#like we’re at the halfway point now and it’s like there’s so much still yet to go down and yet so much already set up

[jemmo]

my mind the whole time im watching his man 2 is just that tiktok sound that’s like “this is so sick and twisteddddddd”

[astraljedi]

He is in love (Joaquin Torres Imagine)

Request: I love angst as much as the next person but I need a Joaquin Torres domestic imagine where he's so in love with reader and they have a healthy relationship

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Female reader

Warnings: Male provider trope, mention of alcohol. This is mostly fluff, just a loving boyfriend who loves spoiling his girlfriend.

Word Count: 3.33K

Song: You Are In Love by Taylor Swift

A/N: Ugh, I love me some sweet requests like this one! Let me know what you guys think 🫶🏻 -

And he keeps the picture of you in his office downtown And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars

“Breakfast was delicious.” I smile as Joaquin presses a kiss to my cheek. I grab the plate from his hands and place it in the sink with the other dishes I’m currently washing.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asks, nuzzling his face into my neck and leaving soft, wet kisses on my skin. His arms wrap around my waist, holding me close, not wanting to let go even as I move to load the dishwasher.

“First, I have a pilates class at eight, then I need to stop by the supermarket for some groceries.” I turn to face him once I’m done putting away the dishes, looping my arms around his neck.

“Skip the supermarket—we can go together tomorrow after work.”

“Yes sir.” I smile, stepping up on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

“Today’s your brunch date with the girls?” Joaquin pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and hands me his silver credit card.

“Baby, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t start with me, baby.” He pulls me back into his chest. “I want you to indulge and have fun with the girls. Don’t let them split the check.”

“You spoil me so much.”

“And I love spoiling you.” He kisses the back of my hand with a horrible posh accent. “Tell Simone I hope she had a great time on her honeymoon, but I’m stealing her husband next football Sunday.”

“We already know it.” I roll my eyes playfully. You really can’t come between those two and their Sunday football traditions.

Joaquin throws on his army jacket and heads toward the front door. “By the way, I filled your tank yesterday after I finished washing your car.” He grabs his keys from the small bowl by the door like he always does.

“Thank you! I totally forgot I was supposed to get gas on Friday before coming home.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I like taking care of you.” He gives me a look, reaching for my hand reassuringly. “What’s the point of being your man if I’m not making your life easier?”

I tug on the ends of my red jacket, already zipped halfway over my matching sports bra. “I don’t know what I did before I met you.”

We walk out the driveway and to his car still holding hands, the morning air still crisp. 

My tiny red shorts don’t do much for warmth—but they do something to Joaquin. He keeps sneaking glances at me from the corner of his eye.

“You’re so bad at being subtle.” I giggle, my cheeks blushing. I can’t even blame him—I’m just as bad. I can’t help staring at him either. He wears the same uniform every day and it still drives me absolutely insane. There’s just something about seeing him in his army getup every morning and evening. It never gets old.

He opens the driver’s side door but doesn’t get in yet. Instead, he turns to me, pulling me in by the waist. “I can’t help it. I gotta get my fill of you for the day to survive my long work hours.”

“Don’t be dramatic.” I look up at him, laughing softly, right before one of his hands slips from my waist to grip my ass.

“Baby, the neighbors,” I warn, trying to hide my smile.

His lips brush mine, and I think it’s going to be a sweet, quick goodbye kiss—until it’s not. Suddenly I’m on my toes, hands in his hair, his mouth moving against mine like we’re teenagers making out in the driveway after curfew. His fingers slip just under the hem of my jacket, warm and gentle on my lower back, and for a second I consider dragging him back inside and making him even more late to work.

When we finally pull away, I’m breathless. He tucks a rogue piece of hair behind my ear and grins, boyish and smug.

“Let me know when you leave to meet up with the girls.”

“I will.” I steal one last kiss before he hops into his car. “I love you.”

“Love you too, baby.” He shoots me a wink before backing out of the driveway. I’m smiling like a complete idiot.

When I turn around to walk back into the house, my eyes meet our grumpy old lady neighbor across the street. Mrs. Riley is standing on her porch, arms crossed, already shaking her head in disapproval at our early morning makeout session.

“Good morning, Mrs. Riley,” I call out sweetly, trying not to laugh as she mutters something under her breath. I walk back inside and shut the door behind me, still grinning, trying to calm my racing heart.

By the time my pilates class wraps up, I already have my outfit picked out in my head for brunch with the girls. Mia—my very pregnant best friend—and I went to the mall last Friday, and I found the perfect dress for our monthly get-together.

I shower quickly to wash off the post-pilates sweaty and sticky feeling off my skin. Once I’m clean and dry, I slip into the buttery yellow sundress and tie the dainty straps into delicate little bows on top of my shoulders. The corseted midi dress fits like a glove and pairs perfectly with my favorite platform sandals. It’s perfect for our late brunch reservation and I can’t wait to wear it more next spring.

I grab my phone and walk out of the walk-in closet, heading over to the big mirror tucked into the corner of our master bedroom. I angle my body just a little, sliding one leg forward to show a peek of skin through the slit in the dress. I snap a quick picture and send it to Joaquin.

Leaving soon, love you 💋

His response comes almost instantly—except it’s not a text. It’s a FaceTime call.

The moment his face pops up on my screen and he gets a good look at me, he lets out a low whistle while I show off my outfit with a spin.

“Te ves hermosa, como siempre,” he murmurs into the phone, clearly hiding somewhere in his shared office.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, but you decided to send me a picture of you in that dress. You’re killing me, baby,” he says, leaning back dramatically in his chair.

“I think you’ll survive, handsome.” I giggle, grabbing my purse from the bed and adjusting the strap over my shoulder.

“I can’t even begin to say the things running through my head right now.” He groans, running a hand down his face. “But if I want to buy you hundreds of dresses like that, I have to keep working. Have fun, sweetheart.”

“I will! And try not to stare at the picture all day. You actually have to get back to work.”

I hear voices in the background, someone entering the room, and Joaquin glances over his shoulder.

“Now I really have to go,” he sighs. “Call me if you need anything.”

I blow him a kiss through the screen before ending the call, my mood lighter than before.

The girls and I usually have brunch at our favorite spot downtown called Oliver. For a Monday, the front patio is surprisingly full, but I head straight inside and make my way toward the back patio where we always sit—our usual reserved table waiting for us.

Oliver has seen us through every season of our lives. When Tiana passed the bar exam. Mia’s first baby shower, three years ago. The day after Simone got engaged to Marcus, two years ago. So many memories tied to this place. And today, for our monthly catch-up, we’re celebrating Simone’s return from her month-long honeymoon in Europe.

“You’re late,” Mia points out, classic Virgo, she never changes.

“I’m sorry,” I say, pulling out a chair and slipping into it. “I had to stop by the florist to pay the deposit for your baby shower.”

“Girl, is that the dress you bought last Friday?” Tiana whistles, raising her champagne glass to me. I laugh and nod—of course she remembers. I sent them a minute-long video haul in the group chat the second I got home.

“Lucky for us Joaquin’s at work,” she teases. “He wouldn’t let you leave the house for days if he saw you in that dress.”

“I sent him a pic and he didn’t even hesitate to FaceTime me like two seconds later.” I grin as the waiter sets a mimosa down in front of me. “Thanks,” I tell him, then take a quick sip.

“Ugh, you guys are so gross.” Mia rolls her eyes playfully and takes a sip of her orange juice.

“Let her live, Mia,” Simone jumps in. “We had to deal with you and Andrew first and none of us complained.”

Tiana and I laugh with Simone as Mia shrugs, pretending like she has no idea what we’re talking about.

“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” she says, all innocent.

“Oh, Andrew baby, I miss you already,” I say in my best impression of Mia, dramatically grabbing Tiana’s hands across the table.

“Mia, I can’t wait to kiss every freckle on your beautiful face,” Tiana adds, joining in with her own over-the-top impersonation of Mia and Andrew’s honeymoon phase (which, honestly, never ended).

“Oh shut it, people are staring.” Mia throws a piece of bread at us, laughing.

“How’s my baby shower coming along?” she asks, switching topics before we get even more dramatic.

“The flowers and décor are ordered. I’m just waiting on the quote from the company renting the chairs and tables, but mostly everything’s on schedule.” I rattle it off like a checklist, gasping a little once I reach the end. I finish my mimosa and glance at the menu, even though I already know what I’m going to order. I get the same thing every time.

“Andrew and I finished the guest list. Remind me to send it to you later,” Mia says, reaching for her orange juice.

“How do you feel after a month-long honeymoon?” I ask Simone, who’s sitting across from me.

“It was amazing! We went to that restaurant you and Joaquin recommended in Rome—it was so good, we actually went again before leaving for Spain.”

“It’s so good, and the owners are the sweetest,” I add, smiling.

The rest of brunch flows the way it always does with laughter echoing around our table, plates filled with delicious food, and us reminiscing about college and diving into girl talk. Eventually, the waiter sets the bill down, and before anyone can argue, I grab it and slide Joaquin’s card into the little black folder.

“What?” I ask, noticing the three of them smirking at me.

“Oh, nothing,” Simone says, the first to speak. “Just make sure to thank Joaquin for brunch.”

“She didn’t even look at the total,” Tiana points out with a laugh.

“Why would she?” Mia chuckles. “Her man loves spoiling her.”

“As he should,” they all say in unison, like it’s rehearsed. I try to laugh it off, but I can already feel the warmth creeping into my cheeks.

“Our girl is in love,” Tiana sings, just a little too happy from the mimosas.

“You’re the last one of us who hasn’t gotten engaged yet,” Simone says. “What’s he waiting for?”

“We’ve talked about it,” I say, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But we just want to enjoy the house for a while. Maybe down the line, ring shopping could be on the table.”

Everyone’s always asking when we’re getting married, when we’re having a baby—but honestly, the stress of closing on the house was enough. Joaquin and I just want to enjoy what we’ve built for a little while before the next big thing.

“It’s been more than a year since you guys moved in,” Mia says, more to herself than to anyone.

“Yeah, but it hasn’t been a year since Joaquin fully recovered from his injuries from that assignment,” I begin, my tone softening. “My fear is that he could get shipped out at any time and I need the security of knowing he’s coming home. I don’t think I can go through what happened last time again.”

The lump in my throat is familiar. So is the weight pressing on my chest.

“Honey,” Simone says gently. She and Mia reach out to grab my hands, and Tiana wraps an arm around my shoulder.

“Have you talked to him about this?” Simone asks.

I nod. “He knows he can’t promise me that kind of security. And I don’t want to be the reason he stops doing what he’s been dreaming of for years. He was so excited when he got that ridiculous suit,” I say, smiling through the ache.

“We’re here for you,” Mia adds softly.

“Thank you, guys.” I exhale, offering a small smile. Even though they can’t fully understand what it’s like, just having them by my side means everything.

After brunch, I need to turn off the racing thoughts and anxiety. I send a quick text to Joaquin:

Just got home and the girls say thank you for brunch today. I’m feeling a little off so I’m going to disconnect for a while. Please let me know when you’re on your way home. Love you.

I change into a soft loungewear set—my favorite one—and head toward the sunroom. Even though Joaquin and I share a spacious office down the hall, something about the warm, golden light in this room helps me breathe easier. It’s become my little sanctuary for working, thinking, or just calming down when I feel overwhelmed.

I pull up the guest list Mia sent me on my laptop and dive into the never-ending to-do list for her baby shower. Before I know it, hours slip by. The sun’s dropped lower in the sky, filling the room with orange and pink hues as golden hour settles in. The soft light makes the space glow, and the record player blasts Taylor Swift’s How You Get The Girl at full volume—definitely not Mrs. Riley-approved. 

“Remind her how it used to be, yeahhh…” I sing along, completely off-key, dancing in place as my half-up hair swishes around my shoulders in soft waves. 

I don’t see Joaquin leaning against the doorway in his army uniform, cap tucked under one arm, while he leans on the doorframe. He doesn’t say a word. Admiring the sight in front of him.

I don’t even realize he’s there.

He stays that way for a while, just watching me in my little bubble—shoulders relaxed, focused, lost in creating something for someone I love. He always says how much he loves watching me work.

"The way your eyes shimmer, how you jump with excitement when something turns out just right—or even better. The way you pour your heart into everything you do… it’s something I’ll never stop falling for," he once said, back when I was planning Mia’s first baby shower. His words stuck with me—still do.

Then the next song starts.

You Are In Love.

“You can see it with the lights out, lights out… You are in love, true love…” I hum along, this time quieter, softer.

“And for once, you let go… of your fears and your ghosts…”

He exhales, quietly, still not wanting to interrupt. But he can’t help it. Not when I’m standing there in my soft two-piece set, glowing in the warm light, surrounded by music in my favorite place in the whole house.

He clears his throat, just loud enough for me to hear.

I jump, my hand flying to my chest. “Joaquin!”

He laughs softly, stepping into the room. “Didn’t mean to scare you, baby.”

“What time is it?” I ask, still a little breathless. “Aren’t you home early?”

“I am,” he says. “I got worried after I read your text. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

He steps closer, the record still spinning behind me, humming through the speakers. He extends a hand and I take it, letting him gently pull me up from the floor. Without saying anything else, he wraps his arms around me, guiding my hand to his shoulder, his other hand finding the small of my back. He clasps my free hand in his, and I rest my head against his chest as we begin to sway, slow and easy.

And so it goes… You two are dancing in a snow globe, ’round' and ’round…

The song wraps around us, fading into the background as all I can hear is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. I close my eyes, letting it ground me as we move gently in the same spot just the two of us.

“You’re exactly what I needed,” I say softly, looking up just as the next track begins to play. We stop swaying, but we don’t let go. We stay right there, in each other’s arms.

“Want to talk about it?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

“Maybe later,” I whisper. “I want to stay like this.”

He leans down and kisses me—long, deep, and slow. 

Then he whispers, “Over dinner? I brought dinner.”

I smile, my chest aching in that familiar way. “Sometimes I feel like you’re a dream and I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to get up and realize it was too good to be true.”

He pulls me even closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A few weeks later

The backyard is filled with the laughter of kids running wild, family and friends catching up, and a very pregnant Mia sitting at a table, eating and looking completely over it. She’s glowing, but definitely tired of being pregnant. Meanwhile, Andrew is chasing after their three-year-old, Lily, who giggles every time she dodges his outstretched arms like it’s the best game in the world.

I sneak inside to grab more of the appetizers everyone’s loving. As I make my way into the kitchen, I glance out the window, watching the scene outside. My heart feels full. The kind of full that makes you pause and take it in, because it’s not always like this. But right now, it’s perfect.

“Finally, a moment alone with the woman I love,” Joaquin says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. I smile instantly, resting my hands over his and leaning into his warmth.

“You okay?” he murmurs against my ear.

“Just recharging,” I answer, closing my eyes for a second. The sounds of kids’ laughter floating in from the yard melt away the last bits of stress I didn’t even realize I was still holding onto.

“Mia looks so done at this point with pregnancy,” Joaquin says, and we both laugh quietly.

“She does,” I nod. “But I know she loved everything. She cries every time she notices a new detail.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he chuckles.

I turn in his arms to face him, resting my forehead against his chest, my safe place. “Don’t tell her this, but I’m glad it’s almost over,” I laugh, low and tired. “I’m so tired.”

He kisses the top of my head, then rests his chin there, hugging me tighter. “After everyone leaves, you sit back and relax. Marcus and I are in charge of cleaning duty.”

Then, in a soft voice, he adds, “When we get married and fill this house with kids… I hope it feels exactly like this.”

It takes me a second to register what he just said. My breath catches, and I lift my head to look at him. My eyes search his, and I can already feel them welling up. The thought of him chasing after a mini version of us in this same backyard—it’s dizzying.

A little overwhelming and exciting at the same time.

It feels right. 

He catches the look on my face, his eyes soft as he takes it all in too. 

“I hope so too,” I whisper.

[izzih22]

THEM GETTING A PUPPY TOGETHER

Always Ours

Note: dude I was literally writing this today and then you requested that. Worked out kind perfect ngl so I hope you like it. Also I didn’t know what to name the dog so hope it’s alright.

It had been seven years of “one day.”

One day when the season slows down.

One day when we’re not living in separate states.

One day when we’re not trying to survive finals, March madness, and figuring out how to be adults.

But “one day” had always ended the same way: Paige holding Azzi in bed, whispering into her neck, “I just don’t want to be an absent parent.”

Azzi never pushed. She never made Paige feel guilty for caring too much. Because that was the whole thing with Paige. She never did anything halfway. If they were gonna raise a dog together, Paige was gonna do it right.

And now?

Azzi stood in the living room of their Dallas apartment. Technically Paige’s, but Paige always called it “ours”. Azzi stood watching her girlfriend crouched on the floor, a squeaky toy in one hand, the other getting ambushed by a golden blur of fur and floppy ears.

Their goldendoodle.

Their dog.

Maple.

Maple who had been with them for exactly five hours and had already claimed Paige’s hoodie, Azzi’s sock, and both of their hearts.

“You are so dramatic,” Azzi said from the couch, but her voice was watery and her chin wobbled.

Paige looked up, eyes wide and so obviously proud of herself. “What? She loves me.”

“You bribed her with four treats.”

“Okay but she came back after,” Paige pointed out, lifting Maple into her lap. The dog immediately flopped, tongue out, tail wagging like her entire life was finally in order. “She’s obsessed with me.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing through a tear. “She’s obsessed with both of us.”

Paige grinned. “Yeah. Because she has excellent taste.”

Azzi got up and padded over in her socks, tugging Paige’s hoodie sleeves down past her wrists like she always did. “I can’t believe this is real,” she said softly, kneeling beside them. “We’ve been talking about this since high school.”

Paige’s voice dropped. “I know. I kept saying ‘not yet.’”

“And now?”

Paige looked at her. Really looked at her.

“You’re here. I’m here. And she’s here. So… yeah. I think we’re doing it.”

Azzi stared at her. At the soft curve of Paige’s smile, the little curls sticking to her forehead from how much she’d been rolling on the floor, the way she held Maple like she was cradling something precious.

She remembered being seventeen and watching Paige spin a basketball on her finger in the Team USA dorms, laughing too loudly and showing off. Back then, Azzi had dreamed of being her teammate. Then her friend. Then—somewhere along the way—her person.

And now, years later, she was watching that same girl older, stronger, still a little cocky… kiss their dog on the head and whisper, “You’re gonna be so spoiled, aren’t you?”

Azzi’s breath caught.

“Az?” Paige asked, straightening up.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Just blinked hard and reached out, running her fingers through Maple’s fur, then resting her hand over Paige’s.

“We’re really doing it,” she whispered. “We’re actually building the life we used to talk about.”

Paige leaned in, all teasing gone. “You okay?”

Azzi nodded, smiling even as the tears fell. “I’m just really happy.”

Paige kissed her. Soft and warm, like the best kind of promise.

“I’m gonna be annoying about this forever,” Paige warned after a second, pulling back just enough to smirk. “Like, anytime she snuggles me first? You’re never hearing the end of it.”

Azzi sniffled. “You already don’t shut up.”

“And you love it.”

Azzi didn’t deny it.

Because she did. Every part of her did. The smart-ass jokes. The stubbornness. The heart Paige tried to hide but never could, not from her.

Especially not now.

“I love you,” Azzi murmured, leaning into her shoulder.

Paige wrapped an arm around her, eyes flicking down to Maple, who had fallen asleep in a little gold-and-cream ball between them.

“I love you both,” Paige said, then nudged Azzi. “But I definitely love you more.”

“Better.”

Paige rested her chin on top of Azzi’s head. “Welcome home.”

Azzi’s heart nearly burst.

They had their girl.

They had each other.

And they were doing it—together, finally.

No more “one day.”

Just every day, from here on out.

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 3/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 3 :

The Royal Opera House in Covent Garden stood like a monument to a time when art was worshipped like religion. Tonight, its grand entrance gleamed under a halo of soft amber lights, a string quartet playing near the entrance as elegant guests stepped from black cabs and town cars, their breath visible in the cold air. 

Inside, everything glowed: marble floors reflecting chandeliers, velvet staircases winding upward like ribbon, golden balconies, the scent of expensive perfume and old wood. People murmured in soft voices, as if too loud a sound would shatter the illusion. 

Lando Norris stood near the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, tugging a little at the stiff collar of his tailored black suit. 

“This is a bit much,” he muttered. 

Pietra turned and shot him a look. “This, is culture. Behave yourself.” 

Max adjusted his cufflinks beside him, eyeing the crowd like he wasn’t sure he belonged on. “Did you really drag us to a ballet?” 

Pietra’s eyes twinkled. “Not just a ballet. The Nutcracker. Classic. Winter tradition. Magic. Glitter. Men in tights. Dreams.” 

Lando lifted a brow. “Men in tights, huh?” 

“Oh, grow up,” she laughed, swatting his arm. “It’s a masterpiece. And it’ll be good for you.” 

“Good for me how?” 

“Perspective,” she said smugly. “You’re always going on about cars and adrenaline and lap times. Well, try precision, beauty, and five pirouettes en pointe. Let’s see you do that.” 

“I drive at 300km/h for a living,” he said dryly. 

“And tonight you’ll sit still for two hours and appreciate that not everything is solved by horsepower,” Pietra countered. “Now straighten your jacket, we’re in a royal box. This is the Royal Opera House. Respect the moment.” 

Lando sighed but complied, pulling at the lapel of his suit jacket. The group—dressed to the nines—ascended the staircase like tourists who had accidentally wandered into the dream of a duchess. The women glittered in long satin dresses, the men striking in black tie and sleek silhouettes. 

And though Lando looked good he felt like he was walking through someone else’s story. The grandness, the quiet, the elegance—it wasn’t Monaco nightclubs or paddock chaos. It was another world entirely. 

Inside their box, the lights dimmed. 

Pietra leaned forward, eyes wide and sparkling. “Okay, okay, so,” she whispered like a child about to spill a secret. “The Nutcracker is a two-act ballet. In the first act, there’s a Christmas party, and a girl named Clara gets this magical nutcracker doll from a mysterious man. That night, everything becomes enchanted. The doll comes to life, there’s a fight with the Mouse King—don’t laugh—and then the nutcracker transforms into a prince.” 

Max leaned closer. “And then?” 

“Then they travel to the Land of Sweets, meet all these magical characters from different countries, and it’s all dreamy and symbolic and kind of romantic.” 

“And people like this?” Lando asked, genuinely puzzled. 

Pietra grinned. “People love this. Watch. You’ll see.” 

The lights dimmed further. 

A hush fell over the entire theatre. 

And then, the curtain rose. 

It started gently. A twinkling overture, warm lights over a wintry backdrop of a Christmas tree and glittering snow. Children ran across the stage in costumes, dancers moved in character, graceful and composed. 

Lando was watching with polite curiosity when, halfway through the first act, everything shifted. 

The moment she stepped onto the stage, it was like time paused. 

Ariana. 

His breath caught. 

No warning. No introduction. No spotlight drama. 

She entered as if summoned by the music, wearing a pale blush gown that shimmered under the lights, hair pulled back with a delicate silver ribbon. She was Clara. The Clara. The lead. 

Lando blinked once. Twice. 

His heart was suddenly very loud. 

Pietra’s mouth dropped open. 

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “That’s her.” 

Lando didn’t move. He couldn’t. His eyes were locked on her. 

She floated across the stage—not just graceful, not just pretty—but impossibly, breathtakingly alive in a way he hadn’t seen before. Every movement was deliberate, yet effortless. She leapt and landed like gravity didn’t apply to her. She spun in tight, impossible circles, arms open as if catching stars. 

She wasn’t just performing. 

She was the story. 

And suddenly, Lando understood. 

Why she moved like that. Why she held herself the way she did. Why she had looked at him like noise in a quiet room. Because this—this was her universe. This was the language she spoke. 

And he’d never even asked. 

He felt a strange, tight twist in his chest. A mix of shame and awe. 

He hadn’t known. 

Hadn’t known she was this. 

Throughout the rest of the ballet, he barely blinked. 

He wasn’t the only one. The entire box was mesmerized. Even Max, who had made at least three jokes on the way in about falling asleep during the performance, now leaned forward, chin in hand, watching every scene like he was afraid to miss something. 

They watched Ariana twirl through snowstorms, dance with the Nutcracker Prince, glide through dreamscapes and magic lands. Her expressions were soft and full of wonder, her body arching in impossible angles, muscles whispering with the kind of strength he hadn’t realized ballet required. 

There were no words spoken on stage. 

But Lando had never felt someone say so much with silence. 

When the final curtain fell, the theatre erupted in applause. 

The entire company bowed. 

And then Ariana stepped forward, alone, bathed in golden light, cheeks flushed from exertion but serene, glowing. She bowed deep, arms sweeping with practiced elegance. 

Lando clapped, but he couldn’t stop staring. Something twisted hard inside him again—like the moment you realize you’ve underestimated someone so completely it hurts. 

Pietra leaned in close. “So… still think ballet’s boring?” 

He swallowed. “She didn’t tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“What she does. Who she is.” 

“Well, you didn’t actually ask,” Pietra said gently.

The applause was still echoing in Lando’s ears when they stepped back into the velvet-lined corridors of the Royal Opera House. The performance had ended, but he felt like he was still inside it somehow—like something had cracked open inside him and the air hadn’t quite settled. 

Pietra turned to the group, eyes alight with the glow of champagne and satisfaction. 

“So,” she said, with the flair of someone about to drop a bomb, “slight update. These weren’t just regular tickets.” 

Max raised a brow. “Pietra…” 

“They were donor tickets. Which means…” she leaned in closer, “they come with an invite to the post-show gala.” 

“What gala?” Lando asked, distracted. 

She grinned. “The gala. In the grand reception room. Dinner, champagne, the company dancers mingling with donors and patrons. Which means…” she gave Lando a pointed look, “she will be there.” 

Lando’s pulse jumped before he could stop it. 

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. 

Five minutes later, he was striding through the gilded maze of corridors, ascending the wide staircase toward the reception hall, his jacket adjusted just enough to pass for elegant despite the nervous energy thrumming beneath it. 

The gala was already in full swing. 

Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over towering arrangements of white roses. Waiters in white gloves wove through clusters of well-dressed guests with silver trays of champagne and amuse-bouches. A small quartet played softly in the corner, the music smooth and expensive. 

And then—like a moment conjured from thin air— 

She entered. 

