tugging on Beom’s ear just enough for it to be uncomfortable.

‘NOOOOO I won’t.’ Beom wailed, writhing.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Jinu laughed, letting Beom go nonetheless, watching the man scramble away to his freedom.

‘JUST ADMIT YOU LIKE HER TOO.’ Beom yelled, escaping to go learn the choreo with Abel and Rae.

‘We’ve shared before. Wouldn’t be anything new.’ Min smirked, looking down at Jinu, extending his hand.

‘Don’t say weird things like that.’ Jinu flushed, grabbing Min’s hand to pull himself up.

‘Oh, you can give orders now?’ He raised an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the edges. ‘Don’t forget who's the oldest Jinu.’

‘W- whatever.’ Jinu’s entire face was bright red, steam practically pouring out of his ears. ‘Let’s go practice.’

Min snickered as Jinu walked back to the rest of the group, enjoying the reaction he had received from the younger man.

‘Y/N/N has no idea what’s coming for her does she?’ Min followed Jinu, as the group began to prepare for their stage against Huntr/x. Hopefully Y/N could deal with five demons men who were finding their way into her heart, slowly but very much surely.

--

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[letteremi]

i asked my best friend how to know if a girl likes you, and he gave me the worst advice ever

gojo satoru x fem!reader - gojo satoru has liked you since you walked into the physics 1111 lecture that one fateful morning. And he’s tried so hard to flirt, to dazzle, to amaze, but you’re like an unreadable brick wall. so what does gojo satoru do? read the impossible book, of course, with suguru's help. 

warnings/tags: 16+, university/college au, non-sorceror au, smitten at first sight, lowkey nerdjo, gojo being a sucker, gojo being horrendously down bad, ice queen!reader, mentions of Shoko and Utahime, Suguru as wingman, the lightest lightest smidge of angst, happy ending, mutual pining, swearing

word count: 4k

His fingers stopped flying across his busted laptop’s keys once he heard the door to the lecture hall swing open, as he shuddered at the breeze instead. 

Who could be the one walking in so late, in the middle of the professor’s sermon? Disrupting this class that he could pass with his eyes closed, really — how rude! (not that he was listening either, the daily wordle was more his jam). 

And then his sharp, blue gaze landed on you. 

God, he hates cliches, but it did really feel like an angel fell out of the sky to bless him that day. 

Your muffled footsteps on the clean cut carpet were so unhurried, so constant, against his increasingly racing heartbeat — pulsing so hard he could feel it thudding against his eardrums.

Your own laptop, and some blue notebooks — the colour of his eyes, oh you were meant to be — held in the crook of one elbow, as you shut the door with an effortless grace that his buffering brain can only describe as cool. 

He notes that it’s because you don’t want to let it slam shut, and echo through the packed hall, and his heart stutters at the care you put into the little things. 

When you glide by him to sit in the row ahead, as smooth as the breeze that entered the room, the scent of your perfume blankets him — and for the first time in this class, Satoru feels alive in a way that has nothing to do with the scribbled equations plastered across the whiteboard. 

And then you pull out your laptop, and his keen eyes pick up on how you’re actually typing out whatever Professor Yaga has moved onto right now. For the second time that day, Satoru does something else that he has never done during Yaga’s monotonous monologues. 

He starts jotting down notes. 

Safe to say, you were forgiven for the travesty of making him cold (and is it charming if he says it’s because your presence warmed him right up?)

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Listen, Satoru has tried everything. Everything. To gauge whether you like him or not. 

He’s moved closer to the front row, even if it means having to brave Yaga at a distance much closer than he’d like. Now, you sit beside him, but it feels like he might as well be on the other side of Japan. 

Satoru isn’t used to this. He knows he’s pretty, knows that his face has the power to blind others with sheer beauty. Knows that usually, one casual glimpse of his face is enough to make someone fall for him like they’re slipping on a romantic sheet of ice. So, the way you ignore him — except maybe to ask him for his notes (on a good day) is driving him up the wall. 

By six weeks of this, he considers you a friend, but he thinks you might think of him as an annoying seatmate who won’t stop jabbering in her ear. 

The tell-tale signs of being flustered are noticeably missing from you — the classic nervous laughter, secret glances, you don’t even put your water bottle on his self-assigned seat so that no one else will sit next to you (that’s fine, he’s warded off anyone who dares now) — and ever present on him. 

Pink-tinged ears? ✅

A sweat that breaks out whenever you so much as turn to look at him? ✅

The way his thoughts take twice as long to form, and yet he still doesn’t know what to say to you? ✅

Not that you even spare him a look, not that you even care. 

When he gets an amused huff as you exhale through your nose, he considers that a victory.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. 

He finds that he doesn’t mind it one bit. 

Satoru literally ascends when he strolls into the lecture hall on one mundane Thursday, having given up all hope, and he spots your blue water bottle on the spot right next to you. 

He rakes his fingers through strands of white, knowing how that makes his eyes pop, and then, with hands in his pockets, walks to your side. You glance up when you hear him come to a stop, and you give him that serene, close-lipped smile — like you’re actually happy he’s here — and you move the blue placeholder. 

“Saved you a spot,” you say, like you’re reading a particularly boring news article. 

And all the words that he wanted to say — he rehearsed them in his head, a suave mantra meant to swoop you off your feet — leave his mind like water flowing down a pipe. Because you saved him a spot. You wanted him here, right next to you. 

“Aww, next time just confess to me.” Oh. That was decidedly not cool. Projection was not suave. 

You huff like you’ve just regretted every decision that led to this moment in time, especially accepting your course offer. “In your dreams.” And Satoru has to fight the urge to confirm that his dreams do include you. 

The minute that lecture ends, he’s rehashing every detail to Suguru, down to the colour of the socks you were wearing. 

“And she saved me a seat. The seat, Suguru.” 

“I literally do the same for you during calculus,” comes Suguru’s matter-of-fact reply.

And Satoru’s delusions come crumbling down like sandcastles against mighty waves of reality. Could it be that you just thought of him as a friend? His heart throbs like he’s been shot by one of Cupid’s lead-tipped arrows. 

He’s quiet, like a puppy that’s been kicked down — and Suguru wonders if he’ll start whimpering, before the pity starts to seep in. “You know, there are certain ways to tell if someone likes you. Aside from the usual signs.” 

Satoru’s head snaps up like Suguru has offered him the elixir of immortality, and not just tips from his psychology elective. 

“Tell me, right now.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆

No. 1: remembering the little things that he’s told you

Normally, he’d threaten Yaga (only in his head, of course) with mumblings of ‘i’m gonna shave all your hair off’, and ‘i’m going to replace your coffee with decaf’ for assigning a group project this close to exams. Now, he wants to kiss the ground that Yaga walks on, because you’re in his group. 

Your other group mates are absent from your first team meeting (Satoru wants to send them all flowers and chocolates) at the cafe, and now, you’re discussing when to meet next. 

You’re in that sweater he adores, and he thinks that you’ve walked out of a magazine in your outfit. Your hand is cupping your cheek, elbow propped up on the table, and he doesn’t even think you realise you’re pouting while deep in thought. “I’m free any day next week.” Noted. 

“Shoko’s volunteering on Monday, and Tuesday,” you hum, “so we can’t do those days.”

You stir the hot chocolate you ordered, the spoon clinking against the ceramic. “Airi has work on Wednesdays, and Thursdays, so not those days either.” 

Across from you, Satoru swears that you can hear his heart hammering in his chest. He informed (read: badgered) you just this week that he had a basketball game on Friday — a not-so-subtle hint for you to come to it. If Suguru was right, and you recalled that, then that was ⅓ of the three signs. 

Like something important just sprung into your head, you look up at him. Yes. This was his moment. “You don’t have anything on Friday, right?”

Oh. Oh man. “Actually, I have a match then.” He tries to hide his disappointment. 

Your eyes widen — just a fraction. “Oh, you do?” 

Owch. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sign number two — starting up random conversations with him

When Utahime slides into the other seat beside you the following Thursday, you immediately turn to her, eyes bright, and ask her whether she would rather give up kissing, or sauce for the rest of her life. 

You didn’t ask him that. And he got here first! 

Satoru stares at you, scandalised. His jaw drops so dramatically it might as well hit the floor. He even gestures at himself (behind your back, Utahime rolls her eyes). Hello? Present and ready to be questioned about weird hypotheticals. 

But then you giggle, and all the fake outrage melts away like ice on a hot summer day. 

He exhales, loud and proud, muttering something about being betrayed in broad daylight. “I guess I’ll just sit here, sauce intact and tragically unkissed,” he murmurs, more for the drama than anything else. 

You shoot him a look that is ice-cold, like looking down upon a mere insect. “Hey, Gojo. Did you do the pre-reading?” 

What a totally normal question to ask a classmate. That’s strike 2 out of three. 

But at least you’re talking to him now, and so he sits up like an overexcited dog. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

You turn back to your laptop like the matter is of no importance to you anymore. “Just curious.”

And don’t you dare ask anyone how Gojo Satoru reacted to your two word response. Because he definitely, 100%, did not, sink into his chair like a deflated balloon, clutching his chest like you delivered a mortal wound.

Utahime has to smack him on the back of the head to get him to stop his dramatic groaning. 

“Pathetic,” she hisses, but Satoru only shoots her a thumbs-up from where he’s sprawled, eyes closed in an agony he wears like a badge of honour. 

Meanwhile, you keep typing, like you don’t even care for the scene unfolding beside you — but the slight twitch at the corner of your mouth betrays you. 

And he catches it. 

Oh, he catches it. 

He straightens immediately, blue eyes lighting up like fireworks. Because for Gojo Satoru, even a single twitch of your lips is enough to keep him hoping. 

This counts as half a sign. For him, at least. 

Suguru delivers a similar blow to the back of his head when he regales the tale later. 

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Sign three — reacting to his presence 

“If she likes you, she will subconsciously adjust herself when you are close by.” Suguru flicks the laser pointer to the third, and last sign. They commandeered an empty lecture hall for this, and Satoru knows it’ll be worth it. 

“What would that look like?” Satoru pushes his glasses up his nose bridge, scribbling sprawling notes on the notebook in front of him (and if they’re the brand you use, that’s nobody's business). 

Suguru sighs. This was going to be a long night. 

~

It’s Suguru’s voice that echoes in his mind as Satoru steps foot into the library. ‘She’ll straighten up when you enter the room.’ As he enters the study space for an impromptu study session with your friends, his eyes search for you amongst the gaggle of students — to find that you’re already looking at him. 

At this, Satoru’s heart skips a beat. Were you waiting for him? The thought turns him to mush. 

“You’re late,” you say, voice utterly devoid of anything but grim disappointment. 

His cheeks are positively burning now. “Fashionably,” he counters, grinning as he slides into the empty seat beside you — the one you didn’t put your bag on, even though you definitely had plenty of time to claim it (another sign? He’ll ask Suguru later). 

“You missed Shoko’s riveting explanation,” you tell him, not unkindly, nudging your laptop in his direction. “We’re doing practice questions now.”

And maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or maybe it’s the sheer high of seeing you again, but for a second, Satoru swears your arm brushes his on purpose. That you tilt your screen toward him just a little more than necessary. That you lean in when you speak, like you’re not just explaining a question, but letting him into a secret only the two of you share. 

Satoru goes very still. His heart is doing cartwheels. He’s 90% sure he’s not breathing. 

But then you shift away to grab your pen, and you do it with such ease that he wonders if you felt the pull that he felt to you just now (probably not).

He coughs. Nods. Pretends he needs you to explain the question again, but he’s re-evaluating the facts, and trying to not think about how close you are right now. 

You did not straighten up like you had been electrocuted when he walked in — if anything, you slouched further, turning to face the wall. 

You crossed your arms when he sat down. A sign of defensiveness. 

It was immediate, how you turned back to your laptop, avoiding facing him like he was contagious with some sort of illness. 

Huh. That makes 0.5/3 for Suguru’s signs of attraction. 

Maybe it was time to give up. 

⋆｡°✩ ⋆⭒˚.⋆

Gojo hasn’t responded to your text yet. Usually, the three dots appear right as you send the message. Your brows furrow, and your heart pinches. Did you fumble it? 

You first saw Gojo Satoru during orientation, and my god, he was breathtaking. Literally. You choked on the water you were sipping, almost drowning in the flood of feelings. Your friend had to repeatedly batter your back, until the water evacuated your breathing tube. 

But how could you not? He looked like he’d walked straight out of some unfairly aesthetic campus brochure — the kind of handsome that university photographers would beg on their hands and knees to shoot, the kind that Deans would insist on plastering on glossy promotional leaflets to lure in potential students.

Tall, impossibly tall, with messy white hair that somehow managed to look perfectly styled, each lock arranged by Aphrodite herself. He didn’t wear his glasses that day — and when you first saw them perched on his nose, it felt like it was inevitable that you’d be caught staring, with the amount of times your eyes kept drifting his way.

He moved like the whole campus was his personal runway: hands in his pockets, earbuds dangling, a half-finished ice coffee (whipped cream on top) in hand that he never actually seemed to drink.

Every small movement felt effortless, magnetic — like he knew he was beautiful, and owned it like another asset up his sleeve of tricks. 

But you thought he was just a pretty face. 

Until he sat next to you. 

And you knew he was smart — you had to be, to get into Tokyo Jujutsu University — but you didn’t know how smart. Not until he leaned over during the first lecture (eight weeks ago, on the dot), and pointed out a mistake in Yaga’s equation with the kind of casual confidence usually reserved for people who had discovered the laws of physics on their own. 

“Prof wrote it wrong,” he whispered, voice low and amused. “Wanna bet on how long it’ll take him to realise?”

But you, you just stared at him. This fine specimen of a man was talking to you. How long had you stared at the back of his head during this very lecture? How long had you thought that this was just a silly crush? 

Your words failed you, but he was undeterred. He just gave you that grin — the one that made his eyes crinkle, and his entire face light up like the sun itself decided to live in his smile. 

From that moment on, he kept sitting next to you. You didn’t really know why, but you did know you felt like you were the first to discover some absurd fact about the universe at the thought of it. 

You chew at your lip. Did he tire of you? Did he seriously not get your hints?

You saved him a seat. 

You smiled at him. 

You brushed his arm. 

You explained the problem to him so many times, that the logic of it was beginning to unravel in your head — you had to re-work it out by yourself, before going through it with him again, so you didn’t look like an idiot. 

Okay. But to be so, so, so fair, you did accidentally forget the date of his basketball game that one time.

But that was one time!

And it was because you remembered exactly the day, the time, the team he was playing against — his jersey number — and you didn’t want to sound like a stalker by saying that, so you messed up the date on purpose. 

By then, you were too embarrassed to even show your face at the game. So you didn’t turn up, even though you had bought his favourite snack for it (you were trying to Pavlov him, before Shoko told you how insane that was). 

Okay, fine. That one was on you. But still!

You check your message again. 

Left on seen?

How dare he. 

Without a second thought, you’re slamming the door of your dorm shut, and you’re racing through the halls. 

⋆｡°✩

“Geto Suguru.” The voice that calls his name rings more like a death toll than a greeting. 

Suguru lifts his heavy head, still groggy with sleep — his notes stick to his sweaty cheek as he does. You swat them off his face like they’re the layers you must peel off to uncover a secret. 

“What is up with Gojo?” 

Suguru groans. “Why are you asking me, and not him?” 

Suguru could probably say that about almost all the questions that Satoru has asked him thus far. They stick to him like fruit flies desperate for even a drip of the nectar of his knowledge. Which isn’t much, mind you, but apparently more than Satoru. 

“You’re his best friend. His confidante.” You’re not backing down, and Suguru flicks sleep-addled eyes to your imposing figure — you’ve placed your hands by your hips like it’ll intimidate him into answering. “Does he like me?”

Now that’s a question that has his eyes snapping wide open. He didn’t think you’d be so bold.

Huh. Nice. 

Suguru rubs a hand over his face, as if hoping the action might buy him time or magically teleport him out of this conversation. It doesn’t. You’re still standing there, radiating an energy so fierce it makes him feel like he’s being interrogated under a spotlight. 

“Look,” he starts, voice still gravelly from his impromptu nap, “Satoru is…Satoru. He’s not exactly subtle.” 

And with the way he can practically see the question marks in your eyes, and floating around your mind, he knows you two were made for each other. You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand. 

“He talks about you. All the time,” Suguru continues, his tone resigned yet still affectionate.

Suguru sighs, gathering his scattered notes like he’ll actually review them. “He likes you, okay? He likes you so much it’s driving me insane. He’s like a walking, talking Pinterest board of you.”

He finally looks up, and now his eyes are sharp, despite the sleep lingering in their corners. “So,” Suguru says, tone mischievous, “are you going to keep torturing me, or are you finally going to tell him?”  

Your hands drop from your hips, heart slamming against your ribs like it’s trying to escape. 

Tell him. 

Tell Gojo — the boy with constellation eyes and the too-loud laugh and the doodles of Yaga he draws in lectures — that you like him too. 

You don’t realise you’re already moving until Suguru’s muffled ‘Good luck!’ echoes behind you, chased by a triumphant snicker. 

⋆｡°✩

You slam into a solid body, and you feel the arms helping you up before your eyes trail up to see who. 

Oh. Gojo. 

And for all your determination, you’re rendered speechless, except for one, exclaimed, “Sorry!” 

Because the man is in front of you now. And courage is so much easier to fake behind closed doors. 

Your eyes flick up and down his body. His chest is heaving, like he’s also run through winding corridors to get here.

His hair is messy, yet again, but it’s not styled — it’s like he’s actually rolled out of bed. You glance down. Oh. He did actually just roll out of bed, if the Digimon pajama pants are anything to go off by. 

And yet, he still looks exquisite. 

Screw this guy (which coincidentally, is also something you plan to do). 

His hand is still resting under your elbow, holding onto you — not because you’ll fall, but because he just wants to hold you. His thumb grazes your skin, and it’s like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, because his eyes are fixated on yours, and yours alone. 

You can practically hear your brain short-circuiting, and it feels like puffs of smoke are coming out of your ears, each neuron screeching at you to say something, anything. 

But he beats you to it. 

“Hey,” he breathes out, as if he hasn’t seen you in years, instead of what? Eighteen hours? His eyes are wide, sparkling even in the dull hallway light, and there’s a hesitant curve to his mouth that you’ve never seen before. “Are you alright?” 

You nod. 

He stares at you for a moment, gaze dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes, like he’s trying to read an answer before you’ve even asked the question. 

“I, uh —” you start, but he blurts over you. 

“Did I mess up? The text...I didn’t mean to ignore you, please believe me! I fell asleep in the middle of our conversation.” You’re staring at him, lips parted like you want to interrupt him, but a part of you aches to know more. “And then Suguru’s text — like just right now — woke me up.”

You blink. Wait. He thinks he messed it up?

“I thought I fumbled it,” you say at the same time, voices overlapping like a badly mixed duet, or some kind of romantic comedy accompanied by a whimsical soundtrack. 

There’s a beat of silence. And then, he laughs. The kind of laugh where your head is thrown back, that echoes down the hallway and makes your heart slam into your chest so hard that you’re worried it might just burst out and hand itself over to him. 

“You thought you fumbled it?” he repeats, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“I mean…yeah,” you admit, and you drop your hands. He catches your wrists, tugging you closer. And then, he moves forward, stepping so close that you have to crane your neck to look at him. 

You can see the flutter of his ridiculously long lashes, the curve of his sleepy smile. 

“Fuck this,” he mutters, and before you can process it, his hands are cupping your face, warm and careful, and he’s kissing you. 

The world tilts — or maybe it just stops for you, for this moment in time. You clutch at his sensible hoodie, nails digging in like you might float away otherwise, and your knee knocks into his stupid (cute) Digimon pants as you step nearer. He tastes like toothpaste, and cheap instant coffee, and somehow, it’s perfect. 

When he pulls back, he’s breathless, and his forehead rests against yours. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded in a way that has nothing to do with sleep deprivation. “I just really, really like you.”

You let out a small laugh. “Yeah,” you whisper, fingers sliding to tangle up in his hair. “I like you too.” You tug at his white locks, and he groans into your ear in a way that makes a heat pool between your thighs. 

And then he’s pulling you in again, kissing you with a ferocity. His hands are more demanding, more needy, as they travel your body — greedy, and consuming, like he won’t ever get to touch you again. And you say it again, and again, in the spaces between the kisses.

On his lips, against his cheek, to the corner of his smile. You’re only making up for every second you didn’t say it before. 

Somewhere down the hall, you swear you hear Suguru yell, “Finally!”, before a door slams.

But right now, none of that matters. 

It’s just you, Satoru, and the electrical crackle of everything you were both too scared to say. 

Now, it’s out in the open. 

Now, the real fun begins. 

a/n: the drabble…it got away from me………. anyway! hope this was okay !! i finished like 5 episodes of true beauty while watching it i fear i am not a speed typer

© 2025 letteremi. All rights reserved. Please do not plagiarise/copy, translate, or repost my work to any platforms 

[mishappeningss]

I’ve got 2 requests I’m curious about driver y/n and what she does on her down time on and off the track? When in a new country, does she explore the city with other drivers like finding new places to eat, go on scenic hikes, or does she stay inside enjoying the view?

And are there any awkward/funny moments with other drivers that went viral? Like maybe they get caught gossiping or they’re seen setting up an elaborate prank??

“Where in the world is YN?” — here’s what she does in her downtime, and the side quests she does with drivers from grid :)

more about driver!yn

Some days, she’ll wake up early, put a lazy outfit on, and convince Lando or Pierre to go find the best bakery in the city with her (she has lists, she’s researched before she flew in the country).

She’ll wander local markets with Yuki, asking for spice recommendations she’ll never actually use. She loves walking instead of getting an uber, even if it means getting lost. She once found a hidden café in Vienna and swore it changed her life.

She’s only here for a week, maybe even less — she has to see something!

In some days, she just wants quiet. If the weekend’s been intense, she’s the type to stay in, order room service, and watch a local show on the hotel TV.

She’ll sit on the hotel balcony with tea and headphones, writing in her notebook or doing nothing at all. She also loves a solo walk at sunset, hoodie up, face hidden — no makeup, no pressure, just silence.

Sometimes, she turns her phone off completely and lets the city go on without her for a while. There’d be a blurry picture a fan shot of her sitting alone in Prague, legs dangling over the edge, holding a book and a bag of pastries.

“she looked so peaceful. just her and the breeze.”

She also has her main person whenever she travels! Carlos for structured city walks, and good food recommendations, Pierre when she wants quiet company and good coffee.

Lando and Oscar when she’s feeling chaotic and wants to laugh until she cries. Lewis for the occasional serene, a secret adventure no one else gets invited to.

Yuki when she wants to eat everything. George for scenic hikes that turn into accidental therapy sessions halfway up.

She’s not just there to race — she’s collecting memories in every timezone. Whether she’s sitting by a window with tea or running through the streets with three other people and a camera, she always makes space to feel the city.

And yes, the amount of chaos this girl gets caught in with other drivers? They’ve got their serious moments for sure — but their off track moments are absolutely what fans live for.

a hot mic disaster

During a post qualifying press conference, YN turns to Oscar and whispers loudly, “If Charles sighs one more time, I’m throwing my bottle at him.”

She thought her mic was off. It was very much not.

Charles, who was sitting two seats away, blinked directly to the camera. “How can she even hear me sighing?”

gossip cam

A fan filmed her, Liam, and Alex sitting on a wall post-race, whispering very intensely. Alex clearly mouths “He’s a weasel” and YN chokes on her water.

Fan exploded thinking they were dragging Lando. He later posted: “i am NOT a weasel. but also. who was it about i need to know”

“these three gossiping on live camera like mean girls with paddock passes 😭”

Oh, and I forgot. Sticker wars. It lasted for about two seasons and fans still talk about it.

It started when YN slapped a tiny, ugly frog sticker on Oscar’s water bottle as a joke after he left it unattended during media day.

He didn’t notice for three days. Once he did, he accused half the paddock. And from that moment… it escalated. Fast.

Carlos found a sticker of a potato with a mustache on his notebook before FP1. Lando got hit with a middle finger sticker on the back of his phone. He left it on for three weeks because he liked it.

