#this was not intentional... i only just now noticed

[cosmiic-world]

sylus when he takes you on joyrides in the N109 Zone, he absolutely loves when you dress in bike leathers and he loves when you’re matching him.

sylus who loves how your smaller frame hugs his from behind, the side of your helmet flush against his back as you giggle from the speeds and scenery you’re zooming past.

sylus who loves teasing you at red lights, reaching back and gently squeezing your thighs. “are you enjoying yourself?” he asks, chuckling when he’s met with an ecstatic nod and a thumbs up. he loves to catch you off guard with suddenly taking off, relishing in how you squeal and scramble to hold onto him, laughing as you whine.

sylus who stares at you as you get off the bike, setting your helmet down right beside him. he watches as you rummage through your purse with a small frustrated pout. “what’s wrong sweetie?”

“i don���t have my mirror.” you said, huffing as you held your lipstick in your hand.

sylus who turns and right as he’s about to offer one of the mirrors from his bike, you grab his helmet and turn his head toward you. “hold still for one second.” he thinks he hears but all he can focus on is that vibrant red lipstick in your hand and that look in your eyes.

your eyes turned sharp as you focused intently on the reflection in sylus’s helmet, ignoring his ruby eyes staring at yours. you focused as you applied your lipstick nice and slow, so you wouldn’t mess up. somehow, your bottom lip was smudged a bit and you hadn’t noticed until sylus grabbed your arm as you were turning away from him.

“just a second, kitten.” he said gruffly, pulling you closer to him, his thighs caging you in as he brought up his hand to gently wipe away the smudged lipstick from your lip. “this shade looks magnificent on you.” he said softly, his eyes filled with lust. “put your helmet back on.” he said, handing you your helmet.

“what, why?” you said as you grabbed it, tilting your head confused.

“sweetie, surely that wasn’t just for fixing your lipstick. i have a problem now that only you can fix. we’re going to the parking lot.” he said, slinging his leg back over the motorcycle and turning the engine back on.

you couldn’t help but giggle as you put your helmet back on and sat right behind him. your touch felt like fire blazing against his skin, turning him on even more as your hands teasingly found their way down his pants.

sylus, who loves how scandalous his girlfriend can be.

[yougotoldk]

The thing that has me absolutely furious about the fires in El Bolsón and other surrounding areas, besides the loss, is the people who, for whatever reason (speculations are running wild on the possible reasons as can be expected), insist on making the situation worse:

-> A man was caught in the forest with a bottle full of some sort of combustible liquid:

"The man was carrying a bottle of combustible liquid. According to the report, his intention “was to start a fire, but he was intercepted by a man and a woman, who observed him acting suspiciously, alone and far from the areas of the fire.”

The man left the area with those who found him, in the same van. On the way, "they noticed that he had dropped a plastic bottle with a blue-green liquid, so they reported what had happened." Moments later, police officers arrived at the sector known as Wharton where they proceeded to arrest him."

And he was not the only one, according to the news, others were seen acting suspiciously in the forest but the police was unable to catch them so they could be properly investigated.

-> Then, a video was shared of some unknown group of people riding horses right across the airstrip while the hydrant plane was maneuvering:

-> It was already proven that one of the fires was premeditated, and started with Molotov cocktails:

"Meanwhile, it was proven that the arson attack on the Amancay Ranch in mid-January was premeditated. The document was drawn up after the expert reports carried out at the Amancay cattle farm, located on Provincial Route 71, a few kilometers from the town. An investigator of fires and explosives together with the Scientific Police of Chubut examined the site and confirmed that it was intentionally started by using accelerants in glass containers – Molotov cocktails – to achieve “greater expansion and propagation of the fire”.

The news site speculates that it was Mapuches, others say that it was rich landowners wanting to expand or whatever else.

It certainly doesn't help any that it's usually windy during the summer months in the south, and they have had days with winds with speeds between 40 and 60 km/h (24-37 mph) and gusts that can exceed 95 km/h (59 mph).

I was there just last year, on my vacation, and I can't understand how someone would intentionally start a fire here or actively hinder the efforts to put them out.

Look at this place:

My shitty phone camera doesn't do the place justice, it's absolutely breathtaking.

And yet now:

In mildly good news, it rained today, and the people from there were so happy that it finally rained that they started celebrating :

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it's insane how the patagonian fires are more devastating than the ones in california and nobody gives a shit

[catchastarorten]

—A long day.

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x wife!fem!reader

Summary: being a professor at the same university your husband taught at was exhausting at times, but at least he knew how to comfort you... that was until a student walked in to ask you a question about an assignment.

Content: fluff, you two are both professors in this au, kisses/neck kisses, making out, caresses, an unlucky student unfortunately walking in on the two of you, English isn't my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word Count: ~ 1.4k

The classroom was quiet now, emptied of students and the hum of chatter that had filled it just hours ago. It had been a long day of lectures, discussions, and endless paperwork. The only sound was the scratch of your pen against a stack of papers that seemed never-ending.

Your head ached slightly from the day, eyes burning from reading through assignment after assignment. You were so caught up in your work that you didn’t notice when someone entered the room.

It was the warm pressure around your waist that made you still, your breath catching for just a second. The familiar scent of him—clean, crisp cologne with the faintest hint of coffee—settled around you, and before you could turn to look, his fingers gently traced along your hip, caressing you in slow, deliberate strokes.

You exhaled slowly after seeing him, running a tired hand down your face. “You scared me.”

Sang-woo hummed lowly, and you swore you saw a rare hint of amusement in his eyes. His hold on you tightened just slightly, his warm body hovering behind yours. “You were too focused. Didn’t even hear me walk in.”

You leaned back into him instinctively, his warmth comforting against the cool air of the empty classroom. “Mmm... maybe because I’m exhausted.”

“I figured,” he murmured, his voice smooth, soft. His hands slowly traced along your waist before settling against your hips again, grounding you. “Long day?”

You let out a small sigh, finally setting down your pen. “The longest. I swear, every student had a question after class today. And half of them didn’t even need to stay. They just wanted to chat.”

His lips curled into a small smile. “You’re too nice to them.”

“They’re still just kids,” you shrugged, though you couldn’t hide the tired smile that tugged at your lips. “Besides, if I don’t help them, who will?”

He sighed, and you felt him shift behind you, his hands moving up to your shoulders, kneading them gently.

“That’s exactly why you run yourself into the ground.” His thumbs pressed into a particularly sore spot, making you hum softly. “You need to take breaks.”

You reached up, covering one of his hands with yours. “I know.”

“You say that,” he started, fingers still working against your tense muscles. “But here you are, still at your desk after hours, barely aware of your surroundings.”

“I was grading,” you defended, though you knew it was a weak argument.

You turned to look up at Sang-woo fully—dark eyes watching you intently, a quiet concern hidden beneath the usual composed expression he wore so well.

“You look tired,” he said, softer this time.

You sighed. “I feel tired.”

He studied you for a moment before his hands shifted, one sliding up from your waist to cup your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, warm and reassuring. He tilted his head just slightly, eyes flickering between yours before he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—just a soft press at first, barely there. “Then relax.”

You huffed a quiet laugh but said nothing, closing your eyes briefly as he stroked his thumbs along your skin. It was so easy to sink into him, to let go of the stress clinging to your bones when he touched you like this.

When you opened your eyes again, his gaze was softer than before, his face so close that his breath brushed against your lips.

The moment stretched, anticipation curling through you, before he kissed you again—deeper this time, slower, as if he had all the time in the world.

When he pulled back, he didn’t go far, his forehead brushing against yours. “Let’s go home,” he murmured, as if he was making a statement, not a question.

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

His lips barely curved. “I figured you’d say that.”

“Mm.” You smiled a little. “But maybe I can be convinced.”

Before you could find a reaction from his face, he kissed you again, deeper this time, more deliberate. His lips moved slowly against yours, unhurried yet insistent, as if savoring the taste of you.

Your fingers found the front of his shirt, gripping the fabric lightly as you kissed him back, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him.

When you shifted, pressing closer, his back met the board behind him with a quiet thud, a quiet muffled noise came from his lips. His hands wandered, sliding over your waist, your back, pulling you just a little closer as your mouths moved together in a slow, intoxicating rhythm.

The collar of his neatly buttoned shirt was slightly askew now, the usual composure he carried beginning to unravel in the way his breath grew heavier, in the way his hands roamed with a little less restraint.

When he finally broke away from your lips, his mouth found your jaw, then lower, pressing slow, deliberate kisses down your neck. His lips were warm, the press of them making your breath stutter as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back.

Before you realized it, he was guiding you, his touch gentle but sure, until your back met the edge of your desk. He lifted you onto it effortlessly, stepping between your legs and barely breaking the kiss.

He wasn’t rushing—he never did. Instead, he took his time with each kiss, each touch. His fingers slid to your hips as he pulled you even closer, lips never leaving yours for too long.

You were wrapped up in him as you sat on the edge of your desk. His lips trailed away from yours again, tracing a path of featherlight kisses down your neck.

You exhaled, tilting your head slightly to give him more room, your fingers threading through his hair. His breath was warm against your skin, his hands steady as they held you close.

And then—

“U-Um—Professor?”

The voice cut through the room like a knife.

You and Sang-woo froze.

Your head turned toward the doorway, where a student stood wide-eyed, gripping a notebook tightly to their chest as if it was a shield.

The poor thing looked like they had just walked in on something they definitely should not have seen.

You reacted first, pulling back quickly and clearing your throat as heat rushed to your face, shifting off of the desk easily. Sang-woo straightened as well, adjusting his collar and stepping back just enough to create a more appropriate distance between you.

The student, clearly horrified, looked between the two of you as if trying to process exactly what they had interrupted. “I—um—I just had a question about the assignment, but I can—come back later!”

You waved a hand, trying to compose yourself despite the very obvious tension lingering in the air. “No... no, it’s fine! What’s your question?”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sang-woo trying—and fumbling—to button up the collar of his shirt, running a hand over his slightly ruffled hair before slipping back into his usual composed demeanor.

The student hesitated, clearly dying to flee but also too dedicated to their grades to abandon the reason they had come in. “...It’s about the essay. The word count requirement—uh—do quotes count toward it?”

You cleared your throat again, pushing some loose hair behind your ear in an attempt to gather yourself. “Yes, they do, but try not to rely too heavily on them. Your analysis should still be the main focus.”

The student nodded quickly, still looking like they were processing the absolute disaster they had just walked into. “R-Right! Got it! Thank you, Professor! I’ll just—um—I’ll go now!”

And before you could say anything else, they spun on their heels and bolted out of the room.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Then, you turned to see your husband failing to hide a smile.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why didn’t we lock the door?”

Sang-woo let out a quiet exhale, stepping closer again. “A lesson learned.” He leaned in, pressing one last kiss—soft and lingering—against your forehead before murmuring, “I'm assuming we could go home now.”

With your heart still racing and your face still warm, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah… yeah, okay. I’m done for the day.”

Hopefully that student still shows up tomorrow for your class?

[eddiegettingshot]

your prompt for today: pink🩷

When their night out winds down, and they land on Eddie’s doorstep, Buck’s gut begins to prickle with sudden nerves, or maybe anticipation. He really can’t tell the difference. Strange, because he thought he’d been handling being on a first date with his best friend pretty well. After all, it’s a song and dance that’s usually about making a good first impression, and not only did that ship sail years ago, but Buck didn’t even get it right. So dinner just felt like dinner, except for the fact that Eddie kept their feet tucked together beneath the table the whole time.

Granted, there were a few days where Buck kept forgetting anything had changed between them if they weren’t physically together, if Eddie didn’t have a hand on him, like he’d lost all sense of object permanence where Eddie was concerned. What’s startling is that in most ways, nothing has. 

Like this: Eddie turns to him now as he unlocks his front door, brow arched. 

“What, you got somewhere else to be?” he asks.

Buck doesn’t bother asking what Eddie had seen in him, that he’d decided he needed to stake an explicit claim on the rest of Buck’s night (and, with luck, the morning?). It’s not like he’s in the habit of playing things close to the vest, but half the time he doesn’t even need to say a word—not to Eddie. He’d been peeled open long before he knew he had anything to confess.

Easy to imagine: himself, held in the tender cradle of Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s thumbs feeling down his center to find the tenderest spot, pushing deep all at once, prying him apart—through the rind of him, his ribcage, so all his insides, overripe with adoration, come spilling out into Eddie’s palms. That’s how it feels. It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“No,” he says, shuffling closer. He’d been hanging back, playing with his car keys in his pocket.  “No, I—I’m coming in.”

“Good.” 

Eddie sounds so openly pleased. Warmth spills through Buck’s spine. He hadn’t considered that he wasn’t alone in this—bracing against some new humming energy, staring too closely at the back of Eddie’s neck—but he watches Eddie’s shoulders soften, right before he lets Buck inside.

Then, once Buck’s on the couch, thinking really intently about how they’re going to occupy it together (it’s been a busy week; they haven’t even seen enough of each other for Buck to have adapted to their new rules of engagement. Can he crawl into Eddie’s lap?), Eddie pauses, says, “Uh, hold on,” and bustles off to the kitchen. 

He returns with a lighter for the candle sitting on the coffee table, which is—new. Buck hadn’t noticed until now. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Eddie light a candle in all the years he’s spent in this house, and now his lip is trapped between his teeth as he does it, avoiding Buck’s eyes all the while.

It hits Buck hard and fast: Eddie is really, really nervous. And trying to be romantic, for Buck. And if he crawled into Eddie’s lap, probably Eddie would laugh, and let him; he’s allowed. And maybe nothing feels different but it’s all changed. That’s what Buck wants, for once. That’s what Eddie wants, judging by his wide dark eyes, flushed cheeks, the flickering candlelight. Sometimes Buck’s slow on the uptake. This time, he might have just been scared. 

“You look nice,” Buck says. 

Kind of bad timing—Eddie’s just in his socks; he’d shed his jacket and the fancy watch Buck’s only seen him break out a couple times; he’d undone the first couple of buttons on his shirt; he must have run his hands through his hair when he was out of sight, since it’s falling halfway down his forehead. Buck should have said something when he picked Eddie up—he’d thought it, then, but he had been so comfortable with Eddie in his passenger seat, he didn’t want to risk making things weird.