Ariana. 

Her hair was pulled into a sleek high ponytail, the ends curled slightly and brushing her bare back. She wore a floor-length white silk gown that clung to her like poured light. The back dipped scandalously low, revealing the clean lines of her spine and the soft muscles of her shoulders. The neckline was delicate, held by thin straps, the fabric moving like water as she walked in heels she made seem silent. 

He didn’t have the words for it. 

Maybe no one did. 

And apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought so. 

Almost instantly, she was surrounded. Dancers from the company enveloped her with cheers and laughter, their energy infectious. Some older patrons came forward, offering her flowers wrapped in tissue paper, others fawning with compliments, air kisses, and flutes of champagne she accepted with elegant restraint. 

Lando watched from a distance, frozen in place. 

Then he arrived. 

The lead dancer from the ballet. 

Tall, chiseled, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, and a dancer’s arrogant poise. He wore a midnight blue tuxedo that looked custom, his dark blond hair slicked back, smile gleaming like it had been rehearsed. And he greeted her like they were the only two people in the room. 

His hand went to her waist first—innocent. Then her back. Lower. Too low. 

Lando’s jaw tightened. 

They were laughing at something. She leaned in to whisper something in his ear, and the dancer grinned like he’d just won a game no one else had even noticed being played. 

Max appeared beside Lando with a champagne flute. “Dude. You look like you’re ready to fight someone.” 

Lando didn’t respond. 

“You gonna talk to her?” 

“I’m trying,” he muttered. “But she’s surrounded.” 

“And the blond guy?” 

“Don’t ask.” 

Pietra sidled up next, watching Ariana like a hawk. “She’s like… otherworldly tonight.” 

“She always is,” Lando murmured. 

Pietra glanced sideways at him, then smirked. “You’re so screwed.” 

It was almost an hour after that Ariana slipped away. 

He saw her excuse herself from the circle gently, handing her untouched champagne to someone else, her smile soft but clearly rehearsed. She walked through the tall glass doors onto the balcony that overlooked Covent Garden below, the city twinkling with holiday lights. 

She stood there alone, arms resting lightly on the marble edge, her gown catching the breeze. 

Lando didn’t wait. 

He moved. 

Quiet steps. Fast heart. 

When he stepped onto the balcony, she turned—slowly, calmly. Her expression unreadable. 

There was a long pause before either of them spoke. 

“You followed me,” she said, voice soft, without surprise. 

“You left the room,” he replied. 

“Not everyone would follow.” 

“I’m not everyone.” 

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Then she turned back to the city lights. 

He took a breath. “You were incredible tonight.” 

A pause. 

“Thank you.” 

“No,” he said, stepping closer. “I mean… really. I didn’t know. I didn’t know that was you. That you could do… that.” 

She tilted her head slightly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. “You never asked.” 

The words landed like a dart. 

“I should have asked.” he admitted.  

A flicker of something passed over her features—disbelief, or maybe disappointment. 

“You didn’t seem that interested.” 

“I was,” he said quickly. “I am.” 

“But only now,” she said, her voice still calm, but with a slight edge. “Only after you saw me on stage. In a silk dress. Under lights.” 

“That’s not true,” he said, stepping closer again. “I just didn’t know how to talk to you. You… you’re—” 

“Different?” 

He hesitated. “Not what I’m used to.” 

She gave a small laugh, almost bitter. “That much is clear.” 

He stepped closer, so close now the chill of the air seemed to warm between them. 

“I didn’t come out here to fight,” he said, quieter now. “I just… needed to talk to you.” 

“You’re doing that,” she said, her tone unreadable. “But why?” 

He looked at her for a long moment. Then asked, quietly, “Can I ask you something first?” 

She nodded, cautiously. 

“Do you even know what I do?” 

Ariana blinked, taken off guard. “No,” she admitted. 

Lando gave a crooked smile. “Formula One driver.” 

She stiffened. Visibly. 

He watched the breath leave her lungs, slow and sharp like a cold wave. 

“That’s sound… dangerous.” 

“Sometimes, yeah.” 

She turned to face him fully now, the silk of her gown catching moonlight, her arms crossing lightly in front of her body. “I don’t like dangerous things.” 

He tilted his head. “Why not?” 

“I prefer things I can control,” she said simply. “A set rhythm. A choreographed routine. No improvisation. Nothing sudden or reckless.” 

He smiled—just a little. “I’m sudden and reckless.” 

She didn’t smile back. “I noticed.” 

There was a quiet beat between them, the breeze fluttering a piece of her hair across her cheek. She didn’t move to brush it away. 

“I like being surprised,” Lando said. “The adrenaline, the edge of not knowing what’s coming. That’s… where I live.” 

“Sounds exhausting.” 

“Maybe.” He took a small step forward, dropping his voice lower. “But it’s also kind of beautiful, if you learn how to see it. You should come watch sometime.” 

She raised an eyebrow. 

“Just once,” he said. “You let me into your world tonight. Let me show you mine.” 

“I don’t like danger,” she repeated, but softer this time. 

He gave her a look that lingered, slow and deliberate. “Maybe you don’t hate it as much as you think.” 

The tension between them shifted again—less prickly now, more charged. Her lips parted like she wanted to speak but changed her mind. 

“You really didn’t know I was a dancer?” she asked, quietly. 

“No. And I don’t know why it makes me feel like I’ve missed a hundred important things.” 

“You did.” 

Her voice was soft. Closer now. He could see the curve of her collarbone, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. 

“I want to know them now,” he said. 

She searched his face, something undecided flickering behind her eyes. Then he ask— 

“That dancer earlier. The one who played the prince.” 

Ariana stiffened. “We trained together since we were thirteen. He’s like a brother.” 

“…Didn’t look like a brother.” 

She smirked. “You’re jealous.” 

He didn’t deny it. 

“You’re possessive for someone who barely knows me,” she said, stepping a little closer. Just enough for her perfume—something floral, sweet, and faintly powdery—to wrap around him. 

“I want to change that,” he said, voice low. “The barely part.” 

The distance between them had all but vanished. 

A wind passed through the balcony, her silk skirt brushing his legs, her ponytail swaying softly. Her eyes searched his face—carefully, cautiously. 

“Still not sure about you,” she whispered. 

“Good,” he whispered back. “I’m not sure about me either.” 

Her lips parted. 

Then— Someone called her name from inside. The spell shattered. 

She stepped back, visibly pulling herself together. 

“I should go,” she said gently. 

Lando nodded, pulse thudding. 

But as he turned to leave, she called softly, “Lando?” 

He paused. 

Her eyes met his, one last time. 

“You look good in a suit.” 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild

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[calypsocolada]

how the jjk boys react to sharing a bed with you... ft. gojo, geto, nanami, yuji, & choso

authors note: pls enjoy this while I work on yet another denji fic ;)

cw: slightly suggestive

wc: 4k

click here for my masterlist

“You gotta be actually kidding me,” You grumbled, dragging your bags into you and Gojo’s shared room. Sure enough there was a single damn bed smack in the middle of the room. You looked for a couch but there was just a small chair in the corner and a desk with a tv a top it. Gojo slid around you and you didn’t have to look at him to know he had a shit eating grin on his lips. 

“Wow… very nice, very spacious.” Gojo beamed as he plopped his bags on the chair next to the bed. You were still standing halfway in the door, contemplating a quick escape when he turned to you and pouted. “It won’t kill you to share a bed with me.”

“It might.” You grumbled but walked inside, pushing the door shut behind you. You dropped your bags on the floor and sat at the foot of the bed. You and Gojo never got along… well you expressly made efforts not to get along with him because he annoyed you to no end. You actually weren’t sure how Gojo felt about you, you tried not to think about it. You were partnered with him on this mission for the exact purpose to 'build a bond'. It was stupid. You didn’t need a bond with Gojo to fight well with him. And Gojo didn’t need your help in a fight so this whole thing was pointless. 

“You’re quiet.”

“And that surprises you?” You ask sardonically. Gojo slightly raises his eyebrows in a sort of 'touché' manner. 

“If it bothers you so much I can sleep on the floor.” He says and you laugh. Yeah, you’d make the strongest sorcerer in history sleep on the floor. You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m not immature like you, I can share.”

“Says the person who was huffing and puffing the entire way up here.”

“It’s laughable! This is shit teenage girls read about in fan fics.” You throw your arms up, exasperated. 

“I don’t know what that is.” Gojo says and you sigh. 

“Yeah, sure you don’t.” You grab your bag. “I’m gonna change.” You walk into the bathroom, slipping into a tank top and sweatpants, washing your face off. You walk back out just as Gojo’s pulling sweatpants over his boxers, his back riddled with scars. You pause where you stand. You had eyes, you knew Gojo was attractive. But you were sure he wasn’t your type, but that didn’t take away from the fact that he was built. The muscles on his back, his slim build. You felt a heat rush to your face when he turned slightly. 

“Like what you see?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” You groaned, gaining back a little bit of sense. To your relief he pulled on a shirt over his head as you both slipped into the bed. You clicked on the tv as he clicked off the light. 

“You’re gonna sleep with that on?” He asks as you nod your head.

“I can’t sleep in deathly silence.” You say and he rolls over to face you as you watch whatever was on. 

“Can I ask you something?” He mumbles beside you. 

“What?”

“Why do you hate me?” You look away from the tv for a moment, then to his eyes. 

“I don’t hate you.”

“But you don’t like me.”

“Hate and dislike are very different.” You say as he sits up slightly. 

“So you dislike me.” He says. You shrug. 

“Why do you care what I think?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re partners now, right?” He asks innocently. You watch him for a moment, gauge his intent with this little questionnaire. 

“The great Satoru Gojo shouldn’t care what a little nobody sorcerer like me thinks.” You say it partly as a joke but you can tell Gojo didn’t see it that way. He sniffed out your true intent.

“So that’s it? You’re jealous.” He points out and you narrow your eyes. 

“I was joking.”

“It was a joke. It's a gross understatement of your abilities.” He says and you turn your attention back to the tv. “I can’t ever get a read on you. Or make you laugh or even so much as smile. You hang out with Nanami too much.” Gojo pouts, falling back on the pillows. He was right… you did hang out with Nanami quite a bit, maybe you did adopt some small parts of the serious man. A few quiet moments pass. 

“I don’t dislike you.” You start and feel the bed shift slightly, he’s looking at you again, you're not sure why there’s heat in that look. “But that doesn’t mean I like you either.” You say as Gojo erupts into laughter.

“Haha… is that so? So I annoy you, that’s all?”

“Yes. You’re loud and nosey and,” you tug the covers closer to your body. “Apparently not good with sharing.” Gojo laughs a bit and you feel him scoot closer to you. The warmth radiating off of him in waves. Your heart springs to your throat and you’d be surprised if the nerves don't show on your face. 

“Maybe I don’t like to share.” Gojo says beside you, and you dare look his way. He’s smirking at you, the tv illuminating his soft features. 

“Sharing is caring.” You toss back and watch as that smirk turns soft. It makes your stomach flip. You decide you don’t like the way you’re feeling and roll over away from him and those damn eyes. 

“Tired?” Gojo asks behind you. 

“Very.” You answer shortly. You feel the bed shake softly with his laughter and you ignore it. Forcing your eyes closed. 

“Goodnight then, grumpy.”

“I told you not to call me that.” You snap in a whisper. 

“But it fits you so well.” He croons. 

You were wondering before how you could slow your racing heart enough to sleep but the moment things got quiet you were out cold. When you woke up the next morning you felt a weight against your back, warmth radiating from behind. Sure enough Gojo was cuddled up behind you, his arm and leg both thrown over your body. If anyone asked, this did not happen. You also surely didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of comfort and definitely weren’t lulled back to sleep in seconds, moving closer to him and his body warmth.

~

You heard a knock at your door, your eyes drifted to the clock beside your bed. 

3:15 a.m.  

You placed your book on the side table and pushed out of bed. Gently opening the door, you gasped slightly. Geto stood, completely drenched from the rain at your doorstep. You opened your door all the way and reached to pull him inside. 

“Suguru…” you admonished. “You’re drenched.”

“Uh huh.” Geto answered you, sort of noncommittally. 

“Is everything okay?” You asked, there were dark, dark circles under his eyes, his face pale of that happiness he usually wore. 

“I’m fine.” He shrugged as you furrowed your brows. He was acting strange and distant, you almost didn’t recognize him. You turned, grabbing a towel to wrap around him but he caught your wrist between his freezing fingers. You paused, looking back at him. That’s when you saw it, written all over his face. The darkness, the loneliness. 

You’d been gone for about three weeks prior. In that time something horrible had transpired. Someone under Geto and Gojo’s care was murdered, you heard it happened right in front of Geto. Before Geto would often stop by your dorm to hang out, you two worked on coursework together, he liked how quiet and comfortable you made him feel. 

This was the first night you’d been back. You tried talking to him earlier in the day but it was in one ear and out the other. You assumed he just didn’t want to talk. But his fingers flexed against your wrist now, gently pulling you to him by your arm as he crumbled against you. His head resting in the crook of your neck, rain dripping from his hair down your shoulder and back. His hands slid to your lower back, pulling you flush against him in a needy sort of desperate hug. You froze momentarily, you wouldn’t consider yourself the most comforting person but right now you knew you needed to be. You stood strong, holding up his weight as you wrapped your arms gently around him, damning the rain that kept him cold. He didn’t cry, just kept that tight hold on you until suddenly he pulled back. 

“Fuck, I’m getting you all wet.” He says, hands coming up to wipe the transferred rain from your cheek. You blushed at the touch and shook your head. 

“I don’t care about that.” You said, eyes devouring his features, you tried so hard to read him but you just didn’t know him well enough. 

“Sorry… I— I didn’t think you’d be awake.”

“I’m glad I was.” You say and watch Geto’s eyes snake down to yours. You wanted to ask what was ailing him, how you could fix it but you didn’t want to scare him off… didn’t want him to feel like he had to talk about it. 

“Can I stay with you? I can sleep on the floor.” Geto asked, your brows raised. You only had the one bed and there was no way you’d make this man sleep on the floor. You shook your head. 

“You can sleep in the bed with me.” You said and turned to grab some stuff from your drawer, something he could change into out of those wet clothes. You found an old pair of your dad’s pj’s you’d brought along as well as a shirt you had stolen from Gojo. “Here, you can wear these.” You say, handing it over to him. He takes them graciously and you turn to give him privacy while you pull the covers back. When he walks around the other side of the bed your eyes drift up. He didn’t wear a shirt, just pants. You blushed as his eyes met yours. He gave you a soft smile and you two slid into the bed together. You reached over and flicked off the lights. After a quiet moment of not being able to get your heart to calm down, Geto's warm hands reached over and pulled you into him by your hips. 

“I just wanna be closer.” Was all he said as your body was flush against his, his arms slotted around you. You didn’t think you’d get any sleep the night but as you listened to his breathing even out behind you your eyes slowly began to drift closed. 

You’d wake up feeling cold, turns out Geto is an early riser and he was gone before the morning.

~

You fucked up. You’re going to lose your job for sure. You had pleaded with the hotel staff after arriving early to see one single bed in the room you were supposed to share with your boss Nanami. Your pleads fell on deaf ears. They were completely booked up for the next few days. You sighed, didn’t make a fuss and thanked the worker, it wasn’t their fault it was yours for not paying closer attention. Just as you turned to walk back up to the room the front doors slid open and in walked your boss, snow flakes in his tow colored hair. His eyes met yours and he waved. You smiled nervously and walked over to him to help him with his bags. 

“I’ve got it, dear.” He says softly, reaching up to shake the snow from his hair. You nodded your head and led him to the elevator. 

“How was your flight?” You asked, pressing the button as the elevator slid open. 

“Bumpy,” He said. “And yours?” 

“I slept the entire time.”

“Ah, that’s right… you don’t do well on flights.” He said as you two walked into the shaft and you pressed the button to your floor. “Next time I’ll schedule ours together so you don’t fly alone.”

“Oh… you don’t have to do that.” You say as the doors slide close and the elevator pulls up with a soft jolt. 

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He says, glancing at his clock. He had a meeting early so he’d probably shower and go to bed as soon as you two got to the room. You swallowed as the doors slid back open and you led the way to the room. 

“There was a… slight mix up on my part with the room.” You say as you slide the keycard into the door and it pings to let you know it’s unlocked. 

“Hmm?” Nanami hums as you push the door open. 

“I accidentally booked a one bed suite and they’re completely booked up for the weekend so I’m gonna call around and get myself a room.” You explain as Nanami sets his things down. 

“Another room?” He echoes as you nod your head. 

“There’s a hotel about a mile and a half away was gonna call and-“

“That bed’s rather large, Y/n.” Nanami said nonchalantly. 

“Hmm?” You hummed as Nanami pointed to the bed. 

“It’s cold and snowy out, if it makes you uncomfortable to share then I will be the one to get another room.”

“What? N-no, sir. You’re the one with a 6 a.m. meeting.” You say, then clear your throat. “I d-don’t mind sharing.” 

“Then it’s settled.” He says, ruffling your hair as he walks by to shower and change. When he closes the door behind himself you're able to breathe. You quickly change yourself into something comfortable and pull the covers back, sliding into the cold sheets. You pick a show to have quietly playing as Nanami emerges from the shower, steam drifting from the open door. Your heart raced, you’d never seen him without his hair styled but now it just sort of fell around his forehead. You swallowed and forced your attention back to the tv. Nanami sat in the bed next to you, switching off the light. You reached for the remote to turn off the tv. “You can keep watching.” Nanami said, his voice deep and tired. You gave him a polite smile but turned the sound down just a bit as he settled back in the bed. You thought you would feel more nervous next to you but the warmth radiating off of him in waves was comforting. He placed his arm behind his head and watched what was on the screen, his other hand barely brushing you. You pulled the covers up, shivering slightly, gaining Nanami’s attention. “Cold?” He rasps, looking down at you. You blush… it wasn’t the cold. 

“A bit.” You force out, sliding deeper into the covers. 

“It is quite chilly in here,” He moves and grabs a sweatshirt from his luggage, holding it out for you. You smile thankfully and sit up to pull it over your head. It was warm and smelled just like him. You swallowed and thanked him softly as he settled back beside you. After a few moments you felt your eyelids getting heavier, in your sleepy state you move closer to Nanami’s warmth and are surprised when he gently places an arm around you instead of pushing you away. Your face slots perfectly on his shoulder and when you wake up several hours later Nanami’s head is resting on the top of yours.

~

Yuji’s face was bright red. His eyes are as wide as an owls. You looked at him with your head slightly cocked. 

“What?”

“Y-you said we’d be sharing a bed?” He asked. You looked at him for another long moment, probably agonizingly long to him.

“Yes.” You answered simply as Yuji swallowed nervously and visibly. “What’s wrong, Yuji?”

“We-- we can’t share a bed, Y/n.”

“Why not?”

“I-- I wouldn’t be able--” He cuts himself off as he speaks, his cheeks slowly turning rosy red.

“You wouldn’t be able to do what?” You ask, brows furrowed as the moment slowly becomes sort of comical to you.

“Babe… your parents would be two doors down… I-- I want them to know I’m a gentleman.” Yuji says as you bite your lip to keep from laughing aloud. 

“Yuji… We’ve been dating for months, you’ve already met my parents twice, they know you’re a good boy.” You say, reaching over and running your fingers through his hair. He instinctively moves his head closer to your hand and pouts. 

“What if they’re doing this to see if I’ll sleep on the floor or in the bed? Seeing if I can behave myself.” Yuji prattles as you finally crack a soft smile, tilting your head as your hand trails from his hair to his chin, tilting his eyes up so he’s looking at you.

“Babe, you are severely overthinking this.” You say and lean in to press a quick kiss to his lips. Yuji calms at that and when you try to pull back he catches your face gently in his hands and pulls your lips back to his.

Yuji didn’t fully calm it seemed because the moment you and your parents parted after dinner and you pulled him off towards your room your hand slid into his. His palms were sweaty so you pulled his hand up and kissed his knuckles, eyes drifting to his face. He was blushing like crazy, glancing back in the way your parents had walked. 

“Not this again.” You whisper as you pull him into your room and close the door behind him. 

“I should sleep on the floor.” He says as you roll your head back.

“Yuji… you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“I want them to like me.”

“They do like you, baby, they like you a lot. Otherwise they would’ve said something to me already.” You say, letting go of his hand to get changed. You pull your shirt off and hear Yuji gasp behind you. You turn and watch him turn away. You laugh at that, you couldn’t help it.

“This is not funny!” You hear him pout. You pull on one of his old shirts and a pair of shorts. You walk over and slide your hands around his waist from behind, kissing his shoulder. You feel him shiver at the contact. “Stop that.” He whispers as you smile. 

“Turn around.” You direct. He does as told, blowing out a breath when he sees you dressed but then blushes when he recognizes his old shirt.

“You’re killing me, they’re gonna see this.” He gently tugs on the hem of the shirt.

“Take it off then.” You say and watch the red spread from his cheeks to his ears.

“Shh.” He sibilates, gaining another soft laugh from you.

“You’re really cute… I don’t think I can behave if you're gonna act like this.” You tease, moving closer to him. His face goes five different shades of cherry red and for a moment his body moves closer before he can think better of it. 

“Please,” he lets out a rush of air. “I’m holding on by a thread.” You smirk at that but ultimately give up. You loved him enough to know you’d only make him more nervous so you gently grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the bed. 

“I’ll be good but you have to sleep in the bed with me.” You say. Yuji nods finally as you flick off the lights and pull him into the covers. He settles beside you. 

“Have you… brought a lot of guys home?” Yuji asks in the dark. “Sorry… that sounded…”

“You’re the first.” You say. You feel Yuji inches closer to you as you turn to face him. “My parents always joked that if I finally brought someone home that it’d be the one I marry.” You say and you hear Yuji suck in a soft breath. 

“Marry?” Yuji echoes. 

“Not anytime soon.” You laugh. “We’re barely old enough for that.”

“I wanna marry you.” Yuji says, his hands finding your hips in the dark as he pulls you close. 

“Oh?” You smirk in the dark. “You want to marry me?”

“Yes.” He says confidently. “Whenever you’re ready I’m ready.” You slide your hands up to cradle his face as you press a soft kiss to his lips. 

“We’ll give it some time.” You whisper as Yuji nods his head, you feel him smile against your lips as you exchange kisses in the dark until sleep takes you both.

~

You had never seen anyone blush more than Choso when you suggested sharing a bed. You’d been on the run with the two brothers after Shibuya, dodging jujutsu sorcerers that were hired to kill you. You three had grown quite close during the few months. You protected Yuji like a younger brother but... you didn't feel that same familial protectiveness with Choso... It was something far different. Something that had you looking for him in every fight. Wanting to be as close to him as possible.

Yuji was fast asleep on the couch and you didn’t mind sharing but Choso… he was red, his eyes wide. 

“Is something wrong?” You asked, slightly concerned at his reaction. For a moment he stared, his lips parting for a moment before he swallowed dryly and shook his head. 

“N-no… nothings wrong.” He said unconvincingly. You slowly nodded your head, trying to understand his reaction. Maybe he wanted the bed to himself?

“Well… I don’t mind sleeping on the floor if you want the bed to your-”

“Absolutely not.” He interrupted, then looked apologetic. “S-sorry… no… I don’t mind sharing.”

“You sure?” You ask as Choso nods his head. “Okay.” You say softly, as you slide into it. Choso pulls off his shirt and changes quickly in the bathroom before laying on top of the covers. You look at him.

“Aren’t you gonna be cold?”

“I-- don’t think… so.” He forced out.

“Choso, is something wrong? Are you feeling okay?” You asked, concerned. You reach across the space between you two and press the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“I feel fine!” Choso inhales quickly at your touch. Your hand slides from his forehead to his warm cheeks. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, eyes full of concern. Choso’s lips parted but no words came out. You furrowed your brows, if he felt fine then why was he acting so damn strange?

“Uh huh.” He finally affirmed. For a momet you stared at him, your brain working something. You laughed softly, shaking your head. You remembered a conversation you and Yuji had the previous morning. Yuji had claimed that Choso may have had a crush on you… He cited moments during fight where Choso would look for you, would find you and be the first to make sure you were okay. LIttle did Yuji know that you did the same thing. Maybe Choso wasn’t that kind of sick after all…

“Choso?” You asked as he hummed in response. “Do you… have a crush on me?” Choso’s small bit of calm seemingly breaks.

“What! What… n-no!” He looks away from you, hiding his face from your view. 

“Oh… Am I wrong?” You ask. He looks at you then, his eyes and face and everything beautifully crafted. It all seemed to dawn on you in the dim light of this cold hotel room.

“Yes… you are.” He whispers intimately. Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn’t even registered that he’d taken his hair down, stands of it touching his shoulders. He was… too good looking for you to pretend you haven't felt something for him. But maybe you and Yuji were wrong... “Do you… have a boyfriend?” You hear Choso ask but your brain didn’t compute it for a moment.

“Hmm? A boyfriend?” You ask as he barely gives you a nod of his head. “Why?” Choso immediately realizes what he said and turns away, embarrassed.

“I… was just wondering that’s all.”

“No… I don’t.” You say, and bite the smile on your lips.

“... So you’re- uh- single right?”

“Yes, Choso.” You say, letting a smile fit to your lips. Choso’s eyes drift from your eyes to your lips and they linger there for a moment. 

“Can I kiss y-” You press forward, cutting off his sentence. Pressing your lips against his. Choso’s eyes widen when your lips come in contact with his, he hesitantly returns the kiss, pulling you to him, bringing you both down onto the bed. He pulls the covers over you and him to shield you both if Yuji were to wake.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Little Sister Version)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by @redbird-tf

Synopsis: you have nightmares of dying like Mary, and you start to get really clingy with Dean.

It started out in a subtle way. Your first nightmare had been vague, and though it had jarred you, it wasn’t enough to curb your day-to-day activities…much.

“I’m going for a supply run.” Dean’s words had you looking up from the homework you’d been working on. “We’re out of beer…and food.”

“I’ll come.” You were on your feet before the words even left your mouth.

“It’s just a quick run,” Dean argued. “Don’t you have homework?”

“It can wait,” you insisted, already on your way to the Impala. “Let’s go!”

Of course it would be Dean—it had always been Dean. Sure, he had his anger issues and his bad moments. He drank too much and he isolated himself when he was upset. But he always came back; when Sam was at Stanford, when dad disappeared, it was always you and Dean.