YN walked into the Mercedes garage to find her seat completely covered in Hello Kitty stickers. Turns out? George is a menace with a printer and a grudge.

At one point, the drivers made a “Sticker Bounty Board” and taped it on the wall of the drivers’ room:

$10 to whoever sneaks a sticker on Roscoe

Double points if you can sneak a sticker on Kimi’s forehead without him noticing

No one touch Max. Please.

Many say it’s over, that the stickers are lessening. But they still see frog stickers lingering every weekend on front rears and helmets. 🐸👀

[sapphicstrawcore]

Okay not even a fic but I’m just so curious on ur take…

Sooo would like to ask about what sevika would do if you hid being sick from her—just feeling shamed/not wanting to bother her about it possibly. And when sevika starts to get freaky, and you just don’t look as you usually do…. What would she do?

Like pregnancy sick sort of.. if what makes sense

—Just a headache… or not. (sevika x reader)

Modern au. Hope you guys like it ᰔ

cw: accidental pregnancy, throwing up, non-cis woman sevika, short make-out and curious hands, arguments and shouts, fluff angst & comfort.

words: 3.2k, (oops, longer than I thought) masterlist

You’ve been with Sevika for years now. Somehow, the two of you just fit—like gravity, like instinct. She doesn’t talk much, but she listens in ways that matter. She makes the coffee how you like it. Memorizes the weird way you fold laundry. Stays silent through your rants, then mutters, “Want me to kill ‘em?” at the perfect moment just to make you laugh.

She’s not perfect. God, she’s not. Sevika has too many scars and not enough softness, and sometimes she forgets how to say things without sounding like she’s picking a fight. But she tries. For you, she tries.

And you? You’ve got your own issues. One of them—the worst one, Sevika says—is how you hide it when you’re sick. You’ll curl up on the couch looking half-dead and still claim you’re “just tired.” You’d rather chew glass than admit something’s wrong.

Sevika hates it. She doesn’t say much when she’s angry, but when you pull this shit, she burns. It’s not the sickness that gets to her—it’s the secrecy. The thought that you’re suffering alone, on purpose, to protect her from something she’s never wanted protection from. It makes her wild. It makes her quiet in that sharp, dangerous way.

And this time?

It’s not just a cold. Not just burnout or stress or something you can sweat out with tea and stubbornness.

You know that the second your knees hit the bathroom tile and you throw up everything you’ve eaten the day before. Your head spins. Your palms go clammy. Your body goes still.

And then your eyes widen, slowly, as the thought creeps in—louder than your heartbeat, heavier than your guilt:

“Oh fuck. oh fucking hell—“

You might be pregnant.

You should’ve known the second the hangover lasted more than a day.

That night—the one a few weeks ago—it had been good. Too good. You’d both been a little drunk, stupid-happy, crawling into bed tangled in laughter and half-buttoned clothes. Neither of you thought to be careful. Neither of you wanted to ruin the moment.

And now?

Now the moment’s ruining you.

You’d already felt off for days—queasy in the mornings, bone-tired by noon, and always this weird, rolling heat in your stomach that wouldn’t go away. You told Sevika it was probably a bug. She didn’t push. She never does when you wave things off with that little fake smile.

But today?

You took the day off work. Lied and said it was stress. Sevika was already out when you got up—probably working late again—and the silence of the apartment pressed in like a weight.

So you ran to the pharmacy. Hoodie on, hood up, ducking behind the shelves like a ridiculous criminal. You grabbed six different brands, like maybe brand variety would magically change the outcome.

You peed on every single stick, sat on the edge of the bathtub with a towel over your head, stomach churning harder than it ever had. The box of tests sat lined up like soldiers on the sink.

One minute… Two.

And then—

All of them. Positive.

You just stared at them for a long time. Just staring, like maybe if you blinked hard enough they’d spell out something else.

And god, they were expensive. Hurt your ass like hell.

You sink to the bathroom floor. Elbows on your knees, face in your hands. There’s this buzzing in your ears, this low, mean voice in your head that says, You should’ve told her. You should’ve told her something.

But it’s not just about being sick this time. This is bigger.

And you don’t know how to tell her. Not when she’s been so tired. Not when her knuckles are always bruised from work.

So you clean up, throw out the boxes, splash cold water on your face, and try—try—to look normal.

Because she’s coming home soon.

By the time she gets home, the apartment smells like lavender and your face is pure serenity.

You’ve always been a good liar. Not malicious, just… trained. Reflex. And besides, it’s not really a lie if you’re trying to protect her, right?

The door clicks open and there she is—Sevika, heavy steps and heavier bags under her eyes, leather jacket slung over one shoulder and a half-eaten protein bar sticking out of her mouth. She grunts a greeting and drops her bag by the door.

“Hey, baby,” you chirp, way too chipper.

She squints at you. “You cleaned?”

“Nope. Apartment did it itself. It’s haunted now.”

Sevika snorts, and just like that, the tension eases.

You curl up on the couch while she changes. By the time she’s back in sweatpants, sport bra and socks and looking way too hot, the show’s already queued. Your usual—something weird and slightly violent with just enough queer subtext to argue about.

The hours pass in easy rhythm. You steal bites from her chips. She makes fun of your dramatic gasp face. You even start talking about the trip you’ve been planning—late summer, beach town, maybe rent a cabin. Sevika wants to bring her bike. You want her to bring that one bikini she only wears when she’s in a good mood. She grunts something like “we’ll see” but you catch the ghost of a smile on her lips.

At some point, you stop thinking about the tiny chemical rebellion happening in your body.

And it’s nice. Just you and her. Like always.

You’re curled up on top of her now, belly against hers, your head tucked into the crook of her neck. She smells like cigarettes and soap.

It’s soft at first. Familiar. You’re laying half on top of her, your face tucked into her neck, lips brushing lazily against her jaw.

And then, somewhere between the fourth episode and the last half of the chocolate bar you were sharing, you end up kissing.

It starts lazy—half a kiss, a grin, another kiss. Sevika hums low in her throat, sending a jolt of electricity in your core, hands sliding down your sides, slow and easy, then those big hands run warm and slow down your spine.

She smells like shampoo and worn leather. Her mouth is warm. You sigh against her lips and for one split second, you forget everything.

Until her hands slip lower.

Fingertips sliding beneath the hem of your shorts. Confident, curious. About to remind you exactly what she’s capable of.

And just like that—snap—you’re back in the real world. Oh, yeah, that’s how I got knocked-up in the first place.

You catch her hand gently. Still kissing her, still smiling—but your laugh breaks too early. It’s awkward. Embarrassed.

“Mm—hey, maybe not,” you murmur against her lips. “Kinda tired.”

Sevika stills, blinking up at you, her brows just barely pulling in. You see it in her face: a flicker of confusion. Not offense, never that, but like she just stepped on a floorboard that wasn’t supposed to creak.

“You okay?” she asks, low and rough.

“Yeah, yeah. Just… worn out,” you say quickly, rolling off her and back onto the couch against her side with a stretch that’s way too performative.

But Sevika doesn’t move. She watches you.

Like she’s trying to rewind the moment in her head—how fast your body went stiff, the way your laugh didn’t quite hit the air right, the fact that you’re suddenly curled up against her but it’s different than usual. You’re not even nuzzling her neck and whispering something filthy like usual.

And yeah, her hand didn’t get far, but she felt it. The way you tensed. The way your fingers curled around hers—not flirty, not teasing. Blocking. Guarding.

…That was weird,” she says finally, eyes narrowing slightly.

You let out a too-bright laugh. “What, I can’t be tired anymore?”

“Nah,” she mutters, voice dragging slow like a lit fuse. “Just didn’t feel like tired. Felt like you remembered something mid-kiss and it ruined your whole damn vibe.”

Your stomach flips. You press your face into her neck. “Wow. Rude.”

Sevika doesn’t laugh.

You hear her exhale against you—long, quiet, restrained.

She knows something. Not the whole thing. But enough.

You should tell her.

But instead, you mumble, “Can we just watch the last episode?” and hope the TV drowns out the pounding in your chest.

Her arm comes around your shoulders—slowly, deliberately—and she pulls you against her side like she always does. But her jaw’s tight. You can feel it against your temple. She grunts under her breath, low and sharp, and hits play on the next episode without a word.

That’s her compromise. She doesn’t call you out but she doesn’t forget it either.

You know she’s biting it back—whatever question’s burning in her throat. Whatever “what the fuck was that” she’s been dying to throw at you since you stopped kissing her like you meant it a minute ago.

She knows she can be a real jerk sometimes, so she doesn’t say anything this time. Right now is not the moment.

Around fifty minutes later, the episode ends.

You’re already dozing against her shoulder. She lets you. Runs her fingers up and down your arm like she’s petting a stray cat she’s half-afraid will bolt.

And when she finally gets up—quiet, careful—she presses a kiss to your forehead before muttering, “Gonna shower.” You mumble something sleepy. She doesn’t catch it.

She walks to the bathroom, closes the door.

And that’s when the real storm hits. Not from you. From the trash can.

Because Sevika’s not dumb. And she’s lived with you long enough to know when you’re hiding something. And when you’re really hiding something, you always forget one little thing. A receipt. A wrapper. A note half-shoved under a book.

This time?

It’s the bathroom trash.

Overflowing just enough to catch her eye. Unusual for you—you’re usually annoyingly clean about that kind of thing.

She glances down, and there it is.

Not one box. Not two. Six.

All crammed in there like the aftermath of a pharmacy raid. Different brands, colors, languages—like you were testing international waters for a second opinion.

She doesn’t touch anything, doesn’t breathe for a second. Just stares.

Like the trash just punched her in the face.

And in that quiet, sterile bathroom, under the buzz of the cheap lightbulb and the sound of the shower heating up behind her, Sevika feels something coil tight in her chest.

It’s not anger yet. Not exactly.

It’s pressure. Sharp and sudden.

She runs a hand over her mouth. Drags it down her jaw. Stares at the boxes again like maybe they’ll vanish if she looks away and back. They don’t.

She mutters—barely audible, barely even real—“Jesus fucking Christ…”

And then turns the shower on full blast, not to wash, but just to think.

She stands there, leaning against the sink, eyes closed, trying not to spiral.

Because holy shit.

You’re pregnant.

And you didn’t tell her. Not yet.

She doesn’t remember walking back into the bedroom. Doesn’t remember turning off the shower or throwing her shirt into the hamper.

All she knows is that her pulse is hammering in her ears and her hands are clenched into fists at her sides as she steps into the dark room—and then stops cold.

You’re in bed. You must’ve moved after she went into the shower—curled up small beneath the sheets, half on her pillow, the blanket dragged up to your chin like a little kid trying to disappear. The TV’s off, and here in the bedroom, it’s quiet. Soft. Too soft.

Your eyes flutter open when you hear her.

“Mm… babe?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep, blinking slow. “You okay?”

And Sevika just stares at you.

Sleepless. Speechless.

You look so normal. So you. A little tired, a little confused, a little vulnerable. Like the same girl she’s kissed a thousand times, teased awake, tangled her legs with under these sheets more nights than she can count.

But she sees it now. The shadow under your eyes. The hesitation in your voice. The way your hand curls on the edge of the blanket like you’re already bracing for something.

And fuck.

She wants to yell.

Wants to shout, “What the fuck were you thinking?” Wants to throw every test on the bed and demand to know how long you’ve been walking around with a secret this big—alone, sick, scared—while she’s been out there thinking everything’s fine.

But then you look at her like that.

Soft. Sleepy. Trusting.

Like you don’t even realize you’ve just broken her heart.

And Sevika’s breath catches in her throat.

Her hands open. Then clench again. Then open. She runs a hand down her face.

“…You moved,” she says instead. It comes out hoarse.

You blink again. “Got cold.”

Her jaw flexes.

You don’t know yet. That she knows. And fuck, maybe she should tell you now. Get it out. Just say it. Just ask.

But for a second, all she can do is look at you.

Her girl. Her idiot. Her secret-keeping, fear-shaking, trying-her-best girl.

She exhales slow. Walks to the dresser. Opens a drawer, pulls out a clean tank top.

“Sev?” you ask again, voice quieter this time.

She doesn’t answer right away. Just slips the shirt on over her head. Then finally—after a long, brutal pause—she mutters, “You really thought I wouldn’t find out, huh?”

And that’s when your breath stops.

You shoot up in bed, eyes wide, breath catching in your throat. “Wait—Sev, I—”

She doesn’t even turn around fully. Just stands there in the low light, hand braced on the edge of the dresser like she needs to anchor herself to something solid.

“I—” you swallow. Your voice breaks. “I was gonna tell you. I swear, I was. I only found out this morning, I just—fuck, I didn’t know how to—”

“I knew something was off,” Sevika mutters, low and tight. “I knew it.” She laughs bitterly.

“I wasn’t hiding it on purpose—I just didn’t want to freak you out—”

“And what the fuck do you think this is, then?” she snaps, suddenly whipping around.

You flinch. Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

Sevika curses under her breath and runs a hand down her face. She’s pacing now—back and forth, heavy-footed, like her body doesn’t know what to do with the sheer rage knotting up her chest.

“Christ,” she mutters. “This isn’t a stomach bug, this isn’t forgetting to eat breakfast—this is—this is huge, and you were just gonna what, lie in bed next to me every night pretending you weren’t pregnant?”

“I wasn’t pretending!” you say quickly, voice cracking. “I didn’t know until this morning! I was scared—!”

“So you hide it?!” Her voice booms in the room like thunder.

You go still. So does she.

She closes her eyes. Breathes hard through her nose. Regrets it instantly.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to—” she shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

You’re still staring at her with wide, stung eyes, arms wrapped around yourself under the blanket.

Sevika’s jaw clenches. She scrubs her palm down her face again, like she’s trying to scrape off the anger. But it won’t go. It’s boiling under her skin.

“Do you have any idea what it felt like, finding that shit in the trash?” she says, voice low now, shaking. “Do you even realize what that means to me?”

You swallow. Hard. “I didn’t want to do it alone. I just… didn’t know how to bring you in without making it worse.”

“It’s already worse,” Sevika growls. “Because you’re not just scared. You didn’t trust me.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

The silence sits between you like a third person. Loud. Suffocating.

She stares at you.

And then her voice breaks, softer this time—just a whisper:

“You didn’t even give me the chance.”

That’s when your eyes well up.

“Sevika— I—I didn’t think you’d leave, or freak out, I just—” you hiccup. “I wanted to hold it together for a second before dragging you into the mess.”

Sevika kneels in front of the bed suddenly knees thudding against the floor. She puts her hands on your knees, eyes locked on yours, voice ragged:

“We’re already in it. You get that? Whatever the fuck this is—we’re in it. Together. You don’t get to decide when I get to show up.”

You blink fast. “…I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

She exhales hard. Then presses her forehead to your knees.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” she mutters.

“I know— I’m sorry.” Your voice break.

But your hands find her hair anyway. And her arms come around your legs. And even with all that fury still simmering under her skin, she just holds you. Because you’re still her girl. And there’s something growing inside you that neither of you can ignore anymore.

The silence stretches.

Heavy. Stagnant.

Sevika stays crouched there with her forehead resting against your knees for a few more seconds—long enough for your fingers to fall still in her hair. And then, finally, slowly, she pushes herself up with a quiet grunt and sits beside you on the edge of the bed.

Back to you.

Both of you staring straight ahead at nothing.

You watch her side profile in the dark. Her shoulders rising and falling slow. Her jaw still tight.

You can’t read her face.

And honestly? That’s worse than the yelling.

So after what feels like forever, you whisper, “I found out this morning.”

Sevika doesn’t move.

You pick at the blanket on your lap. “I felt weird when I woke up. Nausea again. Almost passed out brushing my teeth. And then it just… hit me. Like a switch got flipped.”

She’s listening. You can tell from the twitch of her fingers against her thigh.

You press on. Soft. Careful.

“I went to the pharmacy. Took every brand I could find. Six tests. Just in case one was wrong, or I—I don’t know.” You laugh under your breath, a little shaky.

Sevika still doesn’t speak.

You glance down, biting your lip.

“They were all positive,” you whisper. “Every single one.

You wait again.

Still nothing.

And then, like instinct—like muscle memory—you try to patch the silence the way you always do:

“…Also, I’d like it noted that those tests were fucking expensive, so if you could Venmo me later that’d be awesome...”

Your voice is light. Hopeful. Trying.

And for a second, you think she didn’t even hear you.

But then—

A sound.

A quiet, half-choked exhale that almost sounds like a laugh. Sevika brings a hand up and drags it down her face again, head tilted back like she’s looking for mercy from the ceiling.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “You’re pregnant and you’re still bitching about the price tag.”

You grin. Barely. Its trembling. “Well. If we’re gonna have a kid, I gotta start budgeting now…”

That gets a real exhale from her.

And slowly, finally, she turns her head to look at you.

She looks tired. Wrecked. But not furious anymore.

Just—stunned.

“…You sure?” she asks. Quiet.

You nod. “I kept the tests if you wanna take one.”

That earns you a faint smirk, barely there. “Think we’ve bled the pharmacy dry, babe.”

You both go quiet again.

Then Sevika looks away. Rubs the back of her neck. Stares at the floor like it’s supposed to have answers written on it.

You wait.

Because this is the part where she needs a second. Maybe ten.

And then she finally says—low, like she’s still trying it out—

“So. What the hell do we do now?”

No beta read sorry in advance we die like a lesbian

dividers: @/cursed-carmine

taglist: @lonerslug @archangeldyke-all @sevikasswifee @blessupblessup @ahintofchaos @riotstemple29

[xiaprint]

frat rules | minors dni

the minute that caleb got his acceptance letter in the mail, you had mixed feelings. there was plenty of pride, so much that it felt overwhelming. he had worked hard from the start and remained top of his graduating class, he was a model student. things were never once handed to caleb but he always managed to make the most with what he had. it was a talent and he did it with charisma, making it impossible for others to pity him. he didn’t like to accept charity or kind favors, so taking everything on the chin with his boyish smile was his signature move.

still, everyone knew what college was about. a stepping stone for a sparkling future career, sure— but the real fun was in the freedom. away from the family and childhood friends, given that golden opportunity to completely rewrite who you were. it was the prime time to drop the formalities and sleep around, get shitfaced, make new connections with people who were thrown into the same situation of the unknown.

maybe it scared you, just a little. he’d be forever away, he’d be establishing new friendships, he’d possibly be dodging flirty advances left and right. the caleb you knew, sweet and doting and utterly in love with every fiber of your being could very well take a liking to the change.

of course, voicing these insecurities and doubts wasn’t an option. caleb had been practically buzzing since he learned that he’d be attending flight school in skyhaven. killing the fun, ruining the good mood— it felt harsh. this was the first time that something was being offered to him without asking for anything in return, the one chance to be selfish and put himself first. you knew that if you said something, he would surely reconsider. that’s who he was.

so dwelling was the way to go. you sulked in private, supported in caleb’s face. you focused on saving face at his celebratory dinner. you counted down the weeks, mood souring as they turned into days. you kissed his cheek once you said your goodbye’s at the airport. it felt like sending off a piece of yourself but caleb was capable of handling himself. he’d be just fine.

however, you were completely unaware of how much he struggled. he was a socialite at heart and had no problem making friends with his roommate, no problem meeting his roommates friends. the classes started up about a week after move in and before long, he was familiar with skyhaven and what it had to offer. caleb blended in perfectly with the atmosphere, content with his professors and the hands on aspect of his training.

despite being miles upon miles apart, he still put forth the effort. he door dashed your favorites around dinner time on the occasion and he tracked your location like a hawk. he facetimed you when he had downtime and picked up every single call even if he was busy. after all, it was in his nature to take care of his little slice of home back in linkon city now that she was on her own.

the adjustment became easier with time for the both of you. life went on, things got hectic. there would be a few days of pure radio silence on both ends because the course load was heavy in flight school and you had your own business to worry about.

holidays rolled in and you finally had an excuse to fly out. it was a deliberate little plan that you conjured in secret, leaving caleb out of the many details. you bought your own plane ticket, took it upon yourself to travel to the academy. things calmed down in your personal life so the time was right, everything in place.

you didn’t, however, expect a guy who wasn’t caleb to answer his dorm’s door. the dots were connected rather quickly when you were reminded that caleb was rooming with another student for his first semester, recognizing gideon from photos posted by the academy’s official socials. it was clear that he had company, a bunch of guys laughing and joking around over bass playing from the tv. your eyes fell to study the can of busch light in his roommates hand, raising a brow.

“is caleb around?”

it takes gideon a few seconds to process your words, especially over the shouting and loud music blaring behind him, scratching his chin before lighting up like a christmas tree. he recognized you from all of the photos, the facetime calls, caleb’s never-ending rambles about his girl back home. “oh shit! he’s gonna be over the moon!”

with some introductions and gentle guidance around the house, gideon leads you to caleb’s room. clean, neat, very little decor. he was a minimalist at heart, only ever taking it upon himself to make things look nice if he knew that you’d be sharing the space with him. you were shocked but not surprised to find caleb at his desk, red solo cup tipped sideways on the wood. his cheeks were flushed as he rests his head against his elbow, bleary eyes staring at the single picture frame by his laptop.

it held a photo of you, of course. taken from his point of view, his hand reaching up to help you off of a tree. all you ever did at the time was giggle and refuse to come down, only worried about keeping your bucket hat on your head.

“i didn’t know my caleb was a sentimental drunk,” your voice coos in his ear gently as your arms curl around his shoulders, tucking your face against his warm face. it causes him to jump, slow in reaction to breathe you in. a few beats pass before he’s shooting up like a rocket to pull your body into a hug. it was snug and tight, his balance faltering a bit.

he smelled. smelled familiar, smelled like aftershave. he smelled like jameson whiskey and spice mixed with home. it lingered on the collar of his dress shirt, black with a popped collar. there was no helping the way you stuffed your face into the fabric, huffing him in and letting the scent pull you in like a riptide.

“why are you here?” he asks softly, reeling back to get a good look at the girl in front of him. he was thankful that gideon read the room for once, exiting and closing the door behind him. “how are you here? i thought you were preparing for a hunter’s exam.”

the flurry of questions is a little out of character for caleb and it’s obvious that he’s a bit tipsy, stumbling over his excitement and need to know. this was the reaction you’ve been looking for after handling the specifics in secret— catching caleb off guard was always fulfilling. he got so giddy, forever easy to please.

“it’s called a surprise, you big dummy,” your voice sounds like liquid honey in his ears, so overwhelmed with love and happiness as he simply stares back at you. a few blinks, really taking you in. it felt as though you matured more since the last time he saw you, growing into your features. it tugged at his heart and he doesn’t even realize the way he’s backing you up slowly, guiding you onto his bed.

it’s hard, very unlike the one back at home. the frame is rough and made of wood, the mattress flat and small. it’s a miracle that caleb can even sleep comfortably on it but he was good at making the most of any situation. the man grew to be very simple, never one to be picky. your head hits the pillow and giggles fly out of your mouth, caleb taking that chance to rain the skin of your extended neck in kisses.

everything following blurs. his friends are still being loud just a door away, chanting as they initiate a stupid drinking game. their endeavors are the last thing on your mind as caleb grinds against your leg, as he kisses you until your lips hurt with the desperate weight of them. he holds you like glass, runs his calloused fingertips along your skin with carefulness. one track mind, only focused on getting you bare against his sheets.

your jeans are a struggle to pull off of your thighs in his inebriated state, groaning softly in annoyance when they get caught at your knees. you assist with a huff of a giggle, unable to ignore the way his eyes flutter at the sight of you. a breathy laugh leaves him at the sight of the pink bow on your panties. “you never change, huh?” he whispers with a shake of his head, expressing his disbelief.

the urge to slap his arm in retaliation is strong but this wasn’t the time and place. there was a heavy amount of tension in the air that needed to be fixed, an ache that he needed to soothe between your legs. the impatience was only getting stronger and he could sense it in the way you pawed at his own pants, swift in the way you pop the button open.

he works at his shirt at the same time, practically ripping the buttons off of the fabric, shoving his sleeves down his arms until it lands on the bed with your top. the sheer rush of flipping you onto your tummy with the brute strength he’s built in the recreation center, of making sure you’re ready with his fingers before sliding inside. it floods you with adrenaline, moaning weakly once his dick finally sinks in.

and oh, he got bigger since you last saw him. you could feel it in his grip strength, holding onto your hips and fucking you back onto his cock. it was inevitable that he would grow over the course of the year but it was so much at once. bigger biceps, beefier pecs, thicker thighs. it had you winded, gasping for oxygen as your cheek rubs against his comforter.