Eddie’s laugh is just a soft puff of air. He relaxes. “Thanks,” he says, coming around to sink down beside Buck, turning a knee out so they’re touching, as if by reflex. 

“I like that color on you,” Buck continues. “Always have.”

“Hm,” Eddie says, smiling. He’s in rose pink. He’s also leaning closer, lifting a hand and brushing his fingertips down Buck’s brow, his cheek. His eyes flicker, and suddenly they’re trained on Buck’s mouth. Buck’s stomach swoops boyishly. “It’s a good color.”

Holy shit, Buck thinks, head full of jasmine and honey and smoke and the cologne Eddie’s wearing, something unfamiliar with an exotic spiced note. They kissed before—they’ve been kissing all week—except this time Buck starts whimpering before their lips meet, and Eddie swallows whatever strangled noise he makes with a grin. Buck lurches in, fisting urgent hands into the front of Eddie’s shirt. 

“Eddie,” he pants after a while. It’s hard-won, because Eddie is demanding, and he bites. “Eddie, are you sure?” 

Now that they’ve done it, like, really crossed the line, gotten a taste—he’s gotta know if this is what Eddie was looking for, when he told Buck he loved him. Not just the sex, which they’re definitely about to have—all of it. Buck shoves his knuckles against Eddie’s chest to feel his heart gallop, hard but steady like it grew Thoroughbred legs. 

Eddie’s cupping his face in both hands while they kiss. He pulls away, not far, and surveys Buck the way he would a patient: like he’s trying to puzzle out what’s going on beneath Buck’s skin, in all the places he can’t quite reach.

“Buck,” he says, gently. “Of course.” 

He pushes his thumb between Buck’s teeth. Satisfied, Buck drags him back in.

[sunseed-fandump]

The Tarot from the new trailer has me FLIPPING OUT (Sorry for the shitty screenshot) I was already making an analysis on the previous cards we got, but THIS has really got me doing backflips in my head because of the implications.

Let me explain.

First off, have you noticed that one of these cards is not like the others?

The first card, Strawberry Cookie, is in reverse. She is on the major arcana card XII - The Hanged Man. When the Hanged Man is in Reverse, it represents Delays, resistance, stalling, indecision, stagnation.

"The upright Hanged Man encourages you to pause for a moment and see things from a different perspective. Reversed, this card can show that you know you need to hit the pause button, but you are resisting it. Instead, you fill your days with tasks and projects, keeping busy and distracting yourself from the actual issue that needs your attention. Your spirit and body are asking you to slow down, but your mind keeps racing. Stop and rest before it’s too late. The Universe will only dial up the volume if you ignore it, and as a result, you may end up crashing. So, as soon as you hear the call, clear your schedule and make the space so you can tune in and listen."

Next we move on to Gingerbrave's card: 0 - The Fool.

In the Upright Position, the Fool represents new beginnings, innocence, spontaneity, a free spirit, and adventure.

"To see the The Fool generally means a beginning of a new journey, one where you will be filled with optimism and freedom from the usual constraints in life. When we meet him, he approaches each day as an adventure, in an almost childish way. He believes that anything can happen in life and there are many opportunities that are lying out there, in the world, waiting to be explored and developed. He leads a simple life, having no worries, and does not seem troubled by the fact that he cannot tell what he will encounter ahead."

Finally we have Wizard Cookie's card: I - The Magician.

In the Upright position, the Magician symbolizes logic, desire, resourcefulness, willpower, intelligence, skill, and manifestation.

"When you get the Magician in your reading, it might mean that it's time to tap into your full potential without hesitation. As a master manifestor, The Magician brings you the tools, resources and energy you need to make your dreams come true. Now is the perfect time to move forward on an idea that you recently conceived. The seed of potential has sprouted, and you are being called to take action and bring your intention to fruition. The skills, knowledge and capabilities you have gathered along your life path have led you to where you are now, and whether or not you know it, you are ready to turn your ideas into reality."

So what do these 3 cards mean together? Well, we have someone who is stagnating, who is stuck and unable to move forward. But they go through a rebirth - an epiphany - and start on the path of a new journey. And on that new path they unlock their full potential.

This is Pure Vanilla Cookie's story in the next update in a nutshell!

Sorry for the sorta long post, i just wanted to geek out about this since I love love love it when Tarot is used as a narrative device :)

[eldest-moonlit]

I've never found that place at all in my life, and I'm no longer looking outside of my already existing circle of close friends and acquaintances. As a neurodivergent woman on the autism spectrum, I've taken so many blows from neurotypical society and neurotypical people that I've lost track. I've been ghosted and blocked by a lot of people, the majority of them men, when they seemed to be the ones interested in me, only to abandon me without warning the moment I started to become myself or if I ever brought up my own needs. One of those instances left me sobbing into my blankets as I was sitting in my bed, trying to be quiet so that my parents wouldn't notice that I was in emotional pain. I've faced a lack of understanding, and/or a lack of effort to understand me, from most neurotypical people in my life, with the only exceptions being my parents and one of my three close friends. I've had far too many neurotypical people accuse me constantly of making excuses for myself when in reality I'm trying to explain my neurodivergence and how it affects the way I perceive the world in the best way that I can. There is a high possibility that I was gaslit for years, by my own peers in middle and high school, into invalidating my concerns and fears over living with epilepsy, when I purposely don't drive because I've missed taking my medication before and had a seizure 24 hours later because of that. If I have a seizure while driving, then I would be at a much higher risk of being either seriously injured or outright killed in a resulting car accident. Unfortunately, the only neurotypical people I've met in life who actually understand that, or at least try to, are one of my closest friends, my parents, my neurologist, and my therapist. Anyone else I've met who understands, or at least tries to, are also on the autism spectrum or neurodivergent in a different way, which includes my other two closest friends.

As a result of all the blows, my trust in neurotypical people is, to an extent, permanently damaged and will remain so. I may be in therapy now, but I feel that even if I go through years of it, I will always be very suspicious and wary of any neurotypical person I come across, of their true intentions and colors. I've learned to avoid hope as well. For me, the pain of crushed hopes is far worse than pain that comes from avoiding hope. I have my request that people not immediately follow me for good reason: in the words of TV Tropes, I'm a Broken Bird who finds stronger bonds and kinships with others on the spectrum, who Does Not Like Men because of just how many times I've been hurt by men in the past, and has the coping mechanisms I do to Never Be Hurt Again. But I'm not getting my hopes up. I already struggle to survive in a neurotypical society that loves to hurt and disadvantage neurodivergent people, so I don't expect it to adjust to my needs while I will have to constantly adjust my needs to fit in. And even if there is someone for me out there, I don't bother to hope. I've been lied to far too many times by men already, and during a time in my life where survival in neurotypical society has only gotten more difficult for me. I have a feeling that for the rest of my life, I will be struggling to survive in society with only my needs, my interests, my methods of survival, and autistic traits keeping my head above water.

[darlingsblackbook]

Between the Lines

Gojo Satoru x Awkward!Reader

Summary : As the new teacher’s assistant at Jujutsu High, Y/N is used to being invisible—quiet, awkward, always on the outside looking in. She tells herself she prefers it that way, but when Gojo Satoru, the school’s most infuriatingly nosy teacher, starts noticing the cracks in her carefully built walls, she finds it harder to hide. He’s loud, he’s persistent, and worst of all… he might just see right through her.

Warnings : Shy!Reader, Awkward!Reader, Introvert!Reader, Lonely!Reader

♡♡♡

I had never been good at introductions.

Or first impressions. Or second impressions.

Or… people in general.

So when the principal of Jujutsu High offered me a job as a teaching assistant, I accepted before I could talk myself out of it. It was logical—stable work, a chance to put my skills to use—but now, standing in front of the classroom door, I was starting to question every decision that led me here.

The job itself wasn’t the problem. It was the social part. The talking. The being around others.

The inevitable awkwardness.

Here I am, standing awkwardly outside the door of Gojo Satoru’s classroom, a bundle of nerves in my stomach.

I have never met him before. Only heard of him in passing. The strongest sorcerer alive. An eccentric man, a little ridiculous but undeniably powerful. I have no idea what to expect, and that made me even more anxious.

I exhaled sharply and knocked before I could hesitate any longer.

“Come iiinnn~”

The voice was playful, stretching the words like taffy. I hesitated for a second before pushing the door open.

The room was not empty. Three students sat at their desks, heads turning as I entered. One of them—a boy with pink hair and a bright, open grin—tilted his head curiously. Another, dark-haired with sharp features, barely reacted. The last, a girl with fiery eyes, scrutinized me with clear interest.

And then, there was him.

Gojo Satoru.

He was taller than I expected, his dark blue uniform neat but his posture anything but. White hair, messy but somehow intentional and a blindfold shielding his eyes. He was the kind of person who took up space without any effort, like the air itself made room for him.

“Oh? A new face.” A grin stretched across his face. "And who might you be?"

I swallowed and tightened my grip on my bag. “Um. I’m Y/N. The principal assigned me as your new teaching assistant.”

For a moment, there was a silence. Then, Gojo’s smile widened. “Ohhh, so you’re the poor soul stuck with me?”

I- I was not so sure how to respond to that.

“I… guess?”

The pink-haired boy snickered. “Welcome to the chaos, sensei.”

Gojo clapped his hands. “Right! Introductions. These little troublemakers are my students. That’s Itadori Yuji—”

“Yo!”

“—Fushiguro Megumi—”

A silent nod.

“—and Kugisaki Nobara.”

The girl flipped her hair. “Good luck surviving Gojo-sensei.”

I gave a small, uncertain nod with an unsure smile. “Thanks…?”

Gojo tilted his head. “So, Y/N! Tell us about yourself.”

Oh no.

Not this question. Anything but this question.

My mind blanked immediately.

I was supposed to say something here. Something normal. Something that would make me seem approachable. But nothing came.

“There’s not much to say,” I finally muttered.

Gojo leaned forward on his desk, grinning. “Come on, there’s gotta be something. A hobby? Fun fact? Favorite food? Deepest, darkest secret?”

I swallowed. I hated questions like this. I never knew how to answer.

My hands curled around the strap of my bag. “I..I mean I like...reading, I don’t know.”

For a second, silence. A horrible, suffocating pause.

Then—

Gojo sighed dramatically. “A mystery woman, huh? Fine, fine, we’ll learn your secrets eventually.”

Something in me tensed at that idea.

But Gojo spared me and did not press. He just stretched lazily and turned back to his students.

I exhaled, shoulders loosening.

That could have gone a lot worse.

°•♡•°

The first few days passed in a blur.

I kept to my work, avoiding unnecessary interactions. The job itself was easy—assisting with lessons, helping with training schedules, sorting paperwork. It was everything outside of that that I struggled with.

Small talk. Social cues. Knowing when to speak and when to stay silent.

I avoided the break room, ate lunch alone, kept my head down. It wasn’t new—I had always been like this. And I had always told myself I didn’t mind.

But Gojo made it difficult to go unnoticed.

He was everywhere. Loud, teasing, impossible to ignore. He had a habit of appearing at the worst moments—leaning over my desk when I was trying to work, suddenly materializing beside me when I was lost in thought.

And he noticed things.

A lot of things.

“Hey,” he said one afternoon. “Do you always stand like that?”

I blinked up at him. “Like what?”

He waved a hand vaguely. “All stiff. Like you’re bracing for impact.”

I immediately stiffened more. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Gojo hummed. “You’re always tense. And quiet. Do I scare you?”

I frowned, caught off guard. “What? No.” I laughed awkwardly.

He gasped, hand over his chest. “So you just don’t like me?”

“That’s not—” I stopped, exhaling. “I just… I don’t talk much.”

Gojo tilted his head, as if considering something.

For a second, I thought he might press further. Ask questions I didn’t know how to answer.

But then he just grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll warm up to me eventually.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

But later, when I caught him watching me with something thoughtful behind his blindfold, I realized—

He wasn’t sure about me either.

°•♡•°

Even more days passed, blending into each other like ink bleeding into paper.

I kept my head down, did my work, and kept to myself. It was easy, really. No one expected much from me beyond my job. The students were polite, Gojo was… Gojo, and the rest of the staff had their own responsibilities. I did what was required, answered when spoken to, and let conversations pass over me like waves washing over a stone.

And yet…

Something gnawed at me.

I noticed things. I always had.

Like the way Itadori and Kugisaki bickered over lunch, their insults sharp but affectionate. The way Fushiguro sighed, exasperated but always there, always included. The way they trained together, argued together, shared jokes that only made sense to them.

They belonged.

Even the staff, as different as they were, had their own connections. Yaga’s gruff lectures, Shoko’s dry humor, Gojo’s infuriating yet oddly natural way of slipping into conversations like he had always been part of them.

Everywhere I looked, people had someone.

I didn’t even have a past friendship to reminisce about. No old friend I had lost touch with. No warm memories of sleepovers, of whispered secrets at midnight, of laughing so hard my stomach hurt.

I had nothing.

It wasn’t that I had never wanted friends. I had wanted them desperately. But there had always been something wrong with me—something that made people drift away before they ever truly got close.

Maybe I was too quiet.

Maybe I was too awkward.

Maybe I was just… forgettable.

Even now, at 22, I felt like I had already wasted my entire life away.

Everyone else had stories. Experiences. Things they could look back on with fondness or even regret.

I had empty days and silence.

I never checked my phone much, but sometimes, I left it untouched for hours just to pretend—just to imagine, for a second, that when I finally looked at it, I would see something.

A message.

A missed call.

A notification that was not just a useless app reminder.

But there was never anything.

The ache in my chest was familiar by now, dull but relentless.

I felt like I was missing something vital, something everyone else had but I simply… didn’t.

It was stupid.

I had a job. A roof over my head. A place in the world, even if it felt like I was just existing rather than living.

But still—

Still.

I wanted someone.

Someone to talk to about nothing and everything.

Someone to laugh with.

Someone who would see my name pop up on their phone and be excited to hear from me.

But I didn’t know how to reach out.

Didn’t know how to start.

Didn’t know if it was even possible for someone like me.

If Gojo noticed anything, he didn’t show it.

Not at first.

He still teased, still popped up at the most unexpected moments, still acted like the world was his playground.

But then, I started catching him watching me.

Just little moments, subtle shifts.

His head tilting ever so slightly whenever I hesitated before answering a question.

His focus lingering when I thought no one was paying attention.