So when you started having nightmares about burning on the ceiling, Dean was who you turned to.

Scary things shouldn’t phase you anymore, not after all you’d seen. But this was different. Your whole life you’d heard “what happened to mom.” Never any specifics—it was always, “the demon killed mom,” or “what the demon did to Mary.” Nobody ever gave you any details; they always said you didn’t need to know.

So when you snuck into Dean’s room in the bunker and stole dad’s journal, you were in for a surprise.

The pages you’d read had been stuck together—it didn’t look like anyone had read them—and it took you a moment to peel them apart.

I went to visit a shrink today—I thought he might be a vampire. I went in undercover, booked myself an appointment. I figured out pretty quickly that he wasn’t a monster, but I didn’t leave. It sounds stupid, but I actually talked to him. Told him about Mary. Well, as much as I could tell, which is more than I’ve told anyone. Point is, he told me to write down what happened to her. Every detail I could remember. I don’t like thinking about her…but maybe he was right. Little Sammy asked about Mary just the other day, and I yelled at him. I still feel bad…it’s not his fault, he’s just a kid. Maybe this is the only way I’ll be able to talk about her, but maybe that’ll be enough to keep me from going off on the kids. So here goes…

And John had laid out every gory detail of that night, and you’d read the whole thing. You’d always thought it would be better knowing; that it would somehow bring you some extra closure to know how your mother’s final moments went. You were wrong.

And so came the nightmares. The first one was fuzzy and indistinct; a fire, the sound of screaming. But it was enough to have you going with Dean whenever he left the bunker.

The second one was more vivid. It was also when you realized that it wasn’t your mother you were dreaming about—it was you.

It was so real—you felt the demon’s powers slashing open your stomach, you felt your body lifting off the floor…

But the worst part was the heat. It stung your eyes and sizzled against your blood and seared your skin. You tried to scream, but the smoke choked you and stopped your voice. You struggled to inhale, coughing on the smoke and crying at the pain that lit up every nerve ending.

The bright light of the fire left first, then slowly afterwards the pain. But you were still choking and gasping for breath when you sat up in your bed.

“Dean,” you whimpered, the lone word echoing through your empty room. You weren’t quite used to the bunker yet—you were so used to the motels, where your brothers were right next to you at all times. Most of the time it was annoying, but right now…

You threw your covers off you, finally getting a hold of your runaway breathing as you padded barefoot towards your door. You couldn’t stay in this room—it was this room that you’d dreamt of, this ceiling that you’d burned on.

You flung your door open and started down the hall, but you only got halfway to Dean’s room before you stopped. You couldn’t go to him like this, a tear-streaked mess in the middle of the night; he would know something was wrong, and then you’d have to talk about it.

You couldn’t talk about it.

A bang from the kitchen stole your attention and your breath, your mind wandering towards images of a yellow-eyed intruder. You tip-toed to the kitchen, peaking around the corner and breathing easily when you saw Dean rummaging in the fridge for a beer.

You slipped into the kitchen, heading straight for Dean.

“You’re up early,” he greeted, stiffening in surprise when you wrapped your arms around him. “Hey, something wrong?”

“No,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by his shirt. “Good morning,” you added lamely as you pulled away, as if the greeting would explain away the hug.

“Yeah, mornin.” Dean shrugged, choosing to ignore your strange behavior. “Couldn’t sleep? It’s only 5.”

It was later than you’d thought.

“Not really,” you said. “Can we make breakfast?” You weren’t hungry, but you’d take any excuse to keep Dean close.

“Only if you get the bacon,” Dean said with a grin.

“I think we’re out,” you answered.

“Unacceptable,” Dean decided. “You start on the pancakes, I’ll make a run.”

“Wait! Um…” you wracked your brain for an excuse. “Um, the pancakes can wait, I’ll go with you.”

Dean squinted ever so slightly as he stared you down—that was twice in a week that you wanted to go with him to the store without a good reason.

“You sure you’re ok?” He asked.

“Yeah, just…I want some fresh air.”

“Alright.” You both knew he didn’t believe you, but neither of you brought it up again.

You felt pathetic as you trailed behind Dean, but the idea of sitting around the empty bunker alone until he got back or Sam woke up…

You just couldn’t do it. You couldn’t feel safe anymore, not even in your own home, without Dean around.

You sat just a little closer to Dean than you normally would once you got into the Impala, sitting towards the middle of the seat even though the right side was empty. You felt Dean watching you from the corner of his eye, but to your relief he didn’t say anything.

…

“Ok, so how many pounds do we want?” You held a brand of bacon in each hand, eyeing them both. When Dean didn’t respond to your question, you turned around to find the cart there, but no Dean. “Dean?” You glanced up and down the aisle, but he wasn’t in sight. You threw both bacon packages into the cart and ran down the aisle, going down the row and looking frantically down every aisle you passed. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing.

You rubbed a hand against your chest when your next breath wouldn’t go through your tightened wind pipe. You tried to take deep breaths, but each one was less satisfying than the last. Once you reached the last aisle with still no Dean, you turned around and started back the way you came, hoping that he was down an aisle on the other side of the store.

“Dean? Dean!” You were calling his name, but you could barely even hear your winded and squeaky voice in the vast emptiness of the store, so you knew there was no way Dean could.

You passed the aisle with your cart and kept going, looking down the first, then the second…

“Dean!” You rushed forward, flinging yourself into Dean’s surprised embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Dean was stiff and alert, whipping his head around to see what had spooked you.

“I couldn’t find you,” you whimpered, tightening your arms around Dean’s midsection. “I-I didn’t know where you went. Don’t do that to me!”

“Ok, ok hey I’m sorry,” Dean soothed, pulling away and kneeling down, brushing your hair out of your face so he could see you. “C’mon, what’s going on with you? What’s got you so spooked?”

You didn’t answer—you just launched yourself forwards and wrapped your arms around Dean’s neck, burrowing your head against his shoulder.

“Don’t leave me,” you pleaded.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held you closely, rubbing your back. “Ok I’m right here kiddo. Let’s get out of here, ok? Let’s go home.”

…

You held Dean’s hand in vice grip on the way out to the car, but he didn’t comment on it. He waited until you were safely bundled into the Impala to speak again.

“Kid, you need to tell me what’s going on here.”

“I’m fine,” you mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Dean glanced at you, but he didn’t speak again.

…

You were feeling lucky for most of the day—Sam and Dean spent the morning going through books in the library, so you were able to do your homework right next to Dean without warranting worry or attention.

“Check this out.” Sam’s words to Dean had you looking up curiously while Sam turned his computer around. “Looks like a case in town.”

Your heart dropped to your toes—you were too young to hunt, so a hunt in town meant that you sat in the bunker while the boys were out.

They spent the next twenty minutes talking about the case before they got ready to head out. Dean was throwing guns in a bag in his room when you went to find him.

“We’ll be back tonight,” Dean promised. “But if we find the thing that’s killing these people, it might not be until late, so don’t wait up ok?”

“Can’t I come?” Your tug on Dean’s sleeve stopped his movements.

“You know you can’t,” he said. “What’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing, because I know something’s wrong.”

“I just don’t want you to go,” you said. “Please De? Please don’t leave me here alone.”

“You’re not gonna tell me what’s going on?” Dean asked.

You shook your head.

“Then I have no choice.” Dean sighed. “People are dying, and you can’t come. I have to go.” Dean zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be back before tomorrow.”

“Dean—“ you reached out for your big brother, but in one stride he was out of your reach, then to the door, then he was gone.

…

You were trying to read the same page over and over, but the words were swimming around the page, blurred by the tears in your eyes and the shaking in your hands that had the pages fluttering. You looked up for the millionth time, a deep pit in your stomach convincing you each time that the yellow eyes demon would be standing in your doorway, waiting to kill you.

You dropped the book on your desk with a thud, finally giving up on homework—you wouldn’t get anything done until Dean was home, you just couldn’t focus.

You picked up your headphones and slipped them over your head, but you found that not being able to hear your surroundings made your anxiety even worse, and the soothing notes of your favorite song did nothing to help for once. You tried turning on the tv, but you found that you couldn’t look away from the door for more than a few seconds before you started to get scared again.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore—you closed your room door, your bathroom, and even your closet; open doors just had your imagination running away with images of yellow eyes coming to kill you.

You burrowed yourself under the covers and tried to force yourself to sleep. Hour after hour you convinced yourself that you’d just never be able to sleep, but you didn’t have anything else to do but keep trying, so you didn’t move.

You were still laying there when the door opened.

“Hey sweetheart,” Dean greeted. You smiled at him, and he smiled back for a second before the smile faded. “Me and Sammy have another case—we’re gonna be gone a while, ok?”

“No, wait!” You tried to get up to stop Dean, but you couldn’t move. “Dean, don’t go! Dean don’t leave!”

He was already out the door, and in his place stood Azazel, pale yellow eyes glowing in the darkness.

“Dean!” You screamed, but it was too late; your pajamas were already soaked in blood coming from a painful gash across your stomach. You whimpered, finally able to move as you wrapped your arms around the wound as if you could protect yourself. You couldn’t.

You were sobbing as your body lifted off the ground, your stomach lurching as you went from wall to ceiling. There was no warning spark, or small flame—you were just suddenly and completely engulfed in flames, your hair burning and your skin scorched. You were still screaming when Dean came running back into the room.

“Dean,” you whimpered. “Dean no!”

Yellow eyes had a knife in his hand, and he turned it on your big brother in an instant. As the fire burned around you, you watched as Dean got stabbed again and again and again…

You woke up screaming. The fire was gone, and so was the pain, but you couldn’t even tell. Your eyes couldn’t take in a single detail of the room—they were blurry and unfocused from sleep. Your brain couldn’t decipher what parts of your dream were real and what weren’t. You sobbed out short and shaky breaths, and your cries were just starting to fade into whimpers when you heard it; the loud thunk of the bunker door closing.

Your fears and your crying returned full force, and you were gasping for breath as you felt around for any kind of weapon.

He’s coming he’s coming he’s coming he’s coming…

It was like all you could see was Azazel as you heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. You wanted to do what Dean always did—push his fear down, throw away his emotions, and just fight—but you couldn’t. You couldn’t catch your breath, you couldn’t stop sobbing, and you couldn’t find your gun.

When your door handle started to turn, you thought you were going to pass out. Your already-unsatisfying breath caught in your throat, and with the lack of breath came black spots at the edges of your vision.

You forced a single deep breath in and out—you couldn’t be unconscious when the demon came to kill you, you couldn’t be that helpless. You had to fight, even though you would lose.

The door swung open, and you were still gasping for breath and grappling for any kind of weapon when—

When Dean walked in.

“Dean!” You were off the bed and in your brother’s arms before he had a chance to speak.

“Hey, hey what’s going on?” Dean’s arms tightened around you when he heard you sobbing and felt you shaking. “Baby what happened?”

“Don’t leave me,” you begged between sobs. “Don’t leave me De, don’t leave me.”

“Ok, ok I’m not going anywhere,” Dean promised. “N/N I’m right here.”

“What’s going on?” Sam walked into the room, staring at his siblings with concern.

“I…I think we’re ok here,” Dean decided, carrying you to your bed. “You should go bandage that cut, I’ve got her.” When Sam hesitated, Dean assured him, “I’ve got her Sam.”

Sam finally left, and Dean climbed up on your bed, settling you into his lap when you wouldn’t let your vice grip around his neck go.

“I need you to talk to me,” Dean pleaded. “I need to know what’s going on, what this is.”

“There was fire,” you whimpered, your tears soaking Dean’s shirt. “There was fire, and it burned everywhere, and I was bleeding and I was on the ceiling, and-and yellow eyes stabbed you, and—“

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Dean started to rock you back and forth subconsciously. “Hey, how do you know about all that stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” You were sobbing again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I read his journal and he wrote down everything and I thought it would help but…but now I can’t stop dreaming about it. I’m so—I’m so scared, De. All the time.”

“Shh, shh you’re ok,” Dean soothed, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you sweetheart, I’m right here. Listen,” Dean tried to pull away so he could look at you, but you just tightened your grip. “Ok. I used to have nightmares about mom, too. All the time. I still get them sometimes.”

“You do?” You sniffled. “What do you do about them?”

“Well now it’s easier, because we killed yellow eyes. He’s gone, N/N. Nobody’s ever gonna die like mom did again, especially not you. You know that, right?”

“The dreams feel so real,” you answered.

“I know, I know they do. But they’re not. And I’m gonna help you through this, but kiddo, I can’t be around all the time, you know that. I’ve got a job to do.”

“O—ok,” you sniffled. “I can do better.”

“But I’m still gonna be here when you need me. I promise.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you right now.”

Dean’s arms squeezed impossibly tighter around you.

“Then I’m here for you.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - under the checkered flag (part three)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, reader being a clown, jk being a clown, everyone’s a clown

prompt ; in which a girl who doesn’t believe in risks takes the biggest one of all—falling for a man who lives for the thrill.

note ; i can’t believe it!!!! we’re halfway through the series omgggg. guys your feedback and love mean all the world and i love writing this story and hope for many more to come <3 sorry im being soft on main my bad

playlist here

series masterlist here

Friendship, as it turns out, is something Jungkook takes very seriously.

It starts subtly—occasional texts, a check-in here and there. How’s work? Are you drowning in spreadsheets yet? A picture of his breakfast one morning with the caption: rate my cooking skills, be honest. The casual kind of conversation that isn’t meant to mean much, the kind that should be easy to brush off.

But then, somewhere along the way, it becomes apparent it’s more than you bargained for.

The texts become more frequent, slipping into your daily routine like they belong there. Did you eat yet? What’s the most annoying thing a client has said to you today? I think my cat is judging me. Thoughts?

It’s easy.

So easy, in fact, that you don’t even realize how much of your time belongs to him now.

At first, it’s just casual meetups—wine nights where he lets you pick the bottle and pretends to know what he’s doing when he swirls his glass like a critic. You try to explain tasting notes, but he just hums thoughtfully and says, “Yeah, this one tastes very…red.”

Then there are the video game nights, where he insists on showing you how to play, only to immediately regret it when you button-mash your way to victory. “There’s no way that just happened,” he groans, staring at the screen in disbelief as you grin smugly beside him.

And then—perhaps the most unexpected of all—there’s the puzzle night.

It starts as a joke. You mention it offhandedly, expecting him to laugh it off, but instead, he tilts his head, intrigued. “I’ve never done one before. Teach me.”

So you do.

You sit cross-legged on the floor of your living room, a thousand tiny pieces scattered between you, as Jungkook studies the edge pieces like they hold the secrets of the universe.

“Okay,” he says, brows furrowed in concentration. “So the strategy is…?”

You smirk. “To not overthink it.”

He scoffs, determined. “No such thing.”

It’s the kind of thing you never would’ve imagined doing with him. The kind of moment that should feel out of place, but somehow, it doesn’t. Somehow, this feels oddly natural. Like you’ve been doing it since the day you were born.

And you don’t even realize how much of your life he’s occupied until Jisoo points it out.

She catches you off guard in the middle of an ordinary workday, when you’re both sitting at your desks, your laptop open but your attention elsewhere. Your phone buzzes beside you, another message from Jungkook flashing across the screen.

Jungkook: What’s the corporate world like today? Are we still scamming people?

You bite back a smile, typing a response.

You: Scamming is such a strong word. We prefer “strategic negotiations.”

Jisoo watches you out of the corner of her eye, her lips curling slightly. “Okay, who are you texting?”

“No one,” you say too quickly, setting your phone down.

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. So it’s no one that has you smiling at your phone like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I wasn’t smiling.”

“You were,” she says, leaning on her elbow, her tone turning smug. “And I have a very strong suspicion that it’s a certain race car driver.”

You freeze. “It’s not—”

Jisoo gasps, her grin widening. “It is! Oh my god, how often do you two talk?”

You huff, feigning exasperation. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends.”

Jisoo hums, unconvinced. “Friends who text all the time. Friends who see each other, let me guess, two, three times a week?”

You open your mouth, but the words don’t come out, because she’s right.

You blink, suddenly realizing just how much time you’ve been spending with Jungkook. The wine nights. The video games. The puzzles. The constant texts, the check-ins, the easy way he’s integrated himself into your daily routine.

Your stomach twists.

Jisoo watches you carefully. “You do realize how weird this is, right?”

You sigh, pressing your fingers to your temple. “It’s not weird.”

She leans in. “It’s weird.”

You groan. “Jisoo—”

“No one becomes ‘just friends’ with a guy like Jungkook,” she says, voice dropping to a whisper like she’s unveiling some great universal truth. “And you, my dear, are playing with fire.”

You shake your head, trying to will away the growing warmth in your chest. “We are just friends. I told him I’m not ready for anything.”

Jisoo’s lips twitch. “And yet, here you are, practically dating him without realizing it.”

You sputter. “We are not dating!”

“Right, right. Just friends.” She holds up her hands in surrender, but the teasing glint in her eye doesn’t fade. “Does he know that?”

You frown. “Of course he does.”

Jisoo tilts her head, her voice softening just slightly. “And you’re sure you do, too?”

Her words settle into your skin, into the space between your ribs where doubt has started to bloom.

You exhale, shaking your head. “This isn’t—I’m not—”

Jisoo grins. “Relax. Your secret’s safe with me.”

You narrow your eyes. “Jisoo.”

She presses a hand to her heart. “I won’t tell a soul. But just so you know,” she leans in, her voice dripping with amusement. “I cannot wait to see how this plays out so I can tell you I was right.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples as she turns back to her computer, still grinning.

You pick up your phone again, staring at the message thread with Jungkook.

Friends.

That’s all it is.

It has to be.

But as your fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to type back something witty, something that keeps the conversation going just like always—there’s a small, quiet part of you that wonders: how long can you keep pretending that’s all it is?

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

For the first time in what feels like weeks, you have a night that belongs entirely to yourself. No endless emails, no high-stakes negotiations, no last-minute client dinners where you have to keep a carefully curated smile in place. Just a rare, quiet evening. Or, well, until your phone buzzes.

Jungkook: Come over. I’m cooking you something good.

You raise an eyebrow, shifting on your couch.

You: Cooking? You sure about that?

His response is immediate.

Jungkook: I’m offended. I’m literally a five-star chef. And didn’t you say you haven’t had a good steak in a while?

You hesitate for only a second before exhaling, shaking your head to yourself.

You: Fine. But if I get food poisoning, I’m suing.

Jungkook: Fair. But it won’t happen.

And that’s how you end up in his kitchen an hour later, a glass of wine in your hand as you lean against the counter, watching him move.

Jungkook’s home is a place you’ve been acquainted well with, your Google Maps recognizing his address as one of your most frequented once. It’s always exactly what you never expected—sleek, modern, effortlessly expensive, but somehow still lived-in. The kind of place that belongs to someone who travels too often to make it feel warm but who still likes to return to something familiar.

Right now, though, your focus isn’t on his house. It’s on him.

Standing by the stove, Jungkook looks ridiculously good doing something as simple as cooking. His white t-shirt clings to his frame just enough to make it impossible not to notice the sharp cut of his shoulders, the lean muscle beneath. His silver chain catches the warm kitchen light, glinting against the smooth skin of his collarbone. Tattoos peek out from under the short sleeves of his shirt, trailing down his arm, shifting with every precise movement of his hands.

He looks relaxed here, completely at ease as he sears the steak, flipping it with effortless confidence. You take a sip of your wine, watching as he hums to himself, completely in his element.

“You look way too comfortable doing that,” you muse, swirling the deep red liquid in your glass.

Jungkook glances at you, smirking. “Told you I’m basically a chef.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch with amusement. “So this is your secret talent? Cooking expensive meals to impress people?”

He feigns offense. “Excuse me, I’m not trying to impress anyone.” Then, after a beat, “Okay, maybe a little. But only because you doubted me.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I didn’t doubt you. I just... never pictured you doing something so domestic.”

Jungkook grins, effortlessly charming. “What, you thought I survived purely on protein shakes and takeout?”

You pause, considering. “Honestly? Maybe.”

He laughs, tossing a pinch of salt onto the sizzling pan. “I like cooking,” he admits after a moment, his tone softer now. “It’s one of the few things that slows my brain down.”

You blink, surprised at the admission. “Slows your brain down?”

He nods, focusing on the pan. “Racing is... chaos. My life is chaos, most of the time. But this?” He gestures toward the stove. “This is simple. It’s just me, the ingredients, and making sure I don’t burn anything.”

You watch him for a long moment, something warm settling in your chest.

“You really love it,” you say quietly.

Jungkook glances at you again, an unreadable look flickering across his face before he smirks. “Told you I take my steak very seriously.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing note in his voice doesn’t hide the truth in what he said.

Silence settles between you for a beat, but it’s comfortable, easy. You sip your wine, letting your gaze drift back to him, to the way he moves. There’s something frustratingly captivating about him, something that makes it hard to look away, no matter how much you try.

Maybe it’s the way he handles the steak, confident but unhurried. Maybe it’s the way his shirt clings to the sharp lines of his back when he reaches for a plate. Or maybe it’s just the way he exists, completely at ease in his skin, the kind of presence that makes it impossible not to notice him.

You take another sip of wine, looking away before your thoughts can spiral any further.

Jungkook plates the food, glancing at you with a triumphant smirk. “Alright, moment of truth. Let’s see if I live up to the hype.”

You set your glass down, taking the plate he hands you and sitting down at his dining table. “If this is terrible, I’m never letting you live it down.”

Jungkook scoffs, sitting down across from you. “I don’t fail at things, especially not steak.”

You raise an eyebrow but take your first bite.

The second the flavor hits your tongue, you freeze.

Jungkook watches, his smirk widening. “Oh, shit. It’s good, isn’t it?”

You chew slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “I hate you.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I hate that you’re good at this. I really wanted to make fun of you.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, smug. “Guess you’ll just have to find another reason to tease me.”

You huff, but there’s no real annoyance behind it.

As the night stretches on, the conversation flows as easily as the wine. Small talk turns into stories—he tells you about his worst race-day rituals, you tell him about the most ridiculous work emails you’ve ever received. He makes you laugh more than you expect to, and for a while, you forget to keep your guard up.

It’s the same pattern you two continually fall into. That’s really what makes it dangerous. Because you don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until you look up and find him watching you, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light.

Your breath catches in your throat.

For a second, neither of you move.

Jungkook licks his lips, the silver glint of his piercing catching the light. His tongue flicks over the ring slowly, a mindless habit, but it sends a shiver down your spine.

You look away, your fingers tightening around your wine glass.

He notices. You know he notices.

But he spares you the embarrassment and doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head, muscles flexing slightly beneath his t-shirt. “So,” he says, voice light, breaking the moment before it can become something else. “What’s next? You gonna let me teach you how to cook something next time?”

You exhale, grateful for the shift. “Absolutely not. I think I like it better when you cook for me.”

Jungkook grins. “Hm, getting used to this, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t fight the small smile on your lips.

Because, maybe… maybe you are. And that’s the scariest part of it all.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your wine glass, the warmth of the alcohol no match for the heat creeping up your neck. You try to play it cool, to roll your eyes, to scoff: but truth is, you are getting used to this. To him.

You lower your gaze, focusing on the deep red swirl of your wine as if it holds all the answers you’re trying to avoid. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you murmur, keeping your voice light.

Jungkook studies you, leaning slightly on the table, his elbow propped as he watches you with that knowing look that makes your pulse flicker. “Where’d you just go?” he asks, tilting his head. “You do that sometimes—you disappear into your head.”

You blink, startled by how easily he catches it. “I do not.”

His lips quirk, unconvinced. “You do.”

You exhale through your nose, schooling your expression. “I was just thinking about how, statistically, I have to endure at least one more meal with you cooking before you let me off the hook.”

It’s an easy deflection, one that comes naturally after years of keeping your thoughts and feelings wrapped up tight. You expect him to let it go, to tease you back, to move on like most people would.

But Jungkook just watches you for a second longer, like he knows there’s something else beneath the surface. Like he sees right through you. It’s unsettling.

But he lets it slide, leaning back in his chair as he stretches, groaning slightly as he rolls out his shoulders.

“Okay, serious question,” he says suddenly, breaking the moment.

You glance at him warily. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

He smirks, but there’s something different in his expression now—something thoughtful. “Do you wanna come to one of my races?”

Your head jerks back slightly. “Wait, what?”

Jungkook nods, as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Yeah. Next one’s in two weeks. You should come.”

You blink at him, completely thrown off. “Isn’t that usually reserved for… I don’t know, one of your fan girls?”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You make it sound like I keep a roster.”

You raise an eyebrow, and he immediately smirks. “Okay, fine, I see why you’d think that,” he admits. “But no, I’m serious. You should come.”

You stare at him, trying to understand why he’s asking this—why he wants you there, of all people.

Jungkook notices the hesitation on your face, and instead of teasing, his expression softens. “Look, I know you think I’m always surrounded by screaming fans or whatever, but I actually don’t invite a lot of people to my races. Not personally, at least.”

You tilt your head slightly. “So why me?”

He shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “Because I want you to be there.”

Your breath catches slightly at his sincerity. You don’t know how to respond. You should say no. But the way he’s looking at you—the way his gaze holds yours, open and unguarded—makes it impossible to refuse outright.

So instead, you sigh, your tongue failing you as you shake your head, as if you’re doing him some grand favor. “Fine. But don’t make it a big deal. I’ll just sit wherever.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple appearing, and your stomach does a little somersault you pretend not to acknowledge.

“Deal,” he says, lifting his wine glass. “To you coming to my race.”

You sigh again, rolling your eyes, but you clink your glass against his anyway.

And as you take a sip, letting the wine settle warm in your chest, you try to ignore the quiet thrill that sparks in your stomach at the thought of seeing him in his element. Somehow, you already know deep somewhere in the confines of your conscious, this is already becoming something you don’t know how to handle.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You should have known better.

You should have known this man would’ve bent the world backwards for you if you meant you would even give him a sliver of your time.

The moment you and Jisoo step into the race venue, the energy is electric: it’s thrumming through the air, a chaotic mix of revving engines, roaring crowds, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber and fuel. You weren’t sure what to expect when Jungkook handed you the tickets a week ago, telling you to bring a plus one (secretly praying you did not bring a man), but you definitely didn’t expect this.

