#why make fun of me for something i never said???

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 41: November 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Max woke up face-down, with a headache that felt like someone had parked a go-kart on his frontal lobe and then revved the engine for fun.

He squinted at the unfamiliar ceiling—hotel suite, probably. Still Vegas. His championship cap was on the floor. His phone was buzzing on the nightstand like it had something urgent to say.

He reached for it with a groan, barely managing to swipe before it hit voicemail.

Belle ❤️calling…

He answered on instinct.

“Hey,” he croaked. His voice sounded like it had been dragged down the Strip by a tow truck.

“Well, well,” Belle’s voice came through, warm and amused. “If it isn’t the four-time World Champion and surprise gender-reveal enthusiast.”

Max winced. “Please tell me I didn’t say anything too embarrassing.”

Belle laughed. “Define embarrassing.”

“...Do I want to know?”

“Well, you did dedicate your championship to me and Emilian,” she said brightly. “Also said you like my lemon shampoo. Also that you want to ‘curl around me like a cat.’ And that you were feeling very sparkly.”

Max let out a groan and dropped back onto the pillows. “Why didn’t anyone stop me?”

“Sophie said you were glowing and emotionally untouchable.”

“I was drunk,” Max grumbled. “They should’ve staged an intervention.”

“Oh no, they were all watching in real time,” Belle said. “We were in the spa suite screaming. Victoria spilled mocktail on her robe.”

Despite the headache, Max smiled faintly. “You saw it?”

“Every second,” she said. “You were perfect.”

He let the words settle over him, soft and heavy, then sighed. “I want to come home.”

“You still have two races left,” Belle said gently. “Quatar and Abu Dhabi are waiting.”

“I don’t care.” His voice was quiet. “I want to come home to you. To him.”

There was a pause, a rustle like she was shifting in bed.

“We want that too,” she said, just as softly. “But you’ve got two more races. One more goodbye. One more podium to stand on before you make good on that ‘curling around me like a cat’ thing.”

Max exhaled slowly. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I’m always right,” Belle said, smug. “Now drink water. Take painkillers. Put on sunglasses and pretend you're still cool.”

“Still?”

Belle laughed again. “Champions don’t whine, Max. They hydrate.”

He grinned despite himself. “Okay. But I’m still counting the hours.”

“Good. Because Emilian already misses you.”

Max closed his eyes, hand over his heart. “Yeah. I miss him too.”

And her. Always her.

***

Text Messages: Gianpiero Lambiase & Belle Verstappen

Belle:

Just a heads-up: Max sounds like a dying tractor this morning.

Do not expect useful telemetry.

Do not expect coherent thoughts.

He asked me if a smoothie counts as a salad.

GP: Understood. I’ve told the team he’s operating in Post-Championship Champagne Fog Mode™. We’ll keep his water bottle full.

Belle: Thank you for your service. He looked at his toast like it betrayed him. You’re not getting sector times, you’re getting vibes.

GP: Speaking of vibes— He asked me to be the godfather.

Belle: Of course he did. You’re not just his engineer. You’re his second brain. His moral compass. His grumpy older brother in a headset.

GP: That’s dangerously accurate. I was honestly speechless.

Belle: He doesn’t ask things like that lightly. He loves you. And he trusts you. You’ve been in his corner since the beginning. He trusts you with his career. We trust you with our son. 💙

GP: Thank you. I mean it.

Belle: No, thank you. I can’t imagine anyone else standing beside him through all of this.

Also— I asked Emilie to be godmother.

GP: Perfect balance. One godparent for control. One for chaos.

Belle: Exactly. Between the four of us, I think we’ve got him covered.

GP: He’s going to be very loved. And, unfortunately, very fast.

Belle: Naturally.

***

The house was clean. Too clean.

The nursery was folded into perfection—shelves dusted, tiny clothes sorted by size, swaddles washed in lavender detergent that made the whole apartment smell like calm.

It was everything Belle used to find comfort in.

Now it just made her ache.

Belle was very pregnant.

Max was very far away.

And she missed him more than she knew how to explain.

The ache wasn’t sharp—it was slow and dull, like the pressure in her lower back or the weight of her belly that made it hard to get off the couch without an embarrassing amount of effort.

It was the kind of missing that sat in her chest and spread.

She was in Max’s hoodie, stretched comically over her bump, surrounded by pillows like a fortress. The onesie she meant to fold lay abandoned in her lap. The baby—Emilian—was kicking against her ribs again, rhythmic and insistent, as if asking where his father was.

“I know,” she whispered, hand curved over her belly. “I miss him too.”

She checked the time. Again.

Max was in press. Then meetings. Then a debrief. Maybe a sim run. And then, if she was lucky, a video call with him squinting into the front camera from some overly lit hotel room while telling her he already missed her ankles.

That was the thing—he always saw her. Not just the pregnancy. Not just the glowing clichés or the bump. Her.

She missed the way he spoke to Emilian like he was already here. The way he would talk to her stomach like it was a teammate, serious and focused, whispering, “Don’t you dare come early. Wait for me. That’s an order.”

She missed his hand resting lightly on her side at night, steady as a heartbeat. She missed being curled against him, her face pressed into his chest, safe.

And right now, she didn’t feel unsafe. Just…incomplete.

She sighed, shifted to get comfortable again, and promptly failed. Her legs ached. Her back ached. Her soul ached. And worst of all—her hormones were absolutely betraying her. Her eyes welled up, completely uninvited.

“I’m fine,” she muttered aloud to no one. “I’m fine. I’m not crying, I’m just emotionally… full.”

The baby rolled again, a slow, sweeping motion that pushed out against her palm. She laughed wetly.

“Okay, that was a bit dramatic,” she admitted, sniffling. “You’re definitely your father’s child.”

The phone buzzed once.

Max: Still in briefing, but I miss you. Tell Emilian to stop kicking unless it’s tactical. Love you.

Belle let out a breath. Smiled.

Belle: We miss you too. He says he'll behave if you come home soon. I say… you're already his hero. And mine.

Then she turned her phone over and let the light settle over her again, one hand on her belly, the other resting on her heart.

Two more races.

Then Max would come home.

And she’d finally feel whole again.

***

Max was leaning against the polished edge of the hotel lobby’s marble front desk, absently spinning his room keycard between his fingers, when he heard the unmistakable click of designer heels and the low, familiar cadence of Dutch with a judgmental tilt.

He didn’t even need to turn.

“There he is,” came Sophie’s voice—dry, fond, slightly exasperated. “Four-time world champion. Still incapable of answering a text properly.”

Max looked up just in time for his mother to wrap her arms around him, tight and unyielding, like she still half-expected him to disappear into thin air if she let go too soon. He breathed her in—orange blossom and Chanel—and let himself be hugged without hesitation.

“Hi, Mama,” he murmured into her shoulder.

“Four,” she said into his ear, her voice suddenly rough with pride. “You did it.”

“I know.”

When she pulled back, her eyes were glassy. Not quite teary—Sophie Kumpen didn’t cry in public—but full enough that Max could read everything she wasn’t saying.

And then—

“Okay, my turn,” came a second voice, louder, warmer, with an unmistakable undertone of delight.

Victoria launched herself into him like she didn’t care he was technically a professional athlete with a race in forty-eight hours. Max laughed as he stumbled back a step, nearly elbowing a potted plant.

“Hi to you too,” he mumbled into her hair.

“You idiot,” she whispered. “You actually went and did it again.”

Max pulled back, raising an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised you won. I’m surprised you kept it together long enough to finish that fifth-place Vegas crawl without swearing at Lando live on comms.”

Max smirked. “You didn’t hear the uncensored version.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “We’re all lucky the baby didn’t arrive mid-race. I still think Belle was too calm about that.”

“She always is,” Max said quietly. And then, without thinking, “She’s watching the practices from home. Keeps sending me notes about brake balance.”

“God help us all,” Victoria muttered.

Sophie smiled. “That’s love.”

Max nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

There was a pause—warm and full—and for a moment, it didn’t feel like a hotel lobby in Doha. It felt like family. Like a moment they’d all earned.

Victoria linked her arm through his. “Come on, Champ. Show us your room. I brought you cookies. And Mum brought you vitamins.”

“I brought magnesium,” Sophie corrected, offended. “Which he never takes.”

“I might take it,” Max said. “If you let me tell you about the onboard moment when GP found out he’s going to be a godfather.”

Sophie stopped walking.

Victoria turned to stare. “Wait—you actually asked him? On radio?!”

Max grinned. “Cooldown lap.”

Sophie shook her head, smiling like he was still ten and ridiculous. “Four-time world champion,” she murmured. “And still an idiot.”

Max just laughed—and let them lead him upstairs.

***

Emilie arrived like a whirlwind—as usual—carrying a bakery bag, a decaf oat latte, and the kind of expression that suggested she was two seconds from staging an intervention.

Belle was in the armchair by the window, a maternity pillow wedged behind her lower back, a very smug cat curled at her feet, and an open book on her belly that she hadn’t actually read a word of in the past twenty minutes.

“You brought pastries,” Belle said, smiling. “That’s how I know you’re about to say something I’ll hate.”

“I’m not saying anything until you eat the raspberry tart,” Emilie said, handing it over like a peace offering and sinking onto the couch. “You look like a goddess and also like you might cry if someone uses the wrong tone of voice.”

“That’s a very accurate summary of my existence right now,” Belle said, already taking a bite. “And I’m glad you’re here.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, the late afternoon sun turning the apartment soft and golden. Somewhere in the background, Belle’s playlist hummed quietly—mostly instrumental, mostly there to drown out the quiet.

Then Belle looked over, calm and deliberate. “You should go to Abu Dhabi.”

Emilie blinked. “What?”

“You should go to the race,” Belle said again. “You know it’s going to be tight between McLaren and Ferrari. The whole team’s going to be tense. Lando’s going to be tense. He’ll want you there, even if he’s too proud to ask.”

Emilie opened her mouth, but Belle raised a hand.

“I’m fine. I’m huge and a little bored and Max is gone and yes, I make dramatic noises when I get up from the couch, but I am fine. The baby is fine. And I promise, he’s not planning an early exit just to spite your flight schedule.”

“But Belle,” Emilie said softly, “you’re so pregnant. Like, gravitational-force-field pregnant.”

Belle laughed. “I know. I’m one waddle away from launching my own moon mission. But I also know you want to be there. You’ve been pretending you don’t. You’ve been hanging around Monaco like I’m about to go into labor at any moment, but you’ve been checking the flight tracker to Yas Marina on your phone when you think I’m not looking.”

Emilie looked horrified. “I have not—”

“You have. And that’s okay,” Belle said gently. “You love him. He wants you there. And I want you to go.”

Emilie stared at her, blinking rapidly. “You’d really be okay with that?”

Belle nodded. “I’ve got Sophie and Victoria on high alert, the midwife is a ten-minute drive away, and Max will be on the first jet back the second the race ends. You don’t need to hover. You need to live. Go scream about constructors’ points in a garage full of papaya. Go kiss him when it’s over. I’ll be here, eating croissants and yelling at the baby to stop practicing jiu-jitsu in my ribcage.”

Emilie rubbed a hand over her face. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m emotionally stable and logistically prepared,” Belle countered. “Also hormonal, so if you don’t go, I will cry and say you’re abandoning Lando in his hour of need.”

Emilie snorted and threw a cushion at her. “You’re a menace.”

Belle grinned. “A pregnant one. Which makes me all-powerful.”

After a long pause, Emilie sighed. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go.”

“Good,” Belle said. “Take pictures. Be loud. And tell him if he doesn’t beat Ferrari, he’s not allowed to come near my baby with that mustache again.”

Emilie laughed. “Deal.”

***

It started in Q3.

The track was cooling, the wind was rising, and the margins were tight—every tenth counted. 

As Max exited the final corner to prep for his last flying lap, he lifted slightly, adjusting for traffic and prepping his out-lap. That’s when George Russell, behind him, came up fast—too fast—and got right on his gearbox.

George came over the radio, furious.

“This was super dangerous by Verstappen!”

Filed a complaint.

And the drama was born, resulting in a Stewards meeting and a one place grid penalty. 

Max’s Reaction?

Stone-faced. No comment.

Except one.

A Sky Sports journalist caught him on the way to the hospitality suite and asked:

“Max, your thoughts on the penalty?”

Max didn’t even blink. “If George wants to make a show about it, that’s fine. I’ll see him in Turn 1.”

And then he walked off.

***

The hotel room was too cold and too bright. Max sat on the edge of the bed, still in half his race gear, thumb hovering over Belle’s name in his contacts like calling her might be the one thing that wouldn’t piss him off.

He’d taken the penalty without comment.

Smirked in the media zone.

Told them he’d see George in Turn 1.

But now that the adrenaline was gone, the irritation settled low and bitter in his chest.

He just wanted to hear her voice.

He hit dial.

Belle picked up on the second ring.

“Hi, mon amour,” she said, already knowing. Her voice was warm, calm—and slightly amused.

Max didn’t even say hello. “He pushed for a penalty.”

“I know,” she said immediately. “I watched the broadcast. I saw the onboard. And then I watched the stewards statement come through and laughed so hard I almost went into labor.”

Max sighed. “It was a prep lap. I wasn’t even crawling. He just wanted drama.”

“He picked the wrong man,” Belle said crisply. “You’re already a four-time world champion with a full tank of petty and no reason to hold back.”

Max let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this irritated over a single sentence. He said I was ‘driving unnecessarily slowly.’ I was making space.”

“Max,” Belle said, her voice full of fondness and fire, “you were managing out-lap spacing like a pro, and he turned it into a Shakespearean tragedy.”

He leaned back against the headboard, eyes closed. “You think I overreacted with the Turn 1 comment?”

“No,” Belle said immediately. “I think you delivered it with exactly the right amount of menace. George made it political. You made it personal. That’s balance.”

Max smiled. “I love you.”

“I know,” she said. “Now go get some sleep, and tomorrow? Make him regret every single slow-motion onboard he submitted as evidence.”

Max hummed. “You want me to take him at Turn 1?”

“I want you to erase him at Turn 1.”

Max laughed again, this time for real. “God, I miss you.”

“We miss you too,” Belle said, softer now. “But Emilian and I are very proud. And we’ll be watching. With snacks. And commentary.”

Max breathed in, let the sound of her voice ease the tension in his shoulders. “Tell him to stay in there a few more days.”

“I told him you need one more win before he’s allowed to show up.”

“Smart kid,” Max murmured. “He takes after you.”

***

It was hot. It was brutal. It was Qatar.

And Max Verstappen won anyway.

Tyre deg was high, the desert air thick with tension. Drivers dropped like flies under the heat, strategy calls flew like punches, and still—Max stayed calm. Strategic. Relentless. A four-time world champion racing like he wasn’t done proving it yet.

He crossed the line with blistered tyres, dry lips, and his race engineer’s voice in his ear.

GP: “P1, Max. That’s the win. You absolutely didn’t drive unnecessarily slowly today.”

Max didn’t even shout.

He just smiled.

It wasn’t Vegas-level emotional, or Brazil levels of furious joy. It was quieter this time. A victory earned with grit, sweat, and control. He’d clawed back from a grid penalty.