At first, I just chalked it up to paranoia. But it kept happening.

The worst part was, Gojo wasn’t the type to care without reason. If he was noticing me, if he was watching me, it meant something had tipped him off.

That terrified me.

Because if he figured it out—if he somehow pieced together how hollow my life really was—I wasn’t sure I could handle that kind of scrutiny.

So I tried harder.

Tried to look normal.

Tried to pretend that I wasn’t weighed down by something invisible, something I didn’t have the words for.

But Gojo was sharp in a way most people didn’t realize.

And even if I could fool everyone else,

I couldn’t fool him.

The days continued to pass, each one blending into the next. I had fallen into a routine, and while there was a sense of comfort in that, there was also something else—something heavier, something I tried not to think about too much.

I wasn’t unhappy, exactly. I had a job, I had a purpose, and I wasn’t struggling. But the silence of my own life had become deafening.

At Jujutsu High, I was surrounded by people, but I had never felt more alone.

It was during lunch that I felt it the most.

I always sat outside, away from the busy chatter of the cafeteria, where students and staff alike gathered in their little groups.

It wasn’t like anyone had told me to sit alone. I had just… done it.

It was easier that way.

Or at least, that was what I told myself.

I had taken to watching the students from afar. Not in an obvious way, but just enough to see the ease of their friendships. The way Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi existed in a way that I had never known myself.

“Oi, Megumi, say ‘ahhh’—”

“No.”

“Come onnn, I made it with love!”

“I literally watched you drop that on the floor.”

Nobara pouted dramatically, only for Yuji to swoop in and eat whatever it was she had been trying to force on Megumi. The two of them laughed at something he said, and even Megumi, who always tried to seem indifferent, looked somewhat amused.

I turned my gaze away with a slight smile, focusing on my food.

It shouldn’t have made me feel like this.

It was such a simple thing—friends joking around, sharing lunch, teasing each other. It wasn’t as if I had ever expected to be part of something like that.

And yet.

I let out a quiet sigh and checked my phone.

Zero notifications.

The same empty lock screen. The same stillness.

I turned it off quickly and placed it back on the table, pushing my food around with my chopsticks.

“Not hungry?”

I looked up, startled.

Shoko had appeared beside me, a cigarette dangling between her fingers as she leaned against the bench. Her sharp eyes flickered to my barely-touched food.

“Oh,” I hesitated. “No, I just…” I trailed off, not really knowing how to finish the sentence.

Shoko hummed. “Gojo giving you trouble?”

I blinked. “What?”

She smirked, exhaling smoke. “He’s been staring at you a lot.”

My stomach twisted uncomfortably. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just gave a weak chuckle and shook my head.

“I think he just likes messing with people.”

“That’s an understatement.” Shoko stretched, then took another drag. “He’s nosy, though. If he’s paying attention to you, he’s probably noticed something.”

I swallowed, suddenly feeling even more self-conscious.

Shoko didn’t push. She just glanced at my food again, then nodded toward the cafeteria. “You should eat with them sometime. They wouldn’t mind.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Maybe,” I lied.

She didn’t call me out on it. Just gave a lazy wave and wandered off, disappearing into the school.

I should have expected it.

I really should have.

But when Gojo’s voice rang out, disrupting my fragile moment of peace, I still nearly choked on air.

“You eat like someone’s forcing you,” he remarked, plopping down onto the bench beside me without a single care.

I froze.

He was too close.

I wasn’t used to people being this close.

Gojo didn’t seem to notice—or, more likely, he didn’t care. He leaned back, stretching his long legs out in front of him, his arms sprawled over the back of the bench as if he owned the whole world.

I forced a weak chuckle, gripping my chopsticks tighter. “I eat fine.”

“Debatable.” He tilted his head toward me. “You’re all stiff. Like a scared little rabbit.”

I gave him a look, but I knew better than to actually argue. Gojo thrived off reactions.

Instead, I let out a breathy laugh and looked away.

He wasn’t deterred.

“So,” he continued, tapping his fingers against the bench, “why do you always eat alone?”

I nearly dropped my chopsticks.

The question caught me off guard—not because it was unexpected, but because it was so blunt.

My throat felt tight. “I just prefer it,” I murmured, staring down at my food.

“Really?” Gojo drawled. “Because I think you just don’t know how to ask to sit with someone.”

I swallowed, gripping my chopsticks so hard they might snap. “That’s not—”

“C’mon, am I wrong?”

I didn’t answer.

Gojo sighed dramatically, turning to face me fully. “You’re a weird one, you know that?”

I let out a nervous laugh, feeling my entire body lock up under his gaze.

“And you’re loud,” I mumbled before I could stop myself.

He grinned. “I am loud. But I’m fun, too.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, so I just nodded weakly.

He tapped a finger against the table. “Seriously, though. You’re always off on your own. No friends? No tragic backstory?”

I blinked rapidly, caught completely off guard. “I—”

“Oh my god, do you have amnesia? Are you secretly a lost princess? A government experiment gone wrong?”

Despite myself, I let out a small laugh. It was quiet, but it was real.

Gojo grinned like he had won something.

“You’re impossible,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“I know,” he said smugly. Then, after a pause, his voice turned softer—quieter. “But really. You okay?”

The question hit harder than I expected.

I stared at my untouched food, feeling my throat tighten.

I didn’t know how to answer.

Because I didn’t even know what ‘okay’ meant anymore.

Gojo didn’t push.

He just sat there, waiting, as if he had all the time in the world.

But I wasn’t ready.

So I did what I always did.

I laughed awkwardly. Nodded.

And said nothing at all.

Gojo let out a hum, tapping his fingers against the table again.

He knew.

Maybe not everything, but something.

And that scared me more than anything.

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — Sukuna watched as you tended to the herbs just outside his temple, your movements carrying that same gentleness as always. You hummed softly while working, a melody that seemed to make even the weeds lean towards you. The swell of your stomach was prominent now, a visible reminder of how you had changed everything, and something in him always urged him to be closer to you- a possessiveness that had only grown over the past few months. 

He hated it. But above all, he hated the way his curse energy would flow around the surrounding area, like a protective shroud meant solely for you… And he refused to acknowledge how his multiple eyes would track every subtle shift in your expression…

"Ryomen! Look at this one!" your voice held nothing but genuine delight as you held up a particularly vibrant herb. 

"Tch. Still wasting your time with these worthless weeds?" he scoffed, but his eyes never left your form. He took notice of the way your fingers carefully caressed the delicate thing and the small smile that tugged at your lips, and it was only then did he realize that your hair had grown a little longer... 

"One day," he heard you murmur, your voice carrying in the evening breeze, "you might need these."  

The mere suggestion that he, the king of curses, might need such mundane remedies should have enraged him, and to a certain degree it did, but he was so transfixed on your fingers, the same fingers that always dared to trace his black markings, that his retort lacked it’s usual venom. 

"Someone like me has no use for such worthless things." the mouth on his stomach grinned, "You are aware of the difference between us, aren't you? Or has that brat inside of you softened that brain of yours?"

His gaze flickered to your stomach, where his child grew stronger each day.

That’s when you turned to him with that damn smile, it was like freshly fallen snow, untouched and pure… And it always awakened two warring instincts within him. The first was to destroy you, to corrupt, and to taint that purity until nothing remained and you were left bloody in his arms… And then there was the second, the newer, more terrifying one that made him want to preserve it at all costs…

"Oh? No use for such worthless things?" you tilted your head playfully, reminding him of that first day in the forest where he met you, "Hmm~ Is that why you still wear my scarf? If you have no use for such worthless things, then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if I took it back."

The memory of how you had wrapped it around him had been burned into his memory... like a fucking curse. How you approached him in the forest while bodies lay scattered around him, your eyes full of concern rather than terror. He didn’t know at the time the men he slaughtered were after you- didn’t know that his fun little killing spree would leave him stuck with you like a thorn in a wound. 

A thorn he couldn't be bothered with removing...

"You’re bleeding," you had said then, as if he were some ordinary injured traveler. Before he could slice that pretty head of yours clean off, you had already removed your scarf, standing on your tiptoes, tongue sticking out in concentration as you tended to the wound and wrapped it around his neck even though it would heal in moments…   

His four arms hung beside him at your audacity, as you dared to care for the King of Curses.

"It’s not much," you had whispered, "but it should help keep the wound clean until it heals" then you had smiled- that same one you wore now. 

So lost in the memory, Sukuna hadn’t even noticed you were now standing before him, reaching out towards him with the intent of tugging your scarf free from his body and he reacted. Faster than he should have been and snatched your hand away before you could even graze the fabric. 

"Do. Not." 

His eyes were narrowed, and his voice was low, a growl that echoed across the temple grounds, but you had become immune to the sound. His other hand unconsciously rose to touch the now worn fabric at his neck, it still carried traces of your scent after all this time.

"Watch yourself, woman. I could still slice that fragile neck of yours. Devour you where you stand. Don't be mistaken, you're not safe just because you're carrying my child."

"Mmhmm," you hummed, entirely unafraid as you leaned into him so that you could place a chaste kiss against his jawline, "Is that why you let me sleep in your bed? Why you allow only i to say your real name... And why you-" 

"Be silent." he spat, and yet his grip on your hand loosened, allowing your fingers to slip through his and intertwine, "Insolent creature…" but his other hands were merciful as they settled on your waist.

"If you wanted to kill me, Ryomen, you would have done so a long time ago." 

"You think too highly of yourself. You're a means to an end, a tool."

Your smile never wavered for a second, "Is that so? Then I must be a very special tool. I don't believe anyone else would get away with the things I do."

"Foolish little lamb." He let out a low grunt, pressing his forehead to yours in a gesture that had become as natural as breathing, "I will admit," his lips curled into a smirk as he pulled you flush against his body, "you've made the last few months a little less boring. But if I tire of your presence, I won't hesitate to kill you." 

"Your foolish woman." You corrected, and with a soft chuckle, you pulled back slightly so that you could cup his face, "And you won’t lol me before the baby is born, right? That would be a shame."

Sukuna scowled, "Don't test me."

"Never." you promised sweetly, but he knew you’d continue to do so regardless.

The King of Curses would never admit it, but the thought of you dead- the thought of anyone daring to harm you or his child was enough to awaken a a whole new kind of bloodlust, unlike anything he had felt in centuries. He would paint the lands red with the blood of any who tried, would hang their entrails from the highest trees as a warning, would burn the world to ash before letting harm come to what was his.

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

He gets me so high

ty to that one anon who gave me the idea for this

tecnically this takes place between parts 4 and 5

so i guess this would be part 4.5?

anon ily for givijg me this idea

kind of a short chapter lol

You got into an argument earlier.

It wasn't over anything serious, you don't even remember what it was about.

All you remember is Damian telling you you weren't worthy of being part of his father's bloodline.

That stung a little.

You tried defending yourself and telling the others in hopes of others taking your side.

Only for everyone to take his.

"He's had a hard life," Dick said to you, still looking at Damian.

"So have I!" went unsaid, as you put your head down and looked at the floor.

It isn't fair!

It isn't fair how he walked away Scott free smirking as if he won!

It isn't fair how you were the only one scolded by Alfred and Bruce for arguing!

It isn't fair how you ran to your room to cry!

It isn't fair how you had no one on your side!

You needed someone on your side.

After a while of sobbing on your pillow (which was now wet), you felt your phone buzz and your ringtone go off. You were getting a call from Hobie.

It wasn't rare for him to call you, all of the spider-kids call each other at random times of the day to just talk about whatever.

One time you called them all at 3 am because you thought of a dumb invention that 'could change lives', only for Gwen to tell you it already existed, and didn't change lives.

One time, Miles called you to tell you he got 100 on his physics test.

One time, Hobie called you because he didn't know how long he should cook something in the microwave.

One time, Peni called you to tell you how she accidentally bought 3 copies of the same book. Again.

One time, Gwen called you at 1 am to ask if you could dye her hair again since her hair dye was fading again.

One time, Pavitr called you to ask which Valentine's gift he should give Gayatri since he was stuck between two options. He ended up choosing both gifts for her.

It was normal for everyone to call anyone for any reason.

You tried to wipe your tears and clear your voice so you could pretend you were fine, and you picked up the phone to talk to him.

As soon as you picked up, he started rambling about how his day went.

You didn't mind calling him, it took your mind off things.

Hobie felt something was off. Sure, you were listening to him intently, but you usually had your camera on and played with stupid filters while he talked. You didn't have your camera on like usual.

He decided to not bring it up and just let you tell him when you were ready.

"Anywho, I bought around 54 boxes of Girl Scout cookies-" Hobie said, while holding up a box of Thin Mints to the camera

"why did you buy 54??" you said in disbelief, your voice slightly cracking, which you cringed at.

"Don't worry about it." you laughed a little at that.

"Keep your window open, I'm on my way." you saw him start walking on camera

"Why?" you asked

"Get ready, we're going out," he said while grabbing 5 boxes of the Girl Scout cookies.

He hung up before explaining anything.

You got up from your bed and decided to fix yourself up a bit before he came over.

You redid your makeup because it smeared while you were crying.

After 5 minutes, you heard a knock on your window.

You went to see what it was, and Hobie was knocking at your window looking a little stupid.

You unlocked it and opened the window.

"I thought you were gonna unlock it?" Hobie said already looking around your room and making himself at home.

He and the others have come over a lot, it's somewhat surprising that none of your family noticed.

"I forgot!" you said while shrugging your shoulders. It wasn't a lie, you did forget.

"You're always forgetting, never remembering," Hobie said, lying on your comfy bed.

"Okay so I forget a couple of times and suddenly I'm always forgetful, I dye Gwen's hair and cut my own, does that make me a barber?" you said, dramatically before flopping onto your bed next to Hobie.

"So, what's got you all miffed?" he asked while playing around with a plushie that was on your bed.

"What do you mean?" you sat up to look at him in confusion.

"Miffed: somewhat annoyed; peeved," Hobie explained.

"No, not about what miffed means, I know what that means, but what do you mean?" you asked, tilting your head slightly.

"I mean, you look pissed, what happened?" he asked, while playing around with a volleyball he got from who knows where.

You started fidgeting with your hands. "Well, me and Damian got into an argument earlier. I don't even remember what it was about. He said I wasn't worthy of Bruce's blood. Which honestly did hurt a little. What really pissed me off was how no one took my side. How no one defended me. How no one checked up on me after I ran to my room and cried." A tear ran down your cheek. You couldn't tell if it was from anger or sadness.