“oh, baby,” he coos between heavy pants of hot air, leaning to hover, pressing his bare abdomen along your arched back. he cages you in like a predator, his chain being the only cool touch as it settles between your shoulder blades. “oh, baby. you got tighter since last time. pussy’s so hungry, baby.”

filth fills the air. skin on skin, the scent of sex and juice and sweat mixing with the apple scented air freshener he has plugged in by his dresser. your moans drown in the fabric of his pillowcase, barely having enough restraint to keep quiet. all you want to do is pull your face out of the pillow, to scream and let caleb know just how good he’s giving it to you. how it’ll never be anyone but him for you, how he’s the only man who can feel you this deep.

not that you needed to know, but caleb had been missing you terribly so. every weekend would be dedicated to partying, his roommates constantly dragging him out for some beer and a good time. he wanted to embrace the chance, he wanted to make the most of his young adult years. still, he couldn’t get out of his own head. wondering what you were doing, who you were talking to, if you were drying yourself off after a shower and keeping up with the show you told him about and watering the bonsai tree he left on his nightstand.

he couldn’t get over the fact that you were alone. for the first time, you were genuinely alone. it saddened him to think of you eating dinner alone, folding one basket of laundry, waking up in an empty bed. this surprise visit was just what he needed to soothe his nerves.

“they assigned me a plane, my very own aircraft,” caleb murmurs into your ear with sensual kisses to the lobe. the pace never falters, guts battered by his tip while he sucks your skin into his mouth. his tongue swirls along it and a groan leaves him as he lets it go. “i’ll show you after this, yeah? take you to my plane and fuck you in the cockpit.”

the pace simply never slows. it’s consistent, steady. his headboard ruts against the wall with soft thuds that would be otherwise extremely noticeable if not for the rowdiness happening in his kitchen. he hasn’t felt the warmth of your cunt in such a long time, hasn’t felt like himself since he left your side. it has him gasping, has his jaw nearly locked open with groans that mold with your own.

your ass rocks so nastily with every thrust, rippling for his eyes only. he can’t resist the urge of grabbing for a feel, watching the skin flood between his fingers. you’ve always been the prettiest, have always been the only girl his eyes dared to study. nothing hits right when it isn’t you, getting off has been a struggle in itself. porn could never capture this.

heat coils in his stomach, knots up in warning. your pussy is soaking him, glossing his thighs and his pelvis. your essence sticks to him like glue, creating filthy smacks each time his hips slap against your ass— just the way he liked it. it told him he was doing his job, let him know that your body loved him just as much as your mind did.

“i missed your cock,” the sound of your broken voice pulls him out of his trance, the pleasure so burning hot that his toes curl in his shoes. you’ve always fed his fantasies like a fire, spiting dirty words right back at him on reflex. you were the most beautiful to him when you were speaking your mind, all he ever wanted was to pick your brain.

“stretching you out just right, isn’t it?” he murmurs sweetly between pants, nuzzling his nose into your hair. the hand you’ve got twisted up in his duvet is quickly covered by his own, sluggishly threading his fingers with yours. “just the way you like it. i’ve been neglecting my baby.”

his words earn rapid clenches from your walls. it makes him shudder, gnawing at his bottom lip in hopes of masking a pathetic moan. the thought of ever straying from this, of having to wait another few months for another chance to make love to you physically hurts him. he wants to make the most of it, wants round after round until your legs are shaking and your body is twitching.

a knock interrupts his train of thought, sends electric shocks up his spine. gideon’s slurred complaint is barely audible through the thick wood of the closed door, the mere thrill mixed with slight panic making caleb shamelessly shoot a thick load inside of you.

[love-quinn]

— PHONE LINES

summary — when the city’s under fire, your coworkers' first priority is breaking the story. you, however, have more pressing issues. like finding your boyfriend, clark.

warnings — i haven't consumed a single other piece of superman media in the last 10 years so this is entirely based off the 2025 movie, i made lois a girlkisser because look at her (w supergirl because i shipped it at 7) , SPOILERS for the plot of 'superman (2025)'

pairing — clark kent x daily planet!reader

pronouns — she/hers

featuring — clark kent, lois lane, jimmy olsen, cat grant, perry white

word count — 2746

note — if this is innacurate to the Greater Superman Lore i do apologise i'm very much like,, dc adjacent i've been getting into more of the superhero genre over the past year and had the vague idea that i'd tackle marvel first but i went to the cinema to watch this and literally haven't stopped thinking about him since, again this will have spoilers for the movie read at your own risk. also the dialogue probably isn't right because i'm writing this from memory for a movie i saw two days ago.

There were times when you wondered why the hell you still lived in Metropolis. Why didn't you pack up your one bedroom apartment and high tail it out of there. The two recent attacks on the city lately, combined with the fact that Superman was allegedly on Earth to lord over everybody. You’d always thought Superman was kind of cool, and with everything that had happened lately, you were still hoping with a small part of yourself that he was who he said he was. 

California probably had enough news to keep you busy, probably had warmer weather too. You didn’t even do serious journalism, you worked the entertainment column. If anything, California would be better for your career. 

Sure, there were more earthquakes on average there, but you were pretty sure that none of the tectonic plates ever split to create an interdimensional void. At least, that’s what you thought was happening, based on the fact that the ground was coming apart and the chasm was glowing a bright purple. 

You’d been at work when it hit, sitting at your desk and staring blankly at the empty copy on your screen, your list of events for the week scrawled neatly on the front page of your notepad, knowing all you had to do was zhuzh it up a little. You were only procrastinating it because it felt like the only thing of substance you got to do that day, knowing that the second it was over you were going to have to launch directly into the important news that a hollywood actor and his wife had announced their divorce a few hours prior. Maybe if you got that done fast enough you could talk to Penny and ask if she wanted help thinking of crossword clues. 

Now, almost everyone had evacuated except you and a few of your coworkers. Lois was explaining the scandal to Perry, who sat in his chair smoking his cigar, something about Lex Luthor trying to buy a country. You couldn’t hear it over the yelling from the street and your phone pressed to your ear. 

Hey, you’ve reached Clark Kent of the Daily Planet, leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.

You didn’t bother leaving a message, there was no way he didn’t know about this. You hadn’t seen him in almost two days, he’d answered your texts sporadically, apologising for taking off so suddenly. Stomach flu, he’d warned you when you’d offered to go to his apartment. Highly contagious. 

“And you have a spaceship?” Terry asked. You weren’t sure what conversation they’d been having, but maybe the stress was getting to your head. 

You dialled the number again. Hey, you’ve reached Cla-

“Shit,” you hissed. You and Clark had only been dating for a few months, it wasn’t even anything serious. You hadn’t even told anyone, that was how casual it was. He’d take you out on dates after work, make you dinner, sing your praises when you told him you didn’t feel like a real journalist. He was the sweetest guy you’d ever been with, and if things didn’t work out you weren’t sure what you would do. 

Because that’s what kept you tied to the Planet, you knew. Your lovely coworker sitting just two desks down from you, turned to your adoring friend who would smile at you over yesterday’s paper and tell you he knew you’d helped with the crossword. And now, Clark. Not quite your boyfriend, not quite not your boyfriend. 

You suspected Lois knew because there wasn’t a lot that woman didn’t know, and Cat seemed to have a sixth sense for that sort of thing. Jimmy you weren’t able to read as well, you guys weren’t as close, but he was always kind to you when the two of you found yourselves at the coffee pot together.

You hadn’t told anyone, but if Clark had you wouldn’t be angry. A glow bloomed in your chest at the idea that the two of you were important enough to be worth speaking of. 

“Hey,” Jimmy’s hand was on your shoulder. You glared down at your texts to Clark, unanswered, unread. “You coming? We’re going.”

“We’re just gonna-” you watched Jimmy heft Lois’s clue board – equipped with red string and a concerning amount of selfies from a pretty blonde – “We can’t just leave!”

“‘Course we can,” Jimmy said, struggling under the weight of the board and the baby-talk he was trying to cajole you with. “Come on, let’s go. We’re in a rush.”

You looked around desperately. You didn’t know where Clark lived, what side of town, if he’d been in the rip’s path yet or not. Your apartment was East, it’d hold for a little while longer. If Clark was looking for you, he’d come here. 

Still no sign of him. He’d left his suit jacket hung over the back of his chair the last time he’d come in. The Planet was mostly business casual, but you liked him in a suit, so you weren’t going to complain. 

Even Steve had grabbed his stuff to follow the group. You were the only one still standing there. “But what about Clark?”

Lois stopped in her tracks, for just a moment, turning around to face you. “I know where he is. Come on.”

She’d known what to say to you, alright. Lois had been the first person Clark had told about his budding relationship with you, or more accurately she’d asked him about it once and he’d caved without any pressure. 

She was also the only person in the world aside from his parents who knew his identity, and Lois knew if he’d told you, there was no way you’d still be standing there. 

You grabbed your stuff as quickly as you could, albeit clumsily, following the group. You weren’t sure what you were expecting as Lois hurried you along onto the building’s roof, Lois and Jimmy spewing all the information they had on Lex Luthor being behind the vicious decline in popularity that had befallen Superman lately, but a literal spaceship being parked there wasn’t it.

“I don’t understand-” you said, moving out of the way for Jimmy to load the board onto the ship. “Lois, where’s Clark?”

She looked at you from the other side of the doorway. “Last I heard, Kansas. At his parents’ place.”

Clark had gone to Kansas? He’d only been sick a few days. He hadn’t said anything, his last text to you simply reading: The second I’m better, you can expect a night in to make up for this. 

You’d sent back: can’t wait. He’d liked the message. 

“Why didn’t…” you couldn’t ask that, not when you were standing at the door of a literal spaceship. You clambered on, reaching behind you to pull Cat up with you. The two of you claimed the last available seats, with Lois at the helm. 

Perhaps you should have been listening earlier. Lois got Jimmy to transcribe with his pen between his teeth, talking about Lex Luthor’s big master plan to profit from the war, but you were still staring down at your phone. 

Hey, this is Cl-

Why hadn’t Clark told you he was going to Kansas? It had been two days since you’d last seen him, sure, but that message had been sent last night. Lois, in between trying to figure out the controls and verbalising her article for Jimmy to type, was looking back at you in your seat as much as she could. 

She couldn’t ease your worries, not now, not in front of everyone at work. You just stared down at your phone like it would suddenly will Clark to appear. Though, now you were in the sky, you weren’t sure that’s what you wanted anymore. 

You’d really liked him, maybe even enough to ask him to be your boyfriend. You weren’t very good at making the first move, and, to his fairness, neither had he. But he’d bitten that bullet for you, asking you out and spending countless nights making you feel special. 

Jimmy’s leg stretched over to kick you. He was sitting too far away for it to be unintentional, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the laptop for longer than a second, and with his pen in his mouth it was hard to ask what he wanted to. 

You nodded, and when you realised he didn’t catch it, spoke gently. “Yeah, Jim.” 

Jimmy handed his laptop off to Perry, who read the article. Within minutes, your phone was lit up with an alert. 

The Daily Planet — BREAKING: Billionaire Lex Luthor Colludes with Boravian Government to Invade Jarhanpur - by Lois Lane. 

Okay, that made sense, you supposed. Lois had mentioned something about Mr Terrific on the way up, so she’d clearly been speaking to the Justice Gang (crew? you could never remember their name), but you still weren’t aware of why Lois had one of their spaceships. 

There was a lot of stuff that you probably should have been paying attention to but you couldn’t take your focus off of Clark. The only thing you could think about were all the worst possible things. What if his stomach flu had knocked him out so he didn’t even know what was happening?

Why had he gone to Kansas if he wasn’t feeling well, and why hadn’t he told you? He’d told you about his parents, how he’d been adopted as a kid, how he grew up on a farm in Smallville. You weren’t sure if he’d mentioned you to his mom and dad, but that didn’t bother you. 

You would’ve appreciated a text, though.

The hurt was second only to the worry. This was common in Metropolis, world-ending cataclysms were what drove your career, if you were ever able to get it off the ground. There was the time that the library got hit with a huge ice monster while Clark was there and he’d dropped his phone somewhere in the stacks, hiding there while Superman dealt with the monster. That had been four days after your first date with Clark, and you’d kissed him right there in the break room, with no regard for who could have seen. 

You just wanted to make sure he was okay, gripping your phone in both hands until your knuckles turned white. 

“He’s okay,” Lois was keeping the ship steady. She turned to you for a moment before looking back out the front window. “I know you’re worried.”

“Why did he,” you had to pause to wet your lips, so dry they were cracking. “Why did he go to Kansas?” Your cheeks felt wet. You didn’t want to cry in front of your coworkers. 

Lois seemed to be very conscious of what she was saying in front of the rest of them. Steve was shakily trying to down a probiotic, Jimmy was texting frantically, pen still in his mouth, Cat seemed unbothered, Perry had a cigar in his mouth. “His glasses,” she said finally, tone even. “He had an issue with them - the glasses - and had to go see his parents.”

You’d never seen Clark without his glasses, not even the one time he’d slept over. You’d fallen asleep on him while watching a movie, and then the next morning he’d woke you with a soothing hand on your back, already dressed for work in yesterday’s clothing. 

But you had. It had been late one night, Clark had turned away from you to wipe them on his shirt and when he turned back, they were only mostly on. His face looked different from the split second, still familiar, still loving and comforting, but not quite like your Clark.

But perfectly like the man who had been plastered on the front page of the newspaper as recently as that morning. 

“Why didn’t he tell me?” Lois knew you weren’t talking about Kansas. 

“He wanted to,” she said. “He wanted you to be the first person he told. I… figured it out,” she glanced behind at you. “He…” she swallowed, looking back. “He… they closed the rift.”

You, despite your better judgement, unbuckled. Lois was already standing, gripping onto you tightly. Jimmy was at your other side, and he pressed a triumphant kiss to your hairline. Cat screamed in your ear but you didn’t even care.

As Lois landed the ship, the six of you poured out, all desperately looking for your loved ones. Jimmy was practically tackled by a gorgeous woman who ran at him so hard he had to lift her off the ground to avoid falling over. Lois was wrapped in a hug by a pretty blonde girl wearing a fur coat and red boots, looking more at peace than you’d ever seen her during the year you’d been coworkers. 

You stood there, beside the spaceship, clutching your phone and watching the sky. They’d fixed the rift, surely if Clark was dead it would’ve been major news. You’d already gotten eight more google alerts about Luthor since the Planet had broken the story. Surely a casualty like that would make for front page news.

“It’s Superman!”

And there he was, high in the sky above the now destroyed Luthorcorp building. He didn’t stop, though, heading straight west until he eventually went out of sight. Lois clapped you on the shoulder, still wrapped up by the blonde girl who looked slightly hungover and also apparently freezing by the way she clutched her coat close. “It’s obvious once you see it.” She muttered. 

You nodded, still gazing at the spot you’d last seen him.

“What is?”

His voice was different, now that you noticed. Clark’s voice went deeper when he was in costume, or perhaps out of costume, whichever he considered true really. But you didn’t turn for Superman, you turned for Clark. 

He caught you when you reached him, a strong hand on your back and the other on your hip. “Hi, honey.” Neither of you cared that your coworkers were right there. 

“I love you,” were the first words out of your mouth, terrified that you wouldn’t get a chance to say them. Not after the day you’d had.

Clark clutched you tighter. “I love you,” he said warmly, voice breaking like pancake batter spilling over a pan. Like a cup overflowing. “I love you.” Not too, not as well. Independent from yours.

He kissed you, after two full days without you, it made him feel better than the glow of the yellow sun, beginning to set but still high in the sky. “I wanted to tell you,” he urged against your mouth. “Every time I looked at you it felt harder. I love you, I didn’t want this to have to be something you deal with. Didn’t want you to know too much.”

You pulled away, chest heaving, one hand clenched around that tie he was wearing. Home and back in five minutes and he’d taken the time to put his tie back on. “I could know everything in the world about you and I’d still want more,” you said gently. 

“You’re not angry?”

You almost looked offended. “That my boyfriend stopped a geopolitical conflict? Or that my boyfriend has a second house I haven’t seen?”

Clark said your name, low on his lips and heavy in his throat. “I am sorry,” he was sincere, not apologising for either of the things you’d just brought up. The sidewalk was put together, but there was still a crack down the middle. 

“I believe I was promised a night in,” you said. “You can make it up to me then. Because I don’t care about this stuff, I never have, you know that. It’s not me. I care about you, about Clark Kent, who once tried to make me a birthday cake and ended up almost burning his apartment down. Who would hold my hand on the way to work like we had some huge secret, that lugged my couch up four flights of stairs because it didn’t fit in the elevator. That once told me he hopes people think of him as highly as they think of me.”

Your face was warm under the pad of his thumb. “I’m your boyfriend now?” He felt you get warmer. 

“I said that for dramatics,” you said, “You want it, you gotta earn it.” Clark laughed, the warmest sound you had ever heard. You continued. “Just like you earned all those interviews with Superman.”

[purpleprints]

20 Feet Underground

I live on the westside, never met my dad and my mom lived two lives. She wouldn't let me go outside much because she ran the streets. Sometimes I would wake up to her not even being here. yea, I don't see her for days. we did stay down the street from my uncle, but my mom lost that house and refuse to go back to grandma. Grandma don't even know where we stay now because she tried to call child services on my mom. living with grandma wouldn't have been no better. She just wants to get a check out of it. everything revolves around money.

I had a little brother, but he's also the first dead body I seen. his name was Maurice, his dad fought for custody for him and lost, when he heard from the cops Maurice got ran over by a car...he blew his brains out in his car. That was the day our big cousin Jude was watching us. Jude use to put a needle in his veins and drink until he fell asleep. He in jail now for child neglect. I'm 16 years old and she's never around so I be outside too. I used her Medicaid to get one of the flip phones they sell outside them tents, and when I found the key to the mailbox, I had a first check for SSI. I usually used it for food and hygiene.

We had some leftover milk so, I made some cereal and sat in my room. I heard the front door slam, and the vent in the kitchen came on. "Fatima", she called out. I rolled my eyes dragging my feet to the living room. " yes". I looked at her while she moves from one counter to the other. "Where the food come from? Did you go by your grandma? I stood quiet staring at her. " Oh, so you can't talk now?"

"Jehovah witness stopped by, they said, the food their walking around with are charity."

she just stared at me, crossing her arms. "Jehovah? them motherfuckers just want to be noisy. you just dirty, every time I see you, you're wearing them ripped up tights?

I looked down," I had these since I was 9...I'm sixteen".

She held her head down for a moment, I hope she's as embarrassed as me deep down inside, she lifted up a bag full of stuff in it and told me to bring it to my room. When I walked to my room she followed me. "Yes?' I said turning towards her.

"You been going to school?"

why she asked that shit,

"They say I need to come in better uniform", I said. I didn't want to look at her, but I know how much she love attention, so I just sat on my mattress and looked at her.

"Oh, so school a fashion show?"

she walked out my room and went into hers. fashion show? I hate going to school, I'm way different from the other teens. I tried to keep things clean but, this house dirty as the fuck, and we don't have soap powder. a knock came at my window, I turned around seeing Betsy. I met her like 3 weeks ago on the block somewhere near the corner store.

I raised the window up, " your stalking me now?"

"Girl, look. I need you to hold this bag down for me. I really need you."

"what's in the bag?'

"My work, and I'll put ya musty ass on if you take the bag"

" Fuck you," I said pulling the window down

"You fucking playing?'

I just stared at her, and rolled it back up, "I don't know about friends but a real one, would've gave me deodorant if she felt I was musty, and you know what I go through, ugly ass".

she smacked her teeth and threw the bag in my room, from the window. "Meet me on the street you see me on when you get off that bus. I'll be there at 1am. you do this, I'll show you a friend,"

I looked back at the bag, picked it up and when I looked back at the window, she was gone. I barley even know her for real; she just calls me pretty girl every time she sees me, we talk a little. I put the bag in my closet with my brother baby blanket over it.

Time went by, and I just looked out the window, my mom was still in her room. when I went in there, she was slob-Ing: laid out on her mattress. She been in there for 6 hours, I thought she was a dead body. her room has a dead bull lock on it. the drugs made my mom lose weight; she was almost as small as me. We have the same breast but Shes big at the top, and now small at the bottom. I need to have the right colors, because I have a dangerous block to pass up in order to meet Betsy. this my only chance to go in my mom bag of clothes and find something decent to put on. She barley had clothes herself, but I see some things I can fit.

After I found something, I rushed to the bathroom and ran some hot water and sat in it. I heard another slam at the door, I guess she is leaving for another three days. it's now 10:56. hours and hours of nothing but these walls and me. I got out the tub and ran to my room to air dry. I left my door locked and took a little nap.

(Gun shots)

I jumped up, out my sleep, heart just beating from my chest. the house is as hot as outside, so I'm sweating. All i can think about is, I hope it's not my mom...

I through on her clothes I borrowed and went to the front.

" uh uh... where the fuck you are going? and don't think I didn't hear you run that water long like that, you don't have a job bitch."

I froze when I heard her voice. yea, why not let you die in the street. even though my heart doesn't mean it. I turned around seeing she had company. " Hoe? is that my clothes?"

I looked down at what I had on. " You, you said.... you called me dirty earlier and I outgrown my clothes,"

"GO TO YOUR ROOM"

I walked away, her guest just watched everything, people don't have inputs or wear capes. Shes probably just mad that I walked in on her, with small lines laid out on the counter. lines she created with the ebt we never use. She uses it but not for our home, this isn't even a home. being here is just like living with grandma, but grandma, wants to put her hands on you. I used to have marks on my skin, but that's okay because when I cry Remember all the time, I hog spit in her drink. I hate her, and cps, they already showed me early, ratting gets you nowhere. it gets you hurt, beat, even killed.

A knock hit my door, I forgot I had it on lock.

"And you think, you fucking grown bitch, take my clothes off.", she bust in my door grabbing me by my hair. She pulled me to the floor and kicked me in my stomach." you want to go in my shit without permission? you think you grown?' she start to tag at her clothes, and you can hear the cotton rip, and tears just flow out my eyes. when she kicked my stomach, she unraveled her hands out of my hair.

she walked out with some of the fabric in her hands, what I had on was now all ripped up. I went to the mattress and pulled my phone from out my pillow. when I first got the phone, I cut the bottom of the pillow open so I can hide it from her. I wish I had Betsy number. I relocked the door and went to the closet for the bag to see if she left a number. I walked back to the mattress and sat down to see what's in the bag.

My phone showed 12:48.

When I opened the bag I seen a white rectangle, solid white, wrapped in siren wrap. And some money. I put everything back in the bag and just when things couldn't get worse, I can see blood drip down my leg.I got up and seen a nothing but red on my mattress. I have to give her this bag. The tissue I took from McDonald’s bathroom a day ago, I balled it up and stuck it in my kitty. It hurt so bad . The paper itself is to tuff ,maybe that’s a good thing because that was a lot . I wiped myself with the rest of the fabric that was on me, pull the window up and headed out the window.

I went the back way, and kept my head down, cops was outside down the block where the shots came from. So I went around another backyard and jumped the fence. The cops pull me for a chat and take this bag… life over for me. Ion really even have a life . I looked at my phone seeing 1:15.

Allot of girls, maybe like 13-19 was walking , they had sexy clothes on. Some looked younger than me, some looked grown like 37 or 40 years old. I didn’t see Besty anywhere. So I walked up and down the block, it’s now 1:30.

“What you doing here? U see that blood on your leg?”

The girl talking to me looked more like a man, a pretty man.

“ umm. I’m looking for Betsy she told me to meet her here.”

His eyes widen, “Betsy.thats my baby. She was worried as fuck earlier. Last she went at was the store. “

I shook my head and started walking away.

“ wait come here”, I followed him to the side of a building . “ you smell like fish. I’m not trying to be rude or anything , I have to clean my ass everyday, and not the slang clean my ass like my body but my ass hole. I got these wipes. Wipe ur leg up . “

I wipe my leg up with the wipes, and threw it on the ground. “ do u have a tampon?”