And now, standing on top of his car as the Red Bull crew screamed behind the fence, Max felt the weight of it all land—not heavy, not overwhelming. Just... solid.

Four-time World Champion. And still winning.

He climbed down, tugged off his gloves, and waved toward the stands where Dutch flags danced like wildfire. Somewhere out there, Victoria and his mom were probably screaming. Somewhere else, Belle was watching with a hand on her bump, probably eating her third pain au chocolat of the day and calling it “prenatal strategy.”

Max grinned, helmet still in hand, heart still thundering.

His fourth title was already his. But this? This was a message.

He was still here. Still the one to beat. And his family—his entire future—was waiting just a few weeks away.

Victory tasted like champagne and sweat and joy.

But all he wanted was to get back to the hotel, call Belle, and hear her say it: “I saw it. You were brilliant.”

***

FIA Press Conference — Post-Race | Quatar Grand Prix 2024

Drivers: P1 - Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing), P2 - Charles Leclerc (Ferrari), P3 - Oscar Piastri (McLaren)

Moderator: Let’s start with you, Max. First of all—congratulations on the win and the title. How does this one feel?

Max (smiling slightly): Tiring. Very tiring. But good. Especially today. I just wanted a clean race after all the… stewarding yesterday. So yeah, happy. We move.

Oscar (grinning): You moved straight through Turn 1, that’s for sure.

Max: I told him I would.

Moderator: Before we jump into Abu Dhabi chatter, here’s a lighter one to wrap up: What are your Christmas plans this year? Anything exciting?”

Charles: …That’s a good question, actually.

(Max gives him a sideways glance. Charles blinks.)

Wait, we haven’t even talked about Christmas yet.

Max: (smirking)We’ll either have a newborn or be days away from having one, so… Monaco. Home. Feet up. Snacks. Naps. Hopefully no surprise contractions during Christmas lunch.

Charles: (still catching up) Wait—you already planned it?

Max: “We have.” (smiles slightly, just a little smug—enough for Charles to notice) “My family’s coming to us. Monaco, warm blankets, loud Dutch board games. Victoria’s already trying to plan a menu around Belle’s pregnancy cravings.”

Oscar: (grinning) That’s a very responsible World Champion answer.

Max: Yeah, well, I’m about to be someone’s dad. It changes your priorities.

Moderator: Charles, are you going home to Monaco as well?

Charles (hesitates): I… I don’t know yet. I should probably ask around.

Max (tilting his head): You can come to ours.

Charles: (tentatively) “…Am I… invited?”

Max: (grins) “You can come. But only if you bring dessert.”

Oscar: (choking back a laugh) “That’s fair. Dessert tax.”

Charles: (blinks) "That’s the entry requirement?"

Max: "Yes. I’m married to a woman who will be 9 months pregnant. If you don’t show up with something sugar-based and comforting, I will personally lock the door."

Oscar: (grinning into his mic) "What kind of dessert are we talking here?"

Max: (very serious) "Not store-bought. Belle can taste the difference."

Moderator: (laughing) "That might be the most high-stakes holiday planning I’ve heard all season."

Oscar: "It’s F1. Everything’s competitive."

Max: (murmuring) "Especially the baking."

***

The night air in Doha was cooler than expected, a welcome break from the dry heat that clung to everything during the day. Up on the hotel’s rooftop lounge, the city lights shimmered below, and the sound of water trickled from a minimalist fountain nearby.

Victoria was curled sideways on the couch, legs tucked under her. She'd been watching him for the past five minutes in comfortable silence, like only a sister could.

“You look exhausted,” she said eventually.

“I am exhausted,” Max replied, voice dry. “Also very hydrated. Thank you for the fifteen electrolyte reminders.”

She grinned, but it faded quickly. “Belle called me this morning.”

He looked up instantly. “Is everything okay?”

“She’s fine. The baby’s fine,” Victoria assured him. “She just misses you. She didn’t say it like that, but it was in her voice.”

Max leaned back against the chair, exhaling through his nose. “Yeah. I miss her too. It’s different now. Leaving.”

There was a long pause. Then, quietly, Victoria said, “Do you ever think about how weird it is? That we’re both here now? You’re about to be a dad. I have three kids. It still knocks the wind out of me sometimes.”

Max gave her a small, tired smile. “I know. Same.”

She scraped her fork through the last of her dessert, then set the plate down on the table. “I used to think... we’d never get away from it. That we’d always carry the mess, the pressure. That we’d bring it with us into everything.”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. The long drives in the van. The karting weekends that weren’t always fun. The pressure. The noise. The silence afterward. Jos doing his best—but not always getting it right. Their mother, trying to shield them. The way everything had always been about the next race.

They’d come out the other side—but not without cracks.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. She knew he understood.

“But then I see you with Belle,” she continued softly. “And I think... maybe we did it. Maybe we broke the cycle.”

Max swallowed hard. “I want to. I really want to.”

“You are,” she said. “She’s calm with you. Happy. And you—” she paused, then smiled, eyes a little glassy. “You look like someone who’s ready to love a kid better than we were loved.”

He looked away, throat tightening.

“I’m not saying it was all bad,” Victoria added gently. “But it wasn’t always good either. And I think... I think we both know that. And we’re both trying to do better.”

Max nodded. “That’s the goal.”

Victoria leaned over, bumped her shoulder against his. “You’re going to be good at this. Fatherhood.”

“I’m scared sometimes,” he admitted.

She laughed. “Good. That means you’re taking it seriously.”

Max looked down at his hands, then out the window toward the desert sky.

“I just want him to feel safe,” he said. “From the first second he’s born. I want him to know... he’s loved. No matter what. Always.”

Victoria reached over and took his hand. “Then he will. Because he’s yours.”

And Max, who had spent most of his life building walls, let himself believe it—just for a moment. That maybe they really had made it out. Maybe love could rewrite what pressure had written into them.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be now: Better. Softer. The start of something new.

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1archivebot: 🎄 Max Verstappen’s Christmas Plans: ✅ Wife ✅ Newborn or very pregnant wife ✅ Blanket fort in Monaco ✅ Victoria in charge of cravings menu ❌ Charles, unless he brings dessert ✅ High-stakes, home-baked pastry diplomacy

@/chaoticneutralf1: i love how max casually said “you’re not entering my house unless you bring dessert” with the calm threat level of a mafia don

@/teamwifeyverstappen: the fact that belle is due ANY day now and max is like “she’s not moving and i will body-check anyone who suggests otherwise” this man is a husband first, world champion second

@/lonelyheartsconstructors: someone find the twitch clip of that february stream bc i know belle is not planning christmas this year and max’s rage about weaponized incompetence still lives in my head rent-free

@/bellesweaters: [video clip] Max Verstappen, Team Redline stream, February 2024: “Why do men just assume the women in their lives will handle everything? How is that cute? It’s embarrassing.” And then he proceeded to drag the concept of ‘my sister will handle it’ for 6.5 minutes Now in Qatar: “Charles can come. If he brings dessert.” THE GROWTH. THE CONSISTENCY.

@/teamredlinewives: someone said max Verstappen is the only man who could flip a dessert requirement into a feminist manifesto and i haven’t stopped laughing since

@/monacobumpwatch: someone PLEASE do an edit of that stream rant to “This Is Me Trying” by Taylor Swift because that man was fighting for his life on behalf of Belle

@/f1files: the funniest part is charles genuinely asking “am i invited?”

@/open_wheel_emotions; thinking about max’s team redline stream in feb where he went on a 10-minute feminist rant about men doing nothing for the women in their lives and now he’s the christmas gatekeeper like: “bring a dessert or face consequences”

@/gridgossip: all i’m saying is: belle should not have to lift a FINGER this christmas and it looks like max already enforced that as law

@/girlfriendsofthepaddock: reminder that in february max said:

“They put in so much effort and get nothing back. Their family forgets things that matter to them.” “To love people who don’t even notice when you’re hurting?” and then spent the entire season making sure belle was celebrated, protected, and seen.

@/verstappenfiles: him saying “you better bring dessert” sounds funny until you realize belle’s spent years doing emotional labor for people who forgot her birthday. max is making sure that never happens again. and he’s doing it with pie.

@/nobutmax: thinking about belle this christmas being 9 months pregnant, in monaco, surrounded by people who love her, feet up, snacks in reach, and her husband enforcing a dessert tax like a protective dragon. she’s won.

@/f1oracle: the real championship this year is max verstappen vs emotionally negligent men and max is undefeated

@/gridsnacks: season highlight for me is not a race it’s max in february being like

“do something about it.” and then doing something about it for belle all year

@/fernbabyfern: this is your sign to make dessert and thank the women in your life who plan every holiday and get zero credit max verstappen would want you to

@/fernsandflags: people finally putting together that stream from february where max went on a full TED talk about men doing nothing for the holidays while his gf handled everything and now we’re here like: oh. OH.

@/verstappensbabybump: max in february: “i’ve seen someone plan everything and not get even a thank you” everyone now: BELLE. HE WAS TALKING ABOUT BELLE.

@/bellewatch: belle is about to give birth and max is gatekeeping the front door like an overprotective butler “what did you bring?” “tiramisu.” “homemade?” “…no.” door slams

*** Leclerc Family Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles, Lorenzo and Pascale)

Charles: Soooo… has anyone thought about Christmas plans? Asking for a friend. Who may or may not have just been publicly shamed by Max Verstappen.

Lorenzo: Wait—what did I miss?

Lorenzo: Is this a real question or are you stalling because Max made you promise dessert in front of half the media center?

Arthur: 😭😭😭 “if you don’t bring something sugar-based I will lock the door” King behaviour tbh

Charles: Can we please focus I’m trying to make plans!

Pascale: I was going to check in with everyone this week. Would love to have a family dinner, but I know things are different this year.

Belle:

Yes.

Very different.

Because I will either be 41 weeks pregnant or having a newborn and I am not moving from our house 😊

Arthur: Reasonable.

Lorenzo: Extremely reasonable.

Charles: So…you’re not coming to Christmas dinner?

Belle: No. But you can come to mine. Well. Ours. Max and I are staying home and his family is coming over.I can’t guarantee anything fancy, but there will be cookies and mocktails. You’re all welcome if you bring dessert. That’s the rule now.

Pascale: I’ll make a bûche de Noël. If you’ll have me too.

Belle: If you bring the bûche, you’re in.

Charles: So we’re all going to Max’s for Christmas?

Lorenzo: We’re going to Belle’s. Max just happens to live there.

Arthur: touché

Belle: Bring slippers. I’m not hosting a shoed Christmas.

[kxsagi]

reader with sleeper build being challenged by bllk boys in arm wrestling for the fun of it. they obviously went easy though, but imagine their reaction seeing reader's muscles just bulging out😭😭

“𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝”

a/n: arm humbling mmm yes

this is what i work biceps for

ft. kunigami rensuke, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, karasu tabito, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, kaiser michael

kunigami rensuke (pre WC)

kunigami was smiling at you like you were his cute little gym buddy. big guy, bigger ego. even said something condescending like “you sure you won’t break a nail?” before sitting down. 

you rolled up your sleeve and suddenly it was real quiet. his eyes locked on your bicep like it just whispered his government name. 

you flexed. his soul left his body. 

“... what the hell do you EAT?? bricks???” 

you didn’t even slam his hand down, you lowered it like you were tucking in a child for bedtime. 

afterward, he stood up. walked into the kitchen. put on an apron. “you want grilled chicken or steak, babe?” 

started meal-prepping for you with tears in his eyes. follows you around with a towel like, “sweating? here. water? here. emotional support? always.” 

accidentally called you “sir” once during a set and hasn’t recovered since. 

isagi yoichi

he’s already hyping himself up like “i got this. easy. she’s cute but i’ve got grip strength on my side.” 

then you take off your hoodie… and he sees the unit that is your bicep. 

you flex, and he visibly recoils. “WAIT... hold on... what the hell is that... a watermelon under your skin???” 

you grip his hand and he gasps like you just proposed. “oh my gosh, she’s strong and assertive…” 

you slam him so fast he doesn’t even blink. 

after the match, he walks away slowly. solemnly. comes back wearing a pink apron, holding a vacuum. 

“i just wanna support you. emotionally. physically. domestically. spiritually. i’ve never cleaned a bathtub before, but i’ll learn.” 

he won’t stop touching your arm. “can i... rest my face on it? like... just once?” 

you flex again. he actually moans. 

nagi seishiro

nagi only agreed because he thought you’d lose and then go, “awww you’re so strong!” 

but the moment you casually flexed and he saw that bicep swell like it had its own gravity, he was suddenly WIDE awake. 

“wait. is this a prank? is that arm CGI?” 

you start pressing down and he goes limp. doesn’t even try. 

“okay yeah, no. this is your world, i’m just respawning in it.” 

you win without breaking a sweat. 

he stands up. sighs. and walks away. comes back in a floral apron, holding a frying pan like “you want pancakes?” 

starts calling you “boss” and “queen” without irony. 

offers to carry your gym bag then just hands it back like “actually, i think it’s stronger than me.” 

mikage reo

reo, sweet delusional rich boy, thought he had the upper hand. “babe~ don’t cry when i win~” he said. 

you flexed once and he dropped his protein shake. 

“NO CUZ WHY DO YOU HAVE A BODY LIKE A STREET FIGHTER CHARACTER???” 

you beat him in three seconds and he just sat there. fully silent. hands folded like he was in a parent-teacher conference. 

then he whispered, “i’m gonna go make you a protein smoothie and file your taxes.” 

comes back in a silk apron and starts googling how to sew gym clothes. 

he’s like “do you want matching couple compression sleeves?” 

every time you walk by, he salutes. 

buys you a punching bag. writes “love you” on it with sharpie. 

karasu tabito

karasu would not shut up. 

“you sure? these arms were made by the gods themselves, baby.” 

then he saw your forearm pop out of your sleeve like a greek sculpture. man literally staggered. 

“AYO WHO LET YOU BE BUILT LIKE THAT???” 

you grabbed his hand and he squeaked. not yelled. not gasped. squeaked. 

you beat him and he just laid there on the table. face down. 

“... i’ve never been more turned on or more disrespected.” 

gets up and immediately ties an apron around his waist. “what do you want for dinner? i make a killer carbonara when i’m emotionally destroyed.” 

starts introducing you like, “this is my girl. she bench presses my hopes and dreams.” 

itoshi sae

sae didn’t think much of it. he barely looked at you before sitting down. 

“fine. let’s make it quick.” 

you took off your jacket and he glanced at your arm… then looked again. blinked twice. then stared in horrified silence. 