Hobie sat up and cleared the tear away from your cheek. "C'mon Tinkerbell, let's get outta here," He said, while getting up and stretching.

"And go where?" you got up as well.

"Anywhere. It's clear everyone here is bonkers." He started walking towards your window.

"Okay, just gimmie a sec!" You ran to grab your wallet and phone and followed him out the window.

You were now atop the bat signal, next to Hobie.

After raiding a gas station for its snacks (which you knew Alfred would never approve of) you guys were just sitting down in silence.

It was pretty nice, you were leaning on Hobie as he lit up what you thought was a cigarette.

Turns out it wasn't. You realized as soon as the smell of weed hit you.

You watched as he passed you the blunt, "Want a hit?"

You hesitated for a moment. What would your family think about this?

Hobie saw you hesitating, and not wanting to make you uncomfortable said "Don't do it if you don't want to."

You decided to do it.

Fuck what your family thinks about this.

Fuck your family. Fuck them all. Fuck Damian, fuck Dick, fuck Jason, fuck Bruce, and fuck Alfred.

They didn't care, they didn't defend you, they don't notice you, why would they notice or care about this?

They were probably dressed in their stupid spandex costumes beating people up.

A long time ago you longed and begged to be one of them.

What is the worst that can happen anyway?

"pass me it."

Hobie then taught you how to do it. It was a bit scary for you, you haven't ever smoked or done weed or anything before.

You took a hit and immediately started coughing.

"You alright there, luv?" You gave him a thumbs up before taking a couple more hits and getting a hang of it.

You guys started devouring the snacks and telling dumb stories.

You fell off due to jumping to the light from the batsignal suddenly turning on and scaring you. You laughed when Hobie had to pick you up from the rooftop.

You could stay like this forever, just you and your big brother.

hi guys heres some fluff and angst

i feel like since writing these silly little stories my writing has gotten a tiny bit better

im not sure tho

anyways anon ty again i loved writing this

taglist(please lmk if i forgot you!):@bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n @welpthisisboring @itsberrydreemurstuff @lovebug-apple @crazycaoticsimp @bellethesleepypotato @blackhood1229 @jsprien213

[navyiera]

All the Things I Love about You

pairing: caitlyn kiramman x fem!reader

synopsis: sometimes there are bad days when things don't go your way but luckily there's caitlyn who can turn everything back to the way you like it.

for anyone who's having a bad day :( keep going, im proud of you!!

You don’t mean to say it out loud.

It’s just one of those days—one where your mind feels cluttered and restless, where the smallest things seem to go wrong, and suddenly, everything feels heavier than it should. You don’t know when it started, but now you’re moving around the room, absentmindedly mumbling under your breath, listing every little thing you don’t like about yourself.

“Too indecisive… get flustered too easily… always messing things up…”

Caitlyn looks up from her book across the room, her gaze sharp and steady as she watches you move. At first, she doesn’t say anything, just quietly observing. But when you sigh and mutter something about being “too much of a burden,” she closes her book with a quiet thud.

“Well, I suppose I should chime in,” she says matter-of-factly.

You blink, turning toward her. “What?”

She stands, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in her blouse, and takes a step closer. “Since we’re listing things, I’d like to add a few of my own.”

Your stomach tightens. “Caitlyn, that’s not—”

She doesn’t let you finish. Instead, she reaches for your hand, lacing her fingers through yours. Her grip is firm but gentle, grounding. “I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about.”

You freeze. “Caitlyn—”

“I love how thoughtful you are, how you notice the smallest details about people and remember them,” she continues, as if you hadn’t spoken. “Like the way you always make my tea just how I like it. Or how you remember which side of the bed I prefer, even though I wouldn’t mind switching.”

Her voice is calm, unwavering, and she’s looking at you so intently that it’s impossible to brush off her words.

“I love how you get excited over the little things—how you squeeze my hand when you see a cat across the street, or how you gasp at the first snowfall of the year, like you’re seeing it for the first time.”

A lump forms in your throat, but she isn’t finished.

“I love how expressive you are. How I can read your thoughts just by watching your face.” She tilts her head slightly, studying you with fond amusement. “Like right now. You’re trying to figure out how to change the subject.”

You let out a small, shaky laugh, dropping your gaze. “Maybe.”

She squeezes your hand before letting go, only to cup your face instead, tilting it back up so you have no choice but to meet her eyes. “I love how much you care, even when you try to downplay it. How you always notice when I’m tired and bring me tea before I even ask. How you listen—really listen—when I talk, even when I ramble.”

You swallow hard, struggling to hold her gaze. “Caitlyn, I…”

She leans in just slightly, pressing her forehead against yours. “I love your laugh,” she murmurs. “I love the way you hum when you’re focused, and how you tilt your head when you’re curious. I love how you always reach for my hand, even when you’re half-asleep. And I love how you try to hide your smile when I’m being too sappy.”

You let out another breathless laugh, one that turns into something closer to a soft sniffle as you blink rapidly. “This is unfair.”

She smiles, brushing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s the truth.”

A few seconds of silence stretch between you, warm and quiet. Then, she whispers, “And I love you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling slowly before opening them again. “I don’t always feel like I’m worth all that.”

Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate. “You are.”

The certainty in her voice makes something ache deep in your chest.

She tilts your chin up slightly, eyes full of quiet affection. “I don’t care how long it takes for you to believe me. I’ll remind you every time.”

You nod, unable to trust your voice, and she takes it as permission to close the last bit of space between you, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

She lingers there for a moment, her lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to press another to your cheek. Then another, slower, against the corner of your mouth, her breath fanning against your lips.

You exhale, tilting toward her instinctively. “You’re really unfair, you know that?”

Caitlyn hums, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Mm. But you’re smiling now.”

You roll your eyes, but the warmth in your chest refuses to fade. “Okay, okay. I get it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you?”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m trying.”

Caitlyn’s expression softens even further. “That’s enough.”

She pulls you into a gentle hug, and you let yourself sink into it, letting her warmth chase away the last lingering shadows of doubt.

[jiexclusive1]

𝜗𝜚⋆ bj- p.jisung

warnings- rough oral sex (male rec.), choking, hair pulling, degradation. slapping (not a lot), hand restraint, slight cum eating, jisung is mean, dacryphilia.

Mdni!

W/c- 2k

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

You and Jisung were seen to be the cutest couple out of the friend group.

You both had a fight earlier that day, but when boys had invited you both over because Mark was having trouble with his girlfriend and needed a group meeting to figure everything out. Jisung thought it would be a good idea to put a pause on the situation.

You two shared so many cute moments together, acting extra clingy in front of all your friends, so it was weird to see you both on the opposite ends of the room acting cold towards each other. For instance, every time Jisung would say something, you would interrupt with a passive aggressive, back handed comment.

"Maybe it's just a misunderstanding?" Jisung told mark.

"You do love that word." You responded under your breath, just enough for everyone to hear it.

He ignored it the first time.

"Come on, we're all mature adults here." He spoke up, responding to something Mark had said.

"Debatable." You coughed out.

He turned to you, giving you a warning glance as you lowered your head, clearing your throat.

Jisung responded once more to Mark: "I don't think you two meant to upset each other."

You cleared your throat. "Intentions don't erase consequences, but sure." You said.

Mark and Jisung both looked at you at the same time.

"Yeah, you're right Y/n." Mark spoke, nodding in agreement.

You took the opportunity to make a small face at Jisung, titling your head at him slightly, a small detail he would've missed if he wasn't looking at you so intently.

Mark noticed as well, looking between the both of you. "Are you two ok?" He piped up and asked.

"Yeah we're good. I think we're all just overthinking some things." Jisung responded.

"Some of us more than others." You said lowly, prompting Jisung to turn to you, inching closer with a dark look on his face.

"Listen, you guys can leave if you need to." Mark spoke up.

"No, we're good." Jisung said.

"No actually, I think we should head out." You responded, looking up at him as he stood in front of you.

"Well, I'm not ready to go." Jisung said, looking directly at you, his eyes full of pure darkness.

"Well, then you can find a ride home." You responded, standing up in front of him.

"If you walk out, you're going to regret it later." Jisung spoke harshly, his voice barely above a whisper, only for you to hear.

"Bite me." You whispered, a sly smirk painting your face as you walked past him.

"I'm gonna head out guys, I hope you get everything figured out Mark. Jisung's staying so you'll have his... wise words." You said, glancing back at him.

His face was full of anger as he looked at you, but then, a small smirk appeared on his face as he nodded.

"I'll see you at home." He said, inching closer to you once more, pulling you into a tight hug, his grip on your waist rough.

"See you." You responded, before turning away and walking out.

It was about an hour later, and you were in the bedroom. You heard the front door rattling, then the noise of it slamming, followed up by:

"Y/n, where the fuck are you."

You looked up from your phone, standing up as his heavy footsteps reached the bedroom door. He swung it open, his face painted with a dark expression, knuckles red as if he'd been clutching something tightly.

He didn't pause. He was on you in seconds, crossing the room, his cold hand wrapping around your throat before you could think to move.

You stumbled back, spine hitting the wall with a dull thud, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as his fingers flexed against your skin.

"Do you like making me mad?" He said, his thumb brushing along the delicate skin of your throat.

You didn't answer, just looked at him with glossy eyes, which just made him angrier.

"What, you can't speak now? You had so much to say earlier in front of everyone, now you can't speak?" His grip tightened, just enough to remind you that he could take it away if he wanted to.

Your lips trembled, but you still didn't speak, glossy eyes locked onto his.

His patience snapped..

"Y/n, you're seriously pissing me off." He said, removing his hand from your throat.

"Get on your knees, and I'm not going to ask you again." He spoke, backing away from the wall and examining your movements.

You hesitated for only a second before you obeyed, lowering yourself onto the carpet. The rough fabric rubbed into your bare knees, the friction stinging slightly, but you ignored it, keeping your gaze on him.

"Since you want to use your fucking mouth so much." He murmured to himself, looking to the side, before his gaze fixated on you again.

"What the fuck are you waiting for?" His voice was low and impatient

You got the hint. Hands trembling slightly, you reached for the buttons of his jeans, fingers grazing the cool metal as you began to unfasten them, but before you could, his hands shot out, gripping both of your wrists in a firm hold.

A startled breath escaped you as he yanked them together, lifting them slightly into the air, keeping you trapped in place.

He tilted his head, amusement in his gaze as he studied your reaction.

"You like to run your mouth so much. So use it, take them off." He replied, looking at you with a sly smirk.

"Ji—" You barely managed to whisper his name before he cut you off.

"I'm not going to tell you again." His grip on your wrists tightened just enough to make his point, his smirk deepening.

You leaned in, gripping the edge of the fabric between your teeth, tugging firmly. Your tongue pressed against the button, working it free from the hole with a slow motion.

You ran your tongue along the top of the zipper, trailing downward. The fabric of his underwear brushed against your tongue as you moved, heat radiating through the material as you licked over his clothed bulge.

"Pull them down with your teeth, I want to see it." He said, watching you intently.

You bit into the edge of the jeans, moving your head slowly to pull them down. Your hands stretched above your head as his grip tightened on your wrist. You looked up at him, silently awaiting his next command.

"What, are you stupid?" His voice was sharp. "Pull my underwear down."

"Ji, can I please use my hands?" You asked, your voice soft, almost pleading.

"No." He replied quickly. "Now shut up and pull them down."

You teased along the waistband of his underwear with your tongue, catching the fabric gently between your teeth before tugging it down.

"You know what to do." He said, his voice low.

You moved your head, licking a slow line from his base to his tip, drawing a sharp exhale from him.

"Stop teasing." He warned, his grip tightening around your wrist, the pressure causing a hint of discomfort.

You obeyed instantly, wrapping your lips around his sensitive tip, cheeks hollowing as his breathing grew heavier.

You lowered your head along his dick, taking him deeper as his breath hitched, a heavy exhale slipping past his lips. His eyes darkened, focused intently on the way your lips stretched and glistened around him.

"Is that the best you can do without your hands? Pathetic." He murmured with a taunting sigh. Before you had time to react, he bucked his hips unexpectedly, pushing himself deeper. The sudden motion caught you off guard, forcing you to pull back with a choked gasp, coughing as you struggled to catch your breath.

"Look at you, choking already, and I barely put it in. Such a useless slut." He groaned, his voice rough.

You lifted your gaze defiantly. "You just caught me off guard." You shot back, though the instant the words left your mouth, regret settled.

His expression darkened, lips curling into a smirk. "Oh yeah?" He challenged, tugging your arms upward, making your shoulders strain slightly from the sudden pressure.

Before you could respond, his free hand gripped your face, fingers pressing firmly into your cheeks, forcing your lips to pucker.

"Then do it correctly, or I'll do it for you." He scoffed.

You took him back into your mouth, moving roughly. It was definitely harder without using your hands, but you managed to maintain your rhythm. That is, until Jisung shifted forward again, his hips thrusting deeply into your mouth, catching you off guard.

You jolted back, gasping for breath, your chest rising and falling as you tried to regain composure. His sharp gaze pierced through you, a flicker of disdain in his eyes.

"You're so fucking annoying." He spoke, the words laced with contempt.

Before you had a chance to react, he released your wrists, only for his hands to swiftly find the back of your head. His grip was firm as he pushed you back down.

Your eyes widened in surprise from the sudden contact, your breath catching in your throat. The way he hit the back of your throat so quickly left you breathless, the intensity making your hands instinctively grasp at his thighs for support.

A wave of heat spread through you, and you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming sensation, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The pressure built, and you could feel the pulse in his muscles beneath your fingers as you held on, desperately trying to steady yourself.

Fuck like that." He groaned, his fingers gripping your hair tighter, pulling you in closer as he thrust into your mouth with increasing force. His breath hitched as his control slipped away, each movement more urgent than the last.

Hot tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to keep up with each harsh thrust. The sensation of him filling your mouth made you gag, the sounds muffled as you desperately tried to breathe. Drool leaked from the corners of your lips, dripping down your chin.

"Fuck, tighten the back of your throat Y/n." He groaned through gritted teeth, his voice thick with lust. His grip on your hair tightened painfully, fingers digging into your scalp as he yanked you forward, forcing you to take him deeper with each rough pull.