Front row.

Front and center.

The seats he gave you aren’t just good—they’re the seats. The kind of seats reserved for people who matter, the kind of seats that have Jisoo gripping your arm and practically vibrating with excitement.

“Oh my god,” she hisses, dragging you down to sit before you can even fully process it. “Are you seeing this? Front row?! What the hell did you do to this man?”

You groan, already regretting bringing her. “Jisoo—”

“No, seriously,” she cuts in, shaking your arm like a child hyped up on sugar. “You told me you guys were just friends. Friends don’t give each other front-row tickets to the biggest race of the season.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat, but there’s no arguing with her. She’s right. You should have expected this, should have known that Jungkook wouldn’t just toss you into the general stands like any regular spectator.

But still.. this?

It’s a lot.

And the worst part? You feel it. A small, buzzing thrill at the base of your spine. A quiet excitement curling low in your stomach.

You glance around, taking in the sheer magnitude of it all; the massive grandstands, the towering screens flashing live footage of the track, the flashing lights, the thunder of engines preparing for battle. The energy is palpable, coursing through the crowd, through you.

You don’t mean to look around, it’s not like you’re looking for anything in particular. But your brain is on autopilot, faster than you’d like it to be. Your eyes find him.

Jungkook stands off to the side, near his car, surrounded by his pit crew but somehow still managing to stand out, like the center of gravity has shifted around him.

And god, you’re staring. You can’t help it.

Dressed in a fitted black racing suit that clings to his frame way too well, Jungkook looks every bit the star that he is. The suit is lined with sleek red and white accents, his name and number embroidered across his chest, a few sponsor logos patched onto the sleeves, but none of that matters. What matters is him.

The way his dark hair is slightly tousled beneath his helmet, the way the sun catches on the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his fingers flex around the strap of his gloves as he pulls them on.

And then there’s the tattoos, ink creeping out from his sleeve, peeking past the edge of his suit. The sharp contrast between the black fabric and the intricate designs decorating his skin is enough to make your brain short-circuit.

Your lips part slightly, heat creeping up your neck before you can even process the fact that you’re practically drooling.

Jisoo catches on immediately.

“Oh. My. God.” She turns to you with the slowest smirk you’ve ever seen in your life. “You’re down bad.”

You snap out of it instantly. “I am not!”

“You so are.” She nudges you, grinning. “You were literally eye-fucking him just now.”

Your face burns. “JISOO.”

She cackles. “I mean, I get it. If I were you, I’d be feral for him in that suit.”

You cover your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” she sing-songs, clearly loving this.

You groan, still too warm, still way too aware of the fact that, yes, you were definitely staring. Is it a crime to stare at a man who spends his entire day texting you, his free hours seeing you, and treats you like you’re his entire world? Maybe. Possibly.

Before you can even come back with a witty response for Jisoo, Jungkook turns. For a second, he’s just scanning the crowd, his eyes sweeping across the stands, his expression unreadable. But then, he sees you.

And everything shifts.

His entire face lights up. The moment his eyes lock onto yours, his expression changes, his lips curve into a wide, boyish grin, dimples flashing, his entire posture relaxing as if he’s just spotted something he didn’t even realize he was looking for. He lifts a hand and waves.

At you. Not at the cameras, not at the fans screaming his name—at you.

And just like that, you forget all the autonomic movements that come with breathing.

Your brain stalls, your heart slamming against your ribs as you stare at him, frozen in place.

Jisoo, naturally, is losing her mind.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, gripping your arm again. “He’s so into you.”

You swallow hard, pulse erratic, and force yourself to do something, anything.

Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your hand and give him a small wave back.

Jungkook’s grin somehow widens.

And then, before you can even process what just happened, one of his crew members calls him over, and he turns away, back to business.

But the damage is already done. You’re shaken.

Jisoo is smirking at you like she just won the lottery. “Yeah. Friends, huh?”

You don’t respond. You can’t, not when your heart is still racing, not when you’re still trying to process whatever that was.

Because for all the warnings you’ve given yourself, for all the ways you’ve tried to keep this casual, you can’t shake the feeling that you just crossed an invisible line, and you have no idea how to come back from it.

The atmosphere shifts the moment the engines roar to life.

The sound is deafening: a deep, guttural growl that shakes through your chest, vibrating against your ribs like a war drum. The entire track buzzes with energy, the crowd alive with anticipation, waves of cheers and chants rolling through the grandstands. And it’s only when you hear it—his name, being screamed over and over, an entire sea of voices chanting for him—that you realize just how much of a star he is. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just a driver. He’s the driver.

“Oh my god,” Jisoo breathes beside you, gripping your arm as the racers line up on the grid. “I’m nervous.”

You exhale, trying to steady your own racing pulse, eyes locked on Jungkook’s car—the sleek, jet-black machine adorned with streaks of red, his number bold against the hood. He sits behind the wheel, helmet on, hands flexing over the controls, his focus razor-sharp. A few quick accelerations, testing the power beneath him.

The lights overhead flicker—red, red, red, red, green.

And they’re off.

The force of it is immediate, a blur of motion so fast your breath catches in your throat. The cars launch forward like missiles, tearing down the straightaway at blistering speeds, engines screaming as they battle for position.

Jungkook moves with precision.

He’s aggressive but calculated, weaving between competitors, his car slicing through the pack like a blade. Every turn is razor-thin, every move flawless.

“Shit!” Jisoo yells as another car swerves dangerously close to him, forcing him toward the outer edge of the track.

Your heart stalls.

Jungkook doesn’t panic, doesn’t even flinch.

Instead, he cuts in, barely a breath of space between him and the car beside him, his tires gripping the asphalt with perfect timing. It’s insane. It’s impossible.

And yet, he does it.

You barely have time to process it before the next turn, the next sharp maneuver that has you gripping the edge of your seat.

Lap after lap, he dominates.

He takes corners with precision so tight it makes your stomach drop. He threads through competitors like he’s seeing the race in slow motion while everyone else is barely keeping up.

A car ahead of him loses control, tires skidding, the rear nearly flipping as it veers into Jungkook’s path. It’s a moment of danger, a moment of sheer panic, that elicits a reaction from you, somewhere deep inside you that you nearly leap onto the track.

“Oh my god!” you gasp, gripping Jisoo’s arm hard.

Jungkook reacts instantly, dodging by a hair’s width, cutting across the inside lane with a dangerous amount of speed. His tires nearly lift, nearly flip and your heart stops.

Somehow, before you can cover your eyes and recoil, he corrects. Finds control. Shoots forward, engine roaring as he takes the lead.

The final lap is chaos.

Every racer is fighting for position, the finish line just ahead, but Jungkook is untouchable. He blocks an attempt from behind, barely gives room for anyone to challenge him. He’s flying, faster than anyone on the track, his car a streak of black and red cutting through the final straight.

And before you can even react, or tell Jisoo to stop waving her hands like a madman, the checkered flag waves, declaring the winner. Jeon Jungkook.

The crowd erupts.

Jisoo screams, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you like she’s won the race herself. “HE DID IT! HE DID IT—OH MY GOD!”

Yet you still can’t breathe. Because in the middle of all the noise, all the chaos, your chest is aching with something unfamiliar. Something terrifying. You knew he was good. You knew he was talented. But watching him like this—watching him command the track, watching him own his moment, watching him win—it’s something else entirely.

You feel it in the way your heart swells, in the way your entire body is still pumping with adrenaline, in the way your fingers tremble slightly against the railing. You’re proud of him. So much more than you expected to be.

And as Jungkook slows his car, as he lifts his helmet and runs a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair, as he grins like a king who just conquered the world, you realize something else, too.

You’re falling for him.

And you don’t know how to stop.

Your phone vibrates in your hand just as the celebrations on the track begin to settle, the roar of the crowd still echoing in your ears. The rush of it all is still thick in your veins, your heartbeat erratic, your body buzzing.

Jungkook: Come to my locker room. My manager will take you.

You stare at the message for a second, your pulse skipping.

Jisoo, practically bouncing beside you, notices immediately. “What? What is it? Why do you look like that?”

You hesitate before turning your phone to show her.

She screams. “OH MY GOD—”

You slap a hand over her mouth, panic flooding through you. “Jisoo!”

She yanks your hand away, eyes wild. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS? I’M ABOUT TO MEET JEON JUNGKOOK.”

You exhale, trying to steady yourself, but truthfully? You’re just as rattled. The adrenaline of the race is still coursing through you, mingling with something else. something warmer, dizzier.

You just watched him win. You watched him command the track. And now he wants to see you.

You don’t have time to analyze it further because Jungkook’s manager appears, who you’ve only heard about in passing from Jungkook’s storytelling, nodding in your direction. “[Y/N]? Come with me.”

Jisoo grabs your arm so tightly you lose circulation. “We’re going backstage.”

You try to stay composed as you follow his manager out of your section, through the winding halls of the stadium, but your heart does not slow down. The deeper you go, the quieter the sounds of the crowd become, replaced by the faint hum of voices, the occasional burst of laughter from crew members celebrating, the sound of bottles popping.

You nearly bump into his manager’s shoulder, as he pauses in front of a door. The door. The one marked with his name.

Jisoo grips your arm hard.

“Is this real life?” she whispers, vibrating.

No.

Absolutely not.

But before you can answer, the manager opens the door, and there he is. Jungkook is standing in the middle of the room, grinning like a child, and your breath catches.

He looks unreal.

Still in his racing suit, half unzipped, the sleeves hanging low around his waist, revealing the white compression tank clinging to his chest, his toned biceps flexing as he runs a towel over his damp hair. He’s slightly sweaty, glowing under the dim locker room lights, his skin flushed from exertion, his adrenaline still burning through him.

And god help you, he looks so good. It’s overwhelming. No one should ever look that good.

You feel it instantly, this need to touch him, this pull toward him that makes your skin feel hot. You could mount him right there.

Jisoo, naturally, has no shame.

“OH MY GOD.” She shoves you aside, beaming at Jungkook. “You were incredible! I mean, I knew you were good, but I didn’t know you were that good. Holy shit, I thought you were gonna die like, three times.”

Jungkook laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, that last turn was tight.”

“TIGHT?! I nearly had a heart attack!”

You hover awkwardly at the entrance, shy now, letting Jisoo blabber on while you try to compose yourself.

Jungkook, ever the charmer, grins at her. “Glad you guys came. I figured it’d be fun for you.”

Jisoo clutches her chest dramatically. “Fun? FUN? This was the best day of my life.”

Jungkook chuckles, his eyes finally shifting toward you.

Suddenly, the air changes.

His grin softens, his posture shifts, and the way he looks at you, like you’re the only one in the room. The soles of your feet are glued to the floor.

“You okay?” he asks, voice quieter, gentler.

You nod, feeling your face burn. “Yeah.”

And then, because it’s all you can think to say, because the words tumble out before you can stop them, “You were… really good.”

Jungkook smiles. No, not the cocky, teasing kind. This one is different. Softer. Like your words actually mean something to him.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly. “You think so?”

You swallow hard, nodding again. “Yeah.”

His eyes linger on you, unreadable, something warm beneath them.

You shift on your feet, suddenly overwhelmed, trying so hard to ignore the way your pulse won’t slow down.

Jisoo, of course, being the best (and worst) friend in the world, refuses to let you suffer in silence. She nudges you hard. “That’s it?! That’s all you’re gonna say? You were really good?”

You shoot her a look.

Jungkook laughs, eyes crinkling. “It’s fine. I’ll take it.” He glances back at you, still smiling. “I’m just glad she came.”

Your stomach flips.

You knew this was a mistake. You knew this was another bullet point on the list of bad decisions you’ve ever made in your life. But standing here, watching him look at you like that, you’re starting to think it’s too late to turn back.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

God, you are such a people pleaser (and you resolve to quit that after this night).

You should have made an excuse, told Jungkook that you were exhausted, that you’d had enough excitement for one night. But when he had looked at you—grinning, breathless, alive—when he had asked you and Jisoo to come to the afterparty, something in you had wanted to say yes.

And now, standing in the middle of his post-race celebration, surrounded by his world—models draped in silk, investors swirling whiskey in crystal glasses, celebrities exchanging fake smiles—you regret it.

This isn’t your scene. You feel it instantly, the sharp edge of not belonging.

Jisoo thrives in environments like this. She’s already three conversations deep, flirting with someone who looks like they own half the city, sipping on a drink she didn’t even have to order herself. She blends in effortlessly, her laughter mixing with the low hum of expensive conversations.

But Jungkook… well, Jungkook has been beside you all night. From the moment you arrived, he’s been there, not glued to your side, but near in a way that makes it impossible to forget his presence. He floats in and out of conversations, nodding politely to sponsors, shaking hands with investors, laughing at jokes from other drivers, yet somehow, he always finds his way back to you.

Every few minutes, his eyes flicker in your direction. Every time someone new approaches you, his body angles slightly toward yours, like he’s keeping you in his orbit, like he’s subtly making it clear that you’re with him.

You, on the other hand, feel exposed.

The dress Jisoo made you wear—something too pretty, too delicate, too much—clings to your skin, the champagne in your hand suddenly feeling like an accessory you don’t know how to hold. You stick to the edges of the room, quietly observing, trying not to feel like an outsider.

And Jungkook still finds you.

Like he knew you’d be here, lingering at the margins, trying not to take up space.

His presence is immediate, undeniable, and the moment he steps beside you, the air shifts, your pulse reacting before you can tell it not to.

“You look like you want to be anywhere but here,” he murmurs, his voice low, just for you.

You huff a quiet laugh, keeping your eyes on the glittering crowd in front of you. “That obvious?”

Jungkook smirks, his gaze flickering between you and the room. “Only to me.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels warmer than it should.

Jungkook nudges your arm lightly, his tone teasing but genuinely curious. “So? What’d you really think?”

You blink. “About what?”

He gives you a look. “The race.”

“Oh.” You clear your throat, suddenly shy under his direct attention. “I mean… it was insane. I don’t know how you do it. You were flying out there.”

Jungkook grins, his dimple making an appearance. “That’s the goal.”

Jisoo’s voice echoes in your head. He almost died like three times.

You shift slightly, hesitant before murmuring, “That one moment… when that guy lost control in front of you—”

Jungkook hums, like he knows exactly which moment you mean. “That was close.”

You glance up at him. “Did it scare you?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Not in the way you think.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

He leans a little closer, voice softer now. “It means I don’t get scared in the moment. My body just reacts. But after?” He shrugs, exhaling. “Sometimes I think about what could’ve happened.”

You study him, something tightening in your chest. “And does that ever make you want to stop?”

Jungkook meets your gaze, and for a moment, the noise around you fades. “No.”

There’s something about the certainty in his voice, the way he owns his answer, that makes your stomach flip.

You clear your throat, trying to ground yourself. “Well… you won.”

He grins. “I did.”

“And you deserved it.”

His smirk softens slightly, something warmer creeping into his eyes. “Yeah?”

You nod, glancing away, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah.”

Jungkook hums, leaning slightly against the wall beside you, his body angled toward yours. He’s close, but not too close. Just enough that you feel him.

“Why’d you come tonight?” he asks, voice softer now.

You hesitate, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass. You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit that it was for him. So you shrug. “Jisoo wanted to come.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond right away. You can feel him watching you, reading you, peeling back layers you didn’t realize were so easy for him to unravel.

“Come with me,” he says.

You blink, turning toward him. “What?”

He doesn’t explain, just gently tugs your glass from your fingers, sets it down on the nearest table, and takes your wrist lightly, barely a touch, but guiding.

You let him. Because of course you do. You haven’t denied the man once since he met you (beside when you told him you weren’t ready to be a relationship.)

He leads you through the crowd, past the chaos, through a side door that spills into a quieter space, a private balcony overlooking the city, the cool night air brushing against your skin like a reminder that this is real.

Jungkook exhales, rolling his shoulders, finally free of the noise. “Much better.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the railing. “Are you avoiding your own party?”

He smirks, stepping beside you. “Just the parts I don’t care about.”

You shake your head, but there’s something softer in your chest now, something that shouldn’t feel like relief.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

The city stretches beneath you, lights flickering like stars, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence between words.

“You were really something out there today,” you murmur, surprising yourself when you blurt out the words.

Jungkook glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the skyline. “I’ve never seen anything like that.”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “It’s the only time my head goes quiet.”

You turn to him, surprised.

Jungkook chuckles, but there’s something honest beneath it. “When I’m driving, nothing else matters. It’s just the track, the speed, the next move.” He pauses. “It’s the only thing in my life that’s completely mine.”

You study him, the way his eyes flicker in the night, the way his shoulders seem just a little lighter out here, away from the noise, the expectations.

“I think I get that,” you admit softly.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you. “Yeah?”

You nod, inhaling. “Sometimes I think I like being alone so much because it’s the only time I don’t have to be anything for anyone else.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “That’s kinda why I wanted you here tonight. I feel like that about you.”

You choke on an inhale you didn’t even know you were holding. Jungkook shifts slightly, turning to face you fully now, the space between you suddenly too small, too much. Your heart stumbles. There’s something different in his gaze—something you know you should step away from, something you shouldn’t let yourself get pulled into.

He reaches out, brushing the lightest touch against your wrist. It’s barely anything. Somehow, it still wrecks you.

Your pulse skips, your skin burning beneath his touch, and Jungkook feels it. You know he does. Because his eyes drop to your lips. It’s so quick, barely a flicker, but it undoes you.

He’s going to kiss you.

You know it.

And for a second—just one millisecond—you think about letting him. About leaning in, about closing the distance, about ruining everything.

But something in your body wakes up, an electric zap of massive proportions. You take a step back. It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

Jungkook blinks a few times, like he’s waking himself up to reality.

You swallow, exhaling shakily. “We’re just friends.”

It’s not a rejection. It’s a reminder.

Jungkook holds your gaze for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he smiles knowingly. “I know.”

You don’t know what to say to that. So you just nod, looking away, trying to steady yourself, trying to breathe.

Jungkook lets the silence stretch for a second longer before he exhales, rolling his shoulders again. “Wanna go back in?”

You nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah.”

But as he leads you back inside, the warmth of his touch still lingering on your skin, you know you’re not fooling anyone. Least of all, yourself.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The next morning, the office hums with the familiar rhythm of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and quiet conversations spilling over office walls. You slip into your routine effortlessly—emails, reports, client updates—anything to ground yourself after last night.

But Jisoo?

Jisoo is still talking about the race.

“I mean, I knew he was good,” she says, leaning against your desk, her coffee cup balanced between her fingers, “but holy shit. Watching it in person? I think I actually ascended.”

You barely glance up from your screen, typing out a quick response to a client. “Mm-hmm.”

Jisoo narrows her eyes. “That’s all you have to say?”

You sigh, finally looking at her. “It was… cool.”

Jisoo scoffs. “Cool? Are you kidding me? That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. He was insane out there. He almost flipped his car. You were screaming. Don’t act like you weren’t losing your mind.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “I was concerned for his safety.”

Jisoo grins knowingly. “Concerned. Right.”

You shake your head, clicking open another spreadsheet. “Drop it, Jisoo.”

She sighs dramatically but relents, pushing off your desk. “Fine. But only because I have actual work to do.”

You hum in approval, barely registering the way she grumbles under her breath about boring friends who refuse to admit they’re in love with race car drivers.

And for a while, the office settles. You dive back into your work, drowning in numbers and emails, your morning slipping by in a comfortable blur.

Until an hour later, when Jisoo circles back. But this time, something’s clearly wrong. She approaches your desk hesitantly, fingers gripping her phone, her entire demeanor different from before, no teasing, no smug smirks. Just… hesitation.

You glance up at her, eyebrows pulling together. “What?”

Jisoo doesn’t speak.

Instead, she exhales through her nose and shoves her phone into your face.

Your heart stalls. Because on the screen in front of you is Jungkook. And her. The headline practically burns into your retinas.

JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED LAST NIGHT WITH STUNNING MODEL AT POST-RACE EVENT

The article is accompanied by a photo, one that’s grainy but clear enough. Jungkook, in his outfit you remember well, effortlessly magnetic even in motion. And beside him, a woman. A woman that is most definitely not you.

She’s beautiful. Painfully beautiful. Tall, effortlessly poised, the kind of woman who turns heads without trying. Long, sleek dark hair cascading down her back, designer dress hugging her curves in a way that makes her look sculpted rather than human. Everything about her is refined, elegant, polished. You look down at your black pantsuit, the one you’ve worn thousands of times that suddenly feels too big for you.

You can’t breathe. Something heavy lodges itself in your chest, pressing against your ribs, suffocating.

He’s your friend.

That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you remind yourself as you force your eyes to move away from Jisoo’s phone, as you push it gently back toward her, as you swallow past the sudden, inexplicable lump in your throat.

“Why are you showing me this?” you ask, and your voice comes out steady, too steady that it’s absolutely suspicious why you’re not crumbling to your knees at the sight.

Jisoo studies you carefully, her lips pressing together. “I just… thought you should see it.”

You let out a breath, forcing a small smile. “Jisoo, this is his life. He can be with whoever he wants.”

She tilts her head. “I know that.”

“So why does it feel like you’re waiting for me to react?”

Jisoo hesitates, as if she’s debating how much to say. “Because I saw the way he looked at you last night.”

Your stomach tightens. You shake your head, laughing lightly. “You’re reading too much into things.”

“Am I?”

You don’t answer.

Because the truth is, you don’t know why you feel like this. You don’t know why your hands feel clammy, why your chest feels too tight, why your heart is pounding as if you just ran a marathon. He’s your friend. That’s all. But why does it feel like something inside you is breaking?

You pull out your own phone, stare at the screen for far too long before finally typing out a message. You don’t even notice when Jisoo stalks back to her desk in silence, a defeated look on her face.

You: How’d the rest of your night go after I left?

It’s casual. Simple. Just a normal text to a friend, which is what he is. That’s what you keep reminding your brain. That’s what you did to yourself. The response comes quicker than you expect.

Jungkook: Good. Missed you after.

Your fingers pause, hover against the keyboard.

You weren’t expecting that.

He missed you? What does that even mean? You left early before the party really unraveled, before the night bled into the kind of company he was used to keeping. Before her. You shouldn’t care, yet your fingers move before you can stop them.

You: Did you? Seems like you had good company.

The second you press send, you regret it.

Your stomach knots as you stare at the message, at the way it hangs there in the chat, too heavy, too obvious. You should have deleted it. Should have just played it cool.

But now it’s too late. Three little dots appear at the bottom of the screen.

Jungkook: What?

Your chest tightens.

You should clarify. Should laugh it off, make it seem like you were just teasing, keep it light, but you don’t. Instead, you turn your phone over, pressing it screen-down against your desk like it can stop the way your thoughts are spiraling.

You hate this feeling. The insecurity. The comparison. This is exactly why you didn’t want to get involved with him in the first place. You know you’re shy. You know you’re not the kind of person who commands a room, who slips into spaces like the one last night and belongs there. You know that if Jungkook wanted someone, it should be her.

The kind of woman who looks effortless in silk and diamonds, who knows how to handle a world that you barely understand. The kind of woman who doesn’t hesitate, who doesn’t stand on the sidelines, convincing herself she doesn’t want something that she clearly does.

Your phone buzzes again. You don’t want to look. Your body betrays you yet again.

Jungkook: What’s up with you?

Your fingers tighten around the device, your heart pounding. Before you can overthink it, another message comes through.

Jungkook: Come over.

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should make up an excuse, tell him you’re busy, put distance between whatever this is before it starts feeling like something it’s not supposed to be.

Jungkook: Just hang out. Like always. You in?

Like always. Your pulse slows, just a fraction. It’s what you’ve been doing for weeks—drinking wine, playing video games, sitting on his couch while he talks about his day like you belong in his space.

He’s your friend. He’s been your friend. God, the words are beginning to sound so foreign to you.

Your fingers move before your brain catches up.

You: Sure. Be there after I wrap up these reports.

And as you grab your things, as you tell yourself this is normal, as you step out into the cold air, you try not to think about how much you kinda, maybe, want it to be more.

The drive to his house feels longer than usual. Your fingers grip the steering wheel a little too tightly, knuckles pale against the soft leather. The city blurs past you, neon signs flickering in the quiet hum of the night, but all you can hear is the echo of your own heartbeat, uneven, frantic, betraying every lie you’ve told yourself.

This is nothing. You’re just friends.

So why does it feel like you’re hurtling toward something you can’t control?

Your thoughts spiral, tangled in images you don’t want to picture—her. The model. Stunning, effortless, the kind of woman who belongs in his world.

And you? You’re just you. A girl who crunches numbers and wears neutral blazers, a girl whose biggest risks involve high-stakes contracts, not hundred-mile-an-hour races.

You try to shake it off, to remind yourself that Jungkook is Jungkook—charming, unattainable, someone who exists in spaces you were never meant to fit into. Why did he tell you he missed you? Why did he ask you to come over, like it was you he wanted to see?

The questions lodge themselves deep, threading through the doubt, the fear, the quiet ache you don’t know how to decipher.

And by the time you pull into his driveway, your heart is still racing for all the wrong reasons.

You stand outside his door, fingers hovering just above the wood, heart pounding in a way that feels completely unreasonable. It’s just Jungkook. It’s just another night. Your body doesn’t seem to believe that anymore.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you knock, just two quick, light taps.

The door swings open almost immediately, like he was already standing on the other side, waiting. You gulp down all the saliva left in your mouth, hand still hanging up in the air in a knocking motion. Because Jungkook is there, standing in the soft glow of his entryway, looking so effortlessly good that it actually makes you lightheaded.

Grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. A fitted black t-shirt that stretches across his broad shoulders, the fabric clinging to every defined line of muscle. His dark hair is slightly tousled, like he’s just run his fingers through it, and the warm lighting casts soft shadows over the sharp cut of his jaw.

It’s unfair. It’s so unfair.

His lips pull into an easy smile, completely unaware of the mess he’s making of you.

“Hey,” he says, stepping aside to let you in. “That was fast.”

You clear your throat, stepping past him, trying so hard not to inhale the faint scent of his cologne, something deep and clean, with a hint of warmth that lingers in the air.

The familiar scent of ramen fills the house, the rich, savory aroma curling around you like something comforting.

“Did you eat yet?” he asks, closing the door behind you. “Figured you wouldn’t say no to ramen.”

You shake your head wordlessly, stepping further inside, slipping off your coat.