“why... does your bicep have a shadow of its own?” 

you start pressing down and his jaw tightens. he tries to act unaffected but his whole leg is shaking under the table. 

you win. 

he blinks slowly. sighs. comes back 10 minutes later in a black apron, holding a mop. “i vacuumed. folded the towels. made you protein brownies. do you want bath salts or should i just shut up?” 

he never admits he lost. but every time you flex, his ears turn red and he forgets what he was saying. 

itoshi rin

rin didn’t even flinch when you challenged him. he flinched when he saw your arm. 

and i mean saw, like, the hoodie came off and his eyes snapped to your bicep like it was some forbidden relic. 

he tried to act unaffected. cool. impassive. but you caught the way his hand hovered over the table like he was considering his own mortality. 

you flexed and his jaw clenched. you pressed down and he resisted... for two seconds. you won. easily. 

rin sat back, stared into space, and whispered, “i need to bulk. immediately.” 

the next time you saw him, he was in your kitchen. in an apron. stirring something in a pot. 

you were like “what are you doing?” and he just deadpanned, “... making your post-workout meal. don’t talk to me.” 

acts like he doesn’t care, but gets pissed if anyone else compliments your arms. 

you flex once and suddenly he's folding your gym clothes, cooking your macros, researching creatine dosages for couples. 

he won’t kiss you in public, but he will prep your chicken breast for the week like a loyal victorian husband. 

shidou ryusei

you knew he was going to be insane about it. 

he dared you to arm wrestle. said shit like, “i’ll let you win if you promise to kiss me after 😘” 

but the second you flexed, man sat back like “... okay what the actual fuck.” 

he full-on barked. barked. 

“yo. YO. THAT’S THE SEXIEST SHIT I’VE EVER SEEN.” 

you hadn’t even started yet. his pupils dilated like he was seeing god in the form of your bicep. 

you beat him in two seconds. he didn’t even try to fight back. 

after you win? he moans. collapses on the floor like you just shot him with a love cannon. gets up. tears off his shirt. grabs the nearest apron. 

“i’m yours. body, soul, housewife privileges. just say the word.” 

starts doing squats while washing your dishes. 

randomly flexes next to you and compares arms. "we're hot together. like, we could be a crime-fighting duo. buff babe and her bitch boy." 

he actually starts fights just to say, “don’t make me call my girlfriend, bro. her arms alone could fold you like origami.” 

kaiser michael

kaiser was running his mouth from the jump. “arm wrestle? with these dainty little fingers? c’mon, schatz, don’t humiliate yourself.” 

he was grinning. smug. dangerous. then you rolled up your sleeves. and the smirk left his face like a corrupted file. 

he actually leaned in like he was seeing an alien species. “… no wait. that’s not– what do you mean your arm has a peak?” 

you flexed and he audibly wheezed. 

tried to laugh it off like “haha okay you’ve been training i see you~” but his eyes were darting like he was looking for an exit. 

you won. effortlessly. he didn’t speak for a full minute. then slowly turned around, tied an apron over his designer clothes, and whispered, “how do you like your eggs, meine liebe?” 

he’s absolutely in his wife era after that. 

started learning how to sew. monogrammed your towels. put your protein powder in a fancy glass jar labeled “gains for goddess.” 

goes around telling people: “she may have beat me in arm wrestling, but i’m the real winner – i get to oil her biceps before bed.” 

his love language is now supportive moaning while watching you lift things. 

once told ness, “if she bench pressed me, i’d bark. straight up. no shame.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[nekonaps0]

i LOVE YOUR WRITING!!! i will say i am extremely heartbroken over that poll where lilia won over FWB leona 🥀🥀🥀 still loved that fic thooo but if you could find it in your heart to write that FWB fic i would do unspeakable things for that❤️❤️ thank you luv you

Undone

✦Leona Kingscholar x Fem!Reader

✦NSFW/smut, friends with benefits, unspoken feelings, pining!Leona, oblivious reader, tension, setup for later emotional chaos, possessive behavior, mutual emotional realization, soft aftercare

✦ well lucky you because all those fic I mentioned there are already written. I just couldn’t decide which one should I post first

You’d never really given it much thought before. Sure, you knew Leona was attractive, anyone with eyes could tell that, but he’d always just been Leona to you. Your friend. Your grumpy, lazy, nap loving, sharp tongued, secretly softhearted best friend.

The one who’d let you hang out in his room for hours, take over his bed, complain about your classes, or talk about anything and everything with little more than a grunt and an occasional sarcastic remark. You were comfortable with him, so comfortable, in fact, that tonight’s conversation had wandered into new territory without a second thought.

“I’m just saying,” you sighed, tossing a stress ball up and down as you lounged on his bed, “it’s kind of stupid how you basically need a relationship just to get laid.”

Leona, lounging on the bed with one arm behind his head, cracked open an eye.

You rolled onto your stomach, letting your cheek rest on your forearms as you stared at him. “I mean, sure, people hook up all the time, but it’s always complicated. Someone catches feelings or freaks out, or there’s some stupid drama. Can’t someone just have a little fun without drama?”

Leona didn’t respond right away. He was looking at you, but it wasn’t his usual lazy, half asleep look. There was something different in his eyes tonight, darker, unreadable.

You were too deep in your own musings to notice. “Maybe I should just get a hookup partner,” you muttered, half to yourself, chewing your lower lip. “Someone chill. No pressure. No strings. Just... some much needed relief.”

That pulled a snort from him. “You make it sound like you’re dying of thirst.”

You rolled your eyes. “I am dying, Leona. It’s been months.”

He let out a low chuckle, his chest rising slightly with the sound. “So what? Gonna go down a list of potential suitors at NRC? That’ll be a fun disaster.”

You paused. “Hmm... maybe. Let's see. Not Ace. He'd make it weird. Definitely not Sebek, he’d probably scream during.”

That earned a full laugh from Leona, deep and rich, echoing through the room. “You're sick.”

“Come on, be honest. You’ve thought about this kind of thing too, right? Casual, no strings stuff?”

His smirk dimmed slightly, eyes locking onto yours. “Of course.”

You sat up on your knees now, thoughtful. “I mean... who would be a good candidate?”

Leona watched you carefully, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. Then, with a casualness that didn’t reach his eyes, he said “Why not me?”

Your brain short circuited. “...Huh?”

Leona shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You want someone you’re comfortable with. Someone who won’t get clingy or jealous. Someone who doesn’t make things weird. We’re already close. Why not keep it simple?”

You blinked at him, heart skipping a beat. “You’re saying... we should hook up?”

“If that’s what you want,” he said, voice smooth but unreadable. “Friends with benefits. You get what you need, I get what I need. No strings. No drama.”

You stared.

You knew Leona was flirty sometimes, but this didn’t sound like a joke. His voice was too calm. Too measured.

Still, it made a strange kind of sense.

You were close. You trusted him more than anyone. And the idea of sleeping with someone without the awkward, fumbling stage of new attraction sounded... honestly, kind of perfect. Leona knew you. You knew him. And if he was okay with it.

“You’re serious?” you asked softly.

He looked up at you, eyes heavy lidded and unreadable. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”

You hesitated.

Then nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Something flickered behind his eyes too quick to name but he gave you a faint smirk and sat up, stretching. “Good,” he said simply. “We’ll take it slow. No pressure. Just…” He gestured lazily between you. “Whenever it feels right.”

You nodded again, unsure why your heart was pounding. From across the room, Leona watched you with a look you didn’t see, equal parts hunger and heartbreak. Because to you, this was convenience.

To him?

It was the only way he could have you without losing you completely.

•

It started with a couch.

A lazy afternoon, both of you bored and alone in his room. You were ranting about potions class, sprawled half on top of him. His hand had slipped under your shirt, pure muscle memory by now and then lips followed, teeth, tongue, breathy curses.

You didn’t even remember how it escalated. But that was the first time.

After that, it just… happened.

Everywhere. And anywhere.

His room. Your dorm lounge. A study room in the library with the door questionably locked. Behind the botanical gardens. Once, dangerously close to Ruggie’s room, where you had to stifle your laughter and gasps into Leona’s shoulder as his hand covered your mouth.

It was fun. Secretive. Addicting.

And at first, it was exactly what you both wanted, at least, that’s what you thought.

When one of you felt the need, it was easy. No fuss. No flirting needed. No sweet talking. No overthinking. Just a look, a low growl, a shared breath.

Then you’d go back to normal, as if nothing happened. No lingering tension. No awkwardness.

At least… at first.

It was around after two or three weeks later that something changed.

You didn’t notice it immediately.

Maybe it was because you’d been talking to Jack outside the cafeteria. The big guy had just helped you carry a stack of potions supplies, and you gave him one of your usual sweet, grateful smiles, thanking him and lightly touching his arm.

Then, out of nowhere, Leona had dragged you into the nearest unused closet and kissed you breathless against the wall.

You hadn’t questioned it. In fact, you’d enjoyed it. Thought it was hot being ambushed like that, his voice low and growly with want, his hands greedy.

“Couldn’t wait,” he muttered into your neck. “You look too good when you smile like that.”

You thought he was just horny. You didn’t think it was the smile at Jack that triggered it.

Another time, it was Ace. He made a dumb joke at lunch that had you cackling so hard, you nearly choked. Leona had been leaning against a wall nearby, lazily drinking a smoothie.

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself pinned under him in the greenhouse, the sun filtering through the leaves and his fingers tangled in your hair.

“You’re so loud sometimes,” he said into your throat, lips brushing skin. “People gonna hear how eager you are.”

You thought it was teasing. You didn’t realize he was still thinking about your laugh from earlier and who had caused it.

After that, the pattern became clearer… not to you, but to others…

The day things really started shifting was during a simple lunch with your usual group.

Deuce sat next to you, eating politely. Ace across from you, already being obnoxious. Epel had joined you today too, chewing aggressively on a chicken wing while adding his country boy sass to the conversation.

You were halfway through your sandwich, casually telling them about your latest “situation” with Leona because, at this point, it wasn’t a big deal or a secret. Just something happening in your life.

“so then he shows up at the library while Ortho tutored me,” you said around a bite, “and just leans over and whispers if I want to take a ‘study break.’”

Ace blinked. “Hold up. Study break? That’s code, right?”

You gave a one shouldered shrug. “Obviously.”

Epel nearly choked. “And ya went with him?! Just like that?!”

“Well, yeah. We’re friends with benefits. That’s the whole point, right?”

Ace raised an eyebrow. “Okay, yeah, but… isn’t it kinda weird how often he’s pulling you off like that? Didn’t you say it’s supposed to be casual?”

“It is casual,” you insisted, sipping your drink.

Deuce frowned slightly. “That sounds like jealousy.”

“What?” You blinked, genuinely confused.

Epel gave you a Look. “Y/N, you say he does this every time a guy so much as talks to ya.”

“Not every time…”

“Name five,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again…

“…Jack. Ace. Deuce. That random merchant guy in town last week. And… Azul, maybe?”

Epel leaned forward. “Girl. That’s a damn pattern.”

Deuce nodded slowly. “I mean, if he’s getting possessive, that’s not nothing.”

You laughed. “He’s not possessive, guys. It’s Leona. He just gets… in the mood, sometimes.”

Ace exchanged a look with the others, then looked at you like you were the insane one. “Y/N. You’re telling us this guy who doesn’t care about anyone’s business suddenly appears every time someone flirts with you… and you think that’s normal?”

You furrowed your brows. “Well, yeah. I mean, we’ve always been close. Maybe he’s just protective or something.”

Deuce gave you a soft, concerned look. “Have you ever thought… maybe he’s in love with you?”

You snorted so hard you nearly inhaled your drink. “Leona? In love? No way.”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep living in your delulu dream. Just don’t come crying to us when this ‘casual’ thing turns into a soap opera.”

Epel pointed his chicken wing at you like it was a sword. “You’re either the most emotionally blind person I’ve ever met, or you’re tryin’ real hard not to see it.”

You sat back in your chair, feeling weirdly unsettled.

Because now that they mentioned it… there had been a change. Leona had started showing up more. Calling you his herbivore with a sharpness that felt almost possessive. Growling under his breath when people flirted with you. Making sure he was the last one to walk you back at night. Even now, you thought about the way his eyes darkened whenever someone made you laugh, how his hands held you tighter, how his mouth lingered longer on your skin after.

You’d chalked it up to him being a Leona. Dramatic. Proud. Territorial, maybe. But… could it really be more than that? Could he feel something deeper?

You pushed the thought away.

You didn’t want to complicate things. You liked what you had. It worked. It was easy. And you didn’t want to ruin that by reading too much into his actions… right?

That night, Leona texted you.

Leona 🦁

You busy?

You

Nah. Just got back from dinner. Why?

Leona 🦁

Come to my room.

•

You stood outside Leona’s door a few seconds longer than usual.

That conversation at lunch was still stuck in your head, Epel’s chicken wing accusation, Ace’s wide eyed concern, Deuce’s gentle nudge that maybe, just maybe, Leona felt something deeper.

You hadn’t been able to shake it.

And now… standing there with your heart stuttering a little too loud in your chest, you realized you were nervous. Not just for the usual tension, the physical heat. No, this time, it felt different.

You didn’t know what to expect.

Still, when you knocked once and the door swung open with that familiar creak, everything inside you fluttered because there he was.

Shirt unbuttoned, hair tousled, emerald eyes gleaming under the low light. “About time,” he muttered with a half smile. “Thought you were ditchin’ me.”

You forced a laugh, trying to mask your unease. “Took the scenic route.”

But when he stepped aside to let you in and his hand brushed your lower back, all those strange, unsettled thoughts melted under the weight of his touch.

It was always like this with him. He touched you like he owned you, even though he didn’t. And you let him, even though you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the air in the room thickened with tension. He leaned against it for a moment, watching you. You could feel his gaze crawling across your skin like warm sunlight. There was hunger in it but something else, too. Something you couldn’t name.

You opened your mouth to say something maybe a joke, maybe to fill the silence but he was already moving.

Crossing the room in three long strides, he cupped your face with one hand and kissed you.

Hard.

Hot.

Hungry.

Your fingers gripped his shirt automatically, fisting the fabric, holding onto him like he might disappear. He kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to taste every sound you made, like your mouth was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, lips tingling. “Leona—”

He growled, breath hot against your jaw, “I hope you’re gonna tell me you want this.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. Whatever lingering questions you had, whatever worries, the second he touched you, they vanished.

You didn’t want to talk. You wanted him. So you nodded, breathless. “I do.” That was all it took.

He walked you backward toward the bed, mouths fused, hands wandering. His fingers slid under your shirt, up your spine, deft and sure. He pulled it off and tossed it somewhere, his own shirt following. His mouth dropped to your collarbone, teeth grazing, tongue smoothing over the sting. The bed caught the back of your knees. You tumbled onto it with a soft laugh cut off when he climbed over you, pinning you with his weight, his lips trailing fire down your neck.

“Leona,” you whispered, arching into him.

He growled low, almost like a purr, as if your voice alone could drive him wild. Then he dropped lower. And lower. You froze when he settled between your thighs, hands gripping your hips like you’d vanish if he let go.

“H-Hey, what are you—?”

“You’ve been too smug lately,” he said against your skin, kissing down your stomach while his hands tugging down your pants lower then with one move he pulled it off and toss it away. “Need to remind you who makes you fall apart.”

You didn’t have time to argue. His mouth met your core, and you shattered. Leona was relentless.

Languid, confident, devastating.

He licked and sucked like he had all the time in the world. Like this was what he lived for. Like you were his favorite meal and he was savoring every drop.

You couldn’t even think. All you could do was cry out his name, curses, nonsense, your fingers buried in his hair, thighs trembling. “L-Leona, I’m—!”

“Good,” he rasped, voice low and full of pride. His sharp eyes looked up at you like he memorizing your every reaction, how you fall apart just because of him. “Let me hear you.”

And when you came, it was with a loud gasp and a rush of warmth through your veins, hips arching, body shaking.