You blinked rapidly, your eyes stinging as your eye makeup blurred from your tears, streaking down your face. Jisung didn't care, in fact, it only turned him on more. His pleasure growing with every sign of your discomfort.

"Such a whore." He panted, his voice rough and breathless as his tip collided with the back of your throat.

You moaned as his dick filled your mouth, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming you in a way that turned you on more than you were willing to admit.

“Bet this turns you on, doesn't it? Being used like this. Like a little slut.” He taunted, his voice low.

You squeezed your thighs together, trying to hold onto control, but the louder and more intense the sounds of him hitting your throat became, the harder it was.

“This dirty little fucking mouth.” He groaned, his breath heavy with desire. “Gonna fill it up with all my cum.” He whimpered out, head falling back in pleasure as the intensity of it all hit him.

With a few more rough thrusts, you felt him twitch deep at the back of your throat. A loud cry escaped him, his body tensing as he reached his high. Moments later, you felt his warm liquid in your mouth.

He slowly withdrew from your mouth, a trail of his cum dripping down your chin.

He paused for a moment, staring at you with a look of satisfaction in his eyes, before raising his hand to give your cheek two soft slaps. Without another word, he pulled up his pants and underwear, his eyes lingering on you for a brief second before he turned and walked out of the room.

Left alone, you were still kneeling on the floor, your throat sore, your head throbbing, and your hair tangled.

[catboydreamer]

friendships to games to lovers

Scaramouche x reader, childhood friends (reluctant) to lovers :)

you two grew up in the same neighborhood as kids, and eventually ended up hanging out (if you could call it that)

you pestering him constantly until he finally gives in with a grumble. 

eventually he starts seeking you out too, making up ridiculous lies that you see right through but pretend to be oblivious about. all because you know he’ll back down if you call it out, and you refuse to see that happen. 

you had moved homes when you were 15 years old but what are the odds you’d attend the same college as him?! 

actually, it was a local community college in his (and previously yours) hometown.

when he sees you he tries to keep up with his snarky comments but you can see a glimmer of emotion just boiling over the edge

he’s a shit talker but a really good gift giver. he can’t help shoving his homemade lunch towards you, muttering quietly, “if you’re anything like before, you forgot to pack a lunch. and im not having you eat the shitty food in here.” 

he’s grown taller now, too. something you thought wasn’t possible out of him. he didn’t tower over you or anything like that but it was enough to give him an edge. 

as you rekindle a relationship, whatever it is, he uses his height a lot. he’s almost cocky about it; reaching above you to grab a book you needed, often leaning too far into your space. or even on more than one occasion, reaching into the cupboard to grab a mug from the highest shelf when he knows you’re leaning against the counter, right in front of it. and if you question it, he shrugs, “hm. cant say I’ve noticed it.”

he’s messing with you intentionally. he watches your reactions like a hawk, intensity flickering over his eyes.

deep down he just wants you to like him as much as he likes you but he wants to see you squirm a little bit too. 

it’s just the type of man he is, to tease you before letting you know exactly what’s going through his head. 

well, he has no intentions of being truthful actually, just dancing around the past and the present. 

he wants the transition to be painfully slow until you find yourself captured by his presence as if it’s always been there.

though, it’s you, so that doesn’t really happen. plus, he finds himself lost on you, frustrated when gestures don’t /seem/ to affect you that much.

in reality, you’ve gotten good at hiding emotions. your fear of being someone to play with rises up. 

it all comes to a head one autumn evening. 

he invited you over for dinner one evening, with all the usual antics.

he’s pulling a flirtatious gaze while mocking you in the same sentence. 

maybe something set you off that day or the tension just grew to be too much. after all, you were never known for your patience. 

the two of you were in the middle of eating dinner but the exact meal was lost on you. you didn’t care what it was. your skin felt red hot. 

one final stupid comment with a sly smile made you break in half. 

“you know what? im so over your stupid games, kunikuzushi.”

his eyes widen for a moment before a look of clarity falls into his gaze, “what are you talking about-“

you cut him off cleanly, “no. you know exactly what’s going through im talking about. I’m not gonna play your games anymore. you can properly ‘fess up to your feelings or this is it.”

his blood runs cold; he’s deathly pale more than usual. there’s an unusual fear in his eyes as his head drops so you can’t see his full reign of emotions as he speaks. all you want to do is lift his chin with the tip of your finger tips so he can’t escape you but you leave such a bold move for another occasion. 

his words are quick to the point, “I only wanted to know if you… l-loved me back,” his voice is full of cracks.

a smooth blush blossoms over his cheeks and the tips of his ears. he’s more than unready to truly speak of it all. 

slowly his gaze lifts up to meet yours; a soft twinkle in your eyes and a warming smile pulling at your lips. 

“you’re so stupid. I’ve always loved you.”

his heart jumps to his throat and he’s frozen in position. 

“c’mere,” and you motion to your lap. 

he huffs, turning his head to the side. your eyes bore into him, not intending on taking no for an answer. 

he gives in after a few beats of silence. he sludges over to you, clumsily climbing into your lap. he’s technically bigger than you now but still slender enough that it’s not too much. 

he’s shaking like a leaf. you don’t comment on it and especially not on how his entire body slowly relaxes completely at your touch and you trace small circles over his shoulder blades. your other hand grips his hand into yours. 

you’ll be damned if you don’t give him more than enough physical affection even if he acts like he doesn’t need it. 

you smile up at him. he has melted completely under your touch but you don’t dare to speak it. 

his eyes dart away from your gaze as the phrase comes out in a quiet yet clear mumble, “I really do love you.”

you give his hand a firm squeeze, I know you do. 

[numberonesnarkfan]

now that people have started posting isolated audios of voicelines, I noticed something.

Harley's voice quivers during his "for whom does that bell toll?" monologue.

He knows.

He knows he's going to die. He's grimly mocking himself as death comes to his chambers.

Also, consider the implications of the original speech to Harley's character:

"No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main…. Any man's death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."

I think him using this famous line and referencing this speech is intentional. Him asking "for whom does that bell now toll?" knowing full well the answer, and also that, despite his proclamations and determination, despite his twisted form, he still is only a man. One who believed himself more than a man.

Also the fact that he begins the speech with, "Do you hear it, like I do?"

He's the one hearing the bell tolling - he knew exactly what was going to happen, maybe even from the moment we entered the prison. Just too stubborn to give into hopelessness, and deciding that what use is being miserable about it? May as well have some fun before it ends and give it your best try.

[xhoess]

Midnight Melodies

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader

Warnings: Strong languag, Sexual content, Emotional tension, Intimate/romantic scenes, Fluff and angst, Mentions of uncertainty in relationships, Explicit content.

Wc: 10,3 K

Masterlist

If there was one thing everyone at Eden Academy could agree on, it was that Kim Hongjoong was perfect.

Student council president. Straight A’s. Teachers loved him, students respected him, and somehow, he made wearing a uniform look effortless. If someone needed help, Hongjoong was the first to offer. If there was an issue, he fixed it before anyone else even noticed.

You, on the other hand, were a little more… invisible. Not a bad student, not a standout. Just another face in the music club, trying to keep things afloat.

Which is why you were standing outside the student council room, gripping the petition for your club’s funding like a lifeline. This is fine, you told yourself. Just go in, ask him for help, and leave.

Taking a breath, you knocked.

"Come in,” a voice called.

The room was pristine, every file and folder stacked with precise care. And there, at the center of it all, was him.

Hongjoong sat behind his desk, a black pen twirling between his fingers. His eyes lifted when you entered, scanning you in that unreadable way that made people nervous.

“Ah,” he said, setting his pen down. “You’re from the music club, right?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling too aware of yourself. “Yeah. I—uh—wanted to talk about the budget cuts. We’re supposed to compete next month, but without funding, we can’t afford equipment or travel costs.” You placed the petition on his desk. “We got over a hundred signatures. I was hoping you could—”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples like he already knew where this was going.

"The school board’s been strict this year,” he said. “They want to prioritize ‘academic-focused’ programs.”

Your stomach dropped. “So, what? We just get pushed aside?”

He gave you a look. Not unkind, but unreadable. “I’ll bring it up at the next meeting. But I can’t promise anything.”

You stared at him, frustration bubbling in your chest. “You’re the president. If anyone can convince them, it’s you.”

For the first time, Hongjoong hesitated. His fingers tapped against the desk, his gaze flickering—just for a second—before settling back into his usual cool expression.

“I’ll try.”

The words felt like a deflection. Something was off about his tone, but before you could question it, he stood, effectively ending the conversation.

“Was there anything else?”

You clenched your jaw. “No. Thanks for your time, President Kim.”

Turning on your heel, you left, irritation simmering under your skin.

Why did it feel like he already knew the answer before you even walked in?

The school was quiet, unnervingly so. The usual bustle of students, the sounds of lockers slamming and chatter filling the hallways—gone. Only the steady ticking of the clock seemed to echo in the silence.

You had no intention of staying this late. The last few hours had been a blur of rewriting your club’s proposal, attempting to salvage any chance of getting the funding you desperately needed. But time had slipped away, and now it was far past curfew.

10:42 PM flashed on your phone screen as you stuffed your papers into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. You hurried down the hallway toward the nearest exit, hoping the janitors hadn’t locked the gates yet.

Just as you reached the door, though, a sound stopped you cold.

Music.

At first, you thought it was an illusion. Maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, longing for some background noise after so much silence. But then the beat hit again—deep, pulsing, relentless. It wasn’t the usual classical stuff the school played during assemblies, nor was it anything you’d heard during practice with the club. This was… different.

Intrigued and a bit confused, you turned toward the source. The sound was coming from an old classroom at the end of the hallway, one that had long since been abandoned for more modern spaces. The door was slightly ajar, a thin strip of light spilling into the darkness of the hallway.

You hesitated, your heart starting to race. The music sounded raw, emotional—real.

As you quietly approached the door, you peered through the crack, eyes widening at what you saw.

There, sitting at an old desk cluttered with various music equipment, was Kim Hongjoong.

But not the Hongjoong you knew—the student council president who always kept his uniform crisp, his hair perfectly styled, his demeanor immaculate.

No, this Hongjoong was lost in the music, head tilted down as his fingers flew over a laptop’s touchpad. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing lean forearms. His tie was loosened, hanging sloppily around his neck. The usual sharpness in his eyes was softened by the dim glow of the screen, his expression focused, intense.

This wasn’t the perfect student—this was a person completely immersed in his art.

The music swelled, the bass pounding in your chest, and you could feel the energy in the room—a deep, throbbing force that seemed to pulse through the very walls. It was raw and unfiltered, the kind of sound that felt more like a confession than a performance. It wasn’t the kind of music that would be welcomed at Eden Academy’s polished events.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Hongjoong wasn’t just studying. He was creating something—something entirely different, something he had been hiding from everyone.

A sudden, loud beat made you flinch, your foot shifting on the floor with an audible creak.

He heard you.

Hongjoong’s head snapped up, eyes locking with yours in an instant. For a split second, there was only silence—the thrum of the music fading as he froze, his gaze sharp but not quite as controlled as usual.

You both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, and then the music abruptly stopped, replaced by a tense stillness that filled the room.

“…What are you doing here?” His voice was low, more gravelly than you expected, his usual confident tone softened by something that felt closer to a mix of frustration and surprise.

Your heart was still pounding, but you stepped into the room, a challenge rising in your chest. "I could ask you the same thing."

Hongjoong ran a hand through his hair, clearly rattled. “You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered, standing up and pushing his chair back. “I didn’t mean for anyone to find out.”

You looked at the screen of his laptop, where the remnants of the music project remained, the waveform still visible. "This isn’t school-approved music, is it?"

Hongjoong was quiet for a long moment, his hands resting on the edge of the desk as if he didn’t know whether to shut the laptop or leave it exposed.

Finally, he sighed, rubbing his temples. "No. It’s not."

You tilted your head, stepping closer to him. “Why? Why are you hiding this?"

The edge in his voice softened slightly, but his eyes remained guarded. “Because if they find out, it’s over. This isn’t what they want. I’m supposed to be the model student, the ‘perfect president,’ the one who plays by the rules.” He shook his head, almost as if he was frustrated with himself. “But I’m not. I don’t fit the image they want me to have.”

Your brow furrowed. “You love this, don’t you?”

Hongjoong’s gaze flickered, and for the first time in this conversation, he looked vulnerable. “Yeah,” he said quietly, almost under his breath. “I do.”

He glanced at the desk, avoiding your eyes. You could see the conflict in the way his hands gripped the edge of the table—like he was torn between two worlds.

“You don’t have to hide it, Hongjoong,” you said softly, your voice almost a whisper. “Why don’t you just fight for it? You’re the student council president. You can make a change. You can—”

He cut you off, his voice rough. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand.”

You took a step closer, and for a moment, the distance between you two felt like miles—emotional miles. You had never seen him like this before, so raw, so... real.

The tension in the room thickened, and your pulse quickened as Hongjoong’s gaze drifted to your lips. You weren’t sure if it was your imagination, but for a brief second, it felt like the world had shifted. Like the perfect, untouchable student president had become... something else entirely.

“Then explain it to me,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly, a mix of curiosity and something else.

His lips parted, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to say something—something that might have changed everything. But instead, he swallowed, his jaw tightening.

“Some things… you just can’t explain,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. His hand, almost of its own volition, reached out, brushing against your wrist. The contact was electric.

Your breath caught in your throat as he stepped back, avoiding your eyes. He was pushing you away, but not quite in the way you expected.

“Go home, before someone catches you here,” he said, his tone colder now, but still laced with that underlying tension.

You stood still for a moment, processing everything—the music, his confession, the way his hand had lingered on yours.

Before you could speak, he was already turning back to his laptop, shutting the lid with finality.

“Go.”

You wanted to say something. You wanted to argue, to demand more answers, but instead, you simply nodded, leaving the room with the weight of his secret pressing down on your chest.

Kim Hongjoong wasn’t who you thought he was.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure where this path was taking you anymore.

The days following that night were frustrating, to say the least.

You had seen him—the real Hongjoong, not the perfectly polished student council president. You had heard his music, felt the weight of his emotions in every note. And yet, when you saw him at school, he acted like nothing had happened.

In the hallways, he walked past you without a second glance. In class meetings, he spoke with the same cool authority, as if he hadn’t confessed something deeply personal just a few nights ago.