Jungkook watches you, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe leading to the kitchen, arms crossed lazily. “You okay?”

You force a small nod. “Yeah.”

It’s a lie. You can just tell Jungkook knows it.

He tilts his head, studying you, his eyes scanning over your face like he’s reading a script only he can see. “You’re quiet,” he muses. “That’s new.”

You huff a soft breath, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “I don’t talk that much to begin with.”

Jungkook’s brow lifts. “You do around me.”

Your stomach tightens. You glance away, your fingers tightening slightly around the hem of your sweater. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Nothing has happened. Nothing changed. Except everything has fucking changed and it couldn’t be worse. All you can see is that article, that picture of him walking with her, looking like he belongs with people like her, women who are beautiful in a way you feel like you will never be.

And suddenly, standing here in his house, surrounded by his things, with his scent in the air, his presence so overwhelming, it feels wrong, like you shouldn’t be here, like this was never meant to be yours.

Jungkook notices.

Of course, he does. The man has been nothing but the observer since the day you met him.

He straightens slightly, his expression shifting, still light, still casual, but tinged with something else now. Curiosity.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, voice softer now. “Something happen?”

You shake your head too quickly. “No. Just tired.”

Jungkook doesn’t look convinced.

And the worst part? He doesn’t push. He just watches you for another second, like he’s debating whether to let it go.

He exhales, rolling his shoulders, before nodding toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, voice easy again. “Before the noodles get soggy.”

You nod, following him. But even as you take a seat at his kitchen table, even as he ladles steaming broth into a bowl and sets it in front of you, even as you curl your hands around the warmth of it, you still feel cold.

The air between you feels off.

You know it. Jungkook knows it. A higher power above both of you knows it.

But he still tries.

He slides into the seat across from you, chopsticks twirling between his fingers, his expression relaxed, but his eyes are sharp, watching you too closely.

“So,” he says, leaning forward slightly, “how was corporate life today? Any thrilling financial scandals? A hostile takeover, maybe?”

You barely register the question, your fingers absently stirring your noodles, dragging them in slow circles through the broth. The scent of garlic and spice curls into the air, warm and familiar, but you can’t seem to focus on it.

Your mind is obviously elsewhere.

Jungkook clears his throat, trying again. “Did you finally tell your boss he’s the worst?”

You blink, barely lifting your gaze. “Huh?”

Jungkook exhales through his nose, setting his chopsticks down with a quiet clink. “Okay.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms, tilting his head slightly. “What’s going on with you?”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. “Nothing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Right.” He gives you a pointed look. “You’re barely eating. That’s not like you.”

You swallow, pushing your noodles around again, your stomach feeling too tight to eat.

After a beat, you finally say it. “How did your night end up after I left?”

Jungkook blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.“What?”

You keep your eyes down. “Last night. After the race. After I left.” Your voice is light, too light. “How did it go?”

Jungkook frowns slightly, like he’s trying to figure out where you’re going with this. “Uh… good?” He lifts a shoulder. “I stayed at the party for a little while, had a few drinks. Talked to some sponsors.”

You nod, still dragging your chopsticks through the broth. “That’s it?”

Jungkook raises a brow. “What answer are you looking for?”

You hesitate.

You shouldn’t ask. But your lips move faster than your brain can catch up. “Did you… leave with anyone?”

Jungkook stills. Suddenly, you hate the silence. Your throat tightens, your heart thudding against your ribs.

Something shifts in his eyes. Understanding. Realization. Slow, creeping, settling between you like a quiet storm. When he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Careful. “Do you care that I did?”

Your stomach drops. You should have seen this coming. You walked right into it, let yourself slip, let him catch something you weren’t supposed to be showing. You don’t panic, you don’t react. Instead, you do what you always do: you pretend.

You force a small chuckle, shaking your head lightly. “No. Just making conversation.”

Jungkook watches you carefully, his jaw ticking slightly, like he doesn’t quite believe you. He lets it slide for now.

You lift your chopsticks, finally taking a bite, ignoring the way the noodles feel heavy in your throat. But even as you chew, even as you pretend like nothing happened, you know that something has. And there’s no undoing it now.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything more at first. He just picks up his chopsticks, twirling his noodles around in the broth, his movements slow, almost lazy, like he’s thinking.

You keep your gaze down, focusing on the steam curling up from your bowl, pretending you don’t feel his eyes on you.

“So,” he murmurs, “how’d you find out?”

Your grip on your chopsticks tightens. “Find out what?”

He lifts a brow. “About my good company last night.”

Your stomach clenches. You force yourself to lift your spoon, to take a sip of the warm broth, to act normal. “Jisoo saw it online.”

Jungkook hums, swirling his chopsticks through his noodles. “And she showed you?”

All you can muster is a nod.

He exhales through his nose, nodding slightly. “Right.”

A beat of silence.

“So,” he says again, voice casual, “you don’t care, right?”

You look up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes are unreadable, but there’s something else there, something careful, like he’s waiting for you to slip, waiting for something in you to crack.

You steel yourself. “No. Why would I?”

Jungkook tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know. You just seem kinda… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Jealous.”

A slow, sharp heat creeps up your spine. You set your spoon down, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not.”

He smirks. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You bristle. “You can hook up with whoever you want, Jungkook. It’s your life.”

His smirk doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. “Right. Because we’re just friends.”

Jungkook leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table. “Remind me—whose fault is that again?”

The words are light, teasing. But they hit.

Your jaw tightens, fingers curling into your lap, heat rising to your face. He’s never spoken to you like this before, never challenged you like this. You hate that it’s working. You let out a slow breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice even. “I don’t care who you sleep with.”

Jungkook watches you carefully. “Okay.”

There’s a question that bubbles in you, one that lingered in your mind from the second you saw the headline. You know the answer to it; that was primarily the reason Jisoo showed you. Yet, confirmation is what you need. You hate yourself for it. But you ask. “Did you?”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “Did I what?”

You swallow, hating the way your pulse refuses to stay steady. “Did you… hook up with her?”

It’s stupid to ask. You know what the answer is.

And yet he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes flicker over your face, scanning your expression, your posture, the way your fingers have curled into your palms.

And then, finally, “Yeah,” he says.

One word. One syllable, and you suddenly feel too big in his chair. Your heart drops. You don’t react. You can’t react. Because if you do, it’s over. If you do, he’ll know. So instead, you nod, small, sharp. “Okay.”

Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver. But you do notice the way he shifts. The way his smirk fades just slightly, the way his eyes soften, like he sees something in you he wasn’t supposed to see, like he just watched something in you break.

You clear your throat, reaching for your chopsticks, acting like this is just another conversation, like his words didn’t just carve a hollow space inside your chest. “That’s great,” you say lightly, forcing a small smile. “Glad you had fun.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks unsettled. He just stares at you, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl, his expression unreadable. The playful smirk from earlier is gone now, replaced by something sharper, something quieter. “Why are you being like this?”

You glance up at him, forcing an innocent expression. “Being like what?”

Jungkook exhales, setting his chopsticks down with a soft clink. “Like this,” he says, gesturing toward you. “Like you’re pissed off at me, but you won’t just say it.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not pissed off.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you closely. “You don’t seem fine.”

“Well, I am,” you snap, sharper than you intend.

Jungkook lifts a brow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. But he doesn’t back off. Instead, he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, his gaze locked onto yours. “Are you seeing other guys?”

You nearly fall out of your chair. “What?”

He shrugs. “I’m just asking.”

“Why?” You shift in your chair uncomfortably.

Jungkook doesn’t blink. “Because you’re acting weird about me seeing someone.”

Suddenly, it’s too much. All of it. The article, the photo, the way it made you feel like something inside of you had cracked wide open. The way you hatedthe thought of him leaving with someone else, touching someone else, being with someone else. The way you have no right to feel that way. He’s not yours, and you made sure of that.

Your chopsticks clatter against the side of your bowl as you sit back in your chair, arms crossing over your chest. “No,” you say, voice clipped. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

Jungkook doesn’t react, just nods slowly, still watching you. “Why not?”

You blink. “What?”

Jungkook leans back, stretching an arm over the back of his chair. “I just figured. You’re beautiful. Smart. Cool. Thought you’d be dating someone.”

You hate the way your stomach flips at his words. You hate the way your pulse reacts to his voice, his attention, his everything. So instead of acknowledging it, you let something else rise to the surface, something sharper.

“I’m not into all that,” you snap.

Jungkook’s brow furrows. “Into what?”

You exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “Hookups. Dating. Whatever.”

Jungkook tilts his head, his gaze unreadable. “Why not?”

Your jaw clenches. “Because I’m not.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you, his expression shifting into something you can’t quite place. You hate being seen like this. Hate the way he’s peeling you open, poking at something you haven’t unpacked in years.

So you do something you never do. You snap.

“Not all of us are like you, Jungkook,” you bite out, your voice sharper than you meant it to be. “Not all of us have someone waiting for us after every party. Not all of us want that.”

Jungkook still doesn’t react. He just blinks, his face impossibly calm, like he’s letting you get it out, letting you burn.

But you don’t stop.

“You wanna know why I’m not seeing anyone?” you ask, voice quieter now, but no less biting. “Because I’ve only ever had one boyfriend. One. And I’m not the kind of person who just… moves on like it’s nothing.”

Jungkook finally reacts to that. His expression shifts, subtle, but there. The slightest pull of his brows, the smallest flicker of surprise in his eyes, like he’s realizing something new about you, like he’s seeing you differently.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating.

Your chest rises and falls, your pulse erratic, your hands curling into fists beneath the table. You feel sick. Sick with jealousy, with insecurity, with all the things you don’t want to feel but can’t seem to stop. Sick with how much he affects you, how much he gets under your skin, how much you wish you could rewind time and just not care.

But you do. You do. And Jungkook knows it, even if you’ll never admit it.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, his expression unreadable, but there’s something different in his eyes now, something softer. Like he’s peeling through everything you just said, looking past the sharpness of your voice and into the raw truth beneath it.

“How long were you together?” he asks, voice quieter now.

You inhale slowly. “A few years.”

Jungkook nods, his fingers tracing the rim of his bowl absentmindedly. “First love?”

You hesitate. Then nod. “Yeah.”

His gaze flickers over your face, taking in the way your shoulders have tightened, the way you’re suddenly so aware of your own breathing. He’s quiet for a second, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

And for some reason, you do.

“I thought it was forever,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “I really did.”

Jungkook doesn’t speak, just listens.

You swallow. “But it wasn’t.”

There’s something fragile about those words, like even now, a part of you still carries the weight of them. The reality that forever is just a word, not a promise.

Jungkook watches you, something unspoken behind his eyes. “Did he hurt you?”

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Not in the way you think.” You look down at your hands. “I think I just… loved him more than he loved me.”

It’s the first time you’ve said it out loud, andit makes you feel those feelings all over again.

Jungkook doesn’t react immediately. But when he does, his voice is steady. “That’s a shitty feeling.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

Another silence stretches between you. But this one isn’t tense. It’s reminiscent.

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you carefully. “Is that why you don’t date now?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know.”

“You’re scared,” he says simply.

You freeze. He says it so easily. So matter-of-fact, like he’s known. Maybe he does. He always has.

“I just…” you sigh, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I don’t know, Jungkook. I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.”

He doesn’t push. But he’s still watching you, still waiting.

And then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out. Soft, hesitant, almost afraid. “Would you care if I saw someone?”

The shift is instant. His jaw ticks slightly. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks. And when he finally speaks, his voice is steady. Honest. “Yes.”

You weren’t expecting that. You don’t know what you were expecting. But it sure as hell wasn’t this.

Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off you. “You know exactly how I feel about you.”

Your mouth is dry, fingers uncurling from your sleeves, your whole body on fire. You do. It’s the only thing you’ve been sure of in these past few weeks. And yet, hearing him say it, feeling the weight of his words settle between you, makes it so much worse.

Your throat tightens. “So then why did you hook up with her?”

Jungkook blinks.

For a second, he just looks at you. You realize, maybe you caught him off guard. Maybe he wasn’t expecting that question. But you’re not taking it back, you need to know.

Jungkook exhales slowly, leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “Because I was trying not to think about you.”

Your breath stalls. He says it so simply. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s just fact. And yet, It wrecks you. Because it means all the things you don’t want it to mean.That he does think about you. That this has never been one-sided. That you’re not the only one caught in this slow, unraveling mess.

Your hands tighten around the edge of the table. Suddenly, you don’t know what to say. Because if you let yourself respond, you might admit that you’re just as lost as he is.

You just stare at him. What the hell are you supposed to say to that? Jungkook just admitted—without hesitation, without flinching—that he hooked up with someone else because he was trying not to think about you.

The words hang in the space between you, electric and raw, making the air too thick, too heavy. And so, like always, you deflect.

“You’re being ridiculous,” you murmur, forcing yourself to breathe, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We’re just friends.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice laced with frustration. “I fucking know.”

His jaw is tight, his fingers curling into the fabric of his sweatpants. “It’s all I think about,” he continues, voice lower now, rougher. “How you keep saying it. How I have to keep pretending like I don’t want more.”

You don’t realize you’re gripping the edge of the table until your knuckles ache. Your heart is pounding. You knew the extent of his little crush but not the honesty, not the way his words cut through you like they belong inside of you.

You swallow, trying to keep your breathing even. “Jungkook—”

But he shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” you press, voice quieter now. “Talk to me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of it. His eyes flicker up to yours, darker than usual. You feel it immediately —the tension that’s been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, spilling over the edges now, too much to contain.

So you do something stupid, something reckless, something that feels like pressing a bruise, just to see if it still hurts.

“I’m not seeing anyone,” you say, keeping your voice even, controlled. “But maybe I should.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up. His entire body goes still.

“Maybe it would be easier for both of us,” you murmur, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If I—”

“Don’t.”

The single word is sharp. Final.

Your lips part slightly, caught off guard by the way his expression hardens.

Jungkook exhales through his nose, rolling his jaw. His fingers tap against the edge of his bowl, his posture tense, like he’s reeling himself back in.

Then, after a beat, his voice shifts.

“Or, I don’t know — Whatever,” he mutters, shaking his head as he grabs his chopsticks again. “You wanna see someone, go ahead. It’s none of my business.”

You know he doesn’t mean that, but he doesn’t let you linger on it. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Anyway,” he says, forcing an easy smile, “are you gonna help me build that stupid puzzle you made me buy, or am I suffering alone?”

And just like that, the moment ends.

He’s back to being Jungkook, your friend, the boy who teases you about your boring corporate job and buys you ramen without asking.

Yet, it lingers within you. The weight of everything unsaid. The way his words are still lingering, pressing against your ribs, filling every inch of the silence between you.

And no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop thinking about it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

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[fastandcarlos]

Thousands Of Miles Apart : ̗̀➛ Daniel Ricciardo

summary: you and daniel aren't getting any younger, and yet you seem to find yourselves further and further apart on either sides of the world

There was no response from you as you heard the key finally go into the door to your apartment, hearing the sound of Daniel singing to himself. You remained where you were sat, staring down at the floor as his footsteps echoed throughout the place, a clear spring in his step, the complete opposite to how you were feeling beside him. 

However, as Daniel walked in and noticed you sat on the sofa, a few candles lit around you, his heart dropped. The singing came to a stop, his footsteps became heavier as he slowly walked closely towards where you were. 

There was no acknowledgement from you that he was there as Daniel sat in the seat opposite you, you couldn’t bring yourself to look across at him as you tried to stop the anger in the pit of your stomach from exploding. 

“Babe,” Daniel whispered, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get home so late, we were just testing and time just ran away from me.” 

“Shut up, please, just shut up,” you asked of him, the harshness in your voice taking Daniel by surprise. “I don’t even want to hear your excuses anymore; I’m fed up of you treating me like I’m stupid with all of these reasons.” 

It took a moment for Daniel to comprehend what you were saying, the anger in your voice leaving him dejected. “I’m sorry that I’ve hurt you by not coming home earlier, I should’ve let you know that I was going to be a while.” 

“I don’t care about work Daniel; I care about the fact it’s another night away from each other.” 

“I know, but we’re both so busy it’s hard to find time together.” 

Your eyes rolled at how careless his voice was, shrugging his shoulders. With time so tricky to find, you were trying to find those pockets of time, however Daniel didn’t seem to be. 

“We spend the majority of our days thousands of miles apart, but when we’re both at home we’re still apart too. What’s the point of doing this to ourselves when we’re just constantly away from each other?” 

Daniel’s body tensed up as you finally looked across at him, your expression was emotionless, sending a shiver down his spine. “It’s not going to last forever, we’re trying our best, aren’t we? But sometimes things get in the way.” 

“You’re really telling me this is you trying your best for me?” 

Daniel’s head nodded, only to feel your eyes narrow in on him, questioning how honest he was being with you. “I’ve always put our relationship first; do you know how hard it is for me too when we’re so far away? It’s not like I want to live like this.” 

At times it felt like you barely recognised the man in front of you anymore. The Daniel you knew at the start of your relationship would race halfway around the world if it meant getting to spend time with you, but now it felt he couldn’t even be bothered to walk half a yard for you, instead deciding to prioritise work instead. 

Your eyes dropped as you struggled to hold back your emotion. “I can’t keep doing this Daniel, I don’t even feel like I’m in a relationship sometimes these days.” 

“I’m sorry,” Daniel whispered, “I hate that you feel that way. You know how much I love you sweetheart; I couldn’t imagine doing life without you by my side.” 

“I love you as well,” you assured him, “but the fact we love each other can’t be the reason why we stay together. We have two very different, hectic lives, and although we always promised that wouldn’t get in the way, I can’t help but feel like now it is.” 

You quickly wiped a tear away, hoping that Daniel wouldn’t see. However, as he stood up and moved himself to where you sat, placing his arms gently around your back, you knew that he had seen just how much you were struggling. 

“Why does this feel like you’re breaking up with me?” Daniel stuttered. “I don’t ever want to make you feel like I’m not trying, or that I don’t care. I wish more than anything that you didn’t have to wait for me constantly, that I could be here whenever I want and spend my evenings cuddled up to you and not letting you go.” 

“I don’t think I am,” you whispered, leaning a little closer into Daniel. “But I just don’t think I can carry on like this, it’s not healthy for either of us Daniel, this shouldn’t be the normal.” 

Daniel pulled you even closer towards him, pressing a kiss against the top of your head, refusing to let you go. “I don’t care what I have to do, but I promise that I’m going to make some changes and make sure that I’m here for you, for us, more.” 

Your head slowly nodded, you could hear the fear in Daniel’s voice, desperate to make sure that you knew just how serious he was about fixing you up and not losing what you had. 

“I’ll do whatever to prove to you how much I want to make this work, even when we’re thousands of miles apart,” Daniel whispered. “I hate the fact that I ever made you doubt how I feel about you or made you feel like I didn’t care either.” 

“Are you really serious about making this work again?” 

Daniel’s head nodded without even having to think, he had never been so sure of anything in his life. “I can’t lose you, even if I made it seem like it’s not the case recently, I cannot stress enough that you really are everything to me.” 

“It’s a relief to hear you say that, Daniel.” 

He pressed a kiss against the side of his head, bringing his lips to your ear. “I love you, more than you could ever imagine, you’re the best.” 

Your smile slowly turned up, resting your hands on Daniel’s arm that was around you. “I love you, that will never change.” 

“You know, I miss us too, I always wish that we could go back sometimes and pause time.” 

Despite seeming as if he didn’t care, Daniel did, more than anything. He hated whenever work told him to stay, or when his management called and told him they had plans for a deal which meant he had to be away from home for even longer. 

“How about tomorrow we plan some time and organise some dates, we can do whatever you want and I promise that I’ll definitely show up for them too.” 

Your head nodded at Daniel’s suggestion, relaxing into his hold as he leaned his head down to rest on top of yours. 

“You can make me do whatever, it’s the least I can do for what I’ve put you through,” Daniel added, bringing a chuckle out of you. 

“You might regret saying that you know with some of my ideas.” 

Truthfully, he didn’t care, as long as it meant time with you then he was happy doing absolutely anything. “All I want is to be able to start creating memories with you again, no matter how stupid they end up being.” 

“Making you look stupid is my speciality,” you teased in reply to him. 

“Hm, I’m pretty good at doing it all by myself.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[rivalsispunk]

The Interview (Chapter 1 of ongoing series When We’re Alone)

Best friend’s dad!Declan O’Hara, boss!Declan O’Hara x AFAB reader

Journalist Declan O’Hara is in need of a personal assistant as his Corinium career skyrockets, and his daughter Taggie has the perfect candidate: her best friend. What seemingly starts as a professional relationship soon snowballs into something both Declan and reader were never expecting and are no longer able to deny.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) smut, cursing, age gap romance (reader is a few years older than Taggie), more warnings added per chapter

Word count: 3.1k

Author’s note: Hello! Long time reader, first time poster! Please be kind but also let me know what you think! Proof read but probs still some mistakes. Not entirely canon, Declan still works for Corinium, Maud has disappeared to god knows where and the rest, well, you’ll have to read to find out :)

© rivalsispunk please do not steal, copy, or translate any of my work onto other platforms!

Chapter One: The Interview

You were going to positively kill Taggie once you returned to the Cotswolds. Only she, your closest friend since you relocated to the country after finishing your university degree six months ago, could convince you to cut your gap year short in favour of interviewing for a personal assistant job at Corinium. And, for her father, Declan O’Hara, no less.

“Oh, go on!” Taggie had pleaded with you over The Priory’s kitchen counter. “I know you’re getting bored out here. You can’t spend all of your days sitting around here, helping me peel the shite out of prawns for dinner parties.”

“Why not?” You plucked a grape from the fruit platter she’d just finished assembling for an event at Freddie and Valerie Jones’ that evening. “I happen to like spending all my time with you. Even if it does mean peeling shite out of crustaceans.” You eyed your friend with faux suspicion. “Are you getting sick of me already?”

“Of course not! I just think you’d be grand at it, that’s all, what with your journalism degree and all,” Taggie explained. “You’ve heard Daddy when he comes home. Always complaining about the sorts he’s had to interview. Plus, he already knows you. That’s ought to win you some points right there.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t be all bad,” you confessed, mulling the opportunity over as you chewed through another handful of grapes. It would look amazing on your resume and you’d have a foot in the door at one of the biggest TV networks in the United Kingdom. Plus, it wouldn’t kill you to have a front row seat to Declan in all his glory every single day. You would never mention it to Taggie, but you fancied her dad a rather handsome sod.

“Say you’ll do it. At the very least, for me?” Taggie bat her thick eyelashes at you.

“Fine,” you eventually relented, a smile cracking over your face at the new possibility. “I’ll go in for an interview, but no promises. And I don’t want you convincing him of me either! I want to get this job on my own merit, okay?”

“Convince Daddy of you? Please, he already adores you.” The sentiment spread fire through your chest. Tag rounded the kitchen bench and grabbed you by the hand. “Now let’s find you an outfit! Mummy ought to have left something halfway suitable behind.”

Taggie nor Declan had said much about their absentee matriarch Maud in the recent weeks since she fled the countryside after yet another explosive argument between her and her husband. You knew better than to ask, but you could tell by the way Taggie’s shoulders sagged at the sight of her mother’s partially empty closet that her absence had a somber affect on her.

You’d only been into the main bedroom of The Priory once before, when the room was overtaken by Maud’s florally perfumes and extravagant evening gowns. This time, however, the space was so intrinsically Declan; all heady cedarwood and whisky and smoke. Shirts with patterns of plaid and tartan as well as numerous odd, natural-coloured socks were peppered across armchairs and vanities, while a stack of memoirs sat on his bedside with a full ashtray perched atop. Your heart swelled, and sunk simultaneously, at the thought of Declan being sat up here alone at night, or early of a morning, thumbing through a book while taking slow drags of his cigarette as he let himself be consumed by a life far different to the one he was currently living.

“How about this?” Taggie’s voice ripped through your daydream, forcing you away from thoughts of her father. You peered at the oatmeal-coloured dress she had retrieved from the closet, surprised that Maud owned something so…brown. You’d always known her to wear jewel tones that complimented her flaming red hair. You shook your head, and thus began a cycle of Taggie suggesting an outfit and you shooting it down. Eventually, you agreed to Taggie swapping out your creature comfort jeans and Wham! T-shirt for an old black pencil skirt that you were convinced had given you hives from the way your legs hadn’t stopped itching since you put it on, as well as a silky fuchsia blouse that stretched a little too tight over your breasts. While your friend had done a good job at assuring you that you’d fit right in at the Corinium offices, you weren’t as convinced.

The receptionists, all in latest season fashion with not a hair out of place, had looked you up and down as soon as you stepped foot in the marble foyer, snickering behind your back about your fashion fauxpas once you’d checked in. Sarah Stratton wasn’t as covert with her judgement. As you sat outside Declan’s office, waiting to be called in, Sarah outwardly guffawed when she spotted you across the floor. You’d met her several times in passing at parties and Corinium events you’d previously attended as Taggie’s plus one, and for the most part, she’d kept her observations to herself. But now, as her red heels clip across the carpet, her gaze set right on you with her matching rouge lips upturned. “I would never have expected to see you here, darling!” she coos down at you, reaching for a strand of hair that has slipped in front of your shoulder. “And playing dress ups, no less!” Another laugh tinkers out of her as she twirls your hair around her finger. “Interviewing for the assistant job with Declan, hm?”

You nod with a taut smile and try not to let her comment about you looking god-awfully out of place get to you. Sarah’s eyes shift to Declan’s closed mahogany door and tuts. “Well, good luck, sweetheart. Seems like you’ll need it with the way the rest of those interviews have panned out.”

“Oh, hop off it, Sarah!” an unmistakingly Irish voice barks from your left. Sarah jolts upright and despite the embarrassment that tinges her cheeks pink, still manages throw a sultry smile in Declan’s direction. Your posture matches her pin-straight stature as you side-eye his office. It hadn’t occurred to you that he wasn’t inside, preparing for your interview the way you had been all morning. You’d crafted your pitch of yourself perfectly, complete with ideas and suggestions for potential guests for Declan’s show, anything to set you apart, make you seem even a fraction less useless that the interviewees that came before you. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Where’s James?” he questions Sarah, alluding to the very common knowledge that she and her co-host James Vereker are having an affair. Declan makes a show of raking through his moustache - god, that moustache - then adds with a smirk, “James and better. Probably not two words that should be in the same sentence, eh?” Sarah’s smile plateaus at that, and that stiff upper-lip culture she was dying to marry into takes its place.