He didn’t stop until you were completely undone.

He came up for air with a smug glint in his eyes, licking his lips like sin itself.

You pulled him up by the shoulders, dragging him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“You’re such an ass,” you whispered against his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed. “But I’m your favorite one.”

You laughed breathlessly. “Shut up and fuck me.”

His grin was wicked. “As you wish.”

Clothes disappeared.

Sheets twisted.

Limbs tangled.

He entered you slowly, agonizingly, groaning into your shoulder like it physically hurt him to go that slow. “You feel too good,” he muttered. “Too tight… always do.”

You clung to him, nails raking down his back, matching his rhythm, gasping into his neck as he moved. Fast and deep.

Hard and smooth. Possessive and reverent.

It wasn’t just physical anymore. You could feel it in the way he touched you, how he held you like you were something precious, how his kisses dragged longer than necessary, how his hands gripped you like he’d never let go.

And just when you were about to fall apart again, just before both of you hit your peak, he buried his face in your neck and whispered, breath ragged, voice hoarse “Fuck… you feel so deam good… I want you… I want you…” and with a cracked, quite voice against your neck “Fuck…I love you…”

The room went silent.

Your heart stopped.

And Leona froze.

It wasn’t until after the afterglow, the quiet panting, the soft collapse beside you, that he realized what he’d said. And you felt the shift in him. How his body went tense. How he turned his head just slightly, like he was hoping you hadn’t noticed.

But you had.

You turned your head to look at him, eyes wide. “…What did you say?”

He closed his eyes, jaw tight. “Forget it.”

“No,” you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “Leona. Say it again.”

He stayed silent for a beat longer Then “I said I love you.” His voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “Didn’t mean to. Wasn’t supposed to come out like that.”

Your breath caught.

Leona turned his face away, shame flickering behind his emerald eyes. “I know we said this was casual. And I meant it, at first. But you’re in my head all the time. And every time some guy so much as looks at you, I wanna rip his throat out.”

You stared, stunned.

“I didn’t wanna ruin it. Didn’t want to lose you. So I kept my mouth shut.” He looked at you then, eyes raw and vulnerable. “But I can’t do it anymore, herbivore.” He took a sharp breath and biting the inside of his cheek “I feel this way since the first time you curled up on my bed like you owned it.”

You felt like your whole world had turned inside out. Because suddenly, everything made sense. The way he touched you. The way he growled at other guys. The way he kept finding reasons to be near you, pulling you back to him, over and over. And most of all, the ache in your own chest.

The warmth that bloomed every time you saw him. The way your body knew his touch. How your heart fluttered every time he smirked your way, how you’d started waiting for his texts even when you weren’t in the mood for anything physical.How you felt safe with him. Wanted. Adored.

You reached out and touched his face, guiding him to look at you. “…I love you too.”

Leona blinked. “You…what?”

You laughed “I was just too dumb to realize it.”

He stared at you like you’d knocked the wind out of him. Then he leaned in and kissed you, slow this time. Sweet. Like you were something sacred.

When he pulled back, his voice was low. “So… what now?”

You smiled and tucked your face into his chest, tracing lazy circles across his skin. “We start dating. Obviously.”

Leona grinned against your hair. “Took you long enough, herbivore.”

•

The next morning, when Leona strolled out of his room with you trailing behind, both of you looking rumpled and smug, something felt different. It wasn’t just the sex. It wasn’t just the fact that you were holding his hand now. It was everything.

And when one of the Savanaclaw students passed by and muttered, “Damn, you were loud,”

Without even looking, Leona just smirked. “Jealous?”

The guy blinked and turned bright red.

You elbowed Leona with a snort.

He looked at you, eyes warm, then leaned down to murmur in your ear “Get used to it. You’re mine now.”

You didn’t even bother pretending you didn’t like the sound of that.

..............................................................................................................................

[nymphl]

Using AI for fanfic makes no sense whatsoever to me. I mean... you're not being paid to do this shit. It's a hobby, why would you let a machine do your hobby for you??? Like... the point of fanfiction or any other hobby is to do it because you enjoy the source material, the characters, the dynamics and so on??? Because you want to interact/transform/analyze the source material in some meaningful/fun way. This shit ain't mandatory, you know. You can just simply... not do it and continue your life as if you never wrote fanfic, like the majority of people out there? Let's face it, being in a fandom is for the weird crowd, writing fanfiction is for the weirdest of crowds. I know it seems like we're many, but being in this life for 18 years now, I can vouch for it: we're a minority.

I clearly don't get it. What's your goal?

If your goal is to become famous through it, just... give up? Like I said... the minority of people write fanfic and even less people become famous because of it.

Is it instant gratification? Cause... If that's the case, do you really get any gratification for something you didn't do? In Brazil we say it's like "gozar com o pau dos outros". Not gonna translate that, se virem. Is it making friends in fandom? You can make plenty of friends without using AI, you know.

I'm really trying to understand. But this eludes me so completely, I can't even...

Like... what's wrong with you guys? Keep this shit OUT OF FANDOM AND AWAY FROM FANFICS.

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[thatonegrimm]

Hi, new anon here--absolutely loving everything you post, I just wanted to come in & say I really love the way you characterize the saja boys with what little concrete info we got from them, and new stuff from you has made it a delight to open my phone in the mornings this last week or so <3

If you aren't totally swamped, could I potentially request Saja Boys or Huntr/x reacting to a reader with OCD tendencies? Either with the sort of classic ones I also relate to having no sense of safety (check the lock X times, touch/turn the doorknob every time you walk past, etc.) or the more mundane ones that can present themselves. Somebody who's used to it & does sometimes wish their brain wasn't like this but will only get like, a little self conscious about being caught out, instead of getting anxious about it.

For some examples I don't see often in media etc., I can't have conversations while trying to stir smth in my drinks bc I have to do it 42 times & if I lose count I have to start over, so I just. Stop talking or looking at the other person, even though I'm listening, and don't respond until I finish my count. It's caused some fun conversations! Or the intricacies of the Candy Rituals, "no it has to be blue before red" or "sort them all by color and then eat them according to group size," or "eat the kitkat from the top down layer by layer nope I broke a layer in an Unacceptable Way instead of an Acceptable Way, I can't eat this at all now." Why does it have to be this way! Wish they could tell you, really, they'd LIKE to rip open the m&ms and dump them in their mouth but if they do the brain will ITCH. for DAYS.

Apologies if this is out of left field or you're uncomfortable with it! Mostly I just wanted you to know how much I'm enjoying your work, and how much joy it brings me to read the stuff you're posting. Hope you have a great day!

- (since i do expect to come back eventually I will label myself 🪐)

Thank you for the request! This wasn't an uncomfortable request for me at all, I'm glad your enjoying my work. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader with OCD Tendencies

--------------------

🧿 Jinu 

He noticed it one week in. The way your fingers brushed the doorknob every time you passed it, even if you weren’t leaving the room. A light tap. Sometimes a turn. Sometimes you paused, then did it again.

At first, he thought it was just absentminded.

But then one night, he stood in the doorway watching you come out of the bathroom. You touched the knob, walked two steps, paused—then circled back to do it again. Twice.

When you caught his eye, your shoulders stiffened.

“Habit,” you said quickly. “Weird one.”

He tilted his head, thoughtful. “You always do it in threes.”

You froze. “Yeah. Sorry. I know it looks—”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Jinu interrupted, gently. “I just want to know if it helps.”

You blinked. “It… keeps the world in place.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll make sure no one touches that knob but you.”

The next day, he put a little charm above it. Just a tiny blue sigil, like a lock. Like backup.

He never mentioned it again.

--------------------

💪 Abby 

You were halfway through mixing honey into your tea when Abby leaned over and said something funny. You didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

You were counting.

And you were almost to 42.

Abby blinked. “Hey—are you mad?”

You shook your head but didn’t answer.

Not yet.

You reached 41… 42.

Then you exhaled, set the spoon down, and looked up. “Sorry. I just have to stir it a certain number of times or it feels wrong.”

“Ohhh,” he said, drawing the syllable out like it clicked in his brain. “Tea math. Got it.”

You snorted. “It’s ridiculous.”

“It’s science,” he declared with a shrug, plopping down next to you. “I won’t interrupt next time. Stir with honor.”

Later, he brought you another mug. “I stirred it for you,” he said proudly.

You raised an eyebrow. “How many times?”

He grinned. “Forty-two. I counted out loud.”

It wasn’t perfect. But the thought behind it? That made your whole chest ache in the best way.

--------------------

📚 Mystery 

Mystery walked into the living room just in time to see you glare at a pile of gummy bears like they’d personally offended you.

He didn’t say anything.

Just sat beside you, silent and still, watching as you sorted them by color—then by number—then lined them up by shade.

You reached for the blue one, then stopped. Your hand hovered. Too many reds. It would throw the whole thing off.

He leaned in slowly. “Want me to eat the excess red?”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He nodded. “You always eat blue before red.”

You stared at him.

“How do you know that?”

“I live here,” he said plainly. “You’re very consistent.”

For a second, you wanted to sink into the couch. “It’s dumb, I know. I just—”

“It’s not dumb.” His voice was soft. “Your brain is loud. Rituals keep it quiet. That’s not dumb.”

You looked down at the gummy bear army. Mystery held out his hand.

“Give me the red,” he said. “I’m good at destroying things.”

--------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance was used to watching people eat beautifully plated desserts. Watching you eat was a different kind of performance.

You peeled the wrapper off your KitKat carefully, broke off one stick, and began the slow disassembly—chocolate coating, top layer, inner wafer. You were meticulous. Focused.

Then… crack.

Wrong break. Jagged. Uneven.

You froze.

Romance, mid-conversation, fell silent too. He saw the shift in your shoulders. The stillness. The subtle horror in your eyes.

He reached for the ruined piece.

“May I?”

You handed it over.

He bit into it without fanfare, smiling at you like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

Then he reached for a second bar, broke it gently, and offered it to you. “Start again,” he said softly. “I’ll guard this one.”

You laughed. Just a little. “You’re weird.”

“So are you,” he said with a wink. “It’s perfect.”

--------------------

🔥 Baby 

You doubled back halfway to the van. Again.

Baby watched from the passenger seat as you tugged at the door to the dorm, then the gate, then the latch. Checked them. Tugged. Pulled. Pressed the code again, even though you’d already done it twice.

It was the third time in five minutes.

When you climbed into the seat beside him, your face was tight.

“I know it’s locked,” you muttered. “But it doesn’t feel—”

“Want me to check it next time?” he asked simply.

You blinked at him.

“I can lock it after you, and then you can lock it again. Two locks. Like a combo move.”

You stared. “Wouldn’t that be annoying?”

Baby gave you a blank look. “You sit through my anime rants. This is the least I can do.”

The next day, you locked the door.

He locked it again.

You both nodded.

It wasn’t about logic. It was about peace.

And Baby? He’d do it as many times as it took.

--------------------

M-List

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Can you do a Eric Campbell X Reader and it be like she’s Julie’s friend and Her and Eric pretend to hate eachother but it’s just one big game of cat and mouse!!! I hope I explained it well thank you!!

Request: Can you do erik mistakenly getting a nude from julia's friend?

Something fun to end this Monday! I hope you like it

Warnings: mention of a topless picture

—

Everybody makes mistakes. It’s part of life. But sometimes you just wish you could erase the past. 

Or a text message from the night before. 

You should have checked twice before sending a topless pic to Julia. Nothing sexy or suggestive, just a simple picture to show her the new jewelry you got for your nipples. Instead, you sent it to her brother Erik. 

To make things even more embarrassing, you only realized your mistake when you woke up the next day and saw Erik’s name flooding your notifications. 

Erik: I was not expecting that this morning 💀 

Erik: Is this a drunk text? Because I don’t think I was supposed to receive that… I’m guessing you wanted to send it to someone else

Erik: Nice jewelry. We sell similar styles at the shop. In case you’re interested?

You’ve never been more embarrassed in your life. Of all the people to see you half-naked, why did it have to be Julia’s brother? You considered deleting the conversation and pretending nothing ever happened, but it was too late for that now.  

Quickly typing, you apologized for the unsolicited nude and explained that it was meant for Julia. You thought it would end there, but your phone buzzed with a new notification. 

Erik: Great tits by the way 👀

Your jaw dropped as you read. Great tits?! 

You stared at the screen, heart pounding, unsure if you should be mortified or flattered. 

 ⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

A few days later, you ended up at Julia’s house to drop off a dress she asked to borrow for a date. As you knocked on the door, you prayed that Erik wasn’t home and that you’ll never have to talk about your late night mistake again. The gods of luck must not have answered your prayers because there he was, standing before you, a playful grin on his face.

‘’Well, look who finally showed up,’’ he said, his voice oozing with sarcasm. ‘’I was wondering when you'd grow the balls to come over here after sending me that little surprise.’’

You ignored his teasing and walked past him. ‘’I’m just dropping off a dress for Julia.’’ 

Erik shut the door behind you. ‘’She’s not here.’’ 

‘’I know. She told me to leave it on her bed.’’ 

You went upstairs and left the dress on Julia’s bed, then came back down. 

Having heard you come down, Erik lifted his head from the couch where he was laying on and playing Silent Hill. “You sure you don’t want to stick around? I could return the favor. Show you my jewelry,” he joked, tone suggestive. 

He worked in a tattoo shop, it didn’t surprise you that he had body piercings — other than the one in his nose. But which one was he talking about? Was it nipples? Some men do have them pierced. Or was it…lower?

Although you were curious, you rolled your eyes. “Not interested. Bye Erik.”

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•

‘’I’m so nervous. The last piercing I got was my ears when I was eleven,’’ Danyka told the piercer while she was filling out the paperwork, a nervous giggle leaving her lips.

The woman smiled at her, kind and empathic. ‘’You’ll feel just a pinch, honey. I got my belly done three times, I know what I’m talking about.’’ 

Once she was done, Danyka followed her to the piercing area of the shop, leaving you in the front. 

You walked around, taking a look at all the nipple jewelry behind the glass counter. There were some cute ones with pink and blue gems. And some were insanely big barbels, and painful to look at. How could anyone want something like that? Stretching the hole must hurt, no? Last week, your left piercing accidentally got caught in your towel. It hurt like a bitch. You couldn’t imagine stretching it. 

Your eyes fell on a heart shield with tiny gems on it — very feminine, just how you liked. You weren’t looking to buy any, having bought a new pair recently, but this one was calling your name. 

You pressed the small bell, calling someone up at the front. 

To your surprise, Erik appeared from the back, wearing his leather jacket and nothing under. Shit. You completely forgot that this was the tattoo shop he worked at. 

Your eyes lingered for half a second too long, and Erik definitely noticed.

He smirked, leaning casually against the counter. ‘’Missed me, sweetheart?’’ he teased, voice low and smug. 

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the jewelry behind the glass. ‘’Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t know you worked here.’’

Erik chuckled at your quick denial, his smirk widening as he saw your eyes dart back to the jewelry behind the glass. ‘’These would look good on you. You’ve got the perfect sized nipples.’’

You tried to maintain your composure at his bold comment, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing it made your stomach flutter. ‘’Oh my god. Why are you so obsessed with my boobs?!’’ 