And it pissed you off.

Because now that you had seen that version of him, you couldn’t unsee it. Now that you had felt that tension crackle in the air between you, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist.

So, on Friday night, when you found yourself standing in front of the abandoned classroom again, it wasn’t hesitation you felt. It was determination.

This time, you weren’t going to let him push you away.

You pushed the door open without knocking.

The music was already playing.

And there he was—exactly where you expected him to be.

Hongjoong sat hunched over his laptop, the dim glow of the screen casting a soft light on his face. He was dressed more casually tonight. His blazer was draped over the back of his chair, his white dress shirt slightly wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was gone, and the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of collarbone.

He looked comfortable.

He looked like himself.

But when the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t look up.

“You’re back,” he murmured, fingers adjusting a sound level on his mixer.

“I had questions,” you said, stepping forward. “But you ignored me all day.”

A hint of amusement flickered across his face, but he still didn’t look at you. “I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Oh, really?” You folded your arms. “So you just happened to walk past me five times today without seeing me?”

Now, he smirked. Smirked.

“Maybe,” he said.

The smugness in his voice made something snap in you.

“Fine,” you said. “If that’s how you want to play it.”

Before he could respond, you marched across the room and closed his laptop.

The music stopped abruptly.

Hongjoong froze, his fingers still hovering over the keyboard. Then, slowly, he looked up at you.

And that was when the tension shifted.

Because now, his eyes weren’t distant. They weren’t indifferent.

They were burning.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

You met his gaze, refusing to back down. “Then explain it to me.”

A heavy silence stretched between you. The only sound in the room was the soft buzz of the equipment and the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Then, Hongjoong did something you didn’t expect.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and then tugged you down into the chair beside him.

You yelped slightly as your knees brushed against his, your shoulder bumping his arm. The proximity sent a sharp jolt of awareness through your body.

Hongjoong leaned in, voice quieter now. “You really want to know?”

You nodded, trying not to focus on how warm he was next to you, how his scent—a mix of cologne, coffee, and something distinctly him—wrapped around you like an unintentional trap.

He reached for his laptop, flipping it back open.

“Then listen.”

The music started again, softer this time, as if he had adjusted it just for you.

You sat there, side by side, listening to the melody pour from the speakers. The beat was slower, deeper—less controlled, more raw. It wasn’t polished like the music you were used to hearing in school competitions.

It was honest.

As the song played, you found yourself leaning closer, drawn into the way Hongjoong’s fingers moved so effortlessly over the controls. The way he adjusted the sound with care, like each note meant something to him.

“You made this?” you asked softly.

He nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.”

“It’s…” You struggled to find the right words. “It feels personal.”

Hongjoong exhaled a quiet laugh. “That’s because it is.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

This wasn’t just music to him. It wasn’t just a hobby. It was something deeper—something he didn’t show to just anyone.

Your eyes flickered to his hands, the way his fingers traced over the laptop’s trackpad. He had artist’s hands—quick, precise, confident. Without thinking, you reached out, letting your fingertips ghost over the back of his hand.

Hongjoong stilled.

The air in the room shifted.

His eyes flickered up to yours, something dark and unreadable swirling behind them. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t move either.

“You’re not scared of getting caught, are you?” you murmured.

His lips parted slightly. His gaze dipped—to your lips, just for a second—before flickering back up.

“Not scared,” he said. “Just… aware.”

Your fingers were still touching his. Not a full hold, just the faintest brush of contact. But it was enough. Enough to send a pulse of heat through your veins, enough to make the space between you feel smaller than it was.

Something had shifted.

Something had changed.

You weren’t sure who moved first—him or you—but the next thing you knew, you were leaning closer, your breaths mingling in the space between you. The tension was thick, electric, alive.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong pulled back.

The loss of warmth was immediate.

You blinked, slightly dazed. “Hongjoong—”

“You should go,” he murmured, voice quieter now.

He wasn’t pushing you away out of anger.

He was pushing you away because he was scared of something.

You could see it in his eyes—the hesitation, the restraint. Like he had already let you get too close.

Like he knew that if he let you stay, something would happen that he wouldn’t be able to take back.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Why do you do that?”

His gaze flickered to yours. “Do what?”

“Push people away when they start to care.”

His jaw clenched. He looked like he wanted to answer—but he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and turned back to his laptop.

“You should go,” he repeated, softer this time.

You hesitated.

Then, slowly, you rose from your seat.

But before you left, you leaned in—just enough for him to hear you—and whispered:

“You can keep pushing, Hongjoong. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Then, without waiting for a response, you walked out.

The moment you stepped out of the classroom that night, you knew this wasn’t over.

Hongjoong could push you away all he wanted, but something had shifted between you two. The tension, the glances, the way his fingers had lingered against yours—it was all leading somewhere.

And you weren’t going to be the one to turn away first.

---

The next week was different.

Hongjoong still played his role perfectly—the student council president, the model student, the untouchable leader. But you noticed things now.

The way his eyes subtly searched for you in the cafeteria. The way he tensed whenever you walked into a room, like he was hyper-aware of your presence. The way he hesitated before speaking whenever you were near.

He was unraveling.

And you wanted to see just how far he’d let himself go.

---

Friday night.

You didn’t even hesitate this time.

When you walked into the abandoned classroom, you found Hongjoong exactly where you expected him—but he wasn’t alone.

A small group of students was gathered around him, headphones slung around their necks, deep in conversation about something on his laptop. The energy in the room was different from before—louder, more alive.

You hovered near the door, watching.

Hongjoong was in his element. His hands moved as he spoke, his voice animated as he explained something on the screen. His sleeves were pushed up, his tie once again missing.

This version of him—the one who was passionate, focused, completely unguarded—was dangerously attractive.

And then he saw you.

His voice faltered for just a second. His hands stilled. The others didn’t seem to notice, but you did.

You smirked. Gotcha.

“Yo, we should probably bounce before curfew,” one of the students said, stretching. “You coming, Hongjoong?”

He hesitated. His eyes flickered to you for the briefest second.

Then, he shook his head. “I’ll stay a little longer.”

Interesting.

The others packed up and left, their laughter fading down the hallway. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, watching you. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You shrugged, stepping closer. “Nope.”

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. “You should.”

“Should I?” You tilted your head, your voice quieter now. Daring.

His eyes darkened slightly. He didn’t answer.

Instead, he pressed a button on his laptop, and the music started playing.

Not the kind of polished, rehearsed music the school expected of him.

This was different.

It was slower, deeper—seductive.

A heavy beat thumped through the speakers, vibrating through your skin. The bass was thick, pulsing like a heartbeat. The melody slithered through the air, wrapping around you, pulling you in.

Hongjoong watched you, his fingers tapping against the desk in rhythm with the beat.

You took a step closer. Then another.

And then you did something bold.

You reached out and tugged his headphones off his neck.

He froze.

Your fingers brushed against the skin just below his jaw, and you felt him tense.

The air between you shifted.

The music pounded, drowning out the silence.

Hongjoong’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his breath unsteady. His eyes flickered from your hand to your lips—just for a second—before he exhaled sharply and turned away.

“Careful,” he murmured, voice rough.

You smirked, tilting your head. “Or what?”

His jaw tightened. He stood up so suddenly that your heart jumped.

And then he was right in front of you.

Closer than he had ever been.

His scent—clean, musky, with the faintest trace of cologne—wrapped around you, and your breath hitched.

“Or you might not like what happens next,” he murmured, his voice low, dangerous, promising.

Your heart pounded.

Your fingers were still wrapped around the headphones, your knuckles barely brushing his chest.

Neither of you moved.

Neither of you backed away.

And then—he did it.

He broke first.

One of his hands lifted, his fingers grazing the side of your face—slow, deliberate.

You inhaled sharply, your lips parting slightly at the unexpected touch. His fingertips were warm against your skin, his touch feather-light, almost hesitant.

But his eyes?

There was nothing hesitant about them.

They were dark. Intense. Focused entirely on you.

“I should stop,” he murmured.

But he didn’t.

Instead, his fingers traced down, barely skimming along your jaw, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Your pulse roared.

“You should,” you whispered.

But neither of you moved.

The music thrummed through the air, each beat thick with something unnamed, something dangerous.

Then—his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

A barely-there touch. A test. A warning.

Your breath hitched.

His gaze flickered to your lips again.

For a second, you thought he was going to do it.

You thought he was going to close the distance, finally let this fire consume you both.

But then—

A loud knock on the classroom door shattered the moment.

Hongjoong pulled back so fast it was like he had been burned.

The spell broke.

Your chest was heaving.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The knock came again, sharper this time.

Hongjoong exhaled harshly, his jaw tight. “It’s locked,” he called out, his voice slightly hoarse. “Give me a second.”

Your heart was still racing.

Your skin still buzzed where he had touched you.

You met his gaze one last time—a silent conversation neither of you dared to finish.

Then, before he could stop you, you turned on your heel and walked out.

Leaving him breathless in the dim light of the music room, staring after you like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

The tension was unbearable.

For days after that night, neither of you spoke about what had happened.

Not about the music. Not about the way his fingers had traced your jaw. Not about the way he had looked at you—like he wanted to do something reckless, something irreversible.

But silence didn’t mean nothing had changed.

Because it had.

It was in the way he watched you now—like he couldn’t help himself. It was in the way his breath hitched when you brushed past him in the hallways, in the way his fingers lingered just a second too long whenever he handed you something.

It was in the way he didn’t push you away anymore.

---

Friday night.

You weren’t sure if he would be there.

But the moment you stepped into the classroom, you found him—waiting.

Hongjoong was sitting at the desk, head bowed, fingers tapping idly against his laptop. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie discarded, his top buttons undone just enough to make your throat go dry.

The tension in the room was instant.

The door clicked shut behind you.

His fingers stilled.

Slowly, he looked up.

And that was when you knew—tonight would be different.

---

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The only sound in the room was the hum of his laptop, the quiet static of the speakers.

Then—

“You keep coming back,” he murmured.

You leaned against the desk beside him. “And you keep letting me.”

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists on his lap.

There it was again.

That barely contained tension. That dangerous edge of restraint.

Your heart pounded.

“You don’t get it,” he muttered, voice low. “This isn’t a good idea.”

You tilted your head. “Then why haven’t you told me to leave?”

His breath stilled.

He had no answer.

Because he didn’t want you to.

Something shifted.

You weren’t sure who moved first.

All you knew was that one second, there was distance—and then there wasn’t.

One of his hands lifted—hesitant, searching.

Then his fingers ghosted along your wrist, curling just slightly around your skin. A shiver ran through you at the warmth of his touch, at the deliberate slowness of it.

Hongjoong wasn't rushing.

He was savoring.

Like he knew this was the moment before everything changed.

Your breath hitched.

And then, finally—finally—he broke.

In one smooth motion, he pushed off the desk, closing the last bit of space between you.

You barely had time to react.

One hand slid up to cup the side of your face—gentle but firm. The other settled low on your waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you against him.

And then—

His lips crashed into yours.

It wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t hesitant.

It was desperate, consuming, weeks of pent-up tension unraveling all at once.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, clinging as he deepened the kiss, his body pressing flush against yours. He exhaled sharply against your lips, his grip tightening as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt.

Like he was afraid to let go.

The kiss was heat, urgency, unspoken emotions spilling over.

When you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

His forehead pressed against yours, his breathing ragged. His fingers were still tangled in your hair, his other hand still resting on your waist.

Instead, you whispered, “Do it again.”

His eyes met yours—dazed, unreadable.

And then, barely above a whisper—

“Tell me to stop.”

You swallowed, heart racing.

But you didn’t.

And just like that—the fire consumed you both.

"not here.." he Whispers.

He led you to the boy's dormitory wing, a place strictly off-limits to female students. The thrill of the forbidden made your steps quicken, your breath coming in short gasps. He opened the door to his room, ushering you inside.

"Hongjoong, are you sure about this?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, closing the door behind you. "I wouldn't have brought you here if I wasn't. But we need to be quiet, okay? If the professors find out, I'll lose my whole reputation."

You nodded, a thrill of excitement coursing through you. The danger of it all was intoxicating.

He moved closer, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he murmured, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

"Thank you," you whispered back, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks.

He leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours. The kiss was gentle at first, a tender exploration that deepened as you both surrendered to the moment. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, and you parted them, allowing him entrance. His taste was sweet, like the coffee he must have had earlier.

squirm with pleasure. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a primal hunger. "You like that, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes," you managed to whisper.

He stood up, his hands moving to your jeans. He unbuttoned them, his fingers brushing against your stomach as he pulled them down. He took his time, his eyes never leaving yours as he revealed your lacy panties. He hooked his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down slowly, his gaze locked onto yours.

licked you slowly, his tongue flat against your clit. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth. He chuckled, the vibration sending shivers through you.

He licked and sucked, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He slipped a finger inside you, curling it to hit your G-spot. You cried out, your hands fisting the sheets. He added another finger, pumping them in and out while his tongue continued to work your clit.

You were close, your body tensing as the pleasure built. He sensed it, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to push you over the edge. You came with a cry, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you.

He crawled back up your body, his cock hard and ready. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. "You taste so fucking good," he murmured.

He positioned himself at your entrance, looking into your eyes. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.

You nodded, your body still trembling from your orgasm. He pushed into you slowly, his cock stretching you as he filled you completely. You gasped, your nails digging into his back.

"You okay?" he asked, concern in his voice.

You nodded, a smile playing at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, I'm good. Just...take it slow."

He nodded, his hips moving in slow, deliberate thrusts. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he moved in and out of you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, urging him to move faster. He obliged, his hips moving in quick, hard thrusts. You moaned with each one, your body eager for more.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours. "You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, yes, I do."

He flipped you over, pulling you to your hands and knees. He entered you from behind, his hands gripping your hips. He pounded into you, his cock hitting your G-spot with each thrust. You cried out, your body pushed to the edge once again.

He reached around, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. You came with a scream, your body convulsing as your orgasm washed over you.

He followed soon after, his body tensing as he came inside you. He collapsed onto the bed, pulling you with him, his body spooning yours.

You lay there, your body sated and exhausted, his arms wrapped around you. You listened to the sound of his heartbeat, slowing as he caught his breath.

"That was...incredible," you murmured, your voice soft and content.