“I’m sure I can make myself busy, Declan. Got a show to prepare and all that. Ciao!” She doesn’t look at you again and you’re grateful that Declan starts to speak before you bumblefuck your way through the silence.

“Ciao,” he repeats once Sarah’s out of earshot . “Doubt that leech of a woman’s ever had a decent carbonara, let alone stepped foot in Italy.” he says, offering you the first genuine smile you’ve received all day. “Let’s get to it, shall we?” He swings open his office door and holds an arm out. “After you, love.”

“Thanks.”

You shuffle into the room ahead of him, completely oblivious to the way Declan’s eyes are trained on your arse in a skirt that’s familiar to him, but he’s unsure how. Right now, however, he doesn’t care, because it fits your body so magnificently, as if it were made for you. He fights to ignore the dull throb beneath his trousers while he watches you sit, the black fabric pushed to its limits as it stretches across the globes of your arse.

God, has she always been so… womanly? Declan wonders, then immediately chastises himself for leering so openly at his daughter’s best friend. Yes, she was a few good years older than Taggie, and always a beautiful girl, but he was glad his middle child had finally made a friend amid the shitshow that was the move to the country and his crumbling marriage to Maud. He didn’t need to muddy the waters with pervacious thoughts about the young lass’ curves. If only she’d shown up to his office in her usual ripped jeans and George Michael-adorned tees.

“Everything okay, Mr O’Hara? Should I sit somewhere else?” you ask when you notice Declan frozen in the doorway with a furrow etched in his brow. You immediately start second-guessing yourself and wonder if this was a bad idea after all. You can only imagine everyone else who lost out on this job before you faced that same expression. He shakes his head at you, at himself, then busies himself with straightening his maroon tie as he moves to sit behind his desk. You shift in your seat, trying to thwart of the lingering itch Maud’s skirt has buried into the back of your thigh. You think if you can wriggle just so, you can ward it off for at least the main portion of the interview. While you think your subtle movements go unnoticed by Declan because he’s perusing your resume - impressive, he’d earlier noted in black pen beside details of your internship at The Times - he’s been clocked onto your behaviour since he’d laid eyes on you across the office. Scared shitless, and he doesn’t half know that Sarah’s sneaky comments only added to it, thanks to the way you’re fidgeting with that damned skirt mere metres away from him. If Declan had any less sense in him, any less dignity, he’d have half the mind to tear it straight from your body. Of course, he decides against it and tries a less barbaric approach to settle your nerves.

“No band t-shirt today?”

Now it’s your turn for your brows to knit together. “I’m sorry?” Declan nudges his head in the general direction of your chest and your chin dips in response to see what he’s referring to. There, your vision is flanked with fluorescent pink and a tinge of flesh where the silky material doesn’t quite stretch to cover your breasts between buttons, and you silently curse Taggie for allowing you to wear something so borderline revealing at her father’s workplace. Plus, you were surprised he’d even noticed your usual attire.

“I thought it was best I grow up a bit in the clothing department if I were to go for a job at Corinium,” you confess. Declan doesn’t miss the way the swell of your breasts arch against your shirt when you take a deep breath and fold your arms across yourself. “But now I’m thinking the bright pink was a mistake.”

You peer across the expansive wooden desk expectantly, and Declan pitches his hands up in mock surrender. “Don’t ask me! Fashion, clearly, is not my strong suit. All I know is, according to my girls, leaving the house with ladders in your tights is a big no-no unless you’re a gothic or Winona Ryder.”

You chuckle at that, even more so for knowing that his youngest daughter, Caitlin, would be all for half-shredded tights.

Declan looks coy as he sips from his tea. “But if it counts for anything, you look lovely.”

“Well, I should hope you think so. These are your wife’s clothes, after all.” Your confession elicits a splutter from the otherwise put together man in front of you. Tea spouts from his lips across the desk, marring your resume and any other papers with brown stains. You immediately spring into action, scanning the room for a towel, handkerchief, anything that could mop up the mess.

“Sorry, love,” Declan says quietly, thumping a fist against his chest. “Wrong pipe.”

That’s when you see it, a pocket square the same colour as his tie poking from his breast pocket. Without thinking, you lurch across Declan’s desk and pluck it from its resting place, and begin soaking up the liquid. Declan ought to help you, it’s his mess after all, but he’s frozen at the view you’ve awarded him as you lean over. Your cleavage fights against the V cut of Maud’s blouse and Declan can just make out the ripple of a black lace bra below the neckline. He can’t even imagine Maud in that outfit. Right now it’s all so you. His cock stirs at the sight and he can’t help the pained groan that bubbles up his throat.

“Stop,” he breathes in barely a whisper. You don’t, of course, you can’t hear him, and you keep wiping at the desk, your breasts bouncing with every swipe up and down.

“Christ, girl, stop it!” Declan explodes, bolting up from his chair. Thankfully, the height of his desk hides his growing bulge, but it doesn’t matter. The look of pure fear painting your face has the same effect as a cold shower. You sink back into your seat and begin spluttering apologies, that you shouldn’t have used his pocket square, that you were out of line and another dozen variations of sorry, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Declan mirrors you by returning to his chair, raking a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he states eventually. “I don’t give a dying rats arse about the pocket square. It’s just… I’m a bloody fool just standing here while you clean up after me. I can’t have you doing that. You don’t even work for me.”

Despite the shock of Declan’s outburst, you manage to muster up a bit of cheek in response. “I don’t even work for you yet,” you correct him.

Your confidence juts Declan’s eyebrows to his curly hairline and a grin cracks across his face. “Cocky little thing, aren’t ya? Go on then.. tell me why I should hire you.”

You spend the next twenty minutes talking Declan through your university studies and experience, the tension from earlier already forgotten. When Declan mentions he once worked with your media law professor, the conversation detours into the pair of you sharing stories about your experiences with the man, far too senile and set in his ways to do the younger generation any good. The rest of the interview carries on like that, you and Declan laughing and exchanging anecdotes like two friends in the pub rather than an employer vetting a potential employee. You’re about to pitch the idea of getting Farah Fawcett on Declan’s show when the office door thumps open to reveal Corinium’s managing director, Tony Baddingham, at its entryway.

“O’Hara! If you’re done with giggling like a little schoolgirl down here, we’ve got a production meeting to get to,” he bites, barely glancing in your direction. You don’t miss the roll of Declan’s tawny eyes as he waves Tony off.

“Alright, Tony. Give me five, I’m just finishing up here,” he says before introducing you by name.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Baddingham,” you tell him, standing to shake his hand. He doesn’t properly look at you until your palms meet, and your spine stiffens when his beady eyes rake over you.

“One of Declan’s assistant candidates, I presume?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, you’re far prettier than some of the other trolls we’ve had roll through here recently.”

“Tony,” Declan warns. The last thing he wants is another man leering at you like you’re a rite of passage for them.

“Right, well, lovely to meet you,” Tony clasps his other hand over the top of yours, careening his neck so he’s at your eye level. “Hope to see you around here. You’ll definitely be a much-appreciated addition.”

Offering a tight-lipped smile, you reserve the urge bawk in his face. You’ve worked with enough Tony Baddinghams to know his interest in you has nothing to do with your professional ability and everything to do with aesthetics. Fucking men.

For the most part, they sickened you and Declan all the same, but for the latter, he was mainly sickened with himself for wanting to pummel Baddingham for the way he was eye-fucking you. But who was he to talk? He’d been doing the exact same thing just minutes earlier.

When Tony leaves the office, he leaves the door ajar, a reminder that Declan is expected elsewhere. You’re about to ask Declan if Tony is always so…Tony, but he’s already got his briefcase in hand and is ushering you towards the door. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Taggie said you wanted to interview for this position, with you being on a gap year and all,” he confessed as you strolled out onto the office floor. “But you know your stuff. You’re bloody intelligent. Passionate. That’s rare these days.”

“Thank you, Mr O’Hara.”

“Please, call me Declan. Here, and at The Priory. Just Declan,” he smiles and you return it.

“Alright, then. Declan.”

“I’ve got to get going, but I’ll let you know about the job. There’s a couple more interviews on the books in the next few days, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course.”

Declan gives you a curt nod, and you start for the elevator, but you barely make it five steps before he calls you back.

“For what it’s worth, I’d be lucky to have ya here. And like I said, you look great, but I prefer the jeans and t-shirts. They’re much more…you.”

His admission sends your heart thrumming against your ribcage, and red creeps up your neck and onto your cheeks. “Thank you, Mr O’Ha- Declan,” you correct yourself. “Thank you, Declan. See you around.” You turn on your patent black heel, leaving Declan standing there with an image that’s bound to haunt him for nights to come: you in that fucking skirt.

Please let me know if you enjoyed this, and if you’re feeling generous, a lil’ reblog won’t go astray <3

[rhiannonsknife]

── ❆ DAY 21: driving home for christmas

— summary: you and jackie decide to go on a road trip for the holidays.

— warnings: friends to lovers. incredibly cliché use of the one-bed trope. inexperienced!reader. fem!reader. implied cheating. nsfw content. so mdni.

the crisp december air nips at your cheeks as you and jackie pack the last of your bags into the car and the engine rumbles softly as you pull out of the college parking lot.

this whole thing had been jackie’s idea; driving back to wiskayok for christmas. you’re both in your first year of college, and the holidays seem like your first chance to escape the chaos of campus.

by some random twist of fate, not only did you end up at the same college, you were assigned as roommates and after all the late-night study sessions and countless cups of coffee together, the idea of spending christmas back home with her felt perfect.

you’d been friends in highschool already, yet ever since you started living together, this friendship had turned into something a little more. at least to you, it had.

it’s comfortable, like so much of your relationship with her. maybe too comfortable, considering you can’t stop thinking about her in ways that friends probably shouldn’t. but it’s there: in the subtle touches, the lingering glances, and the way your heart would leap whenever jackies smiled just for you.

so, that’s how you end up with the car packed full of snacks, blankets, and an overabundance of christmas playlists on burned cds and the two of you hit the road for the five-hour drive to your parents’ places.

the weather is fine at first, and the roads clear. jackie, as usual, is in the passenger seat while you drive, entertaining you with her thoughts or playing with the buttons of the radio. you don’t think much of the way it slowly changes as you drive, the snowflakes gently falling until they hit the windshield, making a soft, rhythmic sound.

jackie’s still humming along to the christmas playlist you put together, the glow of the lights illuminating her face, her breath fogging up the window every now and then as she turns her head to look outside, both of you blissfully unaware of the snow storm rolling in.

“it’s getting colder,” she mumbles as she adjusts her scarf, clearly unsettled by the sudden drop in temperature.

“means we’re getting closer to home” you point out, reaching over to adjust the heat a bit, making sure jackie is comfortable. she gives you a brief smile in return before you turn your eyes back on the road ahead.

as the evening goes on, the sky begins to shift. the further you give, the darker the clouds above grow. before you know it, the snow starts to fall heavily.

the miles to wiskayok seem to stretch on forever, the wind howling outside as the snow picks up, the visibility on the road steadily fading.

you both start joking about how “it probably wouldn’t be a proper christmas if there’s no sudden snow storm in sight”, but as it begins to pile up on the road, it quickly becomes clear to you and jackie that it’s not just the light weather change you’d hoped for.

by the time you reached the halfway point, the roads have become treacherous.

visibility gets worse, the temperature has dropped dangerously low and the snowflakes that seemed sweet and festive at first are now coming down in thick swirling sheets. your cars headlights barely manage to cut through them.

“maybe we should pull over” you finally suggest into the uncomfortable, dawning silence. “just wait the storm out?”

jackie nods in agreement and so you pull off the road at the nearest exit. turns out you’ve got a little luck on your side still: you don’t have to drive around aimlessly for long before you spot the neon sign of a motel.

it certainly looks like it had seen better days, but it’s your only option. so you both unload your bags as quickly as possible and hurry inside, shivering as you finally step into the warmth of the lobby.

the inside, much like the matching exterior, is far from luxurious and jackie -who’s certainly used to better places than this- scrunches up the bridge of her nose in distaste. if she’s got any complaints, she doesn’t verbalize them as you check in for you both.

the clerk behind the counter is nice enough, though it turns out you two aren’t the first people to crash here for the night. matter of fact, you’ll be the last ones: he’s only got one room left. one bed, more precisely. you agree before you can overthink it and take the key from him. it’s not the first time; there were plenty of sleepovers in high school. still, this feels different. everything with jackie feels different these days.

with a few words and payment exchanged, you make your way to the room.

the door creaks open, revealing a small space the two of you will share for the night.

it is exactly what you expected: small, outdated, and cold despite the little wall heater humming loudly in the corner. at least it’s warmer than in your car. jackie steps inside first, flicking on the light to reveal an old armchair, a scratched dresser, and the centerpiece: a bed that looks barely big enough for one person, let alone two. you shut the door behind you, stamping the last remains of snow off your boots.

“well…” she says, her voice as light as jackie can manage, “it’s not exactly...” she trails off, leaving the rest of her sentence unsaid.

“it’s fine,” you reply quickly, rubbing your hands together to warm them up as you glance at the bed. “cozy”

jackie laughs. “if by ‘cozy,’ you mean practically falling off the edge, then sure” she drops her bag by the dresser and kicks off her boots.

you follow suit, peeling off your coat too.

“i’ll take the floor if it’s weird,” you offer, though just the thought of lying on the cold ground makes you wince.

jackie raises a brow. “don’t be silly. it’s fine. we’ve shared a bed before, remember?” she shrugs, already brushing off the idea. “besides, it’s not like we’ll be here long. just until the roads clear”

you nod, desperately trying to ignore the quickened pace of your heartbeat. after all, it’s jackie. your roommate. your friend. “right. just one night”

there’s a long moment of silence as the reality of the situation sinks in. you turn away, focused on digging through your bag for something comfortable to sleep in. jackie does the same, pulling out her pajamas: a set of matching, surprisingly christmassy silky fabric that makes you smile despite the nerves tightening in your chest.

she glances up and catches your amused staring. “what?”

“nothing,” you say quickly, grinning. “i just didn’t know you owned pajamas that…coordinated so well”

jackie rolls her eyes but smiles faintly. “i’ll have you know there’s nothing wrong with being put-together. unlike some people.” she gestures at your mismatched sweats with a teasing smile.

“hey, these are perfectly functional,” you shoot back, shaking your head as you start changing, turning your back to give her some privacy.

even with your back turned to jackie, you feel acutely aware of every sound: her soft sighs, the brush of fabric against skin, the weight of the tension neither of you is acknowledging. or maybe it’s not there at all. maybe you’re imagining it altogether.

you press your eyes shut tightly, trying to make the sounds coming from behind you just background white noise. trying, but failing, to stop imagining her in ways you absolutely should not: her soft skin, the rise and fall of her chest as she pulls her pajama over her head, her…

you have to force yourself to snap out of it, instead focusing on getting into your own pajamas as well.

when you’re both finally changed, jackie tosses her coat over the back of the chair and gestures toward the bed. “go ahead. you look colder!”

you hesitate but finally slip under the covers, sighing as the warmth begins to chase away the lingering chill. jackie slides in next to you (into the little space left there, anyway) her movements deliberate, careful. she stays on her side of the bed, back turned to you, and you do the same, staring at the wall and trying not to notice how the bed dips slightly under her weight.

again, the silence stretches. despite the exhaustion from the long day and the car ride, you can’t seem to settle. you can feel her there, her back impossibly close to you and pressed against your own. the space feels both unbearably small and impossibly wide with neither of you saying another word.

a few minutes pass before you hear jackie shift behind you. her voice is soft, hesitant. “are you awake?”

you turn slightly, craning your neck to glance over your shoulder. “yeah. can’t sleep”

jackie’s quiet for a moment before she exhales sharply. “this bed is too damn small”

you laugh, the sound surprising even you. “it’s not great, no”

she turns then, you can hear the movement until her spine is no longer pressing against yours. when you glance over, her eyes are on you, her expression hard to read in the dark. “this whole trip was a bad idea” she mutters, playing with the small gold charm of her necklace. “we should’ve just flown”

“where’s the fun in that?” you tease, though your voice comes out softer than you intended. “besides, this’ll be a story to tell someday”

jackie lets out a small huff of laughter, her breath ghosting over your skin between your shoulder blades. the little space between you feels even smaller now.

her voice drops, quieter now. “i keep thinking about what it would’ve been like if i’d gone home alone”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just shift onto your side, facing her fully. jackie watches you, her eyes flicking down to your lips for the briefest second before darting away. the room feels much warmer now, and you can’t tell if it’s the heater that has finally decided to do its job or the weight of her gaze.

“you wouldn’t have been alone,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “your parents would’ve been there. jeff-“

jackie winces at the mention of jeff, cutting you off with a quiet, almost sharp, “jeff doesn’t count”

you blink at her sudden reaction, unsure what to make of it. “why doesn’t he count? he’s your boyfriend”

and the reason why you’ve been overthinking every single one of your interactions lately, though you don’t tell her that. you’re not even sure whether or not they’re currently together; it’s a constant on and off between the pair.

jackie lets out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking her head against the pillow. “is he, though?” she doesn’t give you time to answer, rushing on like she’s been holding this in for too long. perhaps the snow storm outside was good for something, after all. “we’ve been together forever because it’s easy, not because it’s…right” she admits.

you frown, your heart clenching a little at the admission. “jackie…”

“he doesn’t see me,” she says, her voice trembling slightly. “not really, i mean. he just sees…this idea of me, this perfect version of who i’m supposed to be. and i-” she exhales. “i let him. it’s easier than being honest about what i actually want.”

the admission hangs between you, and before you can second-guess it, you reach out, your fingers brushing hers under the blanket. jackie doesn’t pull away. instead, she turns fully toward you, her face so close now that you can see the faint pink blooming on her cheeks.

“well, what do you want?” you ask softly.

jackie doesn’t answer right away. she stares at you, her eyes searching your face like she’s looking for something that she’ll find in your features. “i-“ her voice falters, “forget it. it doesn’t matter”

she’s about to turn away but you stop her.

“it does,” you say firmly, leaning in just a little. “jackie, it matters. whatever it is, you can tell me.”

if it wasn’t before, your heart is definitely racing now. you think -hope- you already know the answer, but you need to hear her say it. you need to know whether or not all these stolen glances and lingering touches in the shared space of your dorm were more than just your imagination playing tricks on you. that they were something, after all.

she lets out a shaky breath, her fingers twitching against yours. “i keep telling myself it’s nothing, that it’ll go away, but it doesn’t. not when you look at me like that, or when you smile, or when we’re in the car for hours, and i don’t want it to end” jackie blurts.

your breath catches. “jackie…”

“i like you,” she tells you suddenly, her voice breaking on the confession. “more than i should. i shouldn’t feel this way about you,” she whispers. “but…i can’t stop”

you don’t give yourself time to overthink it. instead, you close the distance between you, your lips brushing hers softly at first, testing. jackie’s breath hitches, but then she kisses you back, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as if to steady herself.

her lips are warm, slightly chapped from the frosty air and they part against yours with a barely audible gasp. for a heartbeat, jackie doesn’t move, frozen in surprise, but then she melts into the kiss, tilting her head just slightly to deepen it.

her hand finds your cheek, her touch as hesitant as it is desperate. her fingertips are still cold from earlier, sending a shiver down your spine as they graze your jaw. you shift closer, the blankets rustling as your bodies move under the covers.

jackie sighs softly against your lips, the sound close enough to a moan that you can feel it reverberating between your legs. she exhales against your skin, warm and unsteady, as if she’s been holding her breath for far too long. she pulls back just enough to look at you, her forehead still resting against yours, her eyes fluttering open to meet your gaze. her pupils are wide, her cheeks flushed, and her lips are slightly puffy from the kiss.

“i- uhm-“ she starts. jackie bites her bottom lip, glancing away for the briefest moment before her gaze flicks back to yours. “was that…okay?”

you can’t help but smile. “that was more than okay” you assure her.

jackie lets out a shaky laugh, her thumb brushing over your cheek in a gesture so tender it makes your breath catch all over again. “i’ve been thinking about that,” she admits softly. “for way longer than i should have.”

“me too,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t think you’d ever…”

she doesn’t let you finish and cuts you off with another kiss, firmer this time, her lips pressing into yours with an urgency that makes your stomach flip. there’s no hesitation now, just jackie leaning into you. her hand slips from your cheek to your neck, her thumb grazing your jawline, as she maneuvers herself so that half her weight is resting on top of you.

you make out on the crappy, small bed for what could’ve been hours. there goes your plan of getting up early in the morning to get to wiskayok as soon as possible…

it’s not long, however, before she starts moving down, grinding her hips against the length of your thigh shyly. even though you’re helping her move against you by reaching for her hips, you lean back enough to ask: “are you- is this okay?”

jackie, with her lips tugged between her front teeth, nods breathlessly.

“yes” she says. “yes, please”

as enjoyable as it sounds for her to get off on your leg like this, you’re planning on making some better use of the current situation. it takes some effort to maneuver your bodies without falling off the bed together, but you manage. jackie gasps against your mouth when you toss her around until she’s with her back against the mattress and you’re lingering above her.

“still okay?” you ask, breathlessly. jackie just nods and drapes her arm over your shoulder to pull you back down against her.

before either of you knows it, you’re kissing down jackie taylor’s body, unbuttoning her pajamas as your mouth moves downward. she shivers when the top falls open, revealing a seemingly endless, soft expanse of goosebumps that rise to the touch of your cold fingertips.

jackie laughs when she shivers and gently smiles down at where you’re positioned between her legs.

“come on” she tells you, nodding her chin in your direction and putting her hand to the back of your head. softer, when your hands slide down to her hips to push down her pants, she adds: “please”

you let her keep on the pajama top: it’s too cold to take it off and you won’t have her catching a cold on your watch. instead, you toss the pants over your shoulder, leaning her in a lacy pair of panties.

it dawns upon you suddenly that you’ve never actually gone down on anyone before. you pictured yourself eating her out countless of times, in the comfort of your own room, with jackie sleeping next door. but you never actually had the chance to practice.

from what jackie has told you about her and jeff, their sex life had been merely mediocre. there’s no way in hell, you tell yourself to muster up the courage to take off her underwear, that you’ll be worse in bed than jeff fucking sadecki.

jackie spreads her thighs on the bedsheets when you finally pull down the last item of clothing that’s separating you from where you both want you. she lets you take in the sight of her with a faint, rosy flush of her cheeks.

“like what you see?” jackie mumbles, biting the side of her index finger nervously.

"mhm" you hum, not bothering to meet jackie’s eyes with your gaze still fixated on her. your fingertips carefully trace her outer lips and you watch her way she opens up to your touch. she is pretty, endlessly pretty, and wet with arousal. pink and wanting, framed by curls just a shade darker than her dirty blonde hair.

“i’m sorry i didn’t-“

“don’t” you instantly cut her off, this time looking up to meet her eyes. jackie presses her lips together tightly, which you take as your sign to tell her: “i don't really…know what i'm doing, i guess"

jackie smiles down at you softly, lifting the finger from her mouth to cup your cheek. “that’s okay” she assures. “i’ll show you. i promise it'll feel really good”

“okay” you finally agree, eyes darting back to the task at hand. “yeah, okay”

the very first thing you notice when you put your mouth on her is the way jackie sounds. her raspy voice gets all high-pitched and her fingers tighten in your hair as she mutters a quiet "fuck y/n" under her breath.

then, once that realization has sunken in, you notice the way she tastes. it’s unlike everything you’ve ever had before, so unmistakably jackie that your eyes roll to the back of your head as your tongue glides through her.

eager for more and with jackie’s voice whispering words of encouragement from above, you drag your tongue all the way through her, up to her pulsing clit, where you swirl around it in clockwise circles.

“oh my-“ she slams her free hand over her mouth, her hips jumping from the mattress and her head raising so that she’s looking down at you. “that’s- that’s good”

with jackie’s constant praise you grow more confident and flick your tongue against her clit harsher. her legs instantly tremble around your head as she tries to hold them open for you, her ankles crossing over your back to cage you in. as if you’d ever want to be anywhere but here…

“you- you have to- oh! suck it!” she instructs, her cunt bucking against your face. “just- wrap your lips around it and- oh, that’s it. just like that!”

you hum around jackie’s clit, sending vibrations through her whole body.

“god that’s-“ she presses her lips together tightly for the sake of your neighbors. “it’s so good”

you're craving jackie’s praise at this rate, craving her taste and the way she moans and shivers above you.

"oh, right there!" she gasps, back arching over and over again as she attempts to ride your tongue. “that’s- mhm, right there!”

you're eating jackie out with determination now, eager for her to cum and release all over your mouth. over time, her breathing grows ragged, her hips grinding against you impatiently.

cries and instructions of “a little harder” and “you're doing such a good job” and “just like that” are the only coherent words echoing through the small motel room for the next few minutes, only accompanied by the sound of your tongue lapping up her arousal and your own, occasional moans at the taste of jackie’s pussy.

you could stay there forever, you realize. she could suffocate you with her thighs and you’d thank her.

it won’t take forever, though, because eventually, her breathing grows more ragged, and her body tense as she chants out your name and: “i’m- god your mouth- i’m close”

immediately, you double your efforts, eating jackie out like your life depends on it. like you’ll only ever have this stolen moment, snow still falling heavily outside of the window. maybe you will. maybe it’s all you ever have of her. but if it is, you’ll be damned if you don’t make proper use of it.

you feel it before jackie notices herself; the way she throbs.

“oh my god” she cries out warningly. her eyes meet yours, then, the moment you push her over the edge with one last flick of your tongue.

jackie’s legs clamp around your head, trembling. her hand blindly finds yours on her thigh and squeezes it desperately. you’re not even sure if she notices herself, but you gladly take it, anchoring her as her orgasm washes over her.

her face contorts in pleasure and you watch it happen as she rides it out on your broad tongue.

by the time you finally lean back, with a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to her dripping pussy, she looks down at you hazily. contrary to her breathlessness, her lips curl into an almost proud smile.