As the banter continued, the front door dinged, signaling someone walked in. A girl — no older than eighteen —, looking to get a belly piercing. She batted her lashes as she talked to Erik, blatantly flirting. 

‘’Alright, I’ll just need you to fill this form, and then we can do the piercing, sweetheart,’’ he said, purposely calling her that to get a rise from you. 

You glanced at the girl, jealousy beginning to run through your blood. ‘’I changed my mind,’’ you declared, refusing to let this girl take what was yours. ‘’I think I’ll take you up on the jewelry offer.’’ You leaned over the counter, your eyes locking with Erik’s. ‘’If you put it in for me.’’

—

All and more taglist:  @kenqki@hawkegfs@gillybear17@black-rose-29@fudge13 @cece05 @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade   @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @bisexualgirlsblog @queenofslytherin889 @thatbxtchesblog @softb-tterfly @ethanlandrycanbreakmyheart  @xyzstar  @graceberman3   @mikeyspinkcup @jackierose902109 @daisydark @laurasdrey @mischieftom @fanatic4niall @peterholland04 @idkwhattonamethisblogs  @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @zoeynicolas @thejuleshypothesis @multi-fandom-bi-bitch @lexasaurs634  @notasadgirlipromise @thejuleshypothesis  @katherinejess  @rafesgirlstuff   @lafleshlumpeater @iamluminosity  Anouk nani-2305 @books0fever @papichulo120627 @qardasngan @ghostlyvoidydragon @M0rgans1nterlud3 @dahlia-blossom21 @Spacexdrago @nhlfs

[pagesfromthevoid]

State of Grace | r.a. | 2

Rhett Abbott x teacher!reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Alcohol, Rhett almost starts a fight

Author’s Note: This isn’t gonna be a long series but it’s gonna be fun. I got some good shit goin in my brain

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me! | Coffee?

The bar was louder than she expected. Not rowdy, exactly –just lively in the way small-town places got on a Friday night, with familiar laughter floating over the clink of beer bottles and the low hum of country music crackling through old speakers. The air smelled like wood polish and stale beer, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d willingly gone anywhere without a clear purpose.

And yet, here she is. Sitting across from Rhett Abbott of all people, watching the way the light plays off the edge of his jaw when he smiles at something she said.

“So you agreed to be the sponsor of a rodeo club but you’ve never been to a rodeo?”

She grins sheepishly, sipping her cider with a shrug. “It’s not really…my thing, I guess.”

“Why the hell did you agree then?” Rhett laughs, leaning his elbows on the table across from her. 

“I have a soft spot for the kids,” she admits, setting her drink down on the table. “And a bad habit of not saying no.”

“We’ll have to work on that,” he teases, and her breath catches when he runs his tongue over his bottom lip. “Let me get you another one,” he offers, tapping her bottle and standing up. 

For a moment, she simply watches as he walks away, weaving through the crowd with a slightly awkward presence that…doesn't quite match the reputation he’s earned. She wonders if she’s making a mistake –sitting here, letting herself get charmed by someone she’s been warned about more times than she can count. But the longer she watches him, the harder it is to make sense of all those rumors. They don’t feel true. Not tonight.

Maybe he is trouble. But if he is, he hides it well –behind slow smiles and the way he listens when she talks, really listens. He’s been nothing but a gentleman all night. Thoughtful. Careful, even. And maybe that’s the trick. Maybe that’s what makes him dangerous.

Rhett’s charming, sure –but it’s a quiet, steady kind of charm, wrapped up in that rough cowboy exterior. She’s willing to bet the whole rugged “bad ass bullrider” thing is what pulls the women in, but it’s that unexpected sweetness –the soft-spoken jokes, the way he meets her eyes and then looks away like he’s not used to being looked at too long –that seals the deal. Don’t get her started on his eyes either. There’s something unreadable in them. Something sad. She wonders how many women have been swept off their feet by those alone.

God knows she’s about to be.

Rhett returns with two bottles in hand, balancing them carefully as he weaves through the crowd. When he slides one in front of her, he doesn’t say anything right away –just sits down and rubs the back of his neck like he isn’t sure what to do with his hands now.

She smiles, fingers curling around the chilled glass. “Thanks.”

He nods, then takes a sip of his own drink, eyes flicking up to meet hers for the briefest second before darting away again. “Didn’t know which kind you liked. Just got the same.”

“That’s fine,” she says, her grin tugging wider. “You’re one for one so far.”

A hint of pink creeps onto his cheeks and he ducks his head with a chuckle. “Guess I’ll quit while I’m ahead.”

“You’re not doing too bad,” she teases, but softly. Not to embarrass him –just to see what he'd do with it.

He looks up at that, and something in his eyes hits her –something that doesn’t quite match the rest of him. They’re softer than they have any right to be, ringed with something quiet and worn-down. Sad, maybe. Lonely. She suddenly can’t remember what exactly people had warned her about.

He clears his throat and leaned forward just slightly, like he wants to say something more but doesn’t quite know how. “Y’know, the boys talk about you a lot. Say you’re their favorite teacher, and how you try so hard for’em. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk as much about school outside of school as they do.”

“Oh –well I –,” she stammers, tracing the rim of her bottle. She’s not sure what to say to that honestly; but it feels good to hear. “I just…want to do my best for them, I suppose.”

“That’s not it,” he says quickly, then looks vaguely horrified with himself for interrupting. “I mean –I just think it’s…good. That they like you so much. Shows you care about’em.”

The words land heavier than she expects, not just because of what he’s saying, but because of the way he says it –like he knows exactly what it’s like not to have someone care. 

“I…really do, you know? I know I’ve only been here a couple years, but the kids grow on you fast, and I just want to give them every chance to succeed. Some of them –,” her throat tightens, and she swallows it back. “Some of them just need someone to believe in them.”

“Wish I had a teacher like you when I was in school.” His voice is low –lower than before –and rough at the edges, like it’s not something he meant to admit out loud. Like it slipped out in a moment where his guard forgot to hold. “Probably would’ve done me wonders,” he adds, with a small, almost apologetic smile.

And that’s the moment. That’s when she sees it, clear as day –the crack in the wall he’s got up, the soft place he doesn’t show anyone. Not the flirt. Not the troublemaker or the bullrider. Just a boy who needed someone to care and maybe never quite got it.

He isn’t trying to charm her.

He isn’t trying anything, really.

He’s just…trying.

And she likes him more for that. Not because he’s perfect –not even close –but because he’s honest, even when it hurts. Because he’s showing her a version of himself that maybe no one else bothers to look for.

She shifts her hand on the table, closer to his, and catches his eye. “I think you turned out alright, Rhett.”

He lets out a quiet huff, somewhere between disbelief and gratitude. “That’s debatable.”

“Not from where I’m sitting.”

For a moment, neither of them say anything. They just sit there, watching each other across the scratched wood of the table, the chatter of the bar fading into something softer around them. Her heart thuds a little too loud in her chest, and she wonders if he can hear it.

“You’re not what I expected,” she says before she can stop herself.

He blinks, confused. “Is that a good thing?”

“I think so,” she reassures, and she means it.

He gives her a small, lopsided smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes –but maybe that’s okay. Maybe the real smile will come later, when he trusts her enough to give it.

“Good,” he says quietly. “’Cause I’ve been trying real hard not to screw this up.”

Her chest tightens, and she looks at her drink with a sheepish smile and a blush that’s burning her cheeks.

It isn’t the line itself. It’s the way he said it –honest. Almost apologetic. Like he doesn’t expect anything good to last, but can’t help but hope for it anyway. Maybe that’s the real trouble with Rhett Abbott –not that he’s reckless or wild or too full of himself. But that he’s spent so long pretending not to care, most folks stopped looking close enough to see that he does.

“Well hell must have frozen over,” a voice calls from the other side of the bar, interrupting whatever she and Rhett were sharing. When she looks up, she makes a face as Luke Tillerson makes his way over to their table. “Wabang’s teacher of the year is actually out and about on a Friday night.”

“Hello, Luke,” she sighs, leaning back in her seat. Rhett mutters something into his beer, but she doesn’t catch it. “It’s…nice to see you too.” Lie.

If anyone is actually trouble, it’s Luke Tillerson. In the two years she’s lived in Wabang, he’s been nothing if not relentless in his attempts to get her to go out with him, but something about him makes her skin crawl and sets her teeth on edge. He’s not trouble in the fun kind of way; he’s trouble in the way that feels actually dangerous. And she really doesn’t like how he talks to people –especially her. 

“What brings you out and about tonight?” He asks, leaning on the table with a slimy grin on his face.

“I’m just having a drink with a friend,” she offers as explanation, nodding towards Rhett, who looks more than annoyed that Luke is so close to them.

“Oh, darlin’,” Luke drawls and doesn’t even try to mask his disdain. “You think he’s got anything to offer you? Can’t even get off his daddy’s ranch.”

“Tillerson –,” Rhett starts, pushing up from the table suddenly.

“Don’t you work on your daddy’s ranch, Luke? How are you any different?” She interrupts, but she’s sliding out of her seat and picking up their drinks in the process. “Table is all yours. We’ll find somewhere else.”

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be like that,” Luke argues, standing up too and trying to block her way. His hand is wrapped around her wrist, and she tries to pull back, but he doesn’t let up. “I’ve been askin’ you out for months now and you really wanna spend your night with him?”

“I’d rather spend the night with rattle snakes than go out with you, honestly,” she snaps back, trying to pry her wrist away from him. 

“Let’er go, Tillerson,” Rhett warns, stepping between the two of them now. 

His voice is low –measured –but there’s nothing calm about the way he says it. His body has gone still in that dangerous way, like a storm just before it breaks. And suddenly, she gets it. This is what they mean when they say Rhett Abbott is trouble.

It’s not the flirting or the broken rules or the crooked smirk he throws around town. It’s this –this quiet, coiled tension beneath his skin. The way his jaw ticks, the way his shoulders square like he’s ready to break something if he has to. There’s heat in his eyes –not wild exactly, but sharp and cold and deadly serious.

He looks like someone who’s been taught not to swing first –but who absolutely will if you give him a reason. And for a second, she isn’t sure what’s more startling: the fear on Luke’s face, or the fact that she doesn’t feel afraid at all.

Even Luke seems to recognize the line he’s about to cross. He releases her wrist and steps back with his hands up, trying to look harmless.

“You wanna waste your time, you go ahead,” he says, pointing at her. “I don’t mind pickin’ up Abbott’s pieces.”

“You son of a bitch –,” Rhett snaps, surging forward and grabbing Luke by the collar. The sheer force of it knocks a table over and chairs scatter, causing the other patrons to stop and look over. She’s still clutching their drinks, frozen in the moment and unsure of how to handle any of this.

“Get the hell outta my bar with that shit!” The bartender yells, but Rhett is dropping Luke, who lands on the floor with a thud and a curse. 

“Ain’t fuckin’ worth it,” Rhett mutters. Luke storms out of the bar without another word to them, and she finally moves from her spot, looking up at Rhett in surprise. “I’m sorry, I –,”

“You really are trouble, aren’t you?” She asks, holding his beer out to him. 

“I…,” He swallows hard, staring down at the beer that she’s offering him. Then slowly, he reaches out and takes it, fingers brushing against hers and lingering for longer than they should. Then he nods once. “I can be, yeah.”

“We’ll have to work on that.”

———

Taglist: @its-just-me-rin @lilyed777 @pearlstiare @scarletmika

[angst-fairy]

Everyone has needs, some more than others sure, but isn't that what the cause is about?? Making sure everyone is provided for? Loving everyone and treating them well?

Ones with extreme disabilities are the most qualified to be part of this cause. Even ones who can't speak has a voice, they have ideas that need to hear, wants to be heard. Why do they need anymore than that to participate?

I understand how awful it is to be in pain, to be disabled, but not look or be treated like it. You feel like you've fought so hard for so long, endured all this pain but by the end no one cares, no one even notices and they treat you like you didn't just fight for your life. You feel like you achieved something but they refuse to give you your prize or admit that you did anything at all. But the fact is we are discriminated against less because of this. You can disagree, you can ignore it, but that changes nothing. This is a fact, you want to change it go do something, but you can't just disagree. Another fact is that it doesn't make me less worthy to be in the disabled community or fight to be treated better. I'm more physically capable than some, that is all. I need a little less help, that is all. There is no "we're more important, we're more justified or we're more disabled." Disability isn't even one single scale. People with different disabilities are affected in different ways, you can't always compare them, especially not if your trying to figure out which one is "worse" than the other.

I got made fun of and accused of faking my seizures for attention in a discord I had just joined. There were 6 girls all attacking me. One of which claimed to have seizures as well. I thought I found friend to relate to, but she refused to believe me because I didn't have a diagnosis yet and said that because she was never medically gaslit, my doctors couldn't have done that to me. I suffered 4 years of being told all my symptoms were just anxiety, a nurse did 3 sternum rubs on me, forced me out of a seizure so I couldn't speak and was very confused and yelled at me because I wasn't corporating, I got thrown out of school, I lost many friends, I left doctor appointments crying and wanting to kill myself, I don't trust any new friends I make online because I'm worried they'll turn on me too. If you are in the disabled community and think your weeding out all the less disabled fakers, then you need to get your head checked. And if you went through similar things I did, but are reacting by not supporting more physically visible disabled people, then you are on the wrong side. Both need to remember what this community is meant to be about, and that is supporting everyone.

[sdmnpact]

I Can't Stand You.