“Do I have a pussy? Maybe a dussy.” He said smiling.

“Thank you, “ I walked away from him heading to the store. Outside the store was empty and so was inside. I kept walking and heard someone screaming . I walked to the alley hoping it wasn’t Betsy. I walked up and seen two girls, one had a towel on her lip, you can see water dripping from the towel as if it wasn’t rung out. &

“Bitchhhh. It’s 30 mins after! Wtf”

I just stared at her , with water in my eyes .

“ give me the bag” ,she said reaching her palm out. “That’s you smelling like that?”

I nodded my head and started to walk off, but a car zoomed right in where we were. All black.

A black Lincoln pulled up slow and silent, engine purring like a predator. The driver's door creaked open, and out stepped Marcellus "Mulah" Jones, draped in a crimson coat that swept the backs of his snakeskin boots. Wide-brimmed SnapBack, gold rings stacked like trophies,—his silhouette screamed business, not pleasure.

chewing a toothpick with a half-smile

“You know I don’t like two things, ,” he said, his voice was smooth. “Waiting , and searching.”

His skin was smooth, dark like rich mahogany, and his beard was trimmed to a precise line that sharpened the cut of his square jaw. No gold teeth, a chain with a woman on it . Just presence . Control.

“Give me the bag.” I reached him the bag. He looked at me up and down , and then looked at Betsy and the other girl.

[1d1195]

Under Construction VI

Read Under Construction here | ~7.2k

From Me/warnings: a sick fic, fluffy, angsty stuff, and Evan

Summary: “Y’scared me,” he admitted. “Not quite falling off your roof, but close. Y’do this t’all your boyfriends?” There was a smile in his voice. “S’this a test of some kind?” She snorted and then winced. “Sorry,” he kissed her forehead. “No jokes.”

March was the longest month of the year.

Teachers should be paid double in the month of March.

She groaned as her alarm went off and her head felt like a balloon was taking residence where her brain was supposed to be. Or behind her eyes. And her ears. Then there was the whole thing with her nose and her throat. Pretty much anything an otolaryngologist would oversee, felt like it was swollen.

Standing up, she moaned again. It felt like her skin hurt. Without turning on the light, she made it to her bathroom. Blindly she reached for the cabinet door of the vanity. As she opened it, it came off in her hand and dropped on her foot, corner first of course. She hissed and rubbed her other foot on top of her injury while the broken door flopped to the ground too loudly for that early in the morning and for someone that felt like they were suffering from the worst hangover of their life.

Sighing she felt blindly for the thermometer among the shelves in the cabinet.

It was definitely DJ. DJ coughed and sneezed all over everything last week regardless of how many times she reminded him of good hygiene practices. There wasn’t enough hand sanitizer and anti-bacterial soap in the world to stop the super germs of kindergarteners.

Moaning she made her way back to her bed and flopped down. No fever. Despite the fact she felt like she was sweating. All she wanted was a break. One little day. But no fever meant this was doable. It was just a cold. She would sleep for another hour. Show up on time instead of early. She’d been doing this long enough so that she could wing together anything that needed to be put together in a last-minute, last-ditch effort and it would still turn out okay, at least. Either way, the little ones wouldn’t know. Miss Bee would be her happy normal self, just a little sniffly. A little sweaty. A little tired.

She just needed one extra hour of sleep.

*

Harry was worried.

She didn’t answer him yesterday afternoon. Not that he demanded nor needed her undivided attention, but he had never seen her leave work early (early for her, that is). He wasn’t quite sure how he missed her. It was probably like a bad sitcom. Harry saw her at dismissal, fortunately there was no Evan so maybe he didn’t feel the need to keep an eye on her as close as he normally did. That was perhaps his mistake. So, when he looked back, she was gone. He headed down the path to her classroom door, peered in like an absolute creep. He was lucky he did the background check that first day he met her. He was certain the police would have been by to arrest him otherwise. But her lights were off. A novelty. In the six months he had known her, not once had he approached her classroom after school and found it, for all intents and purposes, dark.

It was Tuesday. They always laminated and cut paper on Tuesdays.

He frowned at her empty classroom. Hey Bird, everything okay? You leaving in a hurry for something?

How had he missed her? It went unanswered and after school she was usually pretty, immediately responsive. Running a hand through his hair, he headed back up the path. Her car was gone, and he swore it had to be a joke that he was missing her. He imagined if he was crazy enough to run closer to the road, he would have caught the sight of her taillights heading off.

Turning to his car he sighed. He could swing by her house. That would be a normal boyfriend thing to do, right? It wasn’t crazy, or stalkerish, right?

Right?

“No after school special?” Niall asked.

Once he headed for her classroom, Harry rarely saw Niall after school let out. Niall was just one ladder rung (no pun intended) below Harry on the jobsite, and he was kind enough to check things over at quitting time just so Harry could get even a few extra minutes alone with his pretty bird.

“I guess not,” he mumbled. “S’a bit unlike her. Leaving so quickly. Not answering her texts…”

The one he sent at lunch time because he hadn’t seen her at recess either… Harry’s stomach churned uneasily. Was it something he did? No, it couldn’t be… Their date on Sunday was fine. Everything was fine. So, unless it was something Evan said the day before, or something her pretty brain conjured up in her mind, everything was fine.

“Maybe it was a family emergency,” he shrugged. “I’m sure she’ll text you soon. Don’t stress so much.”

But even if it was nothing to worry about, it still worried him because it was so unlike her. “Driving by her house would be…?”

“Creepy,” Niall stated.

“It would, wouldn’t it?” He grumbled. “She said I could come by any time,” he reminded Niall. They stood facing one another, separated by Harry’s car, Niall leaning back against his driver’s door while Harry leaned against his hood.

“Mm, that’s true. Maybe you could be in the neighborhood. Drive by just to see if she’s home? Maybe she’s just had a long day, and she went home,” he suggested.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered. It just sounded so unlike her. Harry really hoped everything was okay. “Yeah. I’ll drive by,” he confirmed to himself and got in his car without much more thought of it. He sped a little faster and headed to the familiar house with its patched roof and painted shut windows. He wanted to ask her to move in, it would be so much easier, but he knew she loved this house. He didn’t blame her. It was adorable, a great area, and so completely her. If it weren’t for the fact he loved her so much, he probably would have already asked her to abandon it.

He parked in the driveway beside her car, his anxiety easing a little as he headed up the path to her front door and knocked. But then his anxiety kicked right back up as his knock went unanswered. He frowned. Called her phone. Which also went unanswered.

Harry felt bad he was tattling, but he remembered her rule was that it wasn’t tattling if it was a safety concern and there was no question that Harry was concerned for her safety. Hey Louis, it’s Harry. Have you heard from her today? She’s not answering her phone…

No, I haven’t. She must be sick. She’s probably trying to sleep it off and isn’t fully coherent. It’s pretty much the only time her phone goes unanswered. Did she go to work today? She’s insane ya know. I’ll check with her sister just to be safe.

Harry felt only the most minor bouts of relief. However, he was still upset if she was ill and went to work and was hiding it.

I’m… actually at her house. Do you think it’s alright to go in and check on her? She’s not answering the door.

Oh yeah, she’s got an open-door policy for loved ones anyway. Probably especially for you. The spare is on the back side of the welcome sign. It’s hooked on a magnet, can’t miss it. Let me know if she’s worse for wear than we thought.

Harry felt all kinds of emotions as he hurried to find the key and get inside her house. “Hey Bird,” he called, putting the key on the entry table and locking the door behind him. “Y’home?” He asked and kicked his shoes off. It still felt creepy whether he had been granted permission or not. “Kitten,” he called quietly again. “Y’making me a bit nervous,” he admitted and headed through the small hall looking for her. “Oh fuck,” he frowned. She was lying on the bathroom floor. The shower was running, hot steam filling the small room she was almost hard to see. One shoe had fallen off her foot. Her face looked peaceful other than the small wrinkle between her brows like she was in pain. “Hey,” he turned the water off and then crouched beside her. The door to the vanity was gone and flopped on the floor haphazardly. Shit, was she unconscious? Did it hit her? “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he whispered and gently moved her so he could cradle her in his lap. “Kitten?” He tried again. “Bird, m’love, wake up,” he encouraged stroking her face and gently nudging her as best he could without moving her too much in fear the door did hit her head. Then maybe she hit her head again going down. But there was no bump, no cut, not a drop of blood on her face.

She groaned low and long. Pain evident in her face as the peace of her face disappeared and the little stitch in her forehead deepened. “No,” she whined.

“Hey,” he whispered. Relief flooded him. “Bird, s’matter? What happened?”

She coughed hard. Her body was shaking. “S’cold.”

Harry was sweating and so was she. He brushed his hand on the back of her forehead, clammy and a little warm, but not feverish. “Oh, baby,” he frowned.

“M’sleepy.”

“Why didn’t y’say something?” he asked and curled her closer.

“Don’t move me, m’head hurts,” she begged. Making all of Harry’s fears about hitting her head come right back. “I think it’s going to explode,” she explained.

“What’s going t’explode, m’love?”

“My head.”

His heart took off three times as fast. “Bird, did the door hit your head?”

“No, my foot,” she muttered. She was taking him on a roller coaster, and the highs and lows were so jarring he wanted to cry. He glanced at her feet, but she was wearing tights so he couldn’t see anything. “M’head hurts,” she repeated. “I think it’s gonna explode.”

“Kitten,” he frowned. “What happened?”

“M’sick.”

“Why did y’go t’work, Bird?” He whispered and gently scooped her up, one shoe and all. She moaned and tucked her face into his chest.

“No fever.”

“Kitten,” he tisked. “Jus’ because y’don’t have a fever doesn’t mean—”

“Shh…” she sighed. “Please,” her voice cracked, “it hurts so much, and m’so close to crying and then it’ll hurt worse,” she begged, hardly more than a whisper escaped her.

Harry pressed his lips together, brought her to her room and laid her on top of the covers. He kissed the center of her forehead. Wrapping her up in so many blankets she had in the basket from when her room was an icebox. She coughed something fierce, making Harry nearly want to cry for her. She moaned and fell back against her pillow and then was so silent Harry would have seriously worried for a second that she had died if he hadn’t been able to hear her quiet snore through her stuffy nose.

After assuring himself she was alive, he went to her kitchen. His eyes scanned briefly looking for something to help him help her. All the spices were all lined neatly in a shallow little tray—like one you would use to carry items on the patio in the summer. Harry quickly removed them all, leaving them on the counter and searched through her drawers and cabinets looking for things that she would need.

Medicine—cold, flu, anti-inflammatory, pain relievers, cough drops. All of it went on the tray. Next, he grabbed one of her water cups filled in the fridge and placed it with the medicine. Had she eaten? He had no idea, but that would have to wait. He would have to order soup from somewhere nearby. Mum swore by chicken noodle. It was medicinal in its own way. He returned to find her still sound asleep.

It was going to kill him to wake her. But his chest hurt knowing she was unwell. “Baby,” he whispered softly. Almost too softly as he set the tray on her dresser. He grabbed a handful of drugs and her water cup and approached her. “Bird, m’love,” he cooed and gently stroked her face again.

“No,” she whimpered. “No, it hurts,” she didn’t open her eyes, but her lashes developed tiny little crystals, breaking his heart as she sniffled.

“No, baby, don’t cry,” he begged stroking her face as lightly as he could. “I have t’give you medicine. Then you go right back t’sleep, I promise, kitten. M’sorry baby. I’m so sorry.”

She cried anyway. Nonetheless, she did as he asked. Harry placed pills at her lips, and she swallowed her medicine, drank three huge gulps of water, all with her eyes closed. Harry put everything on the tray, climbed into her bed, sitting up against the headboard and brought her head down to his lap. Her cries subsided after a few minutes all while Harry hushed her and as carefully as he could massaged her scalp with his fingertips. When the sniffles and tears finally stopped, Harry felt more relieved than when he realized she wasn’t ignoring him, just simply too sick to move.

While she slept, Harry ordered soup from his phone and continued her head massage for a while. When there was a knock on the door for the soup delivery (seven different soups, two chicken noodle, but other options just in case), Harry slowly removed himself from her bed.

He put all the soup on the counter and headed back to her room. He slowly pulled the covers away from her, whatever the cold medicine he gave her was enough to make her boneless. Her body was hard to move but he would do it slowly and carefully to make her feel better.

Even sick, she was adorable. So cute and pretty Harry almost smiled. She wore a plaid dress with large buttons down the center. A shirt below it since the straps were thin and the neckline was low. Slowly he unbuttoned each one and coaxed her sleeping figure out of her outfit. He removed her remaining shoe, then tore the tights off her legs. He made a mental note to buy her another pair. He couldn’t imagine anything more constricting than the elastic digging into her skin when she wasn’t feeling well. His eyes checked her foot, nothing more than a scrape—not too serious of an injury, thankfully.

In just her underwear, he reached beneath her and unhooked her bra, and he swore she sighed with relief as he removed it from her body. He noted a sweatshirt at the end of her bed. He hadn’t seen it before since his focus was on wrapping her in blankets and nothing else. He grabbed it, slid it over her head and she once more sighed, nuzzling into the collar like she was awake. His heart throbbed painfully in his chest as the Under Construction logo stared back at him. When had she taken this? Not that he cared. Did she sleep in it when he wasn’t around? God, she was cute.

“Harry,” she murmured.

Her sweet, adorable self was going to kill him. He practically groaned hearing her sleep-talk about him. Gently he kissed her forehead, wrapped her back up in her blankets, and left the room once more.

The bathroom looked like a crime scene. The shower curtain was half off the rod, some of the plastic rings were broken. Like she crawled to turn the water on and grabbed the curtain to help herself up. His heart clenched at the thought. He propped the vanity cabinet door against the wall. He’d fix that another day when the sound of his drill wouldn’t hurt her aching head. Then he grabbed her other shoe. She even brought her work bag in with her, which was open and spilling onto the floor as well. Some of the papers inside curled from the steam she made from turning the shower on too hot. Good thing she didn’t get in, she would have burned herself.

Everything alright? Louis texted.

She’s real sick. I just gave her some medicine and put her to bed.

Good. She loves to watch Disney movies when she’s sick. Loves ginger ale. Even if it’s not a stomach thing. Swears it soothes her throat. Harry went to the fridge and grabbed a can of soda as well.

Good to know. I’ll put some on. Her head was killing her.

She gets migraines when she’s run down. Harry swore to himself and sighed. He should have known.

Shit. Thanks. I’ll… keep you posted.

Harry returned to her room, she was still asleep, soundly. He felt relieved. He placed her bag by the door and crawled back onto the bed beside her. He continued his scalp massage and eventually, he found himself asleep too.

*

She missed her un-insulated room. It was much too hot, and she thought she was going to combust. She moaned quietly, her head still aching, though she could at least move without fear of passing out or throwing up or both.

Her skin still hurt, and her body ached all over. How did she not have a fever?

“Hey pretty bird,” his voice was low and rumbly in her ear. Good God, did he sound good for her tired body. “Y’awake?” He asked.

She blinked, her head still felt balloon like and not quite attached to her neck as she turned to look up at Harry gazing down at her in the near dark. Everything had a blurry dark gray-blue tint. Like it was about to downpour. “Hmm…” she hummed. Her forehead pounded. She thought her brain was trying to escape. “Harry?” She questioned. She didn’t remember seeing him after school. How did she get home? How did she get in her bed? Was she naked? How did that happen?

There were too many questions and not enough brain power to answer them all.

“Hi baby,” he whispered. Her head might have hurt, and she was sweating beneath the blankets and her Amazonian-like room, but her stomach was working just fine and somersaulted over the softness of Harry calling her baby when she didn’t feel good.

She spent six hours a day, five days a week caring for little ones. Ensuring they were happy, healthy, and learning. She spent an undoubtedly high number thinking about them seven days a week. Since moving out of her parents’ home at eighteen, no one had cared for her or been so gentle with her (especially not Evan) when she was sick since she was young. Not even herself. She tried to push herself up, but Harry gently pushed her back down. “Hey, no, no,” he cooed softly. “Jus’ stay still, yeah?” He asked. “Jus’ rest,” he ordered.

“What…?” She swallowed, the feeling in her throat was dry, sore, painful. She cleared her throat which felt like knives.

“Here,” he slithered lower in her bed and brought the straw of her cup to her lips. The water tasted like chocolate. Not actual chocolate, but the idea of having chocolate prior to getting your period and it tasted so good she wished she could swim in it. He rubbed his thumb on her temple while she sipped, easing the tension she felt in her eyebrows trying to pinch her forehead in the middle. “How are y’feeling, kitten?” His breath was cool and minty. Did he ever smell bad? Probably not. She remembered every unseasonably warm day in October that Harry never smelled gross despite working in the hot sun. What an unfair glitch. She probably smelled like sweat right then. And a cough. Whatever that smelled like. “Y’scared me,” he admitted. “Not quite falling off your roof, but close. Y’do this t’all your boyfriends?” There was a smile in his voice. “S’this a test of some kind?” She snorted and then winced. “Sorry,” he kissed her forehead. “No jokes.”

“Did you undress me?” Was that really the most pressing question she needed answered?

A wave of guilt washed over Harry. He felt his face warm with embarrassment. He was so focused on making her feel better, he hadn’t considered that she wouldn’t want him undressing her unconscious body. “Yes, m’sorry. I jus’ wanted you t’be comfortable,” he frowned. “Did I mess up?” He asked. “M’sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, no,” she said softly and squeezed his hip where her hand rested. She could hear the guilt in his voice and no, she decided, it wasn’t the most pressing question to ask him. She shouldn’t have bothered.  Harry had seen her naked countless times in the last six months. That wasn’t something he should have felt guilty over. “Mi body es su body,” she joked lamely. “I’m sweating,” she said softly and pushed the blankets away from her. Harry helped unravel her from her cocoon. Harry reached across her to grab the remote control to the fan that she normally had blowing on her, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to turn on when she was shivering earlier. He could see her physically deflate once the cool air spilled over her. “I thought I tried showering,” she cleared her throat again. It hurt less since there was water coating her esophagus, but it still ached quite a bit.

“You did,” his frown was still etched on his pretty lips. “Baby, y’scared me so much,” he was so close to her face. “Y’didn’t tell me y’weren’t feeling well. Didn’t answer,” he pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she whispered.

“Then I get sick,” he shrugged. But he was pretty confident in his immune system. Even if he was doing manual labor, she worked about two to three times harder than him. Probably more rundown than he was in comparison. “Why didn’t’ y’tell me?” He asked.

She turned her head to cough, and he continued stroking her hair. “I don’t really think straight when I’m sick,” she explained. “I use every spare bit of energy to focus on the kids at school.”

He was downright pouting in the shadowy dark she could barely see him in. “Y’shouldn’t have gone t’work.”

“You don’t know how much more work it is to make sub plans.”

“I would have made them for you,” he assured her. Her chest ached with love for him so hard it felt like a rib was going to crack. “Would have gone in t’teach them even.”

She smiled and willed her tired, overrun body not to cry at his thoughtfulness. “Thank you,” she whispered. “That’s so sweet to offer.”

“You can’t go t’work tomorrow.”

“I feel so much better… what time is it?”

“S’late. I got y’soup. Are y’hungry?”

She sat up slowly, put one hand to her temple and slid out of bed. “I probably need to eat. I skipped lunch in favor of not dying and napping instead.”

“Miss Bird,” Harry frowned and walked her down the hall to her kitchen. She didn’t turn on any lights and she looked at the six cartons of soup on her counter.

“You got me a lot of soup,” she murmured and squinted to read the labels in the semi dark. The low glow of the clock on her stove said it was a little after nine. She sighed. Tomorrow would be better, right? This was the worst of it. Harry opened a soda can, and she turned to see him offer the ginger ale to her. She stared at him in disbelief. “Did you text Louis?”

“Bird, I was scared. I thought I did something wrong or worse y’were hurt,” she was a little too in love with the thought that was the order of severity for him.

“That’s very sweet,” she sipped the cold soda, the bubbles soothing the ache in her throat the way the water had but it was still sweeter and better even though it made no sense.

“What kind of soup do y’want?” He asked.

“Whatever will make me better to deal with six-year-olds by six AM.”

“Y’cannot be serious,” he shook his head and put two pints of soup into the microwave.

“It’s too late for sub plans. If I try to look at a computer right now, I’m sure I’ll have an aneurysm.”

“Kitten. S’not a good idea. You’ll be sick and tired. The kids will—”

“I’ve done this before, I know what I’m doing!” She protested. “I promise.”

“Jus’ because you’ve done it before means y’should. Nor do I agree with you.”

She nodded. She noted that Harry stopped the microwave before it beeped and opened the door as quietly as possible. He poured the soup into bowls and was cautious not to let the spoons clink against the glass. Her heart swam in the warmth of love that crushed her. Harry saw more of her and cared for her more in the last six months (even in the last six hours) than anyone ever had. “I need to shower,” she said while she welcomed the burns that she was giving her tongue and the inside of her mouth as she ate her soup. It felt soothing in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

Harry took the soup away from her and brought it to the small table she had between her kitchen and living room. He came back and tugged her to the chair in front of her bowl. He ate across from her. In the dark. Only the light from the streetlight barely filtering past her blinds.

“Can I stay in the bathroom while y’do?” He asked referring to her statement on showering.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“M’not sure y’understand how nervous y’made me. I’ll leave after that,” he promised.

I don’t want you to leave. It would have been so easy to say. Harry was so comforting, and he felt so good to sleep next to. It seemed she had been asleep for at least five hours, and she wanted nothing more than to stay snuggled next to him. But he had to work tomorrow, and he needed to be awake at four. “Okay,” she sighed. “It’s really not necessary,” she repeated.

“Mmm,” he hummed.

*

Harry made her blow dry her hair, it was loud and made her head throb, but he refused to let her go to bed with wet hair. “You’ll get an ear infection or something,” he insisted. Which sounded like an old wives’ tale, but his thoughtfulness was too much. He gave her another round of medicine and kissed her forehead once he had her comforter tucked around her in bed. “Good night, Miss Bird,” he said softly. “Please consider not going t’work tomorrow,” he repeated.

“Okay,” she whispered softly.

She felt sleepy, warm, cared for, and comforted. She wished she could open her mouth to ask Harry to stay. It felt sad to see him go. Overwhelmed by how bad she was feeling. She knew he would stay. But it wasn’t fair. He hadn’t showered the day off him, and he would be up in a little under six hours by the time he’d get settled in bed in his own house. “S’matter?” He asked.

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just don’t feel good,” she sniffed and tried, tried so hard to push her emotions down so she wouldn’t cry. If she cried, Harry would worry. He would stay and the poor thing probably wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed just as much as she wanted to sleep without pain.

“Hey,” he cooed. “Baby,” and she was done for. Tears spilled over before she could stop them. The dim light from the hall catching those little water crystals like diamonds in the sun. How on earth this beautiful girl made crying look so pretty had to be one of the greatest paradoxes in the world. “No baby, don’t cry,” he swiped the tears away.

“I know you want to go home, but I don’t want you to,” she sniveled.

His heart broke. She was a beautiful grown woman and he loved her so much. She was adorable, just his sweatshirt around her pretty, sick body. Even though Harry had spent hours taking care of her, she still felt like she had to take care of him. “Kitten, I don’t want t’leave you at all. I never want t’leave you, why would y’think that?”

She felt so ridiculous. Sad, tired, sick, run down, exhausted. “Because it’s late and you have to get up early and you haven’t showered and I’m so gross and so much work and it’s—”

“Bird, m’love, shh,” he hushed her ranting and shifted himself on the bed and combed her hair. “Y’can always ask me t’stay,” he whispered. “Shh,” he whispered, shifting her to lay against his chest. He rocked her gently. “M’gonna let y’fall asleep. Then I’ll shower and come right back, yeah?” He offered. “I don’t have t’go anywhere,” he promised.

“Okay,” she sniffled. “I’m sor—”

“Shh,” he kissed the top of her head. “I love you, bird. Go to sleep.”

“I love you too,” she croaked.

“Good, now sleep, baby,” he murmured.

So she had no choice but to listen.