But unfortunately this great moment had to come to an end. After hongjoong made sure you where alright and cleaned up you had to leave.

Oh god you feel so phatetic leaving like this but there is no other options, they will check the dorms every evening

The walk back to your dorm was hell.

Every step felt heavier than the last, the distance between you and Hongjoong’s dorm growing with each footfall, yet the warmth of his touch, the taste of his kiss, lingered like an invisible weight pressing on you. Your pulse still throbbed in your ears, your body still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. The world outside seemed so distant, so disconnected from what had just unfolded behind closed doors.

You kept your head down, pretending that nothing had changed, trying to act normal, but you couldn’t escape the new reality that had just been carved into you. What had just happened?

His hands, his mouth, his scent—all of it was still imprinted on your skin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something much bigger than just a fleeting moment. It was dangerous—you both knew that.

But it had felt so right.

---

Once you crossed the threshold into your dorm, you felt the weight of the moment descend on you, that strange blend of guilt and excitement that came with sneaking around, with doing something you weren't supposed to. The door clicked shut softly behind you, but the silence that followed felt deafening. You had just done something you never imagined doing, and now, you were left alone with your thoughts.

Your roommate was already asleep, her light snores filling the otherwise quiet room. You sat down on your bed, staring at the ceiling. There was nothing to distract you, no escape from the overwhelming thoughts running through your head. You closed your eyes, and there he was again. Hongjoong, his body against yours, his hands, his lips, his voice murmuring your name.

It wasn’t just the physicality of it.

It was the connection. The chemistry. That undeniable pull that made you feel like you were being drawn into his orbit, over and over again.

But now, the silence that stretched between you two was almost suffocating. No texts, no calls, no awkward glances in the hallway. Had he regretted it? Or was this just part of his plan to keep you at arm’s length? You had no way of knowing.

You hated the uncertainty.

---

The Next Day

The day passed like a blur.

Classes felt like a distant memory as your thoughts kept drifting back to him, back to that night. But no matter how hard you tried to focus, you couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.

You barely looked at him when you saw him between classes. His presence made your heart beat harder, faster, and you didn’t know how to handle it. Every time your eyes met his, you felt that pull again, that fire burning just beneath the surface. But he didn’t approach you, didn’t say a word.

He was avoiding you.

At least, that’s how it felt.

Maybe it was easier for him. Maybe he knew what to do next, while you were left in the haze of the aftermath. What were you supposed to do now?

You hated that you couldn’t read him. You hated how he could make you feel so… so alive, yet leave you completely in the dark about what was really happening between you two.

But the worst part?

The worst part was how much you wanted to see him again.

---

That Night

The campus was quiet, the lights from the hallway casting long shadows across the floor. The hours ticked by slowly. You couldn’t stand the silence, couldn’t stand the thought of him, of that night, lingering in your mind without any resolution. You needed answers.

So, you decided to go to him.

You slipped out of your dorm, careful not to wake anyone, and made your way through the empty halls, heart pounding in your chest. The music room was your destination. You knew it, like a second home, but tonight it felt different. Everything felt different.

You reached the door and found it slightly ajar, the soft sound of something being typed filling the space beyond. Your breath caught as you pushed the door open a little more. There he was—Hongjoong.

His back was to you, and he was sitting at the desk, headphones on, his fingers dancing across the keyboard. His posture was relaxed, but there was something tense in the air.

You stood there for a moment, just watching him. For all the confidence you had before, now, your body felt uncertain. Your nerves were running wild, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to yell at him for ignoring you or pull him toward you again.

But then he turned, his eyes meeting yours, and just like that, everything else faded away.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. The world seemed to stop for a moment as the two of you locked eyes.

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He exhaled sharply, removing his headphones slowly, like he was steeling himself for something. “I haven’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. “Don’t lie to me, Hongjoong.”

He flinched, his eyes flicking down to his hands for a moment before they came back up to meet yours. The wall he had been hiding behind was crumbling, and you could see the uncertainty in his expression.

He hesitated. “It’s not…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. He took a step toward you, but his voice was quieter this time. “It’s not that simple.”

You took a step closer, not giving him the chance to distance himself. “Then what is it?”

He sighed, his hands resting on the desk behind him, almost like he was holding himself back. “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Your stomach churned at his words. What was that supposed to mean? You weren’t the only one confused, but this wasn’t the time for him to retreat again. Not now.

“I don’t know either,” you whispered. “But running away from it won’t make it go away.”

His breath hitched, his gaze locking onto you with such intensity that it almost knocked the air from your lungs. He was standing so close now, his body tense with restraint. “I can’t just ignore it. I can’t just… forget what happened.”

Your heart pounded in your ears. You had been afraid of the same thing. What if this had been a mistake? What if he regretted it? But when his eyes softened slightly, when he took that step closer—you knew it wasn’t.

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. “Then don’t. Don’t forget. Let’s figure this out together.”

His hand tightened around yours, and for a moment, it felt like he was holding onto you for dear life. He pulled you closer until you were standing right in front of him. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips barely brushing your forehead as he spoke.

“Do you even know what you’re asking?” His voice was hoarse, as though the weight of it all was pressing down on him.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his jawline, urging him to look at you. “I know exactly what I’m asking.”

His hands slid up your arms, cupping your face gently as he tilted your head up. “You make this harder than it needs to be,” he muttered, but his lips were already on yours before he could finish the thought.

It was slow at first, hesitant—as if both of you were testing the waters once more. But it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen, to turn desperate, as the same need, the same fire from the night before reignited between you.

Hongjoong’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body overwhelming. His lips moved from yours to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “I don’t know how to stop this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want you to stop,” you replied.

His hands slid beneath your shirt, his touch sending sparks through your body. Everything about him, everything about this moment felt inevitable—like you had been waiting for it, unknowingly, all along.

And when his lips found yours again, there was no hesitation. No questions. Just the overwhelming need to be close, to be more than just two bodies in a room. To be something real.

---

The night unfolded again, just like it had before—intense, electric, and full of emotions that you hadn’t known you were capable of feeling. But this time, it was different. There was no fear of the unknown anymore. There was only the certainty of the connection between you two. The understanding that this wasn’t a one-time thing.

And as the hours wore on, you found yourself in the same place again—lost in him.

When it ended, both of you were breathless, tangled in each other, yet something had shifted. There were still questions, still doubts, but for the first time in a long time, you were willing to face them.

---

The days that followed that night were a whirlwind of confusion and longing, neither of you knowing exactly how to navigate the space you’d created between yourselves. After that kiss, after everything that happened, the silence was the loudest thing in the room.

You saw him in passing, in the hallways, sometimes in classes, but each time you caught his gaze, it felt like there was something unspoken between you two. You wanted to reach out, to say something, but every time your thoughts started to gather into words, they fell apart in your chest. You were stuck in this space, hovering somewhere between wanting to pull away for the sake of your own sanity—and desperately needing to know what Hongjoong was thinking.

But as each day passed, you couldn’t keep pretending that things were normal.

You needed answers.

You needed to hear it from him. Again.

---

It was another late evening when you decided you couldn’t keep walking around in the fog of uncertainty. Hongjoong’s dorm room door was slightly ajar, and you could hear faint music playing inside—probably a track he was working on. The sight of it was enough to make your heart skip a beat.

You stood outside for a long moment, your breath catching as you tried to gather the courage to knock. You couldn’t avoid it anymore. No more games. No more pretending like everything was fine. You needed to hear it from him, needed to know whether what had happened between you two was real, or if you’d both just gotten caught up in the moment.

With a deep breath, you knocked.

The door creaked open, revealing Hongjoong, looking slightly startled to see you standing there. His hair was disheveled, his eyes still holding the remnants of the exhaustion that came from hours of working. But when he saw you, his expression softened.

“Hey,” he greeted you, his voice low and tentative.

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken. “We need to talk,” you said, and it felt like every word you spoke was dripping with the weight of everything that had happened between you two.

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him toward his desk, but he stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. You did, your eyes scanning the room quickly, but all you could focus on was him.

You stood in front of him, the silence stretching between you two. The tension felt thicker than ever. Finally, Hongjoong spoke, breaking the quiet. “What’s going on? What do you want to talk about?”

You didn’t want to dance around it anymore. You couldn’t.

“I want to know what we’re doing here, Hongjoong,” you said, your voice shaking slightly, but the words were out before you could second guess them. “After everything... after last night—why are we pretending like nothing happened? Why are you using me?”

His face softened, but you could see the inner conflict in his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “It’s not that I’m using you... I just—I don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know what to do with how I feel. It’s not that simple, you know?”

You nodded, taking a step closer to him. “I get that. I’m confused, too. But I can’t keep pretending that nothing’s different. That night meant something. I don’t know what exactly, but it wasn’t just some random moment.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened even more, and he took a deep breath. “It wasn’t just some random moment for me either,” he confessed, his voice quiet but firm. “I’ve been trying to figure it out—what this is between us. But I guess I was scared. Scared that if I admitted how I feel, things would get messed up... But I can’t stop thinking about you. And I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t.”

Your heart pounded in your chest. For the first time, there were no walls between you. No ambiguity, no confusion—just raw honesty.

“Hongjoong…” You felt a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. “I don’t want to pretend either.”

His eyes softened as he stepped closer to you, his hand reaching up to gently touch your cheek. “So, you feel the same way?” he asked, his voice low, almost as if he was afraid to hear the answer.

You nodded, feeling your heart race as you looked up at him. “Yeah. I feel the same way.”

A sigh of relief escaped Hongjoong, and before you knew it, he was leaning in, his lips brushing against yours in a slow, tender kiss. This time, it wasn’t filled with the frenzy of desire—it was filled with something softer, something more intimate, as if you were both acknowledging that you had just crossed a threshold.

When he pulled back, he didn’t let go of you. His forehead rested against yours, and there was a gentle smile on his lips. “So... you’re saying this is real? That we’re doing this?”

You laughed softly, the sound a mix of relief and joy. “Yeah, I think we are.”

---

EPILOGE

From that moment on, the change between you two was undeniable. The space you’d once kept between each other had melted away, replaced by an easy, comfortable closeness. Hongjoong wasn’t avoiding you anymore. In fact, he was more present than ever, his attention focused on you every chance he got.

It wasn’t all perfect—nothing ever is. But now that you knew where you both stood, it was easier to navigate the growing feelings between you two. There was no more guessing. There was no more distance. You were together, and the unspoken weight had been lifted.

You spent more time in his dorm after classes, enjoying the quiet moments where you could simply be with each other, no pretenses, no expectations. And every time he touched you, kissed you, or simply smiled at you, your heart swelled with something you couldn’t quite name—but you knew it was something that felt right.

No more doubts. No more hiding. You were both committed to whatever came next.

The First Date

A week later, Hongjoong invited you to a small cafe downtown, away from the prying eyes of the campus. It wasn’t flashy, but it was perfect. Just the two of you, sipping coffee, talking about everything and nothing, laughing freely without the weight of fear or uncertainty hanging over you.

There, in that cozy corner, he reached for your hand across the table, his fingers brushing yours with a softness that made your heart skip.

“This is nice,” Hongjoong said, his voice full of contentment as he looked at you, his eyes filled with affection. “I don’t want to rush anything, but I want to make this work. With you.”

You squeezed his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “I want that, too.”

And in that moment, you both knew that this—this was just the beginning.

_____________________

Taglist: @oceanside-view97 @hwa-stars @hoe4yunho @hohongjoong

[notdotspot]

Dp x Dc Phys 3001

Masterpost

This has been one of the longest nights in Tim’s whole life. Yes, he did recently stay awake for approximately seventy-two hours, but his brain was led by routine. He could function at the lowest amount to stay awake while still completing tasks. Tonight is different. He is constantly processing and analyzing Phantom’s every move. Jason may be an asshole, but he is still his brother. Aside from the intent watching, Tim did not realize how emotionally charged curing Jason would be. He should have known. He remembers how Bruce and Dick acted following Jason’s death. 

Casual physical contact is not out of the ordinary for their family. Fighting excluded, his siblings never minded squishing onto one coach, but the hug Dick pulled Jason into was different. Jason seemed totally relaxed and at home in his big brother’s arms. Tim used to see them close like this at galas and high-class events when they were younger. Jason picks his head up to Bruce, inviting him in. It did not take much for the rest of the family to descend upon Jason in a dog-pile of a group hug, Tim included. 

Released from their grip, Jason yawns loudly, “I see what you mean by exhaustion. I could sleep standing up.” 

Danny gave him a small smile, responding, “Yeah. You need some rest and there may still be more side effects. Be careful.” 

“I think all of you need some rest,” Bruce says. He is ushering Jason toward the elevator. Before they reach the door, Bruce turns around again. Tim can see the look in his eyes before he utters a word.

“Phantom. Uh, Danny. Do you have somewhere to sleep? Alfred could set up a guest room.”

“No need. I have an apartment.” 

“But it is two in the morning. Crime Alley is across the city.”

“Thank you. I do appreciate the offer but I am more comfortable there.”

“Well, let Alfred drive you. You must be tired.” Tim held himself back from shaking his head in disapproval. Bruce was trying to adopt another kid right in front of their faces. 

“I travel just below the speed of light.” Danny seemed to know what Bruce was doing. Tim almost laughed at the startled look on his dad’s face. Take that old man. 

“I will be back tomorrow to discuss blueprints for the purifier. Bye!” Then Danny disappeared into thin air. Bruce seemed to realize he was not gaining another child tonight and entered the elevator. Tim was so tired a second ago, but now he is awake with thoughts thrumming through his brain. 

He had almost been too caught up to notice some of the odd things Danny had said. Who is Frostbite? Who are the other colleagues he mentioned at the Bat Burger? Are those the people watching his back? What did Danny mean when he said Jason’s hair was something he had seen before? Why did he need the special blade? Who is Danny? Is he more than just a ghost? How powerful is he? Tim had so many questions. He could not lay in his bed. He had to get answers, so he crept down to the Batcomputer and began his research. 

He should not have been surprised how easy it was to find Danny. One online search of apartment leases under the name Danny and he got three hits in Crime Alley. Danny Fenton was the name. Tim could have laughed. Phantom and Fenton. He would have to be blind not to connect the dots. With a first and last name, finding the rest was child’s play. Danny Fenton is a student at Gotham University majoring in astrophysics and a minor in engineering. Tim even found his class schedule.