George Clarke x Reader smut

** MDNI 18+**

[] enemies to lovers type deal

~~~

The cold London air hit your skin sending a shiver down your spine. You regret not bringing a jacket but if you did bring a jacket you wouldn't be able to show off your beautiful dress.

The strappy thing that hugged you in all the right places. Regardless of how you felt that day, this dress was like magic and made you look amazing. Eyes lingered on you all night, admiring how insanely stunning you looked. This certainly helped with the night you've had.

You were standing outside of the still quite crowded pub waiting for your Uber. It's been a night and you were tired. Liv who you had originally planned on having a girls night with brought along Bach who brought along Arthur who brought Hill, Chris, and George.

George Clarke. You hated the man. His cocky attitude, the arrogance he portrays, the little quips he makes at your expense. You don't know if you ever did something to him to make him dislike you but now you despise eachother.

You told Liv this and she told Bach who completely ignored this and gave him the green light to come. You love Bach but his forgetfulness is not your favorite thing sbout him.

Although you tried to have a good night despite George's loud presence, you still ended up as the butt of his jokes. Drink after drink didn't help either. Drinking wasn't enough, you couldn't stand it anymore and decided to leave early.

You thought about George's mannerisms for quite a while as you stood there. When he gets drunk with others, he gets quiet and calm but when you're there, it's like he becomes a different person, getting rowdier by the second.

The sound of the doors opening pulled you out of your thoughts. You turned around to see the blue eyed, curly headed jerk. You turned back towards the street rolling your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hey Y/n? Going home already? Was the dress too tight for you?" He replied, eyeing your body. You scoffed, brushing off his comment. "Im just tired." You lied, the annoyance evident in your voice.

"You know, you're ruining the night." He said. His voice deep as he took a step closer to you. "Im ruining the night? You've been acting like a dickhead this entire time!" You exclaimed, biting your tongue at your words. You never meant to tell him how much of a jerk he is but your words just slipped out.

"Im not a dickhead, if anything, it's you! You're always in such bad spirits, you never want to have fun, you keep to yourself!"

"Maybe it's because everytime I speak, you make a joke out of it, out of me! Everything I say or do! You should see when you're not around, how much fun I have. It's you! You're the reason I have no fun!" You exclaimed, turning towards him, getting in his face. The tension between you rising as he took another step closer to you.

"Well maybe I can't help it! Maybe it's you! Always saying the weirdest things, always being your goofy self! Maybe if you stopped being so cringe I would stop." Your jaw clenched at his words. Your face red with anger.

"How is that my problem!? No one even invited you here, you just come along whenever we go out always ruining the mood." You responded.

"Someone needs to be the fun one in the group." He scoffed.

"You're always such a jerk, I don't even know why!" You exclaimed.

"Have you ever thought it's because I like you?" Your eyes went wide, your heart beating faster, the anger softening as you tried to comprehend what he actually said.

"You like me?" Your voice quivered, unsure if he was serious or if this was just another rouse.

"Yes Y/n, I fucking like you, you fucking bitch. I like how weird you are, I like how funny and cute you are. You always look hot as fuck. You know how hard it is not being able to grab you and kiss you!?" He said, his words filled with annoyance as if it bothered him, telling you this.

"Well, well- well being a dickhead wasn't the way to go about these things!" You stuttered, trying to focus on his attitude towards you rather than the sudden confession he was making.

"I know! But you know how shit I am with girls, how the hell was I suppose to tell you?" He admitted.

"I dont know, maybe just talking! Telling me nicely instead of making fun of me every five seconds!" You spewed, ready to be done with this conversation. His words clouded your thoughts, making you smile at his true feelings towards you. You quickly pulled yourself out of it, checking your phone to see your Uber still 2 minutes out.

"Okay, listen, I'm sorry. I still don't know why I said those things, I don't know why I act this way!" He pleaded, his eyes resembling those of puppies. You almost melted at the sight but held your ground.

"I dont want to hear it, George, just leave me alone." He got closer to your face once again only this time, he was inches from your lips.

"Can I make this up to you?" His voice was deep and raspy, making you shiver at his change of tone. He finger trailed up your arm to your shoulder, brushing some hair back. His eyes glimmered under the light, a dark intensity to them as his breathing slowed down.

"I can't stand you." You said, your voice low and frail, trying to keep yourself under control. He chuckled, before cupping your cheeks and bringing you closer, closing the gap between you. His soft lips moving against yours. The friction between you, now the same drive making you pull at his shirt, grabbing him tightly, wanting more of him. His hand, snaking around your waist, trailing towards your backside. Grabbing your ass, trying to feel every inch of you. You smiled into the kiss, letting his tongue in.

The kiss now a makeout session filled with desire and lust coming to an abrupt end as a car pulled up in front of you. The driver lowered his windows, asking your name. You confirmed and looked towards George, nodding towards the car. "Wanna go to mine?" You asked, pulling on the hem of his shirt.

He immediately followed your lead into the silver Toyota. The driver started his way towards your flat. You looked over to George to see his eyes already on you. His hand on your knee slowly inching towards your inner thigh. His fingers slowly trailed closer to your heat. Your short dress giving him plenty of access to you.

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed across your heat slowly through your panties. Your focus on his face as he stared at you, hunger in his eyes. You grabbed his hand, pulling away but he insisted. He teased you all the way towards your flat. His fingers running circles around your throbbing heat through the fabric, making your legs feel weak.

You hoped the driver didn't notice but you couldn't focus on anything but George. As you pulled up to the building, George quickly removed his hand, reaching for the door.

He wanted you as bad as you wanted him and couldn't wait any longer.

He quickly pulled you out of the car, thanking the driver for the ride. His hand gripped yours tightly as you made your way in. Every second of the lift ride feeling like torture. His hand never leaving yours, his foot impatiently tapping as if he's been waiting for hours.

He desperately wanted to grabbed your face and shove his tongue down your throat but restrained himself until you got to your flat.

The second you unlocked the door, George pushed you in, slamming the door behind him. His hands cupped your cheeks once again, this time with more force. His lips slammed onto yours, you were taken aback at first but quickly melted into the kiss. You grabbed his shirt, desperately wishing it was off. He smirked at you, quickly breaking the kiss to pull it off revealing his sculpted figure.

He picked you up and took you towards the couch, throwing you on it roughly. He got on his knees in front of you, pushing your legs open making your dress roll up. "Take it off." He growled as you quickly slipped off your dress leaving you in your panties and pasties. You peeled them off leaving your breast exposed as he slowly pulled off your underwear.

He gave you no time to adjust become his tongue made it's way to your heat. You jumped at the feeling, his warm tongue trailing across your lips. His eyes looking up at you as you leaned back, feeling the ecstasy of his touch immediately.

He smirked to himself before he continued, slipping his tongue between your folds, gently sucking at them. You released a loud moan at the sensation, reaching for his hair, pulling at his curly locks, wanting him fully inside you.

His tongue swirled around your pulsating heat, your creamy juices already starting to puddle around his face as you couldn't stop yourself.

The sound of him sucking and slurping at you only made you hungrier for him. His hands gripping at your thighs, pulling himself in deeper as you continued to suffocate him between your legs, the pleasure welling up in your stomach. The racing of your heart and flutter in your stomach making you feel overwhelmed. Unable to hold yourself back, you released more of yourself into his mouth.

His motions only getting rougher and faster by the second as you squeezed your eyes closed struggling to keep yourself together at the intense feeling. "George." You breathed out quickly, reaching for his wrist, squeezing it tightly. Grunts and moans came from your mouth as you reached climax as his tongue flicked against your g spot.

Your back arched as he slowed his pace, his tongue finishing it's job, cleaning you up.

He pulled away from your sweaty body, his lips glistening with your juices all over them. You struggled to catch your breath as you laid back, watching him removed his pants. "I hope you can still take my dick." He chuckled seeing your clit red and pulsating. He pulled them off followed but his briefs leaving his fully erect penis exposed for you to gawk at.

He came closer, grabbing his member, rubbing it slowly in front of you. "Can you handle this?" His voice softening at the sight of you exasperated by the intense pressure of being eaten out. You looked up at him, licking your lips only making him harder for you. You slowly nodded your head, bringing a smile to his lips.

He carefully held your legs open with one hand as the other guided his member into your throbbing heat. Slowly, he inserted himself into you making you shudder at the feeling of his thick, veiny cock entering your tight hole.

His eyes never leaving yours, as he slowly pushed himself in deeper, you winced at the pressure making him stop. "Are you sure?" He asked.

You put your hands on his shoulders bringing him closer to your face. "Yes." You replied back softly. After hearing your words, he rammed into as softly as he could. Your hands on his back as he began thrusting in and out.

Your fingers dug into his skin as he held your hips, your sopping heat closing in around his member as he continued thrusting. His grunts filled the room as your soft moans matched.

Slowly he built up speed, gripping your hips tighter, digging his nails into your thighs. You gripped at his back as the intense pressure of pleasure came back. Your soft moans turning into loud screams as he quickened his pace. The beautiful sound of skin slapping together becoming louder. The beads of sweat running down both of your faces as your bodies became hot and tired.

His hips moving against yours rhythmically as if you were two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly. Your legs trembled, feeling yourself reach your high as he was close himself.

Pumping in and out of you a few more times, his movements now sloppy as you released yourself over his member. George following suit seconds later. His thrusting coming to an abrupt stop as he released inside of you.

He stayed inside you for a couple seconds trying to regain his breath as you did the same. He pulled back to look at you. The sweat making his hair soaking wet making him look ridiculously handsome. His blue eyes, now tired but still looking into yours lovingly.

He looked at you, admiring your beautiful state. Sweaty and tired, you still looked incredible to him. He couldn't believe he could finally see you like this, finally be able to make you happy and satisfy you.

He pulled out, leaving you missing his touch. You closed your legs, still breathing heavily as he took a seat beside you. The sound of panting filling the room as he reached for your hand, rubbing circles into the top of it.

"Does this makeup for it?" He asked turning to look towards you. You quickly snapped your hands back.

"I'll think you owe me much more." You replied teasingly.

"I mean I'll eat you out everyday if I have to." He responded, a cocky little smile on his face.

"Hmm, I'll think about it."

~~~

Taglist ♡ @pretendyoucantseeme @whisperturnedecho @sundarksposts @needf0rspeed @jakevwebber

[riniworld]

just a fraction

yandere! nerd oc x reader

warnings|| stalking, swearing, attempting suicide. i don't think it's proofread i don't remember.

reference|| you.

a/n|| and after years i present to you my youngest child of all. god it took so much time for him to see the light.

attention is a foreign concept to fujika, don't get him wrong his parents are happily married, it's him that is a fault. his existence cost the life of his mother, and the love of his father—that he had never experienced—alongside it.

so for someone–anyone–to know him by name was enough to make him over the moon. you're not the kindest, and you're not planning on being, but it was one time, one time, you called him by name to give him something and he interpret it to his liking, now you're stuck with an annoying puppy who cling to you. you didn't even like being his neighbor, let alone being his interest!. you tried everything, from kicking him away to talking very rudely, but he always came back, no matter what, he would always be at your feet in the end.

"good morning!" fujika greeted you a little bit too happily as he caught up to you. even getting up earlier than usual wasn't enough to avoid him, its like he knew what you would do before you do it.

you'd kick him away, tell him to go to hell, but it never worked and it won't work now. all you can do is scoff and keep walking in your way.

he has a stupid smile on his face, looking like he's over the clouds, while fidgeting with the strap of his backpack. it got on your nerves "can you stop!" you yell, glaring at him. he looked at you like a kicked puppy "wh-" "you move too much, stop it." you said firmly and went in your way again, he quickly followed behind you, letting out a small sound that you guessed is him saying sorry, which only made you roll your eyes and ignore him.

by the time you reached the university, you were ready to snap, but you held yourself back as you found your way of escaping the parasite that clung on you. so you blended with the crowd of students and slowly drifted apart from fujika's side.

relieved, you entered your classroom, you won't be alone for a long time as you two share the same major, but arriving without him gave you a moment to breathe and maybe sit next to someone so he doesn't sit next to you.

you walked to the end of the classroom, and sat in a corner desk. beside you was a new face you haven't seen in the class before, a new student in the middle of the semester? you were curious but they were minding their own business so you also did.

fujika walked through the hall with his head down, he missed you already and the hiding game isn't fun, although he knew where you were, he has it on his phone, a blinking red dot. but he would never suffocate you! oh no no no he knows when you want to sit alone, organize your thoughts, because of course staying with him that much would overwhelm you! he feels the same, he knows that staying too much near your love does that. so you need your rest! and he'll gladly give it to you.

suddenly someone throw themselves on him, and he quickly turn his phone off, fujika relaxed as he saw that it was his friend, sora. "hey man what are you doing?" he wrapped his arm around fujika's neck as he asked with a big smile.

"..nothing." fujika replied quietly, fidgeting with his phone "i was looking at my class schedule."

sora hummed "so, what you got now?" "math." sora looks at him with fake disgust "math in college" he scoffed "why didn't you get into art with me."

"but don't you study measuring as well? its technically a form of math." fujika said, looking to the side at his friend. which was met with a confused look from sora "no it's different. measuring is actually fun." "huh."

the bell rang, interrupting their conversion, sora patted fujika on the back and quickly went to his class, and so did the other.

fujika entered the class in a hurry, pushing his way through the students, his eyes looking all over the place in search for you, but as soon as he saw you his heart stopped for a moment.

he slowly walked to where you're sitting–stopping at the desk in front of you, you're scrolling on your phone, and didn't even glance at him, then he looked at the student beside you, you two didn't seem to know eachother, yet the thought of someone beside you is enough to make fujika gag.

with a grimace he sat in the desk in front of you and put his bag down with a loud thud–he'll get rid of this obstacle.

when the teacher entered, all noise in the class faded. she put her things on the desk and smiled at the class "good morning students, I'm sure some of you noticed that we have a new face among us, please introduce yourself." she pointed at the student beside you and they stand up introducing themselves.

the teacher when they finished and told them to sit down "before we start, i want you to form duos and work on a project, the task is to program a simple app and explain it. you have three days to complete it."

this is the worst day of his life, he didn't get to sit beside you, you get paired with the one beside you, and went home before him, all because of this new student...he have to do something about this.

he glanced at your house for a minute and with a heavy heart he got in his, the alcohol smell hit him as soon as he set a foot in the house,the state inside looks pathetic, bottles and packages of cigarettes scattered on the floor, no one seem to be home, that's the first good thing that happened to him, at least he doesn't have to clash with his father.

he carefully walked to his room, avoiding touching everything or making a sound, even if his father isn't home now, he's still terrified of making a sound. he quickly closed the door behind him when he got into his room, without even taking his clothes off he immediately turned his computer on and opened the students files.

it is surprising how his school didn't know yet that he has broken into their site for months, not like he's complaining.

he smiled as he found the new student's file, they have a perfect history, it would be hard to get anything on them. fujika wrote down their address, if he can't get anything from their history, then he'll have to take the matter into his hands.

it's one in the morning, he's wearing a mask and gloves, standing in front of their house, he has done this enough for it to be easy now, he started climbing up the house, the tools in his backpack making a small rattle sound with each step he takes up, he stopped in front of the attic's window, luckily there was enough space to sit on the edge and take out the halligan, it's a heavy metal tool with a forked twisted end, mostly used by firefighters to break into buildings, he put the end between the window and its frame, then carefully started twisting it, the window rattled before breaking open, fujika duck down on the side in case someone heard the noise.

after a few minutes, no one came, he sat up and got into the attic, it was very dusty like no one has entered it for years, he had to restrain himself from coughing even through his mask. and very messy, it'll take him forever to get his hands on something. he started with a box that was filled with books, magazines, and notebooks. there must be some kind of diary.

half an hour later and the place became even messier as fujika continued to look through the place, there's still nothing he can use, he found some notebooks and diaries but there was nothing interesting in it, nothing that can get them expelled,his university is known for its reputation and good-behaviored students, so if he could get one dirt on them and spread it the council would start acting.

frustrated he stopped and sat down, "this is such a waste of time" fujika thought, he stayed sat for a good minute, moving his shoulder forward and back to release the tension in them, "if i can't find something, I'll start it." he think and stood up to get out, he made sure to close the window as good as he can so it'll take time to figure out it was broken, and went home.

the next day was a mess, as you worked on the project with the student, everyone was giving you two looks, or whisper behind your back, it made you two very uncomfortable.

at lunch break your friend told you that there is a rumor going on about the new student scamming people, or attempting assault, and all kind of things you wouldn't expect from them. while you were working on your project they seemed to be very calm and approachable.

so naturally you asked them about all of this the next day you were working together.

you were working on the programming through a shared computer, they did the programming and you wrote the development of the app "there's something going on about you." you said while drawing randomly on a page.

"what is it?" they said, not taking their eyes away from the screen.