*

Harry’s alarm went off at four. She moaned quietly against his chest. He kissed the top of her head like he’d been awake the whole time waiting to wake her up gently. “M’gonna go home, baby,” that name warmed her. It felt like the medicine he gave her. “S’that okay? I can come back. S’not far. I’ll be quick.” It nearly broke his heart to hear how sad she was last night. He was going to address their living situation as soon as she felt better. This felt like he was going to war and not five minutes around the corner. He could sense her thinking it over in that pretty brain of hers. It spun over in her mind, and she wanted nothing more than to ask but he knew she wouldn’t.

Even in the dark he could see it. “No, that’s alright,” she murmured very softly.

He was already planning on coming back. He shouldn’t have bothered to ask. “Okay, go back t’sleep, bird. I’ll check on you at recess,” he assured her. “How do y’feel?”

“Better.”

It was a little bit of the truth mixed with some untruth. Her head still throbbed, her throat still hurt. But it was better than yesterday. She knew she wasn’t going to have a fever. After a few more mumbled words to Harry, she was only half certain she remembered to say, “I love you,” and only vaguely aware that her front door closed before she was asleep again.

When her alarm went off at six, (what felt like five minutes later from Harry’s departure), she wasn’t the one to turn it off. She groaned softly, turning to find Harry settling her phone back on her nightstand. She frowned immediately, her eyes watering. “You came back,” she whispered keeping up with the thought of Harry going to off to war and not just to his house.

He chuckled quietly, kissed her forehead again. “I couldn’t leave you, kitten. Not when y’feel so poorly, Bird,” he answered. She wondered if she could permanently fix his fingers to her hair and scalp. He smelled so good, again. He showered again and was wearing cologne. Everything about his presence was like a warm hug, physical medicine that would have fixed her up if he wasn’t giving her actual medicine.

“But what about work?”

“I can be late. They know what they’re doing.”

 “I love you, so much.”

He chuckled. “I love you, too, baby.”

“I think I should sleep another hour.”

He nestled further into the pillows, wrapping her close to him, and he kissed her again. “Whatever y’want, kitten.”

*

Harry was insistent on driving in together. He gave her another round of medicine. Got her bag organized, her lunch packed. Hoping it would get her more time to rest while he did those things. He drove her car, parked in her unassigned but assigned parking space. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed to the job site promising once more he would check on her at recess.

Other than completely, totally sweet, she thought nothing more of his kindness. There wasn’t enough time to think about it. There was morning work to deal with, attendance to submit, lunch counts, and all the other parts of her morning routine to take care of while her head felt like someone was hammering the inside of her skull repeatedly. By the time the kids had settled onto the carpet, she wasn’t thinking about Harry (as much as she wanted to). Her head hurt and her kids were needy.

So, she did a true double take while Mae was reading the date and schedule for the day to the rest of the class when the door to her classroom opened. Her jaw dropped and many of her students’ eyes followed her gaze.

“Mr. Harry!” Hadley shouted.

Any of the students that hadn’t turned to him all turned to the door at that moment. There was visitor sticker on his chest. He was wearing regular clothes. A long-sleeved shirt, a pair of jeans, and trainers instead of work boots.

The excitement unfolded quickly. Her minor wince made his heart ache for her. It was his fault; he caused the excitement. “Hey, hey, hocus pocus,” he called gently.

“Everybody focus!”

She now understood why Harry found that so attractive when she did that. That was one of the hottest things she’d ever seen him do. (And he did this thing with his tongue that was truly mind-blowing.) She coughed into her elbow and shook her head. “Mr. Harry… We weren’t expecting you,” she said quietly.

He smiled. “I was thinking I haven’t been t’school in a long time and I wanted t’do some learning. Do we have an extra spot for me today?”

The group cheered while she sneezed into her tissue. She wiped her nose daintily, dropped it into the small trash can he had no doubt was filled with tissues already and knew the can was following her around the classroom.

“Miss Bee is sick,” Brayden explained.

Her cheeks turned pink which was great because she needed a bit of color for Harry to allow her to stay and not drag her out the room and back home. She used hand sanitizer attached to her lanyard. “Is she?” He frowned. He thought of the sweet girl crying into his shirt as she fell asleep last night. She looked so normal right now. Pretending. Hiding. Showing up for her students because she loved them beyond her own well-being.

Well, two could play at that game.

“You don’t have to work?” She asked suspiciously.

“Nope,” he said simply. “School’s more important.”

She rolled her lips into her mouth and hid her cough in her elbow again. Harry winked at her and took a seat on her carpet. Janie giggled as his big body overflowed the square he picked. He gave Janie a high five and she was pretty certain one over her ovaries was popping. Everyone was still kind of giggly over his presence. “Think we gotta let Mae continue, yeah?”

Her heart simply burst.

*

During reading time, Harry read a chapter of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for her. Like he read to the group every day. Harry asked questions. Good questions. Prompted them to think, ask their own questions, make predictions. How could she possibly love him more? He walked around to her groups when she was too tired to check on them. When she coughed too hard, he brought her water cup across the room. He made sure she ate lunch, walked around the perimeter of the playground (stopping at the fence to get a hot cup of tea from Niall to soothe her throat).

When the kids went to specials, she stared at Harry. “You can’t skip work every time I’m sick.”

He simply smiled, continued helping her clean, and organized while they were gone. “Watch me, baby.”

Her cheeks burned.

But truth be told he was exhausted. More exhausted than he thought. She did this every day? Teachers should be paid triple. Double that amount in March. In like a lion out like a lamb was wrong. In like a lion out like a tornado was more like it.

Harry would need a counter next time. She must have repeated directions eight times in the span of a minute. Settling student disputes and sending an email at the same time was a choreographed dance. She punched the straw through three juice boxes while reading the slide off the SmartBoard at the same time. All while feeling like death warmed over.

He knew she was a superhero. He didn’t need proof. But it was something else to watch up close.

“What?” She sniffled. Not once did she complain about her head, the cough, her sneeze. “Do I have snot on my face? I’m gonna crawl in a hole and—”

“You are incredible Miss Bird. Everyone in the world should have t’go t’school for a day. But everyone should have to try a day in your classroom.”

She smiled weakly. “Some days are easier than others.”

“Did I make today easier?”

She nodded. “Yes. So much so. That was….” She shook her head. “Thank you. I needed that.”

He smiled. “Good.”

*

She skipped family dinner. She was sick and wanted to lounge in bed. She was going to be behind in life, work, and at home for a week. But it was the best she could do.

She ate one of the soups Harry left for dinner. Then he came around at six PM. “Hey, pretty bird, did y’nap?”

God, she loved him. She loved him so much it seemed insane that she did anything but say it. There should be no work. No jobs. She should just be required to say “Harry I love you” twenty-four hours a day, three-hundred and sixty-five days a year.

“And had soup,” she murmured into his shirt. He smelled so good. There was a bag over his shoulder.

“Good girl,” he scooped her up behind her thighs, wrapped them around his hips and carried her to her bedroom. He deposited her gently on the bed and then dropped his bag.

“Are you staying?” There was a lot of hope in her voice.

“M-hmm,” he stripped instantly making her heart flutter. He pulled a pair of sweat from his bag and over his legs followed by a T-shirt. “Ratatouille sound good?”

“Louis is a tattletale,” she stated.

He kissed the top of her head and headed to the kitchen to get his own pint of soup. “S’not tattling if we have a safety concern, kitten.”

*

The next day, her brain didn’t feel quite as balloon-like. The cough and sneezing had subsided enough to a manageable level.

But she swore all of it came roaring back when Evan appeared at the end of the day. Like a contagion in his own right. Harry’s gaze was ever-present and warm on the side of her face. Hot, really. She could feel it intensely—more so than the other days. “Milo buddy, watch your shoes.”

She imagined hitting him with one of Milo’s shoes repeatedly. Fortunately, the little one didn’t notice her need for bodily harm.

“Uncle Ev, Miss Bee’s boyfriend came to school yesterday.”

Her heart stopped and she choked on her own spit followed by a massive coughing fit. Evan stared at her with disdain, as did Milo (with curiosity however). She had a hand on her throat, surprised by Milo’s confession. If Evan was bothered by her relationship status, there was no outward expression to indicate it.

“Y’okay, Miss Bee?” Oh Lord.

Harry was suddenly there looking at her like she had a bone protruding. He pulled a water bottle from behind his back. His back pocket?

“Hi Mr. Harry!” Milo bloomed.

“Hey lad, how was kindergarten today? How’s our latest book?” He asked, squeezing his shoulder while avoiding touching Evan.

“I can read Green Eggs and Ham all by myself!”

“S’awesome, lad,” he held his hand out for a high five all while Evan stared in disbelief and she sipped from the bottle.

“Harry helpeded me how to sound out words I don’t know like Miss Bee,” Milo explained.

“Helped, my love,” she said very gently.

He grinned at both Milo and her. Harry hardly looked at Evan. But his eyes couldn’t leave Harry alone. She couldn’t blame him—he was incredible. “I’m sorry. We haven’t met, are you a teachers aid?” He said it condescendingly.

“I wish,” Harry snorted. “Harry Styles. I’m the foreman on the jobsite next door,” he held his hand out for Evan to shake.

“I’m going to work for him when I’m older,” Milo told his uncle.

Could she adopt him? The look of shock on Evan’s face made her want to take a picture.

“Maybe by then I’ll be working for you, lad,” Harry winked.

Could she marry Harry? They’d be a cute little family.

“I’m sorry. I’m lost.”

“Mr. Harry plays with us sometimes,” Milo shrugged casually. Like it was obvious and normal. “Sometimes he volunteers in Miss Bee’s room and fixes everything, Uncle Ev. He knows how to fix everything. He fixed Miss Bee’s desk, her bookshelf, her closet. Maybe he could fix the hole in your wall at home for you!”

Adopt, adopt, adopt, adopt. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. Harry chuckled quietly. “I’d be happy t’look at it,” he popped one shoulder up knowing full and well that Evan would never ask Harry for help with home improvements.

“Hmm. Right. Well. Do you have any qualifications teaching?”

“No, but I got a niece m’awfully fond of myself,” he said proudly. “And Miss Bee is a pretty good teacher to show me some of the ropes.”

“Mr. Harry is like Miss Bee. He’s in charge of his crew on the site. It’s so cool Uncle Evan.”

She wondered if he would explode. Harry paid no attention to the praise. “Just came t’check on you,” he put a hand on her lower back briefly. “Y’need help today?” He asked. “I’ll meet y’down in your room. Nice meeting you, Evan. Milo, lad, see you later alligator?”

“In a while crocodile!”

The silence that ensued was deafening. “You have a boyfriend that volunteers in your classroom?” He asked. The distaste in his voice was enough to make her skin crawl but she nodded.

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Is that legal?”

She wanted to scream. “Perfectly. He’s got a background check on file, and he doesn’t volunteer the whole day. Yesterday was the first day. I can assure you, he’s a great volunteer, just like any other parent volunteer I’ve had in the past,” it wasn’t unusual for parents to offer volunteer services. Not to the degree Harry was offering them but that probably was the perk of dating him. “The kids like him and his partner, Niall. They say hi to them at recess.”

Evan stared at her. “He spends all that time in your classroom and helping you out for a measly five minutes of a relationship per day?”

She straightened her back, inhaled as best she could through her stuffy nose, and turned her attention to Milo. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my love, alright?” She grinned sweetly. “Evan,” she muttered and headed back inside.

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01. PLACES WE WERE MADE

Pairing: Clark Kent x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.6k Chapter Summary: No matter the distance, no matter the amount of time, no matter the stream of connection, you could never forget Clark even if you wanted to. But now he’s back, and he’s picking you up for dinner with his parents. Warnings: a little unedited, I used the Beanery from Smallville the show but in this series it doesn't suck, lmk if I missed anything! Note: I am of the many who saw Superman last week and immediately started writing. this is going to be a mini series of sorts so i hope you like it :)

Most people your age dreamt of getting out of Smallville, of finding their way to a big city where they could live their life to the fullest, but you? You loved it here. It was your home, your safety, the place you’d grown up, the source of all of your happiest memories. While others detested the closeness of the small town, you saw the beauty in how tight-knit everyone was. While they dreamt of skyscrapers and chain coffee shops, you reveled in the open sky and familiarity of the Beanery.

Though if you were being honest, the one downside to staying in the rural town was how limited the dating pool was. Everyone your age was either already married, had dated one of your friends, or was someone you had already gone on a failed date or two with. It didn’t help that any guy you crossed paths with was always unknowingly in competition with someone who had left Smallville years ago, and no one ever came even remotely close to him.

“Mornin’ sweetpea,” Martha sweetly greets you as she hovers near your seat, coffee cup and to-go sack in hand, “You workin’ today?”

“No, ma’am,” You give her a polite and warm smile, “I’m off for the next week.”

“Oh, are you goin’ on a little vacation,” She asks, nothing but sincerity and gentle kindness in her voice, “You deserve one after all those hours you work.”

“No vacation,” You shake your head with an light chuckle, “I’m just going to stay home and relax. Might try and fix up some things around the house that need to be done.”

You watch as something flickers in her eyes, almost like you can see the lightbulb lighting up with an idea so bright it shines throughout the entire shop. The coy smile that tugs at the corners of her lips is enough to tell you that she had thought of something, and whatever it was, you knew you wouldn’t be able to say no. You could never say to the Kent’s, not after everything they’ve done for you.

“If you aren’t busy this evenin’, you should come to the house for supper,” She starts off, though you can sense the subtle traces of some unspoken agenda, “Clark is in town, and I know he’d like to see ya.”

There it is.

The mention of her son sends an instant wave of warmth to your cheeks, a feeling of familiarity and comfort blossoming in your chest at the idea of seeing Clark again. It’s been so long since the two of you had last spoken, and even longer since you had last seen him, but the way you felt whenever he was brought up never swayed. Ever since the two of you were young, he brought out a feeling that you’d spent the better part of your days chasing after, yet you’ve never been able to replicate it with anyone else.

“I’ll be there,” You nod with finality, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your voice nearly trembles with nerves.

“Oh, good,” She gushes, delicately grasping your hand that’s on the table and giving it a squeeze, “I’ll send one of the boys to come pick ya up at five.”

You knew better than to argue against her, so you nod in agreement before she bids you goodbye and is out the door. The second she leaves, your nerves hit you in full force, and you’re sending panicked texts to your friends that they were having to decode as they fly in. They were trying to calm you down, telling you that you still had an entire day ahead of you to fill with distractions until the time came, but their attempts were practically fruitless. You were freaking out.

When you make it back to your house, you quickly began tearing through your closet in search of the appropriate outfit for dinner at the Kent’s. Of course, you weren’t going to wear anything too over the top, but you didn’t want to dress too plainly, either. Not if Clark was going to be there. With the help of your friends and a two hour long group FaceTime, you finally settled on something that was suitable and checked off your boxes. However, that still left you with nearly five hours to yourself, and a room full of clothes to put back on hangers.

“Are you sure this looks okay,” You ask as you twirl in front of the camera, “It’s not too boring?”

“Girl, you look great,” Mandy, the unfortunate recipient of yet another panicked call, reassures with a playful eye roll, “Those jeans make your ass look phenomenal. I wouldn’t be surprised if Clark took you up to his teenage boy bedroom and fu–”

“Oh my god,” You cut her off with a shriek, “Calm down, Amanda! That’s his parents' house.”

“So, you’re saying if his parents weren’t there,” She trails off into an amused laugh, ignoring the pointed glare you’re throwing her way, “All jokes, all jokes. My point is, you look fuckin’ good, you always do. That farm boy won’t know what hit him.”

“He’s been living in Metropolis for a while now,” You casually remind her, “He’s not really a farm boy anymore, is he?”

“Oh, please,” She lightly scoffs, “Clark Kent will always be a farm boy.”

You were trying to make sure that you had all of your stuff gathered in your bag, and the pie you had made was still warm and ready to take with you. It was nearing five, and you wanted to be sure that you were ready to go out the door the moment you heard the noticeable rumble of their truck. Of course, it was because you wanted to be punctual, and not because you wanted to see the Kent’s only son. That wasn’t it at all…

The sound of your doorbell ringing breaks your string of focus, which was you picking at your fingernails, and it makes your throat dry from nerves. You wipe your shaky hands off on the material of your jeans before you rise to your feet and make your way to the door. You contemplate peeking through the small hole in the door, but ultimately decide not to let yourself have the few extra seconds to stew in your own thoughts before you tug the door open.

“Clark,” You squeakily greet, ears burning and heat crawling up your neck at the sight of him.

Deep down, you knew it was him Martha was going to send to pick you up, but there wasn’t enough mental preparation in the world to ready you for the man in front of you. Clark had always been a taller, muscular boy, even in his youth, but now? Now he was huge. Not even with the large flannel covering his frame could hide how broad his shoulders were, how big his arms had gotten, how toned his chest was. And his hair? His curls were slightly mussed, almost as if he had run his hands through them over and over, but it looked good. He looked good.

If it weren’t for your grip on the frame of the door, you’re certain your knees might have given out.

“Hi,” He calls out, the sound of your name falling from his lips making your head spin, “Long time, no see.”

Deep dimples indented his cheeks in a way that throws you back to senior prom, Clark’s hands covering the expanse of your hips as he carefully sways to the music and listens to you ramble on about your dreams after high school. He didn’t stop smiling at you the entire night, and that was the first time you realized that maybe you felt something stronger for him. Maybe that feeling you’d spent years trying to tell yourself was normal was something much bigger than you thought. 

“Yeah, it has been a while,” You let out an airy chuckle, briefly glancing to the side to collect yourself, “Downsides of living in two completely different cities, you know?”

You don't miss the subtle downward twitch on his lips, or the way his shoulders fall just enough to be noticeable to you. No amount of separation would rid you of the ability to read Clark like you were always able to when you were in school. It was like second nature to you at this point. However, just because you could read him doesn’t mean you understood him, and you considered that to be one of your biggest faults.

“Yeah, I guess I should come back home more,” He sheepishly mumbles, his hand anxiously rubbing at the back of his neck as his ears turned a deep shade of red.

“Hey,” You instinctively reach out to take his hand in your own, sending a warm jolt from your fingertips to your toes, “The Daily Planet needs their best journalist, and Lord knows there's enough to cover up there. We’ll all be here waiting for you whenever you can make it back.”

The way Clark’s gaze softens as it slides between your eyes and your hands makes your stomach flip and your heart slam into your ribs. For as long as you can remember, he’s looked at you like that; Like you were the moon and he was the tide, ebbing and flowing at your will and call. For as long as you can remember, it confused you. It confused you because he’s always been the one to draw the line, to remind you how you were one of his most cherished friends, but friends don’t look at friends that way, do they?

“Ready to head to dinner?”

[beloveddawn-blog]

Normally this was a Thursday thing, not a Tuesday one. Changewind, their small town's own Supervillain, never attacked on a Thursday so Maciek felt comfortable having a drink after work with his favourite coworker. His wife needed the car that day anyway because the kids' soccer games were in the next town over, so actually it worked out perfectly.

Too perfectly.

Jasmeen sat to his right, like she always did, with a Whiskey Sour, like she always did, but things weren't the same.

They would never be the same.

For one, it was Tuesday. For two, he had made her drink for her as the bartender wasn't around.

Three... She was still wearing her Changewind costume. A breeze blew in through the blown out windows, making her cape stir the ashes around them. Both of them ignored it.

"Run that by me again, would you?" He asked, still floundering from the reveals that had hit him one after another this evening.

"I fucking hate this town and everyone in it." She said into her arms, her face buried in them. "Except you. And Doctor Smith. And Agnes from Town Hall. So sometimes when someone is wildly racist or a complete dick rather than just the standard levels of racism and dickishness, I burn their part of it down. But I make sure you and Doctor Smith and Agnes are never caught in it because you're the only worthwhile people this shithole has ever produced. And I need you all. I couldn't do it without you."

"If you hate it so much, why don't you leave?" Maciek asked, still confused.

"Mom can't work after that car accident. She can't do much of anything. And because it was the Mayor's drunk-ass shitstain of a teenager that hit her, the police destroyed the evidence. She can't even sue, and insurance fucked her over. She'd never be able to afford an apartment on her own, and I can't afford the three month gap in health insurance I'd have to deal with if I moved to get a different job. The only reason I can afford her medication now is because Doctor Smith keeps getting me samples and alternatives. And because he pretends I'm the one with diabetes so the insulin is covered. Otherwise it's a pre-existing condition and my premiums skyrocket."

"Surely there must be something we could do..." Jasmeen snapped her head up, and he could see all of the seething rage that lead his nemesis to wantonly destroy everything unfortunate enough to fall into her grasp.

Even her voice shook with fury as she bit out her reply. "Maciek, I adore you. And your optimisim and kindness are a huge part of that. You're the only part of my racist, mysoginistic, and fetishizing workday that doesn't make me want to gouge my own eyes out with a rusty fork. I appreciate that you think there must be something more I can do, I do. But there isn't. I have tried everything. I've tried every agency and every aid society and even every fucking church and I've got nothing to show for it. And if I make any wrong moves, my mother is going to die. That is a fact. So yes, some days when I get asked if I even speak English I throw Dwight Brown's truck through his barn. Some days when Carter from Accounting taps my ass and laughs about it with his cousin in HR, I burn his father's store down. Some days when Edith the Church secretary mutters to her cronies that my mother's disabilities are Divine Retribution for being born in India, I tear the fucking roof off of her favourite salon. And I'm not going to stop."

Maciek's mouth twisted with that, unable to refute it but still wanting to do something...

Nothing came to him. Even his optimism had reached it's limits. Instead he just made her a second drink, then held her shoulders as she cried. Just a point of contact. Just a reminder that life isn't all awful. Just a lifeline.

*

Just a chance.

*

It took a few weeks for the bar to be repaired, but that was fine. It took a few weeks to get everything in place anyway. Finally, though, it was Thursday and Maciek and Jasmeen headed to the bar for some wings and a drink.

Danitza joined them.

Jasmeen was shocked, but Maciek greeted his wife with an enthusiastic hug and quick peck like she always came to wing night. They made small talk over the wings, Maciek and Danitza carrying most of the conversation while Jasmeen continued to be bewildered. It wasn't until they were leaving that Danitza finally gave her a hint, asking loudly enough for the patrons around them to overhear, "And how is dear Sujata doing? I haven't seen her in what seems like forever! I've missed seeing her at the Farmer's Market. Her samosas were always the highlight of the trip."

Jasmeen couldn't help but smile, as charmed as always by the other woman's compliments. "Mother is doing as well as she could be. Would you like to come see her? I'm sure she'd love the company."

"That would be delightful." Danitza agreed.

*

"You want us to what?" Jasmeen asked, utterly flabberghasted. Next to her her mother had her translating face on, also obviously caught off guard and trying to figure out what she misunderstood.

"We want you to move in." Danitza replied primly, good cheer twinkling in her eyes.

"The old farmhand quarters are empty." Maciek supplied, continuing their sell. "And now that Alex is in school, Danitza was planning to go back to work anyway. We've been having a heck of a time finding after school care, though, so this would actually be great for us, too! We wouldn't charge you for rent, and in return we'd get someone who can let the dogs out during the day for a bit and watch the children for the 45 minutes between when the bus lets them off and when Danitza would get home."

"And samosas." His wife broke in, grinning. "We will also require samosas."

"You can have so many samosas." Sujata replied, tears gathering in her eyes.

Jasmeen sniffled, doing her best to keep her composure but so overwhelmed a few tears leaked out anyway. "This won't solve everything." She warned her friend. "It's more help than I could have dreamed of, but it won't solve everything."

"I know." Maciek replied. "But I spoke with Doctor Smith when I went in for my check up last week, and he's agreed to get you FMLA for whatever works best at the time when you get a new job somewhere that will appreciate you for everything you have to offer. Between that and what you can save on rent, insulin should be doable with your mother back under her own diagnosis."

Jasmeen was so overwhelmed she couldn't even speak.

*

It was almost suspiciously quiet around town for a bit, but eventually a situation occured in The City and Dynaguy was one of the ones called upon to solve it. He was utterly shocked when Changewind met him at his base, costume on and ready to go.

"Turning over a new leaf?" He asked as he piloted the small craft towards the disturbance. She was still fiddling with her harness, but since she could fly and had super strength he didn't bother to explain it to her.