“see?” she pants. “you’re a fucking natural”

you wipe your chin with the back of your hands and crawl up her body, into her spread, waiting arms. you lay down on her bare chest and jackie kisses the top of your head, mumbling incoherent ‘thank you’s’ against your hairline.

after a long while of her catching her breath, she’s finally able to add: “i’ll end things with jeff” you lift your head to look up at her, her finger still combing through her head. “for real this time. we’re already on somewhat of a break but…i’ll tell him”

and if that’s not the best early christmas present you could ever receive.

“yeah?”

“yeah” jackie grins. it’s the happiest you’ve ever seen anyone over the announcement that they will breakup with their boyfriend. you kiss her smiling mouth.

“then let’s get some sleep so we can go back home tomorrow, yeah?”

“not yet” she lifts her index and you furrow your brows in confusion. jackie laughs and pulls you down against her. “about time to return the favor”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

skully j. graves halfway checkpoint

Consider this part 2 of my evolving opinion on Skully! My initial impressions of him can be found here. Now that we’re at part 3 (presumably out of 5) of the event, I wanted to check in with updates on my feelings!

A lot of the points in my first impressions post still stand. However, what I’ll say is that Skully’s… villainous side… has definitely come out very strongly, especially in 3-20. A lot of my friends were squealing and getting super excited over this part. I feel like a lot of his popularity comes from 2 factors: 1) his overt flintiness (since much of the Twst fandom seems to long for this kind of (yume) content) and 2) Skully is one of the few characters who consistently acknowledges Yuu and asks for their opinions on stuff. The latter is very in demand, especially for the western fandom, which is very individualistic and often views Yuu or their Yuusonas as an integral character. And that’s valid! It’s just that this alone isn’t enough to satisfy me.

I’m… admittedly less thrilled about the direction Skully’s taking, and it’s completely for reasons related to my personal tastes 😂 I had mentioned in my original post that Skully reads to me as a Halloween-flavored Idia due to his otaku-like obsession with Halloween and how negatively he reacts when people express dissent toward his opinion. It feels very elitist and gate-keepy, which are aspects of fandom culture I find distasteful. (This is also a large part of why I didn’t like Idia at first.)

Edit (noticed this later and decided to tack it on): Another thing that really bothered me was that Skully keeps asking Yuu for their opinion. It SEEMS polite to consider them, but his intentions are way less selfless than they appear. Skully is often asking Yuu for their thoughts AFTER some other character has disagreed with him. So he is literally only consulting Yuu because he wants someone on HIS side. If you ever pick the dialogue option where you disagree with him, Skully insists there must be a misunderstanding and he will explain it to you no matter how long it takes. Don’t you see??? He doesn’t want to know what Yuu truly thinks; he wants validation in his own way of thinking. That’s NOT actually being considerate. The same shit happens when Skully tries to kiss Grim again. Grim dodges but Skully sneaks behind him and kisses him anyway because I guess that’s what gentlemen do according to him. Bro has demonstrated time and time again he does not value consent nor what others’ thoughts are on anything that differs from his own thoughts.

Those aspects of Skully get even more prominent in part 3. Throughout this section, Skully keeps reassuring himself that while he’s going along with the group’s plans for a boisterous and exciting Halloween, he’s certain that Jack-sama will surprise everyone with a Halloween that is more in line with a solitary, depressing one Skully envisions. Once Skully learns that Jack has no such intentions, he is disappointed and proceeds with a series of crimes 💀 Skully:

Tricks the Pumpkin King into drinking a sleeping poison

Does the good ol’ crazed villain laugh

Pulls a serious of expressions not even a loving mother would excuse

Curses and shouts

Assumes control of the Halloween plans

PUMPKINS GRIM when Grim and Yuu walk in on the scene of his crime (even when Grim gives zero indication that he thinks Skully is responsible for the poisoning)

Stuffs pumpkin!Grim into a sack

Colludes with Lock, Shock, and Barrel (for what yet, I don’t know)

Casually decides to show Yuu the best Halloween ever AFTER ALL THAT (it’s still not clear at this point if Yuu also got Pumpkin’d or not); the phrasing is still quite romantic but this is still a hostage situation, no??????

Like, wow, that’s… 😭 I’m not necessarily upset that Skully does bad things in the first place (lots of the Twst characters do questionable things), I’m just not sure if I’m following his reasoning for doing all of this. It seems like a LOT to me. Like, very niche and highly targeted anger.

He seems fixated on his own idea of Halloween—the Halloween he grew up with and was taught about in his village. For whatever reason, he is very sensitive to people challenging this version of the holiday or doing anything new. In fact, he becomes IRATE about it and drops the gentlemanly facade (which also seems to be something he is concerned about maintaining??). Skully is very frustrated that people don’t understand him, and that now his Halloween idol is also letting him down. Notably, his politeness deteriorates when he speaks about those who disregard his opinions on Halloween. He either becomes very gloomy or very mad (usually the latter), venting about worthless idiots who don’t understand his vision. Very strangely, he also mentions vaguely spiritual terms like atonement and his purpose in this world. Skully’s obsession with Halloween is so intense that it is evident even in his UM.

I get that his hometown was into this stuff, but even then, it seems pretty excessive??? Why is he so… insecure about this? Why does he react so violently? It really makes me wonder what the backstory will be for this massive Halloween fixation. Surely it’s not just being bullied by peers for his special interests (though that might play a role in it)? It sems to go far deeper than that. I would like to know, but I won’t be setting my expectations too high in case i end up being disappointed 💦 Historically, backstory reveals haven’t always made me like characters more.

I also feel like he’s not as crafty as previous Halloween villains were. Rollo ran on spite and constructed an elaborate plan to entrap the NRC students, Fellow relied on his UM and smooth talk… Skully is somewhat tricky in that he poisons Jack, but then he automatically gives himself away by pumpkin-ing Grim??? Why didn’t he just pretend he visited Jack and found him already poisoned? It would be so easy for him to play innocent and Grim and Yuu would believe him because he’s been mostly nice and even agreed to follow along with the Halloween plans even if he disagreed with them. He literally could have blamed Boogie’s Boys or Oogie Boogie himself, ANYONE. And how exactly does Skully plan on taking over Halloween after all of this??? He doesn’t exactly command power. Skully just seems a little short sighted and disorganized, and I don’t know if I enjoy this kind of a character.

Skully’s controlling, angry otaku energy is unfortunately NOT appealing to me whatsoever… Again, it feels like the worst aspects of Idia OTL But!! i’m really happy for all the people who really like this about him and I’m of course staying open minded for where this event will take us. Who knows, maybe parts 4 and 5 will completely turn him around for me, maybe once we get the backstory. (This sort of happened with me and Idia?? He’s still not my favorite guy but I definitely empathized with him a lot more after seeing the post-OB flashback.) We’ll see!

P.S. I wonder if the R cards this event will be the first to be pumpkin’d similar to how R cards in Playful Land were the first to be puppet’d?? That would certainly get the biggest threat to Skully’s plans, Malleus, out of the picture quickly. First it was Tamago-sama… Now it’s Kabocha-sama…

P. P. S. Slightly morbid to think about how those skewered pumpkins Jamil was stroking could have been pumpkin’d people 💀

[atomite-ton]

Little thing for PriceGhostWeek2024 !

Merged the prompted for Day 2 and 3: Tea + Heart It's pure fluff, enjoy! (crossposted to ao3)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“You know,” Gaz says, leaning against the small kitchenette table, “you could just talk to him.”

Ghost’s gaze snaps back to him, already scowling. Gaz snickers, covering it behind his mug. “Come on, we’re all getting sick of you two and your old man courting.”

Ghost sputters. His mask is pulled up over his nose, and Gaz is treated to the rare sight of his cheeks darkening in an endearing display of embarrassment.

“What are you- we are not- fuck off Garrick!” he snarls, now bright red, staring mutinously down into his own tea.

Gaz rolls his eyes, tries a different approach. “I mean it, Lt. it’d be good for you. Both of you.” He says, a bit more sincerity creeping into the words.

Ghost just sighs, shakes his head. His eyes wander back to where he’s been gazing longingly for the better part of the hour. Price is sitting on the other end of the lounge, leaned back in his claimed armchair, squinting down at the screen of his laptop.

As far as Gaz can tell, he’s been totally lost to the world since he sat down that morning, consumed by whatever paperwork he’s been working on.

Price’s, appropriately and ostentatiously, heart patterned mug has apparently been magically refilling itself every hour or so, not that he’s seemed to notice. Coincidentally, Ghost has been hovering around the lounge for the better part of the day– flitting about between his spot curled up on the couch across from Price, and where he now stands leaned back against the kitchenette countertop.

Gaz has been in and out every few hours, only coming to sit down a short while earlier with his book. He’s been easily distracted from his plans, however, by Ghost. Ghost and his admittedly quiet, yet sickeningly obvious, pining.

It’s been a problem since Gaz joined the team. Everyone was aware of it on some level.

Ghost and Price dance and twirl around each other in perfect harmony, always caught in a well choreographed duel. Swords clashing theatrically on stage, yet never actually touching. Two ballet dancers spinning in parallel, locked into each other's orbit.

Gaz is well and truly sick of it. And he intends to put a stop to it.

This was no easy feat, however, considering it meant convincing two of the most stubborn people he’s ever met to pull their heads out of their asses.

He huffs, exasperated. “Come on, sir, this is absurd.”

Ghost turns back to him again, looking every bit like a particularly disgruntled cat getting picked up from its favourite spot. “What do you want from me, Kyle?” he hisses, “what would satisfy your relentless desire to harass me?”

Gaz rolls his eyes harder. “Bloody talk to him. Christ, Simon, it’s not like you’re risking much.”

Ghost just shakes his head again, immovable, “It's not that easy-”

“It’s exactly that easy!”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don't you?” Gaz says, pointed, and Ghost huffs again.

He pushes himself up off the counter, pulls down his mask, dumps out the dredges of the cheap tea bag that had seemingly exploded in his mug, and strides off into the hall without a word.

Gaz fantasizes about grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him. That or slamming his own head into the table. They both have their own appeal. Instead, he puts his own mug into the sink and wanders over to the couch.

His book is still where he left it, opened and face down on the cushion, and he settles in to hopefully finish the chapter before dinner.

He’s not halfway through when Price makes a noise of confusion from his chair, the first real sound he’d made since he sat down, aside from the occasional old man grumbling.

Gaz looks up to catch him staring down at his tea with a furrowed brow.

“Alright, cap?”

“Have I been drinking the same cup of tea all day?” He says, looking so perplexed, Gaz can't help but laugh at him.

“More like 15 refills of the same cup of tea” He snickers. Price only looks more confused at that, turning to squint at him suspiciously.

“What do you mean?”

“Ghost’s been refilling it for you on the hour” Gaz says, “You’d think he was your personal assistant with the way he waits on you.”

Price raises his eyebrows at him, then looks to Ghost’s abandoned spot on the couch, absentmindedly tracing the little hearts on his mug. Something softens in his expression, and a fond little smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as he stares wistfully into space.

It’s an expression Gaz and Soap have lovingly deemed ‘paranormal activity’, what with the way it always seems to follow a ghostly encounter. Gaz knows better than to call it that aloud around the captain, though, as it usually ends with him scrubbing the toilets.

They’re hopeless, really.

“You two sicken me, you know that?” The look vanishes and Price immediately fixes him with his equally well-known ‘you’re about to regret saying that’ look.

Think fast, sergeant. “I mean, all due respect, sir.” Good catch.

Price grumbles at him, a bear thoroughly poked, but he returns to his paperwork. Gaz decides to make a graceful exit while the captain’s apparent good mood lasts. Though, as he exits, he doesn't miss the melodramatic sigh that follows him into the hall.

He shakes his head, muttering, “Impossible old men.”

[goddessxdivine]

The Pitt - Episode 8

•the show does a good job of showing humanity both at its worst, and through it efforts of being better. it does a really good job of showing the shortcomings of the US healthcare system as well

•i literally cried so bad when that little girl died from drowning. then her little sister saying that she was only in the pool to save her and drawing her that get well card … yeah i lost it. this show focusing on things that happen in everyday life (not just shocking discoveries of medical anomalies) really makes the impact feel even more real. it’s not uncommon to hear the story of a child accidentally drowning even if the pool was fenced and that news is always devastating

•so glad Ginger’s daughter didn’t abandon her. that would’ve been so sad. but her accidentally falling asleep being why she didn’t pick up further proves the point that primary caregivers need support and that needs to be more easily accessible. if they hadn’t gone to the hospital and interacted with Dr. King they might’ve never known of other options

•Dr. Santos … girl! after last week’s episode where we’re given a bit more of her background, i can understand her “sharp around the edges. trust my gut”nature. however, the thing with the vial and bringing it up it to Dr. Garcia just isn’t smart. there’s a hierarchy and seniority in almost every field so being basically at the bottom of the totem pole and accusing someone above you of using hospital drugs is something to do with much caution. yet you’re telling me this girl who is headstrong and self-assured in her smartness thought the smart thing to do, as an intern, was accuse her superior of drug abuse to her other superior? it’d be different if she’d been observing him long enough to have substantial evidence. but it’s been one shift and the issue with the vial could be attributed to her having an off day before people suspect Langdon (who doesn’t seem like it) to be functional addict

•Dr. Collins miscarrying then having a case where a 6 year old died from accidental drowning and doing the honor walk for the 18 year old accidental overdose omg she’s had such a day! she was miscarrying in real time and still had to do her job, women go through so much. I’m curious to see how that affects the rest of her shift. Nurse Dana is the only one at work who knew about her pregnancy and now Dr. Robby suspects too so it’ll be interesting to see those interactions. plus it seems like basically a confirmation that Robby wasn’t the father of Collins’ baby. however, he obviously cares about her more personally because of their history so it’d be nice to see a comforting moment between them.

•SEASON 2 CONFIRMED!!! I’m so happy to see where they’ll go from here. personally I don’t think the current format of each episode being one hour of one shift is sustainable, at least not for (main) character growth. but idk what that would look like if they shift the format. watching the show feels like im spending the day shadowing doctors and i appreciate the show not overdramatizing the lives of the doctors like greys anatomy would. but id like to see ~some~ more of their personal lives. no shade to grey’s, i watched it for a long time but this show feels like it’s meant to be different from the rest of the medical dramas that have been airing in the last 20 years

•can’t believe we’re more than halfway through s1 already. hopefully it airs yearly cause a two year wait might drive me insane

[obscuraimagines]

i NEED more for kodiak PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏 I DONT CARE WHAT IT IS I JUST NEED IT 😭😭

A/N: Thank you so much for this wildcard, Anon! I'm working on another request (which should be out in a couple of days) and this was really helpful in letting me get some plot stuff out of the way first. I really hope you enjoy!

Bite Me - Part Three

Summary: It's getting harder to keep your secret relationship secret. Mainly because Kodiak can't keep his hands to himself.

Content: Secret relationship, fear of getting found out, age difference (reader is over 18)

Part One

Part Two

The second day of your trek to freedom starts off badly. Kodiak berates Mari for falling asleep on guard duty, Natalie stands up for her and it turns into a blistering argument. By the time you set off, everyone’s on edge. You pick your way down the mountainside and there’s a brief ripple of something – hope? Alarm? – when you find the remnants of a campsite: flattened grass, the charred remnants of a fire. Natalie crouches to poke at a piece of charcoal, crushing it between her fingers. 

“This is recent. A few days maybe.”

You all exchange worried glances. If there are more people out here they’re an unknown quantity: even one stranger could tip the balance. 

“More like a week,” Kodiak catches up to you, Travis and Akilah trailing him. “Ask me how I know.”

You startle and then feel stupid because of course it’s his campsite. Natalie straightens, flushing angrily. It’s not like her to make mistakes but you’re all wound tight, bracing yourself for the worst, whether it’s a wolf attack or Shauna’s retribution. 

“This is where we would have camped last night if you’d all been able to keep pace,” Kodiak adds, unhelpfully. The way the others are bristling in Nat’s defence makes you nervous. Last time you all found one person to focus your frustrations on, that person ended up dead. You suspect, if it comes to that, Kodiak will take a few of you down with him. 

“You’re the one who wanted to hike for nearly twenty hours.” Nat bites the words out. Her voice drops low and gravelly towards the end and the others get still, the way animals hide when they sense a storm coming. Nat’s accent only comes into play when she’s right on the edge, clinging onto her temper with her fingernails. Travis moves to flank her: he isn’t exactly aiming the crossbow yet but he’s holding it in a pointed kind of way, as though that could change quickly. 

“My bad,” Kodiak says, looking unconcerned. “Here I thought it’d be good to put some distance between us and the cannibals – sorry, the other cannibals – before we slept. Maybe for you lot, waking up with someone gnawing on your leg is no big deal. I mean, it’s not like you’re the one who’s going to die if they catch up to us–”

You feel the air turn thick. There are a lot of things you’re all so careful not to say out here and Kodiak seems to delight in saying them, testing things until they break. He doesn’t understand yet how ugly things can get and how quickly things can tip over. You need to shut him up before someone else does. 

“We’re all going to die if they catch up to us.” You step between him and Nat: at this point, you’re not sure which one of them you’re shielding. “You’re lucky Shauna doesn’t care about you. The rest of us will suffer.”

The corner of Kodiak’s mouth quirks up, halfway to a smile. His focus is solely on you now, eyes darkening with interest. You feel breathless, remembering last night. 

“Great pep talk,” he tells you drily. “Hey, if soccer doesn’t work out, you could give the cheer squad a try. I hear the uniforms are better.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners a little and you can tell he’s daring you to start something, setting you off just to see what you’ll do.

“None of us slept very well last night.” You keep your voice reasonable, placating: your friends standing behind you probably think you’re playing peacemaker. You fix Kodiak with your most don’t–fuck–with–me glare and rub your shoulder, hooking the collar of your shirt out of the way with your thumb to let him glimpse the lovebite you’ve been carefully keeping hidden. Your heart is hammering in your chest. “Everyone’s tense. Let’s not make things worse than they need to be.”

Kodiak grins, wolfishly, all teeth. He steps forwards, getting right in your face. “Is that right?”

For a moment, you think he might actually call your bluff and start something, right then and there.

“Do. Not. Fucking. Test. Me,” you tell him in a low voice. 

Kodiak reaches out to brush your hair off your shoulder. You pull away, guiltily, afraid of what it’ll look like to the others, not realising that you practically recoiling from him looks worse. You hear Nat snarl and start forwards behind you, accompanied by Travis’s “hey, what the fuck–”

“You had a spider.” Kodiak pretends to brush something off your shoulder and raises his hands in innocent mock surrender. “You’re right: everyone is tense. Better save our energy for later.”

He strolls off, knowing that you have no choice but to follow him. 

“Are you okay?” Akilah asks once he’s out of earshot. “You look kind of um…”

You don’t want to think about what you look like right now. 

“He is such a fucking asshole,” Mari complains, slipping her arm through yours. “Remind me why we brought him?”

“He’s the only one who knows the way, Mar,” Akilah reminds her. 

“Ugh. He totally has it out for both of us.”

You tense. “He’s barely spoken to me.”

“No, he just weirdly glares at you. Like a lot.”

“You didn’t notice?” Akilah asks, her brow creased in concern. 

“No, I mean…” you stammer.

“Maybe he likes her.” Misty chirps at your elbow. For once, you don’t even mind her sneaking up on you. 

“Ohmygod Misty.” Mari’s voice is heavy with disgust. “Stop projecting your weird old man fetish onto the rest of us.”

None of you really want to think about Ben, so mercifully the subject drops. You walk in silence, barely listening to them. Your thoughts draw back to Kodiak. Just because he enjoyed the challenge doesn’t mean you’re not going to pay for it later. 

A little after noon, you hit the next roadblock. Kodiak stands looking out over an uneven expanse of rock. You can tell from the set of his shoulders that he’s frustrated. 

“Rockslide took the trail with it,” he tells your group tersely when you catch up to him. “We’ll have to backtrack, cut through the valley and up the other side.”

Nat surveys the rocky scree. You guess she’s thinking the same thing you are: you might make it but the ground will be treacherous and none of you have decent shoes. 

“We’ll lose a lot of height,” she comments. Going uphill is a long, difficult slog and losing altitude seems like a waste. 

Kodiak shrugs. “That’s why the trail was up here.”

Natalie glances at the green valley below you. This high up, you’re looking down onto treetops. 

“Is it dangerous?”

“Everywhere out here is dangerous.” Kodiak rolls his eyes. You bristle at that: as thought Nat – as though any of you – needs to be told the Wilderness isn’t safe. “Still better than what’s behind us.”

None of you have much choice except to turn back. Covering the same ground twice is dispiriting but at least you’re walking downhill this time. It’s unseasonably hot for September and mostly people walk in irritable silence. Everything starts to look the same: you’re starting to wonder if you’ve veered off course when you see a stream you passed earlier, falling like a bead curtain over a rocky outcrop and pooling into a natural basin. Kodiak takes pity on your group because he lets you stop to drink and soak your feet. Some of the others strip off their outer layers, soaking them in the water, wringing them and letting the damp fabric cool them down. You wish you could join them. There’s a natural cave behind it and you wander into the cool dark. It doesn’t look like much from the outside but it goes back further than you’d think. 

“Not joining the wet tshirt contest, huh?”

You didn’t hear Kodiak approach. 

“I might if someone hadn’t left a mark,” you tell him irritably. 

“Hey, you started it.” He indicates the spot on his shoulder where you bit him. There’s a faint crescent shaped smear of blood on his shirt. You hope the others haven’t noticed. “At least I was nice about it.”

“Speaking of nice,” you say, rounding on him. “Do you think you can ease up on the others for five fucking seconds?”

He catches your wrist. “I mean, if you want to improve my mood…”

You jerk your arm free. The rocks are slick underfoot and you almost fall. Kodiak steadies you and doesn’t let go, one hand on your elbow, the other resting on your hip. 

You glance towards the cave entrance. So far the others haven’t noticed. 

“Oh so that wasn’t blackmail before?” Kodiak asks, his tone deceptively pleasant. “I can never tell with you: are you flirting or just making threats.”

“You’re one to talk. Which is this?”

He smiles and lets go of your arm so he can trace your jawline with a fingertip, tilting your chin up so you’re forced to face him. His other hand lingers possessively on your hip, one thumb hooked into your belt loop. “See that’s the thing. I think you like it better when it’s both.”

he mortifying thing is, he’s not wrong. 

“I don’t think you actually want to be rescued,” he continues. You’re too taken aback to stutter out a protest. Kodiak steps into your space, pushing you with him until your back hits the cool stone behind you and you’re caged in his arms. “I think you’ve been out here so long, danger’s started to feel like home. I think you want more.” 

“I know what we’ve been through is some giant fucking joke to you,” you retort. You realise you’re being way too loud and drop your voice into a furious hiss. The worst part is, on some level he’s right; there is no going back to how things were. Either you’re going to die or you’re going to have to live with the knowledge of what you’ve done. “None of us asked for this. I didn’t– I should be a sophomore in college by now.” It’s getting harder to speak coherently. You dig your nails into your arm, willing yourself to keep it together. “I want to go home, okay? I want to be normal.”

You trail off, hating the plaintive note in your voice. 

Kodiak scoffs. “We both know you’re a long way past normal.” He shakes his head slightly, studying you, like you’ve disappointed him somehow. “Trust me. Civilisation’s going to bore you to tears.” 

“You are such a fucking asshole!” you snap, forgetting to be quiet. You wrench free from his grip and shove him. You have no hope of overpowering him but he takes a step backwards; his expression is amused, humouring you even as you storm off. 

“What happened?” Akilah asks, as you nearly knock her and Mari over.

“Nothing! Sorry!” You don’t look round, you just keep heading for the treeline as fast as you can without breaking into a run. You don’t really want to be around the others right now either. You’re all gambling your lives on Kodiak’s ability to guide you safely through the Wilderness: maybe if they’d known his real motivation they wouldn’t have come. Maybe you’ve just put them in worse danger. “I just need to stretch my legs a minute.”

“Um, we’ve literally been walking all day?” Mari calls after you. 

When you’re pretty sure you’re out of sight you break into a sprint, until the breath burns in your lungs and you stumble to your knees. You don’t get far – between the hike and rationing what little food you brought, you don’t have the stamina. You just needed to run until you couldn’t anymore, the same way you sometimes used to steal a pillow from the cabin and scream into it. At some point during winter you reconciled yourself with the fact you were going to die out here and all the fear and rage and longing kind of froze over inside you. Now because of him they’re thawing. It hurts. 

You take a few minutes to calm down, before you head back. The trees are so thick it’s easy to feel like you’re the only person here. They also, apparently, make it very easy for someone who knows how to be quiet to sneak up on you. 

“You can stay mad if you want,” Kodiak tells you, grabbing your arm as though he’s afraid you’ll bolt again. “Whatever: it’s cute. But you do not just run off.”

You try to jerk away but he’s too fast: he catches you around the middle and shoves you into a tree trunk so he can keep you pinned. It’s covered in moss so thick it’s like sinking into shaggy green fur. For all you know, nobody else has ever been here. The two of you could be the first people ever to see this tree. Maybe the last too. 

“You realise there could be wolves out here?” He shakes you a little for emphasis and you realise you might actually have scared him a little.

“Whatever.” You try to wrench free. It doesn’t work: he’s too strong and too pissed to let you. You settle for glaring at him instead. “We’ve faced wolves before.”

“And how’d that work out for you?”

You’re hit with the memory of teeth; of half of Van’s face hanging off; of holding her down while the others sewed it up, your hands so slippery with blood you could hardly keep your grip, your sobs blending with her screams. 

“I thought I was addicted to danger?” you spit back at him. “What do you care?”

You shove as hard as you can and manage to almost stagger him. Almost. 

“Drop the teenage bullshit.” Kodiak leans down to snarl directly into your face. “You made yourself my problem when you begged me to get you off this mountain.”

Everything is so dangerous out here – even more now you’ve fled your makeshift village – that you forget he’s dangerous too. You’d bested him before but only because your teammates had him outnumbered. Out here it’s just you and him. 

You know the sensible thing to do would be to apologise, quietly go back with him, and keep giving him whatever he wants once the others are asleep. But you’re not ready to swallow your pride just yet, so you do what you did last time he was threatening you and drag him down into a kiss. 

There’s no hesitation this time. He grabs a handful of your shirt and pulls you up onto your tiptoes, so hard the worn fabric rips. You try to pull away, knowing you’ll have to explain to the others, but he follows you backwards, slamming you back into the tree trunk. Kodiak picks you up by your thighs, lifting you so you’re on a level with him and using his bodyweight to keep you pinned in place. You feel a thrill at how easily he moves you, somewhere between fear and desire. 