"the heck do you do on your free time? students are talking about you scamming and hurting people."

they quickly look at you, their eyes widening "what? i don't know anything about that, i have never in my life.." they seem to get very stressed, their eyebrows furrowed.

you look at them with a raised eyebrow, then it hit you...you may have an idea on who did this...

without a beat you put the things in your hand at the desk and walked out, leaving them alone in their thoughts. you searched for fujika everywhere, finally finding him on the rooftop working on the project alone, you strode your way to him, he didn't get to lift his head up before you're grabbing his collar already.

"what is your problem? what the fuck do you want from me?!" you yell at him, as he struggled to raise to his feet, but as he did you push him against the wall, looking up at him in anger.

his eyebrows furrowed, looking down at you with a distressed look "i d-don't kno-"

"don't fuck with me, i know you're the one who spread all this rumors."

his look turned to one of anger "why do you even care about it?" he didn't raise his voice, talked in the same soft tone he always use.

"i don't care if they vanished for good, but you did that because i avoided you!"

"then don't!" he raised his voice just a little above yours, he looks like he's about to cry, which only made you scoff "get lost" you push him away and walk inside. fujika wiped his eyes with his arm and sat down again.

not a week has gone by and the new student had been already called to the council, everyone figured out he'll be expelled since he came back clenching his jaw and holding his tears back.

you convinced yourself that you didn't care, its none of your business, but you found yourself spending time with them, and they vented to you which, surprisingly, you werent heartless about.

"go tell it's a lie." you suddenly came and sat beside fujika on the rooftop, he was eating a sandwich while studying, and his mouth fell open as you came.

"huh?" he put his hand on his mouth until he swallowed.

you scoff, turning your head to the side and mutter to yourself "what's wrong with me, acting like some kind of a hero." fujika kept looking at you, and you turned back to him "go say it's a lie." you commanded.

"in return of what?" he said and you looked at him like he's crazy.

"nothing, I'm not obliged to give you anything."

he turned his head back to his notebook "I'm not gonna do it then."

"fine, whatever not like i care." you said, but you stayed seated in your place.

and truely to his words he didn't do anything, and the student ended up getting kicked out, you feel a little guilty, just a little, but that doesn't mean you'll fall for fujika's playing for someone else's sake.

that night fujika couldn't sleep, he reflect on everything that happened this week, how even a nobody can turn everything upside down, he needs to do something to get to be with him, people have no effect, so what would?

a crazy idea cross his mind, but it is worth trying, after all what would he loss?

he take his phone and dial your number, you didn't pick up...another try..no answer, so he text you.

"can we met?"

"I'll be on the nearby cafe's rooftop."

"please...i might do something stupid."

you don't know why you really went to where he told you to, you were sleeping, and the notification sound woke you up, it must be because you werent thinking straight, but anyway here you are, going upstairs to the rooftop.

when you open the door, you tighten your coat around you as the night air hit you, the floor was empty, not alot of people come up here, you look around for fujika who was sitting on the edge of the rooftop, slowly you walk behind him.

"hey, what did you want?" your tone laced with annoyance as you spoke.

fujika stayed silent for a moment then he say in a low voice "i like you." he kicked the air as he said that.

"what?" you look at him in confusion.

"i like you can we be together?" he finally looked at you.

you let out a sound that was half a laugh and half a scoff "did you wake me in this hour to say that? you must be nuts." you shake your head and attempt to walk away.

"then I'll jump!" you didn't take two steps before fujika yelled that, you could clearly hear the tremble in his voice. "the heck you're saying?" you turn around to look at him.

fujika started to stand up on the edge "not like my life is any good." he mumbled

stunned by his action and afraid that he might really do it you run and grab his hand "get down!"

"then let's be together!"

you hesitate to reply for a second and he move his leg, in panic you yell "fine! get down first!"

he looks back at you "swear."

"i swear! get down!"

with a hitched breath he hop down and immediately embrace you burying his head in your neck as he started to breath deeply. you look at him in terror, how crazy can someone be?

"i love you." he said and tightened his hold on you.

[missmadella]

Fake Dating (Tendou x Reader)

Summary: You never meant for the fake dating thing with Tendou Satori to last. It was supposed to be a simple solution — a pretend relationship to get an annoying classmate off your back. Easy. Temporary. No feelings.

Except Tendou is too good at acting in love. The pet names, the lingering touches, the way he smiles at you like you’re his entire world — it all starts to feel a little too real. And somewhere between quiet walks home, shared secrets, and the way he memorizes all your little habits, you begin to wonder… is he really pretending?

Words: 4263

The hallway buzzed with the usual lunchtime chaos—students laughing, lockers slamming, and conversations bouncing off the walls. You navigated through the crowd, trying to keep your pace steady, eyes fixed ahead. You didn’t want to make eye contact, especially not with the guy who had been trailing you for the past few weeks.

And there he was again.

“Hey! Wait up!” His voice called out, loud enough to turn a few heads. You sighed quietly, quickening your steps, hoping to lose him before the next bell.

But he matched your pace, a grin plastered on his face like he was winning some private game. “You’re really something, you know that? I’ve been meaning to ask—how come you never say yes when I ask you out?”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m just busy, that’s all.”

He leaned a little too close, lowering his voice. “I’m sure you can make time for me if you wanted.”

Your stomach knotted. This wasn’t a friendly conversation. It wasn’t even harmless flirting anymore. It was pushing boundaries.

“I said no,” you said firmly, hoping the clarity would make him back off.

But he just laughed, the kind of laugh that doesn’t feel good. “Come on, don’t be like that. You don’t have to be so cold.”

You took a step back, nearly bumping into your locker. The crowded hallway felt suddenly claustrophobic, the walls closing in.

Just as you were about to repeat yourself, a shadow appeared beside you, solid and calm.

“Hey, hey, back off, dude,” Tendou’s voice cut through the noise like a blade, cool but sharp. His grin was that familiar mix of mischief and confidence. “You’ve been bothering my girl enough.”

The guy blinked, surprised. “What—?”

Tendou stepped closer, lowering his voice but making sure you could hear every word. “Here’s the deal. She’s not interested. Not now, not ever. So maybe try taking a hint before you embarrass yourself any further.”

You glanced at Tendou, relief washing over you. His presence made the uncomfortable weight lift a little.

The persistent guy scoffed but backed off, disappearing into the crowd.

Tendou turned to you, eyes glinting. “You okay?”

You nodded, exhaling the tension you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Thanks. I thought I was going to have to scream or something.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound. “Nah, I got you covered. But hey, I’ve got a better idea.”

You looked at him, curious.

“What if I pretend to be your boyfriend for a bit? Fake dating to scare off any other idiots like that guy.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Fake boyfriend?”

“Yeah. Think about it—no one messes with you if you’ve got me on your side.”

You hesitated, then a small smile tugged at your lips. “And you’re doing this… why exactly?”

Tendou’s grin widened, eyes twinkling. “Because it sounds like fun. And because I like having an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Your heart skipped, but you tried to play it cool. “Alright, but if you start calling me cheesy pet names, I’m done.”

He winked. “Between us? No promises.”

_______________________________________________________________________________

At first, it was just supposed to be fake. A simple deal. You were tired of the unwanted attention, the classmate who just wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Tendou—odd, clever Tendou—offered a solution with a lopsided grin and eyes a little too sharp to be innocent.

“Fake dating,” he’d said, “easy fix. Nobody messes with someone who’s already taken. Especially not by someone like me.” You’d laughed, thinking it was a joke. But by the next morning, his arm was already slung over your shoulders, his voice close to your ear, lazy and amused as he greeted you with a casual, “Good morning, babe,” like he’d been doing it for years.

You tried not to react—tried to remember that this was all an act—but he made it difficult. He didn’t half-ass anything. If people were watching, Tendou played it up: whispering jokes that made you laugh too loudly in class, stealing your snacks during lunch with an exaggerated “What’s mine is yours,” or reaching over just to adjust a hair clip or a sleeve like it was second nature. You thought it would feel weird, but it didn’t. Not really. The weirdest part was how natural it became.

He started walking you home. Waiting outside your clubroom. Holding your books. Offering up his scarf when you forgot yours on a windy morning, even though his ears turned red from the cold. When you asked him why he was going so far for a fake relationship, he only shrugged and said, “I’m very committed to my roles.” That was Tendou—always playing, always dodging sincerity with a joke. But sometimes, between the lines, you caught something real.

Like the way his eyes lingered a little too long when you laughed. Or how he looked away, just slightly, when you got close. You started to look for those cracks in the performance not because you were suspicious, but because a part of you hoped they meant something.

By the end of the week, things felt… different. You found yourself waiting for him. Watching the door during class changes, listening for his footsteps. His voice had become familiar. His presence, comforting. You weren’t sure when it happened, but somewhere between the rooftop lunches and the quiet moments walking home, you stopped pretending. At least on your end.

But not everyone saw what you saw in him.

You were washing your hands in the bathroom one afternoon when two girls walked in, their voices low, but not nearly quiet enough.

“Did you see them again today? She’s still dating Tendou.”

“I know, right? It’s so weird. He’s creepy. Like, actually scary.”

“I heard he used to talk to himself in class. Always muttering. And he watches people too much. He gives me the chills.”

You froze, hand paused mid-dry. Your stomach twisted—not in surprise, but in something colder. Anger.

“And her?” the first girl said. “She could do so much better. It’s kind of sad, honestly. Like, why settle for someone so—”

You stepped out from around the corner before she could finish.

They jumped. “Oh. We didn’t know anyone else was in here—”

“I bet,” you said, your voice calm but flat.

One of them offered a nervous laugh. “We didn’t mean it like—”

“No,” you interrupted. “You did. You meant every word.”

They opened their mouths to respond, but you weren’t interested in their excuses.

“You don’t know him. You think just because someone is quiet, or different, or doesn’t plaster a fake smile across their face all the time, it makes them less human?” You stared straight at them, your voice rising just slightly. “Tendou is one of the kindest people I know. He notices things no one else does. He listens—really listens—when you talk. He remembers things like how you take your tea or what song makes you smile when you’re sad. He shows up. Every single day.”

Their faces turned red, embarrassed or uncomfortable—you didn’t care which.

“I’m with him because I want to be,” you continued, chest tightening. “Not because I’m desperate, not because I feel sorry for him, and sure as hell not because I ‘settled.’ I chose him. And honestly? He’s the one settling by being with someone like me.”

The silence was thick.

You looked between them one last time, then turned to leave. Your hands were shaking—not from fear, but from how right it had felt to say it out loud. Not because you had to. Not because of some fake dating deal. But because you meant it.

And when you stepped out into the hallway, your eyes scanned instinctively—searching—and found him. Leaning against the lockers, like always. Slouched posture. That same half-smile playing on his lips when he saw you. Like you were his favorite part of the day.

He pushed off the wall and walked toward you, brows twitching slightly at the look on your face. “You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… had to deal with some noise.”

He tilted his head, curious. But he didn’t push.

You reached for his hand—this time on your own. His eyes flicked down in surprise before he curled his fingers around yours gently, warm and steady.

Neither of you said anything right away. You just stood there for a second, in the middle of the hallway chaos, holding hands like it was the most normal thing in the world.

And for the first time, you weren’t faking anything.

________________________________________________________________________________

Tendou never expected the lie to last this long.

When he first offered to be your “fake boyfriend,” it was on impulse—part amusement, part curiosity. He didn’t think you’d take him seriously. People didn’t, usually. Not for anything that mattered.

But you’d agreed. Not with pity or awkward hesitation, but with a spark of humor in your eyes, like you could play the game too. That’s what drew him in.

The first few days were fun. He got to be loud, absurd, dramatic—wrap his arm around your shoulders, call you silly pet names, soak in the looks people gave you both in the hallway. It was a performance. And Tendou had always been good at playing roles.

But it stopped feeling like a role so quickly, it scared him.

It was in the small things.

The way you always turned slightly toward him when he talked, like you wanted to hear more. The way you handed him half your lunch without asking if he wanted some. The way your eyes softened when you looked at him—not like you were tolerating him, not like you were trying to figure out what was wrong with him, but like… you liked being there. With him.

He didn’t know how to handle it.

Every time you laughed at his stupid jokes, something tugged in his chest. Every time your hand brushed his and didn’t flinch away, he had to remind himself this was fake. A temporary arrangement. A favor.

He knew the rules. He knew where this led if he forgot them.

So he tried not to think about how much he liked walking you home. How he remembered your favorite gum flavor. How he started showing up to school five minutes early just to catch you at your locker.

He didn’t mean to fall for you. But Tendou Satori never got to have things like this—not for real—so he figured he could borrow it for a while.

Just a while longer.

________________________________________________________________________

He was heading back from gym class when he heard it.

Two first-years were talking a little too loud near the vending machines. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Did you hear what that girl said? The one who’s dating Tendou?”

“Which one?”

“You know, the tall one? She totally went off on some girls in the bathroom. Said Tendou was kind and smart and all this stuff. She told them off hard. Like… defended him.”

“Seriously?”

“Dead serious. She even said he could do better than her. Like, she meant it. Crazy, right?”

Tendou froze mid-step.

The hallway went silent in his head. The hum of the lights, the low murmur of other students—it all blurred away.

She defended him.

Not with pity. Not like a favor. Not because someone made her. Because she wanted to.

And she didn’t just shut them down. She… meant it.

His breath caught. His fingers, cold from earlier, twitched as they curled into a loose fist against his chest.

He stepped back around the corner, leaned against the wall, and pressed his palm right over his heart.

It was racing.

Hard. Loud. Like his chest couldn’t contain it.

He stared at the ceiling, blinking rapidly, a smile pulling at the edge of his mouth before he could stop it.

You said he was kind.

You said he was smart.

You said he could do better than you.

He shook his head, exhaling a shaky laugh, hand still flat over his heart like he needed to hold it in place.

What did I do to deserve that?

It wasn’t fake for you anymore.

It never stopped being real for him.

And suddenly, the fear that had lived in his bones—fear that you’d leave once the act was over, that you’d pull away the second it got too real—started to ease.

Because maybe, just maybe, you were falling too.

___________________________________________________________________________

He didn’t say anything the day he heard what you said in the bathroom.

He could’ve. The words had been sitting on his tongue the entire time you talked that afternoon—something about your literature class, your brows pulled together in that way they always did when you were thinking too hard. He could’ve interrupted you and said it, just like that:

I heard what you said about me.

But he didn’t. Because it felt… sacred. Like if he brought it up too fast, it might break apart in his hands.

So instead, he just looked at you. Let himself really look at you.

And everything shifted.

He used to be playful with you. Always teasing, always slipping in sarcastic nicknames or dramatic declarations—“Ah, my radiant moonbeam, you’ve returned!” But now, the jokes came slower. The pet names softened. He didn’t stop calling you cute things—but now he said them like he meant it.

Like when you sat beside him during lunch and sighed over your math homework, he leaned closer and said, quieter than usual, “You always furrow your eyebrows when you’re stuck on numbers. It’s cute.”

Not funny. Not weird. Just… cute.

You blinked at him. The moment passed. But something settled behind your eyes.

Another day, walking home beside you, he didn’t reach for your hand like he usually did—he offered it. Palm open. Gentle. Waiting. When you took it, he didn’t swing it dramatically like he used to. He just held it. Still and steady. Like he was grounding himself there.

The first time you noticed, truly noticed, was at the convenience store.