She gave him a small smile at that before returning to her fight with the flight webbing. "I think you make a better hero out of the suit than in it. Even against just me you were outclassed and I didn't have an agenda. But you've got my back in a way no one else ever has, and this is my chance to have yours."

The villain must know your secret identity. There is no other explanation. All of their plans are perfectly timed with your work hours, and always take place as far away from your family as possible. You have decided to finally confront them about it.

[bitchinbarzal]

Angry in my tummy — J Burrow

part of the sloane burrow au!

⸻

It starts with spilled juice.

And then Sloane refuses to change her shirt. And then she wants the purple plate, not the green one. And then she doesn’t want the grilled cheese you just made, even though she begged for grilled cheese twenty minutes ago.

You haven’t slept more than four straight hours in weeks. There’s laundry everywhere. Joe’s been on the road for three days. And this house that once felt warm and full now feels like a pressure cooker.

So when Sloane tosses her cup across the room and yells, “I said NOOOOOOO,” at the top of her lungs, you snap.

“That’s ENOUGH.”

Your voice is louder than you meant it to be. Sharper.

Sloane freezes.

You see it immediately, the shock in her eyes, the quiver of her lip.

“You’re mean momma,” she whispers.

You exhale hard. “Sloane…”

But she’s already storming out of the kitchen, dragging Bunny behind her.

“I don’t like you anymore.”

The words land like a punch to your chest.

You stand there for a second, heart racing, ears ringing. Then the guilt hits, full force, hot and fast and unbearable.

You don’t clean up the juice. You don’t go after her right away. You go to the laundry room, shut the door behind you, and sink to the floor.

You don’t cry loud. Just those quiet, aching sobs, the kind you hold in your throat until they burn. Because you’re her mama. The one who’s supposed to be soft. Safe. Patient.

And you yelled.

You don’t hear the front door open. You don’t hear Joe drop his bag or kick off his shoes.

And then a small knock.

It’s not Sloane.

It’s him.

You swipe at your eyes. “I’m okay.”

The door opens anyway. Joe crouches in the doorway, expression soft and tired.

“She told me what happened.”

You nod, ashamed. “I know. I shouldn’t have—”

“She threw juice,” he says gently. “That’s not nothing.”

“I yelled, Joe. I made her flinch.”

He doesn’t rush to correct you. Just walks in, shuts the door behind him, and slides down beside you.

You curl your knees to your chest. “She said she doesn’t like me anymore.”

Joe wraps an arm around you. “She didn’t mean it.”

“She’s never said that to me before.”

He kisses your temple. “And she’ll never stop loving you. You know that, right?”

You shake your head, a tear slipping down your cheek.

Joe turns you to face him, eyes locked on yours.

“I notice when you do the grocery runs and pack the lunches. I notice when you stay up late sewing the stupid button on my dress shirt. I notice when you carry our whole life on your back and never ask for a break.”

You blink hard.

“And I hate that I made you feel alone.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I hate that I made you feel like you don’t do anything.”

He finally turns to you.

“I just, I feel like I’m missing everything. I don’t get to be here for the little stuff. You’re the one raising her and I’m just—”

You cut him off with a hand on his chest.

“She adores you. You’re her whole world.”

Joe swallows hard. “You’re mine.”

It’s quiet for a while after that.

You sit together on the cold tile, legs touching, hearts soft.

Then Joe leans in, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry.”

You nod. “Me too.”

He kisses you. Slow. Tender. Not perfect, but true.

“We’re still good, right?” he whispers.

You pull him closer.

“We’re still us.”

A few minutes later, there’s another knock.

Tiny.

“Daddy?”

Joe opens the door to find Sloane in her pyjamas, dragging Bunny by one ear, thumb in her mouth.

“Is Mama still mad?”

He crouches beside her. “No, baby. Mama’s just sad.”

Sloane hesitates.

Then peeks into the room.

“Mama?”

Your voice is fragile. “Hi, baby.”

She walks over slowly, climbs into your lap, and rests her head on your shoulder.

“I sorry I yelled.”

Your breath catches.

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

She nods, arms wrapping around your neck.

“I still love you. I just got mad in my tummy.”

You laugh, soft and teary.

Joe leans in, kissing the top of both your heads.

“We’re all a little mad in the tummy sometimes.”

Sloane giggles.

“Can we have snuggles now?”

Joe reaches for the blanket from the basket nearby, tossing it over all three of you on the laundry room floor.

You hold your daughter close, your husband’s arm around you both, and in that moment, everything is okay again.

[catherinnn]

Sharp Tongue

Eddie Munson x Fem!reader

summary: Eddie gets his tongue newly pierced and it becomes your weakness.

warnings: SMUT (+18), oral (f & m), overstimulation, piercings and descriptions of the healing process, afab! reader.

words: around 4k

masterlist

The group is at Steve's. Pizzas are already on the way and the beer is chilling in the fridge. The only thing missing was Eddie. Well, not actually missing. He probably took too long in the shower or stayed listening to his favorite album on repeat and the time flew.

He arrives an hour late, everyone scoffing at him.

"Alright, alright. I have no excuse. But I do have a little surprise" he smiles.

"What is it?" Jonathan asks. Eddie simply sticks his tongue out, showing the little metal bar on his tongue. "What?!"

"Holy shit! Is that real?" Steve looks at his tongue surprisingly.

"Of course it is, Harrington" Eddie smirks. "I got it last week. Hurt like a bitch but it looks sick, right?"

"That’s so cool, let me see it again!" Robin agrees. Eddie sticks his tongue out again.

You don't say anything. You stay frozen, just looking at it amazed.

Eddie wiggles his tongue a little before wincing. "Still sore, no unnecessary movements"

"How are you not in pain?" Nancy asks him.

"I mean, I was. The first few days sucked. Living off of soup and mashed potatoes. But now It's not swollen anymore. I can't eat anything that's not soft, and I can't kiss anyone" he explains. "Not like there's a line of girls waiting to kiss me anyway"

"But since when did you want a tongue piercing?" Nancy asks.

"I mean, why not? Looks metal. Plus, it's supposed to be really fun... in some scenarios"

"You mean... like-"

He interrupts her, with a smirk and a wink. "Exactly what you're thinking, Wheeler"

You almost choke on your drink at that image. The idea of what that piercing could do and how it would feel against-

Robin is so kind to interrupt these thought out of your head, as she sees your flushed cheeks and lost stare.

"You've been suspiciously quiet. Everything okay?"

"Huh? yeah, fine" you shrug.

"What's your verdict, princess. Am I pulling this off or does it look weird?" Eddie asks you.

"I think you're pulling it off" you nod.

He smirks. "Good to know"

"Pizzas are here! and uhh... mashed potatoes for Eddie, I guess" Steve interrupts.

As the pizzas disappear, more cans of beer are opened. You're curled in the corner of the couch, finishing your cup, feeling the blush on your cheeks from the alcohol.

Eddie's sitting next to you. Long legs stretched out and he's leaning back against the couch. And his tongue?

You can clearly see the little metal ball peaking out of his pink lips as he absentmindedly plays with it.

"Eddie, stop that. You weren’t supposed to play with it yet" you tell him.

"Didn't realize I had an audience" he chuckles.

"You don't" you playfully roll your eyes, lying.

Robin and Steve are bickering about something you didn't pay attention to. Nancy and Jonathan having their own quiet conversation.

Eddie nudged your ankle with his. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just tipsy" you smile. "How's your mouth? Swollen?"

"Nah, not anymore. The first few days were torture though. I sounded like I had some dental surgery, real charming"

"Did it hurt more or less than a tattoo?" you ask.

"It's a different kind of pain. A tattoo is like... this dragging burn. The piercing was just one sharp stitch, quick and kinda shocking" he answers your questions. "I'm surprised you're this curious. You usually avoid anything involving blood or needles"

"I dunno. This doesn't look too bad"

"Oh great, thanks" he laughs. "Anything else you wanna know?"

If he only knew everything else you want to know. Like how the contrast with the coldness of the metal and the warmness of his tongue would feel against your skin. How would it feel to kiss him? To play with your tongue against his and feel the little ball making everything even hotter.

You've always wondered how it would be to kiss someone with that piercing... and you've always wondered how it would be to kiss Eddie. Ever since you met him.

But now, the thought of killing two birds with one stone, solving both of your questions, was making you dizzier than the alcohol itself.

“You keep looking at me like that” he murmurs, barely audible.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to know something” he tilts his head, a crooked grin forming.

You should lie, laugh it off. Should say it’s the alcohol, the fact that he’s loud and hard to ignore. But you don't.

Instead, you take another sip and lean in a little, the alcohol giving you the courage and guts.

“I guess I’ve always wondered…” you say softly. “what it would be like”

His expression shifts, eyes darkening, his grin faltering at the edges. “What what would be like?”

“Kissing someone with a tongue piercing”

There it is. No flirtation, no sarcasm. Just truth. Eddie doesn’t say anything. He just stares, his fingers tightening around his bottle.

You continue, a little bolder now. “People say it makes everything feel more intense. Maybe the metal adds pressure” Your gaze drops to his mouth. “Makes everything feel even better”

Eddie swallows hard, forgets how to breathe.

Now they're both imagining, picturing, letting your minds run wild. Every place that piercing could go. The heat of his mouth dragging over skin, the pressure of metal.

You're painting a picture, making him your muse. And he's ready to frame it and hang it on his wall.

“You really think about that stuff?” his voice is hoarse.

“Sometimes" you shrug, smirking. “I’m just curious”

“Curious” he repeats, like it’s the most obscene word he’s ever heard. "You know I can't kiss anyone yet"

"No, I know" You lean back against the couch. “I’m just saying, it’s a really interesting piercing”

Eddie clenches his jaw.

"One week” he mutters.

"Until what?”

“Until I can"

You didn't want to overthink what Eddie had said. You were both drinking. Tipsy, flirty. But you've been friends for a while now, there's no way he was really going to throw all that out the window for a hot night together... as hot as that night would be.

By Thursday of the following week, you were going to The Hideout with the group. Eddie was playing with his band and you always came to see him every once in a while.

Once the show is over and the music inside the bar shifts to its usual rock playlist, Eddie comes back down to greet everyone. His cheeks are pink, voice still hoarse from his singing.

You can feel him before you see him. He sits next to you at the tiny table that was definitely meant for less than six people to sit on. So of course his leg is constantly touching yours. Your shoulders brush everytime you lean to grab your drink.

Eddie melts casually into the conversation, like usual. But he still hasn't said a word directly to you since he sat down.

You reach to grab some chips from the table and you bump his arm.

"Sorry" you whisper.

He finally looks at you, grin on. "You keep saying that everytime we touch"

"Maybe we should stop sitting too close" you grin too.

"Maybe I like it" he adds. Then, his hand goes down rest on your thigh. Your heart skips a beat. "You remember everything from last week?"

"I remember a lot of things" you say.

"Oh, yeah?" he hums.

"I remember you were drunk"

"So were you"

"Exactly"

"So you think I didn't mean any of it?"

"I think you wouldn't throw away our friendship just because we drank too much and sat too close"

"Is that was it was to you? A mistake?"

"I didn't say that" you correct him, but your moment of tension is cut off by Steve, not even realizing what he was doing.

"So, Munson, how's the tongue?"

"God, don't phrase it like that" Robin cringes.

"Oh, my tongue? Wouldn't you wanna know, Harrington?" Eddie grins wide and leans back, and arm going behind his head to scratch his head. He doesn't know it (or maybe he actually does) but his shirt lifts up, letting you get a peak of his happy trail. Good God.

Steve rolls his eyes. "The piercing, idiot"

"It's all healed up. No infection. I even checked with my piercer and he gave me the green light"

"Can you eat properly now?" Robin asks him.

"Yup, I've been having pizza for two days straight now. I've missed it so much"

The silver ball appears from between his lips, rolling from one corner to the other. He's playing with it, obviously. Constantly. Like a nervous tic... or maybe a provocation.

"I mean... technically, now I could kiss anyone at this bar if I wanted" he adds. "And even more than kissing"

"Jesus, alright. We get the picture" Nancy groans.

And just like that, your mind is already spiriling again, taking you to a corner in your brain where Eddie's mouth is not talking, teasing, and joking around. It's exploring, tasting, pressing, flicking.

You clear your throat and look away, pretending to focus on anything else.

"Alright, I'm going out for a smoke" Eddie stands up and grabs his cigarettes. He looks up for a second and calls your name. "Could you be a doll and join me outside? You know, so I'm not all alone and defenseless out there"

You hesitate. Something tells you to avoid this. But then again, part of you has been waiting for this moment.

"Back in a sec" you murmur to the rest as you stand up as well.

Outside, Eddie leans back against the brick wall and lights his cigarette.

"Defenseless, really?" you ask.

"I mean, I can't afford a bodyguard yet, so you'll have to do" he jokes.

You roll your eyes. But the joke doesn't last. Eddie takes another drag and exhales, his eyes not leaving your face.

"I meant what I said the other night" he admits. "I only told you that being drunk because sober me's a coward"

"You're not a coward"

"The filter just dropped there, that's all" he pauses. "I haven't stopped thinking about you. About that night and how you looked at me. And you're pretending it didn't mean anything"

"I'm not pretending, I'm trying to protect what we have"

"I know, but what if we miss the chance of something real?" He walks closer to you. "I'm not gonna kiss you. Not because I don't want to. I do. God, I do."

"Then why not?"

"Because I want you to believe me first"

You stay looking at him, thinking. Eddie takes a step back, like the conversation is over, and takes another hit.

He's about to talk but you beat him to it.

"Eddie"

He turns, quiet. And you walk over to him without thinking too much about it.

"I haven't stopped thinking about that night either" you admit. "I keep picturing it. You playing with that stupid piercing like you're doing right now"

He hadn't realized he was. His tongue stops, subconsciously.

"I imagine what it would feel like," you whisper, stepping closer. "against my lips"

"Jesus" he sighs.

"Against my skin. I wonder what it would be like to kiss it. To play with it. with my tongue" you keeps whispering.

He calls your name like a warning.

"What? You wanted honesty"

"This is not fair"

"I know what I want. And I wanted to be sure you wanted it too"

"I do, so badly"

"You said you could kiss anyone you wanted tonight, right?"

"Yeah" he says, jaw tense.

"Then why don't we stop playing around it... and finally see what it feels like?"

It takes him less than a second. He doesn't hesitates and he moves.

Hands on you and he kisses you like he's been waiting months to do it. It's rough at first, urgent. Like he's afraid if he doesn't kiss you now, he'll never get the chance again.

Your back hits the wall softly as you melt into him. Arms around his neck. And it's everything you imagined.

The metal feels a bit cold at first, in contrast with his hot, soft and slow tongue. He deepens the kiss, flicking the piercing slightly against your bottom lip.

A sound escapes your throat at that.

"Well?" he smirks.

"It's... better than I imagined"

"Did you imagine a lot, sweetheart?" he smirks as he hugs you.

You don’t rush back in.

Not when Eddie has you pressed against the brick wall like it’s the only place in the world he wants to be. Not when he’s still kissing you like he can’t quite believe this is real.

Every flick of that piercing, teasing the corner of your mouth, your tongue, dipping down to your jaw.

Eddie pulls back just a little, lips dragging to your cheek, then lower, to the curve of your jaw, then your neck.

And then he mutters against your skin, voice rough and low: “If you want we can keep testing how this thing works later” He pulls back to look at you. “I mean, purely scientific purposes; research, discovery"

“You’re ridiculous” you whisper, chucking.

He kisses you again. Slower and softer.

Then, he pulls away and smooths his hand down your arm. “C’mon, let’s go back before they start missing us”

You walk back in trying to act casual... you failed.

You hadn't notice that your hair was noticeably more tangled, lipstick no longer present. Instead, the tinted red was now on Eddie's lips and the corners of his mouth. His hair a mess...  even more than usual.

And they all notice. Everyone.

Steve spots you first. “No. No way.” He slams his hand on the table. “You two?”

“Oh my God" Robin laughs looking at Eddie's face.

“Do we all need to go outside for a smoke break now?” Jonathan acts scared, jokingly.

Eddie just shrugs and slides back into his seat like nothing happened.

“I mean...” he starts with a grin. “I told you I could kiss anyone I wanted tonight"

You sit down without a word.

“I told you I was defenseless,” Eddie adds, “she just took full advantage”

You roll your eyes.

"So? Does the piercing work?" Robin jokes.

"Oh, it works" you smirk.

The parking lot feels cold. The group spills out of the bar, putting on jackets and still laughing about some dumb joke.

Nancy and Jonathan get to her car, ready to go back home.

Steve grabs his keys and walks up to his car. "Alright ladies, I promised I'd get you two home" he refers to you and Robin.

You dig in your purse for your keys when you hear: "Or..."

You turn to the metalhead behind you, standing by his van.

"You could ride with me" he offers.

"Mmh, pros and cons?" you ask.

"You already know what I'm offering" he gives you a cocky smirk. "I told you we could keep testing things"

"Oh" Robin's eyes shot up.

"Sorry Steve, thanks for the offer though" you walk towards the van with a playful smile.

"Don't worry, Stevie" Eddie smirks, openening the passenger door for you. "I'll make sure she gets home... eventually"

Steve rolls his eyes and sighs, getting on his car.

As Eddie drives out of the parking lot, your friends yell: "Wrap it up, Munson!; Use protection!"

Once you arrive at Eddie's place, the door clicks shut behind you. The trailer is quiet. Eddie tosses his keys on the counter and turns to look at you.

He's like a wolf with its prey. His innocent and pretty lamb just waiting for him to devour her. His eyes raking over you. The silver ball still peaking out in between his lips while he stares at you.

"You look nervous" he murmurs, stepping closer.

"I'm not"

He smirks at that. "You're gorgeous, you know?"

"Just come here and kiss me" you chuckle.

That's all it takes, his hand finds your hair and his mouth is on yours before you know it.

You start making out. That metal ball right where you wanted it, agaisnt your own tongue, making you chase the feeling of it.

His hands sliding down your waist, gripping your hips like he means to leave marks.

He walks you backwards, step by step, never breaking the kiss. Until you hit the edge of his bed and drop onto it.

He just stares at you for a moment.

“Wanna keep going?” he asks, raspy voice. And you nod. “That’s not a yes”

“Yes" you whisper.

He's on you again in a second, kissing you harder, with his hands all over you.

Then, his mouth moves south to your neck. Open-mouthed kisses to make sure you feel the metal.

You can't really register when exactly your shoes came off. If it was before or after your shirt was tugged over your head. Everything blurs around the way Eddie's hands grip you, or his mouth moves lower and lower on your throat, chest, stomach. Until it reaches your thighs.

He looks up at you with those botton eyes and you're not sure if he knows the effect they have on you. His hair brushes over your skin as he settles in between your legs, and the sight of him there —eager, ruined already.

His mouth is everywhere, slow at first, like he wants to savor your reactions —every twitch, every gasp, every whispered 'Eddie' that slips out. And that piercing is not just decoration.

It gets impossibly hot pressed against you in the best places. He flicks it, then drags it slow just to hear you.

You fist on those poor cushions. He grins against you, tongue insistent, fingers gripping your hips to keep you still.

Round one hits like a storm. Your thighs already trembling on his shoulders, his name repeated on your lips as you cum.

But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even give you time to think.

Round two is worse (or better). He's slower now. "You taste like fucking candy, sweetheart" he mutters, voice wrecked and low, sending you vibrations.

He uses his tongue flat, the piercing catching right on your clit, flicking it every two seconds. You're twitching, begging, already falling apart again.

When you finish for the second time, your mind is blank, eyes glassy.

He nips at the inside of thigh, mutters things against your skin you can't even hear.

And you think he’ll stop now.

He doesn’t.

By round three, you're gasping his name loudly. You're so sentisive that you could just start crying.

And he's not even close to done.

“Still with me, baby?” he murmurs, mouth hovering just above you. “You got one more?”

You nod, enthusiastic.

And he dives in again —addicted.

By the end, you're not sure if you're moaning or sobbing, maybe both. Your hips held tight in his hands while he licks through the waves of your orgasm.

And when he finally pulls back, he's got your slick down to his chin and all over his cheeks, that metal glinting in the low light, his hair wild, and a dangerous look in his eyes.

“Jesus, that was the best” he whispers, licking his lips.

You just reach for him and pull him up to another kiss.

Eddie goes to lie half on top of you, his arms around your waist, hair sticking to his cheeks, and his cheeks are flustered.

He could only describe you as a beatiful mess beneath him, bare and flustered, still catching her breath.

"I could use a cigarette now" he smirks and looks in his nightstand. Your gaze drops to the very obvious state of his jeans.

Tight. Painfully so.

The outline of him is already big.

You reach down and lightly brush your fingers over the bulge. He practically jumps.

He warns, calling your name.

You only tilt your head, voice teasing. "You really thought we were over?"

He groans, hiding his face in your neck. “I'm happy with what we did already”

"Yeah?" you grin, push him back a little, trailing your hand down his chest, toying with the hem of his shirt. “Well… but look at you”

He exhales, jaw clenching. “Don’t do that unless you mean it"

“Oh, I mean it,” you whisper, palming him over the denim now, watching the way his hips twitch towards you. “You’ve been walking around all night with that piercing like you invented sex. Thought we were done?"

He laughs, breathless, then moans as you unbutton his pants slowly, dragging the zipper down. He’s twitching, hard and thick, and so big.

And when you get your mouth on him, he moans louder.

"Fuck, sweetheart-"

You work him over with your tongue, taking your time, teasing, savoring. You want to make a mess out of him too.

Your tongue curls on his pink head, while you stroke the base.

And when you look up at him, mouth slick, eyes gleaming? Eddie loses it.

Groaning, head back, fingers fisting the sheets and your hair with the other hand. He whispers a string of curses and sweet nothings that make you want to ruin him.

"You're so good, baby. You're gonna make me cum, ruin that cute little face and make it mine"

He pushes you down slowly, further, so you're taking all of him.

"That’s a good girl, take all of it. God"

And when he finally comes, thighs trembling, moaning your name, you can only smile, licking your lips, and murmur:

“Now we’re even"

Eddie blinks, dazed. Then laughs, low and panting.

"So did you like the piercing?" he gives you a big smile when you go and lay next to him.

"Like is an understatement" you chuckle.

"Oh yeah?" he grabs your cheeks and gives you a quick kiss.

"Yeah, I might have a few other ideas we could try out"

"Oh, I like the sound of that," he gives you another kiss, "I have some ideas of my own too"

"Then we better get to it, big boy"

"We most definitely will, pretty girl"

[nomoredying]

HII!! can you pretty please write a sevika x reader where the reader is the same age as Vi and she likes sevika but sevika tries to ignore reader because of their huge age gap. Then there comes a day where sevika finally comes to her senses and liked the reader back. YOU CAN DECIDE IF IT'LL BE SMUT OR FLUFF HIIHIHIHIHI. Love your works btw 💞

handle with care

alt! mechanic!sevika x apprentice!reader

tags: age gap (26/41), workshop setting, teasing, dirty talk, rough sex, reader absolutely wins a/n: please enjoy it! english is not my first language — please feel free to correct me, thank you

the air in the workshop always smells like burnt copper.

not the sharp bite of a real fire, but something quieter. like heat that’s been humming for hours. it clings to your skin. seeps into your clothes. everything here has that smell — the benches, the tools, even your own notebook that you keep folded in the back pocket of your overalls.

you don’t mind it. actually, you kind of love it.

there’s something comforting about the rhythm of the place. the metal-on-metal clinks, the low drone of the generator, and her voice. ow, practical, a little rough. it carries better than it should.

sevika.

she’s always busy with something. welding, lifting, fixing. which makes sense, since this is her workplace. today, she’s crouched near the back wall, one knee bent, her forearm braced on a crate as she adjusts the tension in a belt-driven pulley. her sleeves are rolled up, gloves off, and there’s a smudge of grease across the scar on her left arm.

you glance, then look away. not fast enough. heat prickles at your neck.

stop being weird.

you return to your corner, tightening the screws on a gear assembly you’re trying to reattach to some kind of old-school courier drone. she’d given it to you this morning with a quiet, “think you can figure it out?” 

you’d nodded like your brain hadn’t turned to fog. what you meant was, “yes, absolutely, i’d fix the entire world if you asked me to.”

you’ve been in love with her since the third week she hired you. maybe earlier. back when you showed up late on day two because your alarm didn’t go off, and she just looked at you once and said, “don’t make it a habit.”

three months later, you’re still here. still keeping your hands busy, still keeping your mouth shut, mostly. you don’t talk much unless she asks. but you watch her.

not in a creepy way. just… observant.

she’s got a way of moving that’s all intent. like everything she does matters. she respects the work. you can see that.

sometimes, she hums under her breath. low and soft. some old tune you don’t recognize. you let the sound settle in your chest.

the screw slips from your fingers.

you curse under your breath, pick it back up, and try again. it’s not that the piece is difficult. t’s just fiddly, worn down, old. you’ll probably need to weld part of the casing back in place too, but you’re avoiding that step because welding with the possibility of sevika watching always makes you feel like you’ve forgotten how arms work.

you sit cross-legged on the floor, elbow braced against your knee, muttering measurements to yourself while your brain drifts. 

random stuff.

like how long it would take to boil one of those super-thick tubes of solder. or if maybe you should start bringing your lunch instead of skipping it. or if the two screws you accidentally dropped into the vent last week have formed a secret tiny society.

you blink. realize you’ve been staring at the same bolt for — what, two minutes?