“You going to try this every time you lose a fight?” He speaks the words almost into your mouth, his voice rough. His breathing is fast but nowhere near as ragged as your own. He doesn’t give you chance to answer him before he’s kissing you again. 

You hadn’t planned beyond distracting him. His thigh is planted between yours; the seam of your jeans presses into you with a friction that makes it hard to think. You don’t want him to stop. He slides a hand under your torn shirt, to your breast and you bite down on a whimper, afraid the others will hear. 

Shit! The thought of the others is like being doused in freezing water. You turn your head to break the kiss and Kodiak follows you, forcing you to twist away from him until your cheek is pressed flat against the moss covered bark. 

“Wait. We’ve been gone too long.”

Kodiak goes in to press a kiss to your lips, feathering more across your jaw. “I’m starting to think you get off on sneaking around.”

“Oh sure. I love hiking in layers to cover the marks you left, trying to pretend I’m not sore from last night…”

The way Kodiak smirks, you’re pretty sure he took that as a compliment. You plant your hands on his chest and try to push him. 

“Well you weren’t complaining at the time.” He grabs your wrists and pins them either side of your head. “And we both know I could have been a lot rougher.”

His voice is heavy with promise. Despite yourself, you turn to face him. 

“I don’t think you appreciate how frustrating it is, holding myself back around you,” he tells you, his voice low and soft. “And I mean, last night: you did kind of owe me.”

There’s a metallic click. You’d know it anywhere: the sound of the rifle’s safety being switched off. You turn and face the absolutely worst person who could be pointing a gun at you right now.

“What the fuck do you mean she owes you?”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. If you enjoyed it please tell me: it's what keeps me going. I'm working on two more request fills, which should be out shortly. To everyone who sent in a request: thank you for being patient I will get to it. To everyone else, requests are still open but it may take a while.

[whispering-ways]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡ i like you (too much) - part 1 ♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

♡ summary: you just joined a new high school and you're hoping to make a bunch of new friends. unfortunately, you're paired up with katsuki and he seems to despise you. nevertheless, you're determined to make it work. little do you know that you're first interaction would lead to a wonderful friendship and possibly even more.

♡ pairing: bakugo katsuki x reader

♡ tags: no warnings, just fluff :) but the next couple of parts may or may not have some smut ;)

♡ notes: hi besties! I'm back finally with another fanfic after months. I'm so sorry for my hiatus, but I've been super busy with college. I'm graduating in literally in 5 days which is so exciting (neurosci and psychology BS) and also been working on a patent and been doing patient trials in the neurosci lab I volunteer at and been applying for grad programs, so its been a lot. but I'm back with a new (long) Katsuki fic now that things have finally settled! Really this was a story with my OCs, Drew and Kressie (names still yet to be confirmed but that's what I've got for now) but I thought this would still work with Bakugo. Let me know if y'all want me to post the OC version too :) hope you guys like it!

As you sit in the principal’s office with your parents, you start to drown out the principal’s monotonous voice. All you cared about in the moment was how you would fit in. Middle school had been terrible; a journey chocked full of bullies and spending lunches alone. So when your parents told you that the 3 of you were moving to a new state for your dad’s fancy new job, you thought this was your chance to wipe the slate clean. Start afresh and make some friends this time around. You’d been excited for weeks, but now sitting here about to start your first day, you felt your stomach churn with anxiety. 

The principal calling your name brought you back to reality. “So Y/N are you ready to start your first day? I know it’ll be halfway through your periods, but still your first day if you think about it!” 

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, picking up your backpack. 

“I’ll take you to your new classroom,” said the principal, standing up and opening the door for you, gesturing you to follow him. After saying goodbye to your parents, you head outside the office with a big sigh, readying yourself. It felt like forever before you reached your classroom. Your principal knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. You heard him say something to the teacher inside, but couldn’t quite make out what. She came out a couple moments afterward and the principal left you in her hands. A short introduction later, she brought you inside to the front of the class.

“Hey everyone, I’m sorry to interrupt you all in the middle of quiet work time, but we’ve got a new student. This is (Y/N) and she’ll be in our class from now on,” she said with a big smile on her face; it was almost too cheery. “I’m hoping since you only came in a week late, it won’t be too hard to catch up with the class.” She scanned around the classroom before continuing, “Looks like we’ll have to place you in the back with Katsuki. We share one big desk between students, so I hope that’s okay with you.” You nod and the teacher turns towards her desk, reaching down to grab a packet. “Here’s what we’re working on right now; answer as best as you can and don’t worry about getting questions wrong. You’ll be sitting right over there,” pointing to the back.

You look toward where she gestured to find a guy in a black hoodie, his eyes covered by his hood and lip curled in disdain. “Fantastic,” you thought, taking the packet from your teacher’s hand. “It’d be my luck to be put right next to someone that looks like they’d kill.” You plop down in your seat and look towards your new deskmate, smiling at him as an olive branch. Maybe he was super nice and just didn’t know how to show it. 

He looked at you up and down, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as if he was wondering why you’d even dare to look over. With a sigh, you turn back around and start to work on your packet. You wouldn’t consider yourself super smart, but definitely above average. But ‘above average’ wasn’t going to cut it for this packet. You chose to take Calculus to challenge you and to look better on college applications, but looking at the work in front of you, you regretted your decision. This stuff was just way too complicated, but you were determined to figure it out. 

You look over at Katsuki to see whether he’s struggling too for some sort of comfort. To your disappointment, you see him flying through the work, his head practically buried in the packet. You tried again to work through the first problem. “Find the derivative of the following function...what even is a derivative?” you thought to yourself. You pulled out your phone, hoping to try and find some sort of video to explain what was going on when you felt a tap on your shoulder. 

You turned around to find your teacher smiling at you once again. “Hey (Y/N), I hope the packet is going good, but in this classroom we don’t use phones to search up answers. If you’re having trouble, why don’t you ask your deskmate to help you out? I’m sure Katsuki would love to help you out!” 

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, giving your teacher a tight-lipped smile in return. “Out of all people, why did I get paired with him,” you pleaded internally. After a few moments, you give up and decide to ask Katsuki for help. “Hey, uh... would you mind helping me out with this question please?” No response. You cleared your throat, hoping to draw attention to your request. Nothing, nada, zilch. It’s then that you noticed he had some earbuds in. “Maybe he really just couldn’t hear me,” you thought. A few moments of contemplation later lead you to tapping his shoulder, hoping to finally get his attention.

He whipped his head around, giving you the chance to get a good look at his face. The first thing you noticed were his eyes. His eyes were red, probably because of contacts, and were coupled with dark circles; it looked like he hadn’t had sleep in weeks. You were finally able to see his hair peeking out from under his hood which had been messily bleached blonde with brown roots growing out. His lips were still in a snarl. “What do you want?” he asked, spitting out each word with anger. “Don’t you know when people are trying to ignore you?”

A hit and a miss. There was no doubting it now; he definitely hated you. You hadn’t even been in the classroom for 20 minutes and your high school dreams of making friends were already coming crashing down. You were just about to reply when he snapped back at you “What? Just going to stare at me forever or something?” 

See, you were nice, but not nice enough to let that sort of behavior go by without saying anything. “What the fuck is your problem dude? I just wanted to ask you about derivatives. Damn, a bitch can’t even be curious about math anymore,” you retorted. You were hoping to put him in his place a little, but instead, you heard him chuckle. 

“Ok fine, I’ll help you out. I’ll admit, that was a little funny. But this doesn’t mean we’re all buddy buddy, okay? I just want you off my back.”

“Sure whatever gets me done with this packet,” you said, flipping through the pages of the problems till you found the one you were looking for. You pointed to the derivative question and said “Just explain this one to me and I’ll be out of your hair. I just don’t really know how to get started with it.”

With an annoyed sigh, Katsuki gets started on explaining it to you. “Okay so basically all you’ve got to do is just differentiate all 3 parts and then add it. Was that too hard for you to understand or something or did you finally get it?”

You didn’t want to say it, but you didn’t get it. What was differentiating? Subtracting? You had no clue. But you couldn’t admit that, not when he was acting so rude; you had way too much pride for that sort of confession. “Let’s say I didn’t get it. I totally did, but if I didn’t, would you be able to explain it more in depth?” you ask him, hoping he wouldn’t pick up on your lie.

Katsuki definitely picked it up. He wasn’t stupid. But he was dreading having to talk to you more. He wasn’t trying to make friends or talk to people and be all chit-chatty; all he wanted was to be left alone, but unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be picking up on that any time soon. He grabbed your sheet and put it right between you two. If you wanted a in-depth explanation, you were going to get one. Bit by bit, he explained every single step of the problem, dragging out each individual part unnecessarily. That’d teach you to bother him again. 

What he did not expect was the beaming smile you gave him in return. “Thank you so much! That actually helped a ton dude! See I knew you could be nice,” you say as you bring the packet back to your side to continue working on the next couple of problems. 

Your response threw him for a loop. Sure, Katsuki was confused over how he could seem nice, but what really had him was your smile. He could’ve sworn it was the sweetest smile he’d ever seen. Slightly crooked, but still shined like the sun. He turned around, pulling his hood down to cover the slight blush that had appeared on his face. He hated the feeling he had his stomach now and it was all your fault. He knew it was a bad idea to help you.

He dove into his work, trying not to focus on you. It felt like decades before the bell rang and people started packing up to move to their last period. Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw you whip out a folded piece of paper, which opened up to reveal your schedule. He heard you sigh as he was packing up and he already knew what was coming. As soon as he came back up from zipping his backpack, he was met with your eyes looking at him and he knew you were about to bother him again. 

“Uh... so I’ve got my next period in room 2301, but I have no idea how to get there. I think its English Lit with Ms. Carlisle, but like we only have 10 minutes to get there and I don’t want to get lost. Do you mind just giving me some quick directions?” you ask.

He wanted to say no and tell you to get lost. But it seemed like his mouth betrayed him when he heard himself saying “Yeah ok, I”ll take you there.”

“Oh! I mean you don’t have to really take me to the room, but I appreciate it a lot!” you reply cheerily with another one of your smiles.

“Do her cheeks never hurt from all that smiling?” Katsuki thought to himself. “It’s whatever, I’m in the same class too so I don’t give a shit.” he said, standing up and slinging his bag over one shoulder.

He starts walking away and you take that as a sign to start walking or be left alone in the classroom. With a wave to your teacher, you speed up to catch up to him. It was a bit awkward walking beside him but not talking. You’d initiate some sort of conversation, but it looked like he was ready to bite your head off and you already felt like you were pushing it. 

Thankfully, Katsuki ended the awkward silence between you two, “So.... like, where did you move from?”

“From Florida, but not like city Florida, think like retirement home type of Florida. North Florida specifically.” you rambled, trying to fill up the silence between you for a bit longer. 

“Cool, so you’ve like seen gators and shit then?” he said, looking down towards you. It was then that he took notice of the height difference between the two of you. He wasn’t super tall by any means, but compared to you he felt like a giant. 

“I mean I’ve seen a couple snakes, gators... and a few lizards too! Nothing too scary though!” you say with a smile. He nodded in response and a silence settled over you two again. You started to rack your brain for something to say to keep the conversation going, when you suddenly felt a yank on your backpack.

“Don’t just fucking walk off, we’re here, English Lit,” Katsuki says, pulling you back to the front of the door after you’d walked right past it. 

“Oh! Thank you” you reply, holding the door open. “After you.”

Katsuki felt weird walking into class and it had nothing to do with the quiz the class had to do today. He walked over to his usual desk and felt you follow behind before sitting down right next to him. You put your bag down in your seat and walked over to the teacher, probably to go introduce yourself. It was obvious to Katsuki that he wasn’t getting rid of you or the weird feeling you gave him every time you smiled anytime soon. 

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sweetest laugh he had ever heard. He turned towards the source of the sound and he wasn’t surprised to see it came from you. It seemed like everything you did added to that weird feeling he felt in his stomach. He hated it. You sat back down next to him, syllabus in hand along with a couple of other forms for you to fill out. 

Class seemed to drag on forever for Katsuki. It took everything in him to focus on what the teacher was saying rather than how your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and how you chewed your pencil from time to time and how you drew tiny little flowers and hearts on your notes whenever you got bored. The bell finally rang, releasing Katsuki from what seemed to be his own personal hell. He got up wordlessly to walk towards his car, ready to leave and go home. He made it a couple of paces outside of class before he felt a small tap on his arm. 

He turned around to see you looking up at him with big eyes. “Hey.. uhh.. Could I maybe get your number? We have to finish that packet by tomorrow’s class and I know there’s a good chance I could be confused again, so I was hoping to maybe get your help again?” you ask. 

How could he refuse those eyes? With a sigh, he held his phone out to you. You looked up at him quizzically. “Do I need to explain everything to you? Put your number in already. I’ll text you back so you can have mine” he snapped. 

You took his phone and typed in your number, saving your contact while you were at it. “There you go, all saved and everything,” you say. You couldn’t even fully finish your sentence before Katsuki snatched his phone out of your hands. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you Katsuki, but I’ve got to head to the buses soon. I think my bus is leaving in like literally 10 minutes. It was nice meeting you though and hope to see you tomorrow,” you say, running off to catch the bus before you were left without a ride.

“Nice to meet you too, I guess,” he whispered to himself. He hoped you didn’t hear it. He walked to his car, throwing his bag into the backseat and putting his head on the steering wheel. “What’s going on with me? Why is everything so weird all of a sudden?” he thought. He took his phone out from his hoodie, looking for your contact and, more importantly, to put a name to your face.

It wasn’t hard to find since it was the only contact that stuck out like a sore thumb. “Y/N..” he said, reading out your name. He noticed a small smiley face beside your name, a sweet detail that caused an unconscious smile to cross his lips. It didn’t take him long to notice and he immediately shook his head trying to drive his smile away. He put his head back on the wheel with a thud, letting out a frustrated groan. That weird and uneasy feeling in his stomach had come back again and he had a feeling it wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

[hope-to-hell]

I like you a latte part 2: the one where they go to Montana (the author is a dirty liar). Agent Stone x Ivo Robotnik. Smut, handjobs, fingers in mouth. These two guys, I swear.

------

Once upon a time, there were two fools in love: the illustrious Doctor Robotnik, who did not yet have plans to take over the world but was getting a bit bored of his current job, and his wide-eyed, slightly less than innocent companion, Agent Stone.

Okay, so. The last thing we saw was those two dumbasses finally getting their shit together, by which I mean Ivo Robotnik finally realized that a) Agent Stone, who may or may not have acquired his position through less than legal means— (Oh, come on. This again?) Please. Can we at least get through the introduction? Anyway. Where was I? Ahem.

Ivo Robotnik finally realized that a) Agent Stone wanted him– not power or prestige, not anything but to stand at his dear Doctor’s side and get punched in the stomach once a day and twice on Thursdays, and b) Ivo himself very much wanted to see where this was headed. Are we caught up? Yes? Good. On we go. And yes, there is very much more to them. But we’re trying to make a snazzy introduction here, so the elaboration can wait.

The funny thing is, as far as anyone else is concerned, nothing at all has changed. Anyone seeing the two of them just worries about that poor Agent Stone and how terribly that nasty Doctor Robotnik treats him. It’s not like the goons down at the canteen are at all subtle with their whispering. Did you see those bruises on his wrists? I heard Robotnik hung him from the rafters for breathing too loud. He only wishes he could get Ivo to tie him up. (Hey!) But grabby hands are almost as good, at least when they’re still in the “make out like horny teenagers in a Dennys parking lot” stage. (It was a Red Lobster. At least get the facts straight.) Oh, like that’s a whole lot better.

Stone still makes coffee and Ivo glowers and pretends he isn’t halfway to pushing Stone down over the workbench and doing delightfully indecent things to him. Okay, so he’s more than halfway. In fact, he’s doing it right now. Let’s move in for a closer look. See how Stone’s got his arms back above his head, gripping the edge of the workbench? His thumbs are cramping up something awful, but that’s fine. The aesthetic is sublime, with how his spine’s arching like a needy cat’s— what, got nothing to say about that?-- one boot planted on a chair and the other digging into Ivo’s ass, heel snarled in the fabric of his coat. And normally he’d get told off for that— you’ll be smoothing those wrinkles out with your tongue— , but right now Ivo’s a little busy sucking a deep bruise into the tender skin beneath Stone’s jaw, where there will be no possible way to hide it.

Oh, that’s a sight. But it’s distracting from the point of the story, because this is the story of when they finally fuck. (Jesus. Crude much?) Listen, it’s not like we’re just going to jump straight to the horizontal half-marathon, the two-headed bed monster, the— okay, okay. This is supposed to be a lighthearted romp, a pg-13 romantic comedy deal. If we get too bogged down in details, this is going to turn x-rated in a hurry and you’ll just have to wait for the director’s cut for that one. (Now you’re teasing them. Isn’t that a little cruel?)

A little cruelty never hurt anyone. For now just use your imaginations and we’ll see if we can get through this without having to up the rating. They’re not going to get much farther right now, anyway. The red phone is ringing and some poor Guy has to stick his head through the door and stutter out hey, um, I know you’re busy but you really gotta pick up the phone. There’s a call coming in: something about a power surge out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Not as interesting as what they’re up to, but too bad. A contract is a contract, and if Ivo wants that sweet sweet government funding he’d better get there in a hurry.

Who gives a damn about the finer points of packing, and whether or not Stone has something casual in his duffel bag (he does: there’s a set of comfy sweats in there, just in case. The man can’t possibly wear a suit every second of the day. Also, he sleeps nude. Just thought that was worth mentioning). (Oh my god are we really going there?) Of course we are, or do I have to bring up that time in Oslo? (Ugh. Fine.) To be fair, he does keep his boots by the bed just in case he has to do some emergency agent-ing after hours. It’s certainly not in the hopes he’ll be discovered by a certain doctor jonesing for a late-night caffeine fix, even if he has some very interesting thoughts about that.

But this is the story of the first time they fuck, is it not? And like any good story, it needs a decent leadup: something to whet the appetite, something that’ll build tension higher and higher until it all comes tumbling down in a delightful spray of various bodily fluids. So this is where it gets good:

Picture the Wachowski residence, late morning. Ivo Robotnik is laid out on the floor, bruise blooming on his cheek, snoring mean-spirited little snores. Now picture Stone, out of breath, barreling through the front door and probably leaving scorch marks on the floorboards as he skids to a halt. His heart’s banging around in his ribcage like one of those old-timey punching balloons. Doctor, are you alright?

Fuck, that guy hits hard for a little dweeb. Oh, good, the Doctor’s insults are intact. He’ll be fine. Stone helps him up and is immediately treated to a thousand-watt glare. And where were you?

Um. Outside? You could punish me, if you like. Isn’t he hopeful? Such a glutton for punishment. Bet you know what’s coming next. I know you like this part. Listen close for that wet guh when Ivo grabs Stone by the lower teeth and yanks him into berating range. This is the kind of manhandling Stone dreams about: rough, artless, leaving him gagging on Ivo’s fingers. (I remember.)

Oh yes, my masochistic little limpet. Ivo’s fingers are twitching in Stone’s mouth. Your punishment— would you stop licking me for one second, I’m trying to make a point here— your punishment is to think about this— and he’s reaching with his other hand, not to deliver a blow but to grab Stone right between the legs, rough enough to hurt but Stone’s making some very enthusiastic sounds and his cock’s waking up to say hello. But that’s not the punishment. That happens when Ivo takes both hands away. Now suffer. I’ll see you later. I’m thinking tacos for dinner. And Stone? Don’t you dare touch yourself.

(That day was brutal.) I’ll bet. Our dear Agent Stone has to do a bowlegged walk back to the mobile lab, poor thing, trying to relieve some of that pressure without actually touching. Doc said no, and Stone’s gonna be the best boy and listen. It’s not like he’s a horny teenager ready to go off at the slightest touch, even if it has been a while. He can keep his hands off his dick. He can.

Remember how Stone sleeps naked? Well, he’s tossing and turning that night, still— shall we say— frustrated. Every time he thrashes, the sheets fall a little lower until they’re just barely hanging on, brushing against his skin, helping him dream all sorts of lascivious dreams. He’s not touching; even in slumber he’s still doggedly obeying Ivo’s order. But he can’t help the soft breathy Ivo that slips from his lips. Good thing the Doctor is passing by just at that moment. How very convenient.

Look, it’s one thing for Robotnik to be innocently strolling down the hall minding his own business when he spies Agent Stone sprawled out on the bed, artfully lit by soft red lowlights. It’s another thing for him to cross the threshold, creeping to the bed until he’s close enough to hear his own name. And it’s another thing still for him to press a hand over Stone’s mouth and lean down to murmur a positively diabolical wakey wakey, eggs and bakey. He’s lucky he doesn’t get his arm broken at the very least. Maybe Stone smelled him while he was sleeping.

(Honestly? I could hear him when he came in. He’s not as sneaky as he thinks; I don’t think he’s ever managed to sneak up on me properly.) Oh shit, for real? Even that time with the cuffs? (Even the time with the cuffs.) But despite that, the whole hand-over-mouth business— the sudden intimate contact— is a bit of a surprise. (Got me there.) Even more surprising is the way Ivo pries Stone’s mouth open.

You liked my fingers in your mouth before, huh? You get another taste, lucky you. Now suck. And Ivo strokes the pads of his fingers over Stone’s tongue, pushing deeper til the saliva on his hand starts to get thick and ropy. Get ‘em nice and wet. Oh, good boy, there you go.

It’s nice to know the words still have the same effect: Stone jerks like lightning just struck him in the asshole, garbling out the most undignified grargh. But our boy Stone hasn’t survived this long without picking up a few useful skills. He gets a leg hooked around Ivo and does some sort of bafflingly effective roll to get the Doctor under him. Surprise. The effect’s a bit ruined by Stone’s smile, open and bright, even as Ivo’s spitting like a wet cat.

Fucker.

And Stone? He’s trailing a wet finger across the bruise on Ivo’s cheek, suddenly serious. I should’ve been there. I’m sorry.

Hence the punishment, or couldn't you manage it? Don’t tell me you couldn’t keep from touching yourself for one day.

Not once, even though it was so. very. hard. Subtle. Real good pillow talk. (Shut up, you’re ruining it.) I was dreaming about you. Your hands on— on me.

Well, now. Isn’t that something. Oh, looks like the boss has an idea. On your knees, facing away. Oh fuck, it’s happening, isn’t it? The fucking bit? Nope. Not quite. It’s still pretty good though, so stick around. While Stone’s busy trying to get turned around and in position without kneeing himself in the face, Ivo’s already getting to his knees, planting himself firmly on the bed. That’s it. Lean back against me. Now this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to put your hand over mine, and you’re going to stroke your cock like that.

Oh, Stone isn’t going to last long like this at all. Ivo’s hand is warm and callused, proof that— as much as he likes the high-tech electronic side of things— he’s more than adept at getting his hands dirty. And Stone makes their hands into a fist around his cock, awkward at first until he figures out their rhythm. The saliva’s already drying up and it’s gonna be a wicked burn but that’s okay. Who needs skin when he’s got Ivo’s hand on him? He tightens their grip, moving faster. He’s so very close. Just a few more seconds—

Stop.

Fuck. fuckfuckfuck. Would you look at that: Stone manages to pull himself back from the edge, but it’s a near thing. As it is, he nearly breaks his own nose with how hard he flings their hands away. Doesn’t stop him from jerking his hips into empty air, the poor thing, or from hissing what the fuck.

Remember your place, my sweetly desperate sycophant. You want it? Ask me nicely. He’s teasing now, raking the nails of one hand over Stone’s chest, tugging at the hair, and the other returns to where Stone desperately needs him to be— but his touch is light, teasing, fingertips stroking up the underside of the shaft (God. I thought I might die right there). Well?

What’s the matter? Too proud to say please? Ivo tweaks a nipple, grinning into the side of Stone’s neck. Oh, this is a fun game. I could just leave you here, maybe come back in the morning and see how you’re holding up. Do you think you’ll be able to get back to sleep like this? I wonder. You know he’ll play dirty: he’ll order Stone not to touch, and Stone will doggedly obey. That’s the game. He shifts like he’s about to get up when Stone grabs his wrist.

Now, Stone can be stubborn as hell. Otherwise he’d never have made it in G.U.N., never risen to the illustrious rank of Robotnik’s Favorite. There’s a part of him that wants to hold out, to refuse to beg. But that part is pretty small, and is quickly smothered by the rest of him, all of which is so turned on, so needy, so—

Okay. I fold. Please.

Please what? Bastard. Dirty, low-down, vicious—

Look at Stone. His whole face is flushed; heat spreads down his throat to his chest. (I can still feel it.) Desperate, sweet boy. Ivo could get him to do absolutely anything, couldn’t he? (Jerk.) He wants it so badly, his whole body is on a hair trigger. His voice is soft, cracked. Please get me off. Touch me. I need it— need you.

That’s good. Just what I needed to hear. Ivo tightens his grip with a twist and a tug; he sinks his teeth into the junction of Stone’s neck and shoulder. It’s absolutely perfect, burning through him like fire. Now pay attention, if your addled brain has any processing power left. I’m going to get you off, and you’re going to keep your hands to yourself. Next time, I expect you to fuck me.

Have you ever cum so hard you couldn't see? Because Stone does. He can’t breathe, can't speak. All he can do is fall apart. Cum spurts over Ivo’s hand, but he doesn’t. stop. moving. Stone whines, trying to shrink away from the stimulation, but Ivo’s there to hold him steady. All he can do is take it. Fuck, ‘s too much. I can’t. I’m gonna, I’m, I—

Orgasm bites through him again, smaller and sharper: it’s pleasure with vicious teeth, and leaves him shivering. (Never felt anything like it before. It was— intense.) What about you? He can feel Ivo burning hard and hot at his back.

Ivo scoffs. It’s unimportant. I already got what I wanted— for now. Not ominous at all. Nope, he’s definitely not up to something. He slithers off the bed and saunters to the door. Sleep tight, Agent. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.

This is a story that contains one lie, or maybe it’s only half a lie. It all depends on your definition of the word fuck. (It’s definitely false advertising.) Okay, that’s it. Next time we’re revisiting that night in Oslo.

(Oh, dammit.)