Wait. A college student? Danny did not look a day over thirteen. Double wait. How does Danny Fenton exist? Is he not dead? After a little more digging, Tim found Danny’s high school transcript and birth certificate. They almost looked real. Almost. Danny Fenton is a fake persona. Unfortunately for Tim, that means no social media or background to look into. The only place he can guarantee finding Danny Fenton is at his physics lecture in Garrett Hall at eight in the morning. Shit. That is in three hours. 

“Better get some sleep. Wow. Never thought I would say that.” Tim yawned, logging off of the Batcomputer and shuffling all the way back to his room.

✩✩✩

Finding the lecture hall was easy, but Tim could not recall the room number for the life of him. He spent the first fifteen minutes of investigation time looking for the class. 

“Do you need some help? All these rooms look the same,” a girl giggles. 

“Yes. I am looking for Physics three thousand one.”

“Second floor, first hallway. Room two-ten.”

“Thanks.” He rushed up the stairs two at a time. Turned left in the first hallway and walked to the end. He silently opened the door and sat in the back row, pulling out a notebook and taking notes to blend in. He should have gotten more sleep because the dark room, lit only by the soft glow of a projector, and the monotonous tone of the professor lulled him right to sleep.

“Tim.” He jolted awake. The lights that had been turned on burned his eyes and he could feel the imprint of his spiral notebook in his face. 

“Of course, you had to track me down. Come on. I need to grab food before my next lecture. You are paying.” Tim blinked the tiredness out of his eyes. He got up to follow Danny with haste. This Danny was different. Taller with brown hair and blue eyes. Tim realizes they look around the same age.

“I have seen you before. At the Bat Burger.” 

“Yeah. You were in my favorite seat, so I left.” Danny’s voice displays his clear annoyance.

“If I were not so pissed at you, I would probably be impressed, but I guess all of you Bats are little detectives.”

“Sh!”

“Oh, so secret identities only matter when it is you and your family?” Tim panics. Danny is right. He violated the unspoken code of heroes.

“But, I am an unknown, right? Dangerous? Even after I helped Jason and cooperated with the Lazarus Pit plans?”

“Okay! I am sorry. What I did was wrong. I got caught up in theories and research. I am sorry.” Danny grabbed a sandwich and drink from the cooler and went to the register. The worker scanned the items, and he stepped to the side motioning to the card reader. Tim took out his wallet, handing a ten-dollar bill off. He grabbed Danny’s food and walked to a table, not stopping to grab his change. Danny sat across from him to start eating.

“So, why do you look so old or should I say so young as Phantom?”

“Right to the questions, huh?”

“Sorry. You do not have to answer if you do not want to.” Danny appraised him while chewing on his sandwich. 

“It is fine. Phantom is only the ghost half of me. Well, more like three-quarters of me. The rest is human.” 

“How are you a human and a ghost?”

“Poor parenting and a lab accident,” he says, sipping his drink. Tim is shocked by his casual nature. 

“How old are you really?”

“Depends. My human side only ages in human realms, making me about nineteen, but I have been alive far longer than that. A millennia? Give or take a few decades.”

“A thousand years? How come Phantom looks thirteen?”

“Fourteen, actually. Ghosts look the way they did when they died, minus an odd circumstance here and there.”

“That is why you talked to Jason about death like you knew it personally.”

“I do.” He whips his hands of crumbs, slings his backpack over his shoulder, and grabs his drink.

“I also have another class. Throw my trash for me. See you tonight and get more sleep. You are useless to me if you are too tired to read a blueprint.”

✩✩✩

Danny landed on the doorstep of Wayne Manor, letting the white rings of his transformation reveal his civilian clothes. He rang the doorbell and waited for an answer. Alfred answered the door politely.

“Hello, may I help you with anything?” Danny thought Alfred would recognize him as a human but it seems he was wrong.

“Um. I am here to see Tim.” Tim would be the only one to recognize him. Does he look that different? Just then, Steph was passing through the foyer.

“Who is here, Alfred?” Her head peaked past the butler. Her eyes lit up seeing him.

“Oh my god! The cute guy from the Bat Burger! Come in! We can go find Tim together.” She interlocks their arms to lead him into the mansion. This mansion has much more style than Vlad’s. Less dingy too. 

“How do you know I am here to see Tim?” She gives him a sidelong look, her smile widening further. Danny blushes at the implication and she giggles. She pushes open the door leading him into a room. 

“Tim,” she sing-songs.

“Steph, I am busy with WE reports. Can you wait a moment?”

“Someone is here to see you,” she responds, dragging out the end of her sentence in a teasing manner. Tim’s head turns slowly, his eyes still tracking his laptop screen as he types. When his eyes finally snap to Danny, they widen and he flips back around to his screen. Steph holds in a laugh as he vigorously types. Quickly finishing his report, he shuts down and closes the computer. Popping up from his chair, Tim puts on his best smile and strides over to him.

“Danny. I will show you to the cave.” He can see Steph’s demeanor change in an instant. She turns Danny to face her, examining his face.

“Danny? You look human. How did you age overnight?”

“Uh.”

“Steph, leave him alone. He can explain later. Right now, we can bring him to the cave. Bruce is probably already down there waiting for Phantom to show up. Why did you use the front door?” 

“I figured you had already told them about my identity. Either way, I know all of yours, so it is only fair.” They seem to take his answer, and Tim opens the door for him to exit the room. The journey down to the cave was longer than he expected. Getting to the elevator shaft and riding down probably took close to ten minutes.

“Is there not a more efficient way to get to the Batcave?”

“We have thought of other options but this one is good enough for the time being. Secure too.”

“Plus, B rejected Dick’s idea to add a firepole,” Steph tacks on. She leads the group into the main area Danny was in last night. He never did get the time to admire the Batcomputer for the glorious machinery it is. He would love to see its capabilities. 

Jason is parking his bike and removing his red helmet when they walk in. 

“Is Danny here, yet?”

“Yep,” Danny speaks up. Bruce finally turns to see the group walking toward him.

“Oh, I thought it was just Steph and Tim.” He can tell Bruce is taking in the change in appearance.

“Danny,” Jason calls, “You look significantly less ghost-like.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“Danny is your real name, then?”

“Yeah, so is Phantom. Are we going to get to work?”

“Yes,” Bruce speaks up. “Tell us the plan.”

Danny slipped the backpack off of his shoulder and pulled out a binder. Laying it on the table in the middle of the room, he takes out each blueprint to unfold them. 

“There are multiple components to my plan. This,” he points to a paper, “is the design for the ectoplasm purifier.” He bends down to his bag again. He produces a gadget that looks like the sketch.

“I made a prototype and tested it on a few samples I had in the fridge.” Bruce gives him a look.

“In the fridge?”

“Yeah, it is like an energy drink. I stock up once a month. Caffeine is insufficient and I have homework to get done.”

“Homework?”

“Tim, really did not tell you?”

“Danny, here, is a student at Gotham University,” Tim states.

“Yes, where Tim so gratuitously tracked me down this morning,” Danny quips. Tim looks embarrassed with his family's eyes on him.

“I said sorry.”

“And bought me lunch. Oh, before you ask, yes. I am older than fourteen. My ghost form just looks that way.”

“You are a human and a ghost? Like Jason?” Steph’s genuine curiosity stops Danny from yelling angrily at getting off track. He forgot these people do not know the ghost world or him. He has never had to answer this many questions about himself since Jazz found out he was Phantom. It is a solemn thought that makes him miss her even more. He has had centuries to mourn, likely more with the Ghost Zone to human realm time difference, but he just misses his big sister. Steph’s enthusiasm reminds him of her. He signs, resigning to the fact that he will have to explain himself. 

“I am a Halfa. Half human and half ghost. I would not say it is half, more like a quarter human. Jason and I are not the same. I died under entirely different circumstances.” He could feel the looks of pity burning into him. One part of him hates it, but the other part of him is grateful for the understanding. Sam, Tucker, and Jazz took a long time to realize he was only Phantom because he had died in the accident. Truthfully, he was so caught up in fighting ghosts that he almost did not realize it himself. 

“I am okay. I have had many years to come to terms with it. Let us get back to this.” He pointed at the table. Their attention was back on the project, but he would still sense their sad eyes. Jason especially looked heartbroken. Maybe he was realizing why Danny knew how to comfort him. 

“The prototype was effective, but we will need to scale it up. The next problem to solve is getting the processed ectoplasm into the Ghost Zone. There are only three ways to access the Ghost Zone: occasionally successful summoning rituals, naturally occurring rips, or a homemade ghost portal. It would take too long to find a ritual that actually works, so that is out. Finding natural portals is next to impossible without the Infi-Map. I will not endanger it by bringing it here, nor would the rip last long enough to complete the mission. A mechanical ghost portal is the best option, but once you open it, it is a two-way street. We could make an off-switch, but even a few seconds is enough for ghosts to slip through. I have not figured out a way to get around that. My only idea would be magic.”

“We can Zeta in some magic users. They may have the knowledge to assist you on the more ghostly aspects.”

“Thank you, Bruce.” 

“Well, later nerds. All this shit goes right over my head. Call me if you need to change a tire.” Jason turns to the elevator.

“I will go to. I am useless when it comes to this.” Steph jogs off the catch Jason, waving as the elevator door closes.

“Where is the blueprint for the ghost portal?” Tim inquires as he flips through the pages on the table.

“Up here.” Danny points to his head. “That knowledge is far more powerful than you think it is. I trust you, but not that much. It is my responsibility to keep the Ghost Zone safe.”

“But-”

“Tim,” Bruce cuts him off, “you can work on the purifier instead. Danny, can you build the portal from memory?”

“Yes.”

“I will go make some calls. When do you think it will be done?”

“A few days if I have all of the materials and work long hours.”

“And, I can finish the purifier quickly too. The blueprint is well drawn, and with the prototype, I should have no problem recreating the effectiveness.”

“I will leave you two to work.” Bruce turned, pulling his phone from his pocket, walking off to make his calls. 

Tim gives Danny a quick tour of the equipment and tools.

“How much space will you need?”

“I should be able to build the portal here. I will make it as small as I can while preserving functionality.”

“What is so dangerous about it anyway? Aside from opening a gateway for enemies. You seem a lot more scared of this thing than you are telling us.”

“It is unstable. I have tried to fix other versions of it, but I can never guarantee the safety of the operator. You guys are mortal and this portal has consequences I would never wish upon anyone. My parents were reckless. I can not be responsible for an accident.”

“That is what you meant when you said poor parenting and a lab accident. A ghost portal is what made you Phantom.”

“I have to hand it to you. You are sharp. Get to work. It will take you at least a few hours to construct the filter.”

For once, Tim got the hint to stop pushing into Danny’s past. They both descend into their work silently. Working well into the night before Tim yawns.

“Go get some sleep. You have made good progress.”

“Do you not need sleep?”

“Not really no. Do you want to head upstairs, or should I just put you to sleep? I have to warn you. Your neck will be sore if I knock you out in the chair like that.” Tim’s eyes widen.

“Is that something you are capable of?”

“Do you want to find out?” Danny raised a hand, making it glow green. Tim shoots up and walks to the elevator. Danny watches as the doors begin to close.

“Goodnight, Tim.” Tim smiles and opens his mouth to respond, but the closing doors cut him off. 

As his alarm rings, Danny is proud of himself. He got the whole frame built. All he has left is the wiring and the ectoplasm circulation system. The elevator door opens behind him. He turns to see Dick strolling in. He is dressed in workout gear with a protein shake, humming a tune. He stops in his tracks when he notices Danny. 

“Who are you? Better yet, how did you get in here?”

“Dick. I am Danny. I am also going to be late for class, so bye.” He transforms into Phantom right in front of Dick. If it were not for his enhanced senses, he would not have heard Dick’s shocked whisper.

“Woah.” 

Then, he is shooting off to his Astronomy class. 

-----

more romance coming eventually

aside from that, this is the first chapter I actually proofread

Thanks for reading!

[destiny2-names]

A post for fellow "healer main" warlocks

I'm not sure if it's intentional, and maybe this was already a thing and I just didn't notice it, but there are now some activities where healing rifts don't heal. Defeating the whole point of healing rifts. Which can be quite off-putting for warlocks whose builds prioritize that.

So! What can we do instead?

Healing grenades, especially when combined with the Seeker's Sight exotic helmet, are quite useful in a pinch. They even have the added bonus that, unlike rifts, you can throw them at allies you can't reach quickly. However, healing grenades can only be used by Solar and Prismatic subclasses.

A lot of warlocks, me included, have probably spent a good amount of time trying to get their Recovery stat as high as possible. That's the stat that contributes to how fast your rift recharges, and normally a higher Recovery makes your health regenerate faster; for activities where natural health regeneration is disabled, you might want to focus more on Resilience.

Don't COMPLETELY dump Recovery though, because non-healing rifts are still useful! Empowering rifts buff your weapons, and phoenix dive (another ability option unique to Solar and Prismatic) gives your allies a brief burst of healing.

Things like solar mortars and arc souls still work regardless of what you've got equipped in your rift ability slot, but they won't stick around for as long with phoenix dive.

Remember: you can't help anyone if you're dead. Sometimes, if you can't reach your downed teammates safely, the best way to avoid a wipe is to take cover until at least one other person respawns.

Certain weapons, such as those with a support frame or the Healing Clip trait, can give a little boost to the amount of healing you can do for both others and yourself. Hey, anything counts.

For keeping yourself alive, Karnstein's Armlets can be handy (pun intended) when you're being swarmed by weaker enemies. They're a great combo with Monte Carlo, but even unpowered melee kills should activate the gauntlets' effect.

Don't forget about armor mods! Two leg armor mods, Recuperation and Better Already, give you small bursts of healing when you pick up orbs of power. If one or both aren't already part of your kit, you might want to take a look at them, because that healing really adds up when combined with helmet Siphon mods.

If you're using healing grenades, there are also several armor mods that will help that ability recharge faster, such as Bomber, Ennervation, and Explosive Finisher.

This post is meant to help save fellow players– especially newbies and people who only have time to play casually– some time and frustration. If you have any advice to add, please do! If you have questions, please ask! If I got something wrong, please tell me so I can correct it! And if this all seems super obvious to you or you have a better way of doing things, feel free to comment, but please don't be a jackass about it. Thank you.