“you deaf?”

you jolt slightly, look up. sevika’s standing a few feet away, one eyebrow raised, a wrench in her hand.

you blink again.

“what?”

she snorts. “figured you were building a shrine to that bolt with how long you were staring at it.”

you make a face. “maybe i was. it’s the only thing around here that doesn’t insult me daily,” and that’s true. sevika can be very mean.

“hm.” she glances down at the tool in her hand. “wanna make it two?”

you sigh dramatically and push yourself up from the floor, joining her near the back bench, where she’s taken apart half of some kind of old plating unit. it looks like one of those things that keeps cooling systems from shorting out.

but bulkier.

“need a second pair of hands,” sevika mutters, nudging it with her boot. “this bastard keeps tilting.”

you kneel opposite her and brace it with both hands, trying not to pay attention to how close your knees are to hers.

she crouches down again. starts working the tool through the stuck joint, frowning at it like it personally betrayed her. you glance up.

just for a second.

her eyebrows are furrowed. she bites the inside of her cheek when she’s thinking, and there’s a tiny crease next to her mouth. you smile before you can stop yourself.

“what,” not a question.

your head jerks down.

“nothing.”

“you’re smiling like a creep.”

“i am not.”

“you are.”

you busy yourself with the bolts, “maybe i was jus.. appreciating the bond we share as coworkers.” those bolts are fascinating.

“you keep saying shit like that, and i’m gonna revoke your lunch break.”

“you already do.”

“…fair.”

the door swings open with a soft creak. a familiar voice pipes in before you look.

“hello-o-o?” 

you peek over your shoulder. powder. her hair’s tied up in a messy half-bun, and she’s got some new device strapped to her arm that looks half like a watch, half like a very bad idea. ekko trails behind her, holding something that sparks every few seconds.

“what,” sevika says flatly. at this point you think that word and a raise of an eyebrow is her signature thing.

“hi to you too,” powder grins, “ekko needs you to look at his thing. he won’t shut up about it.”

“it’s a resonance stabilizer,” ekko says, stepping forward.

“it’s annoying,” sevika replies, standing up and dusting off her hands.

you step aside while she leans in to glance at the sparking object. powder comes to your side, eyes flicking between you and sevika.

“you comin’ to the drop?” she asks.

“tonight?”

“yeah, nowish. claggor’s got new music. milo swears he can beat everyone at darts. again,” you smile. “come on,” powder nudges you, when she sees you’re not rushing into saying yes, “you’ve been here all day. let your brain breathe.”

and i would be here all night too, you think, but say, “sure.” instead.

powder smirks. turns toward sevika, who’s squinting at ekko’s mess of wires.

“we’re stealing your girl, sevika!”

sevika exhales. hard.

“take her,” she mutters, not looking up. “bring her back with both hands intact.”

powder salutes dramatically. you catch sevika’s eye for a second — she gives you a look. you can’t read it, but it sticks to your ribs.

“go,” she says, jerking her chin toward the door.

your smile widens. “yes, boss.”

you leave with powder and ekko. the air outside is cooler, a breeze brushing over your cheeks.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the last drop is louder than usual tonight.

claggor’s made some half-decent playlist that thumps through the walls, and powder’s perched on the edge of the booth, legs swinging as she shoves another handful of pretzels into her mouth. ekko’s mid-story — something about a failed grappling hook test that ended in a pile of garbage and mild public embarrassment.

you’re listening. mostly. you like this place. it feels safe.

“i bet i’m better at dartboard than you, too,”  mylo tries goading you. you stand up after necessity of rolling your eyes.

“why are you suddenly obsessed with darts? i don’t get it.”

you’re halfway through when it happens.

“not again!” someone shouts across the room, followed by the thunk-thunk-thunk of cards hitting a wooden table.

you glance over. and yeah. there she is.

sevika.

she’s got her sleeves rolled up again, sitting at a round table with vander and three other older guys you’ve seen around. she leans back in her chair, eyes sharp, a faint smirk tugging at her mouth as she drags a small pile of chips toward herself.

she’s winning. of course.

you don’t even realize you’re smiling until powder nudges your arm.

“she get tired of breathing in solder fumes or what?” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. “miss ‘i hate fun’ just had to show up and own the old men, huh? and you’re looking!” 

you scoff, looking away. “i’m not looking.”

“you literally are.”

you throw a pretzel at her. those kids! you’re only seven years older than her, but not that it matters.

a long, long time with mylo passes when you catch sevika again. not at the table now. she’s standing by the counter, talking low to ran as they slide her a glass. 

you don’t think. just move, “yeah, mylo, this is some bullshit..”

you slide onto the stool next to her. she doesn’t look. just sips whatever’s in the glass. probably whiskey. maybe battery acid.

“you stalking me now?” she mutters without turning.

you lean your chin into your hand, all wide eyes and syrupy grin. “i was here before you.”

finally, she looks at you. sideways. unimpressed.

“don’t you have people your own age to bother?”

you mock-gasp. “wow. ageism in public? cancelable behavior, boss.”

“you’re not working,” she says, eyebrow twitching. “i don’t have to be nice.”

“you’re never nice,” you hum. “and you came over to my bar,” you hope no one will let vander and silco hear your drunk nonsense.

“your bar?” sevika raised an eyebrow, mocking.

“i’ve decided it is. i’m claiming territory. you can have the bench vise and the oil stains.”

she huffs. not quite a laugh. you catch the way her eyes flick over you — quick, assessing. the edge of your collar, your lips, your tilted head.

so you tilt it a little more.

lower your voice. “something on your mind, sevika?”

her jaw ticks. she shifts, leaning away, hand back on her drink.

“you should go back to your little friends,” she mutters.

you blink. smile slow. salute with two fingers. “ma’am.”

then hop off the stool, turning and sauntering away without looking back.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you wake up with something aching in you.

it’s not something bad — not hungover, not anxiety, not hunger, not even the weird heartburn from powder’s mystery nachos last night. it’s something else. something loud. like your heart’s tired of waiting for your brain to catch up.

you stare at the ceiling for a full minute. blink once. twice.

then: “i’m gonna tell her.”

you say it out loud. it sounds ridiculous. you roll out of bed anyway.

the toothbrush nearly slips out of your mouth.

“nothing to lose,” you tell your reflection. “she’s a grown-ass woman, she can handle it.”

your reflection looks skeptical.

you rinse. towel off your face. mutter, “this is fine. this is normal. people confess things all the time.”

you arrive at the workshop early. early. you. sevika’s not even here yet, which should calm your nerves but somehow just makes it worse.

you pace. you fiddle with tools. you check the clock.

where is she? why am i sweating? why is my heart in my ears? why do my lungs feel like soup?

you stand in front of the workbench. stare at it like it holds the answers. then slowly — slowly — start testing lines. lines!

“sevika, i really admire you.” no. sounds like you’re applying for a scholarship.

“listen, so, you’re hot, and i think about your hands probably too much?” now that’s creepy.

“i like you. like, like-like.” what are you, eleven?

you try again. and again. pacing back and forth, flapping your hands like a deranged bird.

“okay. okay. sevika. i think i have feelings for you. and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but i just wanted to—”

“do you do this every morning or is this a special kind of breakdown?”

you freeze. your soul leaves your body, as you turn slowly to see sevika standing in the doorway. arms crossed. amused as hell.

you open your mouth. nothing comes out. just air. 

she raises an eyebrow, “well? don’t stop now. you were on a roll.” 

your jaw flaps. “how long have you been standing there?”

“long enough to hear ‘like-like.’” she winces theatrically. “might press charges.”

you groan. press your palms to your face. “janna, save me.”

“what are you, twelve?”

you peek between your fingers. “twenty-six.”

she rolls her eyes and brushes past you, heading for the back bench. “not helping your case.”

you stand there. hands limp. brain still rebooting. then — quietly — you follow.

she’s already halfway through sorting a bin of damaged gears when she speaks again. tone even, not cruel. just honest.

“nothing’s gonna happen,” she says. “not like that. i’m your boss and i’m too old for you.”

you nod slowly and scold yourself for not preparing counter arguments for those we can’t be togethertales, old as time. next time.

“seriously?” you ask, unimpressed. but sevika just ignores you. 

a few minutes pass. then you clear your throat. you can’t give up just yet! you just can’t.

“so what, you don’t like me? at all?” you press again, quieter. “not even a little?”

she exhales. steady, “that’s not the point.”

you feel heat rise in your cheeks, “so… you’re saying you do like me.”

“i’m saying you should shut up before i throw you out.”

you open your mouth to say something else — then see the look on her face. okay, she might actually throw you out. or throw her hands.

either way, you don’t want to test it so you shut up and work.

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

you do not back off. quite the opposite. it starts the next morning.

you don’t apologize. don’t mention it. you just show up with a cup of her favorite coffee — which you only know because you’ve watched her order it ten times. you drop it on the bench in front of her without a word, then go back to your own work.

she stares at it for a second. then at you.

then picks it up and drinks it.

you consider that a win.

you’re crouched under one of the lift platforms, tightening a bolt while sevika rewires the control box above. you can’t see her — just hear the occasional grunt, the click of metal, the way she breathes when she’s focused. steady. deliberate.

“hey,” you call up, “if i get electrocuted, will you miss me?”

“only during tax season.”

you even develop a game.

it’s called ‘see how long it takes to make sevika roll her eyes.’ your current record is twelve seconds.

“do you think it’s the smell of grease that makes me love you, or is it your sparkling personality?”

“if you say one more word, i’m stapling your mouth shut.”

“kinky.”

the wrench she throws narrowly misses your foot.

worth it.

sevika tries only ignoring and shutting you up from now on, but sometimes she just can’t help herself.

you’re bent over the bench, wrist twisted awkwardly as you solder two wires into place. your tongue’s poking out in concentration. she walks by behind you and mutters:

“try using your actual brain instead of pretending you’re cute.”

you grin. “you think i’m pretending?”

“hell, you’re exhausting.”

you hum, “but charming.”

one day you walk in late. flustered, hair a mess, sweat down your back because you ran the whole way.

she looks up when you arrive. says nothing.

“good morning to you too,” you huff, dropping your bag. “missed me?”

“only the peace and quiet.”

“you love the sound of my voice.”

“i like the sound it makes when you leave.”

sometimes, when she’s too quiet, you up the ante.

“you ever kiss someone in a workshop?” you ask one afternoon, like it’s a casual thing. like you’re not trembling under your smirk.

sevika snorts. doesn’t look away from the pipe she’s welding.

“you ever get fired in a workshop?”

you lean closer. “would you kiss me before or after firing me?”

this time, she looks up. slow. warning.

you lift your hands in surrender. “just gathering data.”

⚢ ⚢ ⚢

the door creaks when you push it open.

you don’t expect her to be there. you’re mostly sure she won’t be. it’s her and your day off, it’s late, the whole street is half-asleep under the soft purple of early night. the sky’s hazy, clouds hanging over zaun.

you just forgot your jacket. that’s it. you left it here earlier, when you stopped by to grab that old gear schematic. figured you’d slip in, slip out.

but then you smell smoke. it’s become such a familiar scent, almost like home.

there she is.

sevika.

sitting at the main bench, bathed in the golden spill of a low lamp. wearing a simple fitted t-shirt, muscles coiled lazy along her forearms. she’s holding some kind of broken hinge. house hardware, it looks like.

a cigar sits between her lips, glowing soft at the tip, curling smoke around her jaw like a crown made of fire.

you stop and for a second your brain blanks entirely.

her eyes lift. meet yours. flat. unimpressed. “what the hell are you doing here.”

your voice trips, catches itself, then smooths.

“forgot my jacket,” you say, shrugging with a little smile. you nod toward the hook behind the door. “not stalking you, promise.”

“shame,” she mutters. “would’ve been more interesting.”

you grab the jacket and walk over. your hair’s still a little curled from earlier, makeup half-worn off, skirt swishing around your knees as you move. you didn’t dress up for this, obviously. but still.

she notices.

you perch one hand on the edge of the bench. tilt your head. “what’re you fixing?”

she grunts. “drawer rail snapped. piece of shit.”

“thrilling.”

a puff of smoke escapes her nose. “where were you going, all dressed like that?”

you smile. bite your lip, just barely, “what’s it to you?”

her brow lifts. you see the second she realizes she asked. like the words came out before she gave them permission.

you lean in, teasing, grin spreading across your face. “you jealous?”

she exhales sharp. rolls her eyes. “of what? whoever’s dumb enough to take you out?”

“ouch.”

you’re grinning wider now. the smoke swirls between you, heavy and sweet and your gaze drops to the cigar between her lips. your thoughts get much, much louder. stupider.

don’t do it don’t do it don’t—

you do. you reach forward. pluck the cigar right out of her mouth. she blinks. is she stunned?

you bring it to your lips, inhale. just a little, because it tastes awful. too strong. you cough once.

“how do you smoke this shit?” you rasp.

her arm moves before she thinks. she reaches to take it back. but your hand moves too, with your body, and instead of returning the cigar, you lean in.

press your mouth to hers.

just a breath. just a second. your lips are soft, the kiss barely-there. just enough for her to feel the shape of it. and then you pull back. slowly.

your face is glowing. oh, you’re smug. thrilled. like you just won sevika in poker. she stares at you. for a whole minute.

you’re halfway into a cocky little comment when she finally mutters — half-growled, low and breathy:

“you little shit.”

and then she kisses you.

hard. one hand curled into the back of your jacket, pulling you closer, pressing your mouth to hers like she’s claiming her territory. her lips taste like smoke and heat and steel. so much better than you imagined. you melt instantly.

your brain short-circuits. you’re so damn proud of yourself.

sevika moves like the leash finally snapped.  her mouth covers yours again, rougher this time, teeth grazing just slightly as she presses in harder. you’re breathless. she huffs a laugh against your mouth like you’re exactly the kind of trouble she should’ve seen coming. and you are.

you pull at the collar of her shirt, fingers shaking as you touch the fabric, the heat beneath it. her hands already sprayed wide at your waist, pulling you closer.

her voice is gravel when she finally pulls back, barely a whisper against your lips.

“you’re out of your damn mind.”

your fingers rise to her jaw, brushing the rough line of her scar. when she licks into you, slow and deliberate, you whimper. pathetic, but can you really blame yourself?

you’re straddling her lap before you even realize it, thighs bracketing hers, skirt riding up in the back. her hands are big, scarred, and when they grab your hips, you feel it. 

your body folds into hers like it was built for this exact purpose.

“this what you wanted?” she rasps, voice thick, low in your ear. “been teasing me for weeks — now you gonna cry when i give it to you?”

you grind down on her thigh, sharp and shameless, “you wish.”

your hands tug at her shirt, slipping beneath the hem to touch bare skin. her stomach flexes under your fingers.

you moan into her mouth when she grabs your ass with both hands and rocks you against her thigh.

“fuck,” she mutters, “you’re so warm—”

“then do something about it.”

you need her to do something. 

your back hits the workbench and her body follows. she crowds you there, one hand braced beside your head, the other palming your thigh.

you tug her closer. feel her thigh press between yours again, higher this time. your hips jolt. your head tips back. “please,” you gasp, fingers fisting in her shirt, “sevika—”

she cuts you off with her mouth.

there’s no space left between you anymore, none, and maybe that should feel suffocating, but it doesn’t. it feels like finally.

her hand’s under your skirt now, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh. your skin burns everywhere she touches, and when her thumb grazes the edge of your underwear — lazy, suggestive — you’re glad you’re not standing because you’re so weak in knees.

“fuck,” you breathe, head tipping back against the bench, eyes fluttering.

“that all it takes?” she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat. “a few touches and you’re falling apart?”

“you have no idea what you do to me.”

she chuckles low in her throat. it’s warm against your neck, “sure i do.”

her teeth graze the shell of your ear. your whole body jolts. 

her mouth finds yours again. not teasing anymore, not at all. she kisses you like your taste is the only thing she’s thought about for days. you know her taste is. 

you gasp into her mouth as her hand slides higher, slips beneath the edge of your underwear — and god. her fingers are fast, practiced, sure, and when they slide between your folds, she groans.

“wet already?” her voice drops into something filthy, almost reverent. “fuck, you really wanted this bad, didn’t you?” 

you nod. bite your lip. her fingers slide through the slick once. twice. slow and deliberate. you arch into her hand, clutching her shoulders.

“don’t tease,” you whisper. “please, sevika, just—”

you don’t even finish. she slips one thick finger in. then two.

your hands claw at her biceps, anchoring yourself while her fingers fucks you deep, steady, perfect. her palm presses hard against your clit every time she moves. it’s brutal. addicting.

“shit. look at you. taking it so good.” she growls into your neck. 

you moan something half-formed and needy — a thank you, maybe, or a plea — you’re not even sure. everything is blurring. your vision goes hazy around the edges, your legs shake, your body’s curling in on itself as she keeps moving, keeps pushing you right to the edge—

“you gonna come for me, sweetheart?”

“yes,” you gasp, voice breaking. “yes, sevika, fuck, just don’t stop.”

she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

she watches your mouth fall open, your hands grip the bench behind you, your whole body come undone around her fingers, and when you cry out her name, she almost fucking loses it completely.

you’re still catching your breath, still trying to remember how knees work, when she pulls her fingers from you slow, so slow, and sucks them clean right in front of you.

your mouth falls open. no sound comes out. just want.

she leans close, lips brushing your cheek. “turn around.”

you blink. “what?”

“i said: turn. around.” her voice is low. a growl, really.

you swallow. obey.

your palms hit the workbench. it’s cold under your hands, solid. there’s grease stains near the edges and scattered screws and metal shavings but you don’t care.

you feel her hand slide up your back. then down again. slow. deliberate.

“look at you,” she mutters, voice dragging hot across your spine. “fucking dripping. just from my fingers.”

your breath hitches. your thighs clench.

“and now you’re bent over my goddamn workbench like you’re begging for it.”

“maybe i am,” you manage to breathe, lifting your hips just enough.

her hand comes down hard on your ass.

you yelp. she hums.

“brat,” she says, like a warning. “you’re a fucking brat.”

you hear her opening a drawer or something. you’re just about to turn your head when you feel cold tip, slick with the lube just at your behind. your breath catches. was this in the workshop all this time? waiting for its time?

“been thinking about this for weeks,” she mutters, voice dark with hunger. “the way you walk around like, playing games. the way you run your mouth, like you don’t know i could shut it with my fingers, or my cock—”

you moan, wanton. she chuckles behind you.

“yeah. that’s what i thought.”

you feel her press up against you. your whole body sings for it.

“beg for it,” she says, low in your ear.

you don’t hesitate. “sevika, please. i need it so bad. right here. right now.” 

sevika wanted to tease you a little more, but when she actually heard you asking for it, plans changed. she’s inside you now. 

a high gasp escapes your parted lips and your hands scramble for the edge of the bench, trying to anchor yourself as she fills you up in one smooth, punishing thrust.

“there,” she snarls, grabbing your hips. “that shut you up, huh?”

you can’t speak.

“fuck,” she hisses, fucking into you harder. “you’re so fucking tight. clenching like you’re trying to keep me in.”

you are.

every thrust knocks the air out of your lungs. the bench groans under the rhythm. her hands are bruising on your hips.

“you gonna come for me again, like this?” she asks, breath heavy against your neck. “bent over where we work? like a desperate little slut?”

“yes,” you sob. “yes, yes, sevika— please—”

her hand snakes around you, pressing hard to your clit. her mouth is bites your shoulder. her hips slam into yours, over and over and over. 

and when you finally snap, it’s with moan that echoes through the whole damn shop. you fall forward, barely holding yourself up.

sevika rides it out, groaning, thrusting once, twice, before she slams in and stills, burying it deep as she spills with a low, muttered curse right into your skin.

the silence after is heavy. warm. her breath fans over your back. your thighs ache. your legs are jello.

you feel her press a kiss to your shoulder.

“now that’s a way to spend your day off.”

taglist: @riotstemple29 @1i1z @ggutpunch

[uhuhmaries]

Hi! Could you write a one-shot where Harry is in his current era and in a low-key relationship with Y/N, who’s much younger than him? She’s sweet, gentle, very feminine and obedient. They’ve been together for less than a year and are spending the summer in Italy — he’s on a break from touring and she’s off from university.

Harry is protective, affectionate, and noticeably possessive in a quiet, controlled way. He takes care of every detail of the trip, loves guiding her, and makes it very clear — without needing to say much — that he’s the one in control of the relationship. And Y/N doesn’t just accept that, she craves it.

While in Italy, Harry decides to introduce her to a few of his closest friends, which makes her place in his life even more obvious.

It turned out a little more detailed than I planned, sorry for that hahaha. I just really love your writing and would love it if you’d consider creating something in this vibe 🩷

OOOOOH ITS SO GOOD LET ME COOKKKKK HERES MY BRIEF TAKE ON IT

La Sua Ragazza | H.S. Blurb

The morning sun breaks lazily across the Amalfi Coast, honey-dipped and slow, warming the white cotton sheets tangled at your ankles. You hear him before you see him—ceramic clinks, a soft grunt as the moka pot sputters its final breath, and then the sound of his bare feet against the tiles.

Your eyes flutter open just as he steps back into the bedroom, shirtless, tanned skin glowing, curls damp from the quick rinse he always takes before breakfast. He’s holding two espresso cups, and his rings glint in the light. He eyes you with a smirk that never quite leaves him, even when he’s quiet.

“Finally,” Harry murmurs, setting the cups down on the table by the window. “Was wondering if I’d have to wake you with my mouth again.”

You flush, sit up slowly, stretching. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He walks over, bends to kiss your temple. “Would, actually. But thought I’d give you the chance to open those pretty eyes first.”

You’ve been in Italy for two weeks now—a long, languid escape from London, from paparazzi, from lectures and library deadlines. It’s the longest uninterrupted stretch of time you’ve had together since you met, and Harry’s been savoring it quietly but intensely. Not with chaos or desperation, but with a steady, insatiable hunger. You feel it every time he grips your thigh beneath the table, every time he opens your car door like it’s second nature, every time he gently corrects your Italian for the fifth time that day only to kiss you hard for trying.

He’s usually dated someone his age or older, but this time… somehow, it’s you. The age difference is unmistakable—he was already in elementary school when you were just learning to crawl. Not so wide it feels impossible, but enough to remind you both that you come from very different worlds.

“You didn’t have to make breakfast,” you say, taking the espresso cup from his hand, fingers brushing.

“I didn’t,” he says, sipping his. “Had Lorenzo drop off some fruit and focaccia.”

Right. Lorenzo, the chef-slash-friend Harry seems to know in every city. You still don’t know how his web of connections works, but he always handles everything: food, transport, villas. Your job is just to show up, look pretty, and let him lead.

And God, do you let him.

You didn’t used to. Not with anyone. Even when you were soft-spoken and gentle, there was always a little wall up— something that said I can take care of myself, thanks. But Harry doesn’t fight that. He just makes you forget you ever needed the wall.

Today, he has plans. You can tell by the crisp linen shirt he slips on, the way he’s already got sunglasses hooked into the collar.

“We’re going to the marina later,” he says. “And I want you in something light. Something white.”

You nod, swallowing a sip of espresso. “Who are we seeing?”

He glances over, smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “Some mates. Keep it simple, yeah?”

You know what that means. Let him lead. Let him introduce you how he wants. Let his hand rest on your waist a little firmer than necessary when they ask who you are.

By early afternoon, you’re perched on the deck of a sleek, low yacht, surrounded by slow laughter and clinking wine glasses. The water is impossibly blue. You’re wearing a white linen sundress Harry picked out in Positano, and you feel it every time he looks at you— the approval.

He’s sitting beside you, hand draped casually over your thigh. Always touching. Never far. Every so often, his thumb strokes over your skin, quiet and grounding.

“Y/N, this is Mitch,” he says, nodding to a man across from you, beard thick and hair tucked into a cap. “And his wife, Elle. We go back years.”

You smile politely, fingers curling in your lap.

“How long have you two been together?” Elle asks warmly, tipping her sunglasses down.

Harry answers before you can.

“Nearly a year,” he says. “Still figuring out if she can put up with me.”

You turn toward him, about to make a playful retort, but he gives you that look. The one that says don’t get cheeky, darling, without saying a word. So instead, you blush and take another sip of wine, letting the group laugh.

He doesn’t always say much, but the message is clear. You’re his. You’re not here to impress them. You’re here because he wanted you here. Because he wants them to see how gentle you are, how quietly you fall in line. How much you trust him, even if it’s still new. Even if sometimes you hesitate.

But the truth is, you like that he takes the reins. You like how everything feels less overwhelming when you let him think for you. Plan for you. Speak for you. He makes you feel like it’s not just okay to let go— it’s expected.

And the way he looks at you when you do? It’s addictive.

Later, when the boat docks and everyone’s slipping into their cars, Harry opens your door and kisses your forehead. “You did well.”

Your heart jumps at the praise.

You drive in silence for a few minutes before he reaches over and places a hand on the back of your neck, thumb brushing your hairline. His voice drops.

“Know you don’t always like letting people in. But I like having them see you with me. Like showing you off.”

You blink out the window, heat blooming in your chest.

“I didn’t mind,” you whisper. “It’s just new.”

He hums. “You’re getting better at letting me take control.”

You bite your lip. “I didn’t mean to.”

He laughs softly, turns to look at you at a stoplight. “Doesn’t matter. You always do. And you like it.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

Because when he parks at the villa, you’re already moving around the car to his side before he can call you over. Already taking his hand when he offers it. Already looking up at him like he owns you.

And Harry? He always takes what’s his.

Even when you’re only just starting to understand how much you want to give.

La sua ragazza — his girl. Always.

⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹ ࣪ ˖₊˚⊹⋆ ⊹

GOD IM IN MY FEELINGS BC OF THIS I CANNOTTTTT I MISS HIM SO MUCH

[kkoga]

Unseen set up lara raj x fem!reader

From this ask!

Warning ! Foul words

Disclaimer ! Everything written here is pure fiction. Every person is not a real portrayal of themselves.

Now playing ! What do you mean by Justin Bieber

WC — 1.77K

Synopsis ! It was a normal day, getting ready for your stream, practicing before playing a match. It was all very normal. Until Lara walks in— and fails to notice you were live.

You flash your million dollar smile at the camera next to your computer, confidently waving your hands at it.

“Hey guys! Sorry I’m a bit late, shit gets real when you sleep at 2 am. Anyway, I’ll be playing some Valorant today, so let’s get warmed up before we start!”

You watched as hundreds of different comments flashed by each second, squinting your eyes as you tried your best to read them. You were eternally thankful for the five second delay you decided to put on a couple weeks ago.

its fine girl js hop on get ur ahh back to ascendant!!!

LOL did u stay up late reading fanfics or smth

guys what if shes actually batman and had to save us all….

“Pfft— guys I’m not fucking batman. And yeah yeah I’ll get my ass back to ascendant don’t you worry… It was js Harry dragging me down by having me carry his six and fifteen KDA.” You mumble the last part, rolling your eyes sarcastically. Your chat was going crazy, calling you out for being late in a joking manner.

“Okay guys you’re all frying me for being late, I get it! Gosh let me live ya’ll. I’m gonna start the warmup okay?”

You confidently spent the next four minutes in the practice range, getting headshots left and right as time passed. You then looked to your bottom left, reading your chat as you continued to shoot.

get on the game u little baka,,,,,

GET OUT OF THE DAMN RANGE OMG WE GET IT UR GOOD STOP SMIRKING YOU FOOL

sigh why she smirking like shes abt to ask for my number….?

You groaned at the comments. Your fans, the “hidits” they called themselves. Apparently, they took it from an early stream of yours when you screamed “ITHIDITSELF?! IT CAN HIDE ITSELF?! IT’S A FUCKING ROBOT AI MONSTER WHATEVER MABOB FUCK YOU MEAN IT CAN STUDY ME AND JUST DISAPPEAR BASED ON MY BEHAVIOUR?!?”

Your early fans found it funny and called themselves “hidits”. In your opinion, it is the most horrendous fandom name you have ever heard, but your fans said fuck you and kept it as their official name (they also found it ugly—but the idiots kept it just to spite you). It has been like that ever since.

“Okay fine I’m getting out the range you goddamn hidits—still don’t like your name by the way—and no I’m playing alone this time. Don’t need another Harry on my fucking back.”

You could imagine Harry quoting the clip later, asking why he deserved such hate, calling you a dirty fat hater. You knew the stupid guy too well, it would honestly surprise you if he didn’t.

As you wait for the match to start, you hear your door swing open. You furrow your eyebrows as you gently take your headset off and face your door. 

There stood, in all her glory, Lara Raj. As in the Lara Raj from KATSEYE— the same Lara who you just realized, could be seen by your camera. Lara—looking down onto her phone and paying no attention to you or your set up—speaks before you could warn her about you two being live, to thousands of people.

“Baby?” It was over.

“Sorry are you gaming right now? Just wanted to ask if you wanted to watch a movie. This new netflix one came out and—” Lara’s eyes widened as she saw your camera all set up, as you sat there with a shocked face and an open mouth.

 Oh you both fucked up.

LARA JUST CALLED YN BABY AM I FUCKING HALLUCINATING?!?!

IS THIS FUCKING REAL NO WAY

OHHH YN BAGGED A BADDIE IM SO PROUD

LARA AND YN??? MY TWO FAV THINGS TOGETHER!!!

OH THIS IS MONUMENTAL FOR US HIDITS AND YN HERSELF

Before you could think of some crazy stupid cover-up, Lara sighs as she walks closer to you. You looked around the room, confused as to why she was moving closer.

The Indian grabs your cheeks, and forces you to face the camera. You stared as the chat started moving even faster— if that was even possible. Was the five second delay not enough? But to be fair, with a moment like this, you kind of expected all your fans— including the eyekons, to start tuning in.

“See this?” You sat still, confused, but still let her do her thing anyway. You just hoped she knew what she was doing.

see what?? 

whuts goin on guyz…

whats abt to happen im scared 

Lara then made you face her, as she pampered your face with kisses—kisses everywhere except your lips. After a whole minute of this shenanigans, Lara stops and faces the camera once more— leaving dozens of lipstick marks on your face.

“Yeah, that’s mine.” Lara says, emphasizing on the word “mine”. Your jaw dropped, mouth wide open, unaware on how to react. Usually you’d pounce on her the moment she pounced on you but you couldn’t exactly do that with— wait, A HUNDRED THOUSAND PEOPLE WATCHING?!

Your fans went feral, your viewer count rising by the millisecond. You froze, not knowing what to do. You just prayed you weren’t as red as you felt. This was embarrassing enough as is, you didn’t need hundreds of people making a meme out of you.

OMG SHES FUCKING BLUSHING THEY R SO COUPKLE GOALS

JHASGDASDGHAHSD DONT PLAYYY THIS WAS SO RANDOM BUT SO…. NEEDED?!?!?!

COUPLE OF THE YEAR U GUYS

oh to have a woman like lara….

i came here for valorant not to feel SINGLE you guys.

“I u—uhm.. Are you… sure?” You dumbfoundedly stared at your girlfriend as she let out a chuckle.

“Well I wouldn’t do that if I wasn’t now would I? Anyway, be done by 5pm. We’re watching a movie.”

And with that—Lara quickly left the room, leaving you with the aftermath.

EXPLAIN YN LN

HEY HEY HEY U LITTLE BAKA WHAT DOES THIS MEAN BRUH

u looked fucking stupid lol blushing like an idiot as a baddie pampers you with kisses

oh she bottoms alright…

maybe valorant was the friends we made along the way

really bro? freezing like that infront of the huzz?? u disappoint me….

do you guys have room for a third….

 You quickly snapped out of your little love daze, remembering you had to take control of the situation.

“Alright guys, let’s chill out okay? And yes we’re… dating.” You fucking hated yourself. You were telling about two hundred thousand people about how you and Lara were dating, blushing like a goddamn kid in the process.

You thought about it for a moment, and decided maybe you didn’t have to stream today.

“Okay, I know I just got on but… duty calls…?” Your chat was then split into two different categories—those who agreed and the rage baiters who told you to stay.

CMON GIRL NOT A SINGLE GAME IN SIGHT??? 

DUTY CALLS LET THE GIRL GO

its js a movie girl play like one game and hop off

she CANNOT fumble this guys dont do her like ts

GIRL JS FUCKING GO DO A DAMN STREAM NEXT TIME U GOT A BADDIE WAITING FOR U

You giggled,

“Guys c’mon, you want me to keep the girl waiting?”

YES

NUH UH IM NOT WITH THESE LOSERS GO GET YO GIRL

IF UR GOING THEN PLS POST SOME PICS

U HAVENT STREAMED SINCE LAST WEEK AND UR A FUCKING STREAMER MAN DONT BREAK MY HEART LIKE TS

You entertained them for a few more minutes before you decided it was time to hop off. You didn’t like to keep Lara waiting, and you knew she wasn’t usually the patient type.

“Alright guys, seriously, I need to go okay? I promise I’ll stream soon.” You made a cross sign on your heart as you continued,

“Cross my heart, okay?” Your chat began to say goodbye, as you closed your camera. You sighed as you shut everything off— tidying up your setup even though you haven’t even played yet.

I mean c’mon, it was either you play games alone on stream or you spend quality time with your girlfriend.  It was practically a no brainer.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to fix your appearance before going. After successfully assessing yourself, you carefully made your way to the living room.

The faint hum of your fan could be heard a few feet away, as random tiktok audios played on what you assumed to be Lara’s phone. The sound grew louder as you inched towards her— until she was finally visible.

Lara was on the couch—giggling to a tiktok—looking like she fell from heaven. 

Her hair was loose, looking like they were exclusively styled to fall that way. And her bare face? God she looked so damn cute. Or hot— you couldn’t exactly distinguish between the two right now. 

You snuck next to her, sliding your arm across her waist.

“Hi baby.” Lara leaned her body towards you, a gentle loving smile on her face. You instinctively snuggled into each other, the feeling so natural.

So familiar.

“Hi.”

You breathed into her perfume— strawberries with a hint of mint. The smell you could recognize from anywhere. You personally disliked the scent of strawberries, but you grew to love it. Strawberries reminded you of Lara— they were as sweet as her words. As sweet as her actions. And the hint of mint that always lingered around you two came from your air freshener. 

It reminded you of home. It reminded you of her— it reminded you of who your home was.

“So… you just decided to go public huh?” You say as casually as you can, opening up with a soft tone. A soft giggle left her lips,

“Yeah, I mean why not? We got caught anyway, might as well own up to it.” 

“Yeah….you’re right. I was just caught off guard.” The hesitation in your voice made Lara waver, worry now spread across her face.

“Did it bother you? I’m so sorry baby I didn’t think you’d mind—” 

“Hey hey it’s okay, don’t worry. I don’t care I was genuinely just caught off guard okay? Don’t apologize. Although I would’ve appreciated a heads up, I’m not exactly bothered. Just…. Embarrassed you had me geeking in front of my fans.” The slight shift in tone lightened the mood, as Lara responded with a kiss to your cheek.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. I have nothing to be ashamed of, no reason to hide. I would never be ashamed of you, okay?” Lara sighs, as relief floods her senses. 

“I love you.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

“Love you too.”

[hyunjinlosthisamericano]

Give In Baby

Warnings: Sub/dom dynamics, bondage (silk restraints), explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving and m receiving), power play, light teasing, consensual control.

synopsis: Y/N reads a steamy book about a submissive boyfriend, and she can’t help but imagine it, with Chan. After several days of teasing and begging, Chan finally gives in to her request.

Dinner was unusually quiet for a Thursday night. The clinking of forks against porcelain was the only sound that filled the cozy apartment, save for the gentle hum of a jazz playlist playing low in the background. Y/N sat across from Chan at their little dining table, absently pushing pasta around her plate, her mind clearly not on the food. Chan noticed, of course, he always noticed. That was one of the things she loved about him. He saw her, even when she didn’t speak.

"You good, baby?" he asked, fork pausing midair.

She blinked up at him, caught in her thoughts. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I was just thinking about something.”

Chan set his utensils down and leaned back slightly in his chair, giving her his full attention. “Was it good thinking or bad thinking?”

She gave a small, teasing smile, resting her chin on her palm. “Good. Spicy.”

He raised a brow, lips curling. “Spicy?”

“I read this book today,” she said slowly, watching for his reaction. “And the smut scene… it hit different.”

Chan chuckled, amused. “Was it good?”

“Very,” she whispered, eyes gleaming now. “Because the boyfriend was the sub.”

Chan blinked, his fork froze mid-bite, and she swore she saw him choke on air. “I want to try that with you,” she added, voice softer but firmer, her heart fluttering with anticipation.

He coughed and grabbed his glass of water, taking a sip as she leaned forward to pat his back, giggling. “You okay, Cham?”

“I’m good,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “But what did you just ask me?”

“I want you to be the sub. Just once.”

He blinked again. “Y/N… you know I—yeah no.”

Her face fell dramatically. “Whyyyy not? Just once! Pleeease?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

She tried again later that night while brushing their teeth. “Babe, just imagine how hot it’ll be. I’ll be the one in charge. You just have to lay there, look pretty, and whimper for me.”

Chan spit out his toothpaste and gave her a flat look. “That’s not helping your case.”

But she wasn’t one to give up easily. Over the next week, she tried everything. Puppy eyes at breakfast. Subtle reminders in the shower. Not-so-subtle reminders before bed. She even teased him during their grocery run, whispering things like, “I bet you’d look so hot tied up with that silk ribbon,” while holding it in front of him in the aisle. Chan turned so red he abandoned the cart and walked off muttering about her being the death of him.

Still, he didn’t say yes.

Until one particularly long Thursday evening. She was curled on the couch, flipping through channels, trying to act normal, trying not to think about how hopelessly whipped she was over a man who wouldn’t even let her tie him up once. The door creaked open. She barely had time to turn her head before her jaw dropped.

Chan stood there, framed by the warm golden light of their hallway. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing the thick veins of his forearms. His tie hung loose around his neck, the top buttons undone. His glasses sat low on his nose, and his hair was brushed back, some strands falling lazily over his forehead. He looked like every woman’s forbidden office fantasy, exhausted and dangerously sexy.

Y/N stood up so fast she nearly tripped. “Oh my god,” she breathed, walking up to him. “You look like sin.”

Chan dropped his bag and toed off his shoes, gaze unreadable. “Had a long day.”

“Mm,” she hummed, fingers reaching up to gently tug at his tie. “You still not in the mood to try what I asked?”

He sighed. A long, slow breath. “I’ve been thinking about it,” he muttered, eyes locked with hers. “You’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

“Never,” she said with a bright smile.

He exhaled again, defeated. “Fine.”

She blinked, stunned. “Wait—really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

He didn’t get a chance to because she was already kissing him like he was oxygen and she hadn’t breathed in days. Chan melted into it almost instantly, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close until their bodies were pressed together like puzzle pieces. She reached behind him, unhooked his bag from his shoulder, and let it drop to the floor before walking him backward toward the bedroom.

By the time they stumbled through the door, he was breathless. She gave him a gentle shove and he landed on the bed, eyebrows raised in surprise as she straddled him.

“Stay,” she whispered, fingers already reaching for the silk ropes she’d hidden in the drawer. He looked at them and then at her, a nervous laugh leaving his lips. “You planned this?”

“I always plan the best things,” she grinned.

She didn’t wait. Slowly, she unbuttoned his shirt, one button at a time, pressing soft kisses over his chest. When he was shirtless and warm beneath her, she moved his arms above his head, tying his wrists to the headboard with smooth, firm knots that had clearly been practiced.

Chan shifted, testing them. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.”

She stood at the edge of the bed, slowly undressing herself while his eyes devoured every inch of her skin. Bra unclasped, panties rolled down agonizingly slow. When she was fully bare, she walked back to the bed and climbed over him, settling between his thighs.

Her knees nestled against the bed on either side of his hips, gently pushing his legs open, revealing his cock, hard, flushed, and already twitching with need. She sat back on her heels, letting her eyes roam over his body like he was her favorite indulgence, then slowly slid one hand between her legs, the other gliding up to her chest. A breathy moan slipped past her lips as her fingers sank into her soaked heat, and she let her head fall back slightly, her eyes fluttering shut.

Chan’s breath hitched. He was frozen, completely at her mercy, chest rising rapidly with every second she spent lost in her own pleasure. “Y/N—fuck…”

Her voice dropped to a sultry whisper. “No touching. Just watch.”

She opened her eyes to meet his, glazed, desperate, hungry, and gave her nipple a teasing tug before curling her fingers inside herself, her slick sounds echoing softly in the room. Every roll of her hips, every gasp she let out, was a performance meant only for him.

He strained against the ropes, his cock bobbing helplessly as he whimpered, “Please, baby, I need you…”

A devilish smile curved her lips as she crawled between his legs, her breath warm against his skin. She leaned forward and dragged her tongue in one slow, wet line from the base of his shaft to the tip, deliberately avoiding any real pressure. Chan gasped, cursing under his breath.

She kept at it, light, flickering kitten licks that were maddeningly soft. Her fingers barely gripped his shaft, teasing rather than stroking, her eyes locked on his as his body writhed beneath her.

When the desperation in his voice cracked, when his begging turned into broken groans, she finally, finally rewarded him. Her lips wrapped around the head of his cock, and she began to take him in, inch by inch, until he filled her mouth completely. His hips bucked instinctively, hands fisting against the restraints, mouth falling open in a silent moan.

“Holy fuck, baby—I’m gonna—”

She pulled off with a slick pop, eyes shining with mischief. “Not yet.”

He whimpered again, hips grinding into the air, a pitiful mess beneath her.

She climbed back onto the bed, sliding her hands along his thighs as she moved over him again. Chan’s arms flexed instinctively, even though the ropes still held him down, he was hers tonight, and he knew it. She straddled his hips, the heat radiating from her bare skin making his stomach flutter with anticipation. Her core hovered just above his throbbing cock, and with a slow grind of her hips, she let herself drag over his length, coating him in her slickness. The sound alone, wet, hot, teasing, was enough to make him groan deep in his chest.

Every stroke along him was slow and torturously controlled, each movement calculated to drive him insane. His cock twitched beneath her, the veins pronounced, flushed dark pink from how long he’d been hard without any real release.

"Fuck," Chan gasped, his head falling back against the pillow. His eyes squeezed shut as she moved against him again, gliding with just the right amount of pressure, not enough to give him what he needed, only enough to keep him on the brink.

She leaned forward slightly, hair cascading down to brush against his chest, and began to lower herself. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, and she paused, just barely letting him in. A tremble rocked through her thighs, and her lips parted around a gasp.

Chan looked up at her, barely able to keep his eyes open. “Please…”

She gave him a breathless smile. “You’re so needy, baby.”

“Because you’re driving me insane,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

And finally, finally, she began to sink down. Inch by inch, taking him slowly, keeping her pace achingly slow. Her walls clung to every part of him, tight and warm, making his thighs tremble as he tried to resist the urge to thrust up.

“You’re so slow,” he whimpered, his voice cracking. His fingers clenched into fists against the silk ropes, the fabric taut from how desperately his body wanted to move.

She paused when he was only halfway inside her. “Be good,” she said softly, lips brushing the corner of his mouth. “Or I stop right here.”

“No, please,” Chan begged, breathless. His hips jerked, futile and frustrated. “I’ll be good, I swear. I’ll be so fucking good for you.”

That was all she needed to hear.

Her body rolled over his again, and she sank fully down, enveloping him with one long, deep thrust. A gasp tore from his throat, followed by a broken moan as he felt himself fully seated inside her. She gave herself a second to breathe, adjusting to the stretch of him, before she began to move.

Her hips rose slowly, her thighs tightening, and then she dropped back down, making him curse under his breath. Again. And again. The rhythm she set was maddening, sensual, patient, like she wanted to memorize every sound he made. Her hands pressed against his chest, nails dragging faint red lines down his skin.

Chan’s head turned from side to side, lost in the pleasure, his lips constantly parted, panting her name between desperate moans. “Y/N… fuck, I can’t… I need…”

“You need what?” she asked, breath catching in her throat as she picked up the pace just slightly. “Tell me, baby.”

“You,” he moaned. “Just you. Everything.” Chan came inside her, with long spurts on cum, as she clenched around him and came with immense pleasure.

Their skin was slick now, her pace increasing with every thrust. The bed creaked softly beneath them. Her name tumbled from his lips in a mess of praise and pleading. Chan came inside her, with long spurts on cum, as she clenched around him and came with immense pleasure. and she leaned down to kiss him, stealing the sounds from his mouth with tongue and teeth. The kiss was feral and sweet all at once, like fire and honey, until her lips broke from his, trailing kisses along his jaw, and she whispered directly into his ear:

“Can I sit on your face?”

A loud groan left him, and he barely managed to nod, pupils blown wide. “Yes,” he rasped, “please, please, I want that so bad.”

She didn’t waste another second. Her fingers worked at the knots, slowly loosening the silk restraints until his wrists were free. He didn’t even rub the red marks, he was too focused on her, on what was coming next. He lay back, head against the pillows, arms stretched up as if ready to worship her, mouth parted and waiting.

She climbed up his body, one knee on each side of his head, holding his gaze as she positioned herself over him. “Ready?” she asked, breath trembling.

He nodded quickly, voice low and hoarse. “Come here. Now.”

She lowered herself with delicious slowness, letting the heat of her core brush his lips, and the moment his tongue touched her, her entire body jolted. He didn’t ease into it. He licked like he’d been denied water in a desert, hungry, frantic, desperate. His hands gripped her thighs, pulling her against his face as he devoured her, tongue swirling, lips sucking on her clit until her entire body was shaking above him.

“Fuck, Chan—” she cried out, head dropping back, hands gripping the headboard. Her hips rolled instinctively, grinding against his mouth as he moaned beneath her, the vibrations sending her straight into overdrive.

She came with a sharp gasp, her thighs squeezing around his head as the orgasm ripped through her. She collapsed forward slightly, panting, barely able to hold herself upright. Chan didn’t stop, he licked her through it, tongue gentle now, savoring her like dessert.

By the time she slid off him, her legs were trembling and her lips were swollen from all the moaning. She collapsed beside him, their skin sticking from sweat, their bodies tangled in the sheets.

Chan turned to her immediately, arms wrapping around her like she was his anchor. He kissed her shoulder, then her jaw, then buried his face in her neck. “You’re unreal,” he murmured, voice raw and spent. “That was… I don’t even have words.”

She stroked his damp hair back from his forehead, brushing soft kisses along his cheek. “Perfect,” she whispered.

He chuckled weakly. “You’re evil. You know that, right?”

She smirked. “But you liked it.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “I liked it too much.”

She slid off the bed, tugging his hand as she walked toward the bathroom. “Come on, you’re a mess. You’re lucky I already filled the tub.”

He followed her, dazed and obedient, limbs weak but heart full. As she climbed into the warm bath and leaned back against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He pressed a soft kiss to her temple, his lips barely moving against her damp skin. “Next time, I’m in charge again.”

She laughed quietly, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’ll see about that.”

And Chan, still floating in the afterglow, already knew, he was going to let her win again.

Dividers:@uzmacchiato For my baby: @240724coups❤️