You were looking at candy, squinting between two flavors. “Which do you think?” you asked, holding both up.

And Tendou, instead of cracking a joke about one being a secret love potion, just tilted his head and said, quietly, “That one. You always chew that one when you’re nervous. You’ll probably want it before that presentation tomorrow.”

You stared at him.

Not because of the candy. But because of the way he said it. Like he hadn’t even thought about it. Like it wasn’t weird that he’d remembered something so small about you. Like he’d been noticing you all along.

Because he had.

And more and more, you started to notice him noticing you. The way he looked at you didn’t feel like part of the act anymore. It felt… honest. Raw, even. And in those moments—when his fingers brushed yours and lingered just a second longer, when his gaze dropped to your lips then darted away again—you started to wonder:

Maybe he wasn’t faking either.

Not anymore.

__________________________________________________________________________

You noticed it slowly—Tendou’s withdrawal.

Not dramatic. Not loud. But little things. The way his hand started hesitating before reaching for yours. How he looked away faster when your eyes met. The quieter tone in his voice, the way he laughed with a little too much force sometimes, like he was trying to make things feel normal again.

He wasn’t teasing you as much. He wasn’t leaning in close anymore. He was still there—he still waited outside your classroom, still sent you weird memes and sat next to you at lunch—but something had shifted. As if a wall had come back up. One you thought you’d already gotten past.

You gave it time. Gave him time.

But when he left early one afternoon without walking you home—just a quick, mumbled excuse and a wave you barely caught—you knew something was wrong.

You didn’t hesitate. You went after him.

You found him sitting on the back stairs behind the gym, legs drawn up, arms draped over his knees, head tilted back like he was trying to melt into the concrete wall behind him.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Just… tired.

“…Hey,” you said, quietly.

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Hey.”

You sat beside him. Close, but not touching. “You’re pulling away.”

His jaw tensed. “Didn’t mean to.”

“You are anyway.”

A pause.

Then he exhaled, almost a laugh, except it wasn’t funny. “It’s easier.”

“Easier than what?”

He shrugged. “Easier than pretending. Easier than hoping.”

You looked at him, but he kept his eyes forward, locked on some invisible point in the distance.

“Tendou…”

His voice cracked. Just a little.

“I didn’t think it’d last this long,” he said. “The whole fake thing. I thought you’d get tired of it after a week. I figured you’d realize I was weird or annoying or not worth the trouble, and it’d all just… fade out. And I’d be okay with that. I’ve always been okay with people leaving.”

You flinched.

He kept going, voice soft and fast, like if he stopped, he wouldn’t be able to start again.

“But then you didn’t leave. You stayed. And it started to feel real. And that scared me more than anything. Because if it’s real, then it can break. And if it breaks, that’s my fault. And I don’t—I can’t—”

He swallowed hard.

“I can’t pretend anymore, okay?” he said, voice rising slightly. “I can’t keep walking around like this is just for show. I like you. I—God, I really like you. And I hate how much I want this. How much I want you. And I know it’s stupid because—because why would you ever want someone like me, right? I’m not pretty or smart or easy or safe. I’m just… I’m just me. Weird and too much and—”

“Tendou.”

He stopped.

You turned toward him fully. And before he could say anything else—before he could apologize for his own existence or hide behind his nervous rambling again—you reached out, slid your hand along his jaw, and kissed him.

It was soft. And certain.

His breath caught halfway through it, like he hadn’t believed it was real.

You leaned back just enough to look him in the eyes. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

He stared at you. Wide-eyed. Vulnerable. Like everything he’d ever felt was teetering right at the surface, just one wrong word away from falling apart.

“I don’t want someone safe,” you whispered. “I want you. All of you. The too-much parts. The real parts. The parts you think nobody could ever love.”

He blinked fast. Like he didn’t know how to believe you.

So you kissed him again.

And this time, he kissed you back.

Slow, trembling, and full of everything he hadn’t known how to say.

___________________________________________________________________________

You barely had time to breathe before Tendou leaned in again.

His lips found yours like he’d been holding himself back for too long — and now that he had you, now that he knew, he couldn’t stop. There was a quiet desperation in the way he kissed you, a kind of hunger that came from months of wanting and weeks of pretending. His hands were warm and a little shaky as they found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into him like he needed to be sure you were really there.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you kissed him back, matching his urgency, his want.

He pulled back for air, barely a breath apart. His eyes were glassy, lips kiss-bruised, cheeks pink with heat and something deeper.

“God,” he murmured, voice breaking like he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I like you so much. It’s stupid. It hurts.”

You let out a quiet laugh, thumb brushing across his cheekbone, soft and grounding. “It’s not stupid.”

“It feels stupid,” he whispered, forehead leaning against yours. “Because I’ve been pretending not to care so long. And now I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. I want you all the time. I want to kiss you like this forever.”

Your heart was pounding, but your voice was steady.

“I like you too, Satori. So much it’s ridiculous.”

That was all it took.

Tendou’s breath hitched — and then he surged forward, kissing you like he’d gone breathless from holding it in. His hands slid to your cheeks, thumbs brushing your skin as he pressed his mouth to yours again and again, like he couldn’t believe it was allowed now.

And you kissed him back, just as eagerly, your hands tugging him closer, your fingers curling into his hair.

His kisses were slow but intense, drawn-out like he was savoring every second — your lips, the soft sighs you let out against his mouth, the warmth of your palms cupping his jaw. He pulled back for air, just barely, lips brushing yours as he whispered, “You feel like a dream.”

You smiled against his mouth. “I’m very real. Try again if you don’t believe me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His lips found yours again — slower this time, deeper. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize it. Like he was finally free to love you the way he’d wanted to all along. He tilted his head, nudging closer, chasing every tiny movement you made. When you pulled away to breathe, he followed — kissed the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheekbone. “I like you,” he murmured between kisses. “I like you. I can’t stop saying it. I like you so much it’s insane.”

You giggled, breathless. “Say it again.”

He kissed you, and kissed you again, whispering against your lips, “I like you. I like you. I love kissing you. I can’t stop.”

Your hands slid around his neck, pulling him even closer. “Good. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

He kissed you until your legs went numb from sitting on the stairs, until your heart felt like it could burst from how warm everything was. Until the line between pretending and feeling was completely gone — like it had never existed in the first place.

You were his now. And he was yours.

And every kiss said it better than words ever could.

___________________________________________________________________________

It’s late when you finally curl up together — not too late, just late enough that the sky outside Tendou’s window is a soft, deep navy, the kind of blue that makes the world feel quieter. The TV is still playing something, low and mostly forgotten, a background hum to the way his hand moves slowly up and down your back.

You’re lying against his chest, your leg tucked over his, his hoodie drowning you in warmth and his scent. Every now and then, he dips his head down to press a kiss into your hair, like it’s second nature. No teasing, no play. Just affection, given freely.

“I like this,” you murmur into the soft cotton of his shirt.

He hums. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re warm. And you smell like those strawberry candies you always have hidden in your bag.”

He chuckles, the sound low and fuzzy in his chest. “That’s because I do have them hidden in my bag. I’m a man of habit.”

You glance up at him with a little smile. “A predictable man.”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Only for you.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not awkward — never awkward, not with him. Just soft.

You shift slightly, enough to look up at him. “You’re really not pretending anymore, huh?”

Tendou blinks, then exhales like the question reaches somewhere deep. He leans down and kisses you — slow and sweet, nothing hurried about it — then presses his forehead to yours.

“Not even a little,” he whispers. “This is the most real thing I’ve ever had.”

You tuck yourself closer to him, your hand resting on his chest, right over his heartbeat. It’s steady now. Not fast and panicked like the first time. Just… steady. Safe.

He kisses your temple again. Then your cheek. Then your jaw. He’s not trying to start anything — it’s not about that. It’s just him, giving, because he can. Because he wants to. Because you’re his now, and he still hasn’t gotten over the fact that he gets to love you like this — openly, quietly, whenever he wants.

“Hey,” he says, fingers brushing up under your shirt to gently trace your spine, “is it weird that I still get nervous around you sometimes?”

You laugh, turning your face into his neck. “You? Nervous? You kiss me like you’ve done it a thousand times in your dreams.”

“Because I have,” he says without missing a beat. “Don’t expose me like this.”

You laugh harder, and he grins — that goofy, honest grin he only wears when it’s just the two of you, when he doesn’t have to be clever or sharp or anything but Satori.

“I’m glad it’s you,” you murmur.

His grin softens.

“Yeah,” he says, tugging you even closer, until you’re completely tangled up in him. “Me too.”

You fall asleep like that — curled in each other’s warmth, with the sound of the TV murmuring softly in the background, and the weight of everything unspoken resting gently between your joined hands.

There’s no pretending anymore.

Just love. Real and quiet and safe.

[sparkler-v]

That caught their attention, cutting off any more thoughts of violence in the virus' mind as her eyes shot towards Link. Staring at his alarmed expression for only a second before she looked down at herself. Then immediately plastered on a smile, stretching her body out as she forced the raging sparks to calm.

"Nothing! I mean, something Jay better have a good explanations for. Right..?"

Wide eyed and speechless, Jay's feathers seemed to hang off his body with dread. Before Sparkler's narrowing eyes sparked the life back in him again, as he hastily began to explain.

"No! It was not like that..! Well, a circle was involved. But it wasn't like that at all! And Chase didn't participate in it either. Zelda made sure he promised not to get involved, and... while we let him watch, we didn't let him join. We would not have let him do that, I swear! But we couldn't force him to stay away, when he was afraid and didn't want to be far from you."

Sparkler merely crossed her arms as she leaned on her leg. Clearly still furious, though loosening up at the thought of Chase's fears as they took desperate measures to free her from her own blunder.

Though still...

"Next time during glitch practice. I'm throwin' melons instead of apples."

Empty or not, Jay visibly relaxed as Sparkler relented and seemed to defuse with that final threat for later. Though he kept his beak closed for a little while longer as she turned, facing Link with none of the anger she'd displayed only seconds ago as she finally explained.

"Chase said that the guy they worked with to break me out, apparently calls themselves the Collector. And that they're a dealmaker, which is not a fun kind of sprite to, well, deal with. They're the sort to trick you into making a bad deal with them. Giving you what you want, but making you pay in horrible ways you never expected. Sometimes though, they don't even do that! Instead they'll twist the wording around or take advantage of loop holes just to screw with you. Zelda actually told me that was why she had ta threaten them. Because while they agreed to let me out, she forgot to tell them when to do it. So they were pretty much gunna leave me in there until they felt like it later."

Link frowned softly, a familiar protective instinct flaring up in his gut. Only... he was too late to do anything about it.

They'd faced this thing alone...?

[solarstranger]

a/n. i really don't know where i'm going with this, y'all. but getting to role-play as a therapist (my dream job lol) and explore bakugou's psyche has been lots of fun, so bear with me. (1.1k)

navigation. part 1, part 2, (you are here)

“n-no.”

at that, the woman’s eyebrows shoot up, disappearing underneath her fringe. “no?”

“you heard me,” bakugou spits instinctively, immediately regretting how hostile that sounded not even a second later. “i mean, no, i didn’t.”

his therapist, apparently unfazed by his show of aggression—she must’ve gotten used to it by now, although he still feels bad when he gets testy—only jots something down in her clipboard before looking back up at him, an inexplicable expression etched across her features.

“do you have any ideas, then, why, for the first time in seemingly forever, you’re fixating on a particular social encounter?”

bakugou barely manages to bite back a scowl.

he hates it—this part. the part where his psychologist obviously has theories as to why he’s acting a certain way or how he’s actually feeling but chooses to ask him instead, in an attempt to draw it out of him.

as if talking about difficult shit in the first place isn’t already painful enough.

and isn’t that what he’s paying her to do? give him answers? why’d he have to be the one to wrack his brain for uncomfortable answers to uncomfortable questions?

“do you?” he then challenges, emboldened by that train of thought just now.

“yes,” she responds truthfully and without missing a beat it somewhat surprises him. “but as i’ve explained to you before, i think it’ll be helpful for you if we try a more active approach on your end so that any insights gleaned from our discussions become more personalized and stick with you longer.”

well, then. fuck.

the lady’s got a point.

“so,” she continues when he doesn’t reply, annoyingly aware her little spiel got to him, “any ideas? working hypotheses?”

“uh,” he starts begrudgingly, eyes roving over the bookshelves lining the room’s walls as he struggles to come up with another angle. then it dawns on him, and he looks directly at the woman. “i didn’t expect to see someone in here, and when i did, it caught me off guard.”

“that may be because most of our clients opt for virtual consultations rather than face-to-face ones.”

“yeah,” he piles on quickly, admittedly thankful for the validation, and for the fact. the absolute last thing he needs is to bump into some extras before and after therapy. “that must be why.”

“but how does that explain your, and i quote, ‘dumb as shit reaction’?”

bakugou instantly feels himself flame. he clears his throat, “i told you, didn’t i? it caught me off guard. how the fuck did you expect me to react?”

that must’ve been a reasonable point, thank the fuck, because the woman pauses in thought before nodding slowly. “i suppose you’re right.”

he narrowly bites back an of course, i am.

but then she’s spouting off again.

“although it’s interesting to me how your immediate reaction was to say hi, when that’s not really…how should i say, your style, based on our prior sessions and your personality test results.”

a pause.

bakugou scrambles for a bulletproof rebuttal. he comes up short.

the lady cocks her head to the side, curious. “how often would you say you mull over social blunders?”

never, he thinks to himself. because they never happen.

“i figured as much,” comes her unexpected reply, and only then does it dawn on him that he said the last bit out loud.

“can we talk about something else?” he finds himself suddenly asking, totally over this entire conversation. he can worry about being a loser and pathetically begging for an out some other time. right now, he just needs a break.

“actually, you’re in luck,” she checks her smartwatch, “the session’s just about to end.”

at that, his shoulders almost instantly sag in relief, which makes the woman laugh. he shoots her a half-hearted glare.

they spend the next few minutes summarizing what has been discussed, as well as the arrangements for the following weeks, with bakugou eventually throwing his bag over his shoulders and bidding her a mumbled goodbye. he tosses her a nod over his shoulder as he crosses the threshold of her office, mind already drifting to what he’s going to cook himself for dinner.

and that, for a typical session, he’s walking out relatively unscathed.

but then he does the stupid thing of looking up from where he was studying his trainers when a door creaks open, and he freezes.

because standing a few feet away from him, right beside the entrance to the restroom, is you, equally frozen.

he doesn’t know how much time passes with him just staring at you like a motherfucking idiot, and you, strangely enough, peering at him back, but it’s you who eventually takes a hammer to the silence.

“h-hi,” you offer, voice soft and quiet, just like how he vaguely remembers it from two weeks ago.

“hey,” comes his gruff reply, which would’ve been immediately followed by a wince at how rough his tone was just now had he not stopped himself in the nick of time.

at least he didn’t stutter.

“…b-bakugou, right?” you ask after a moment of neither of you saying anything, confirming his earlier suspicions.

“right.”

you nod, a polite yet somehow stilted smile on your face, and suddenly he’s mentally slapping himself. since when was he fucking bound to one-word sentences?

he decides then and there that this shit won’t do.

in an attempt to convince himself that no, this is just a weird outlier of an encounter for him, and that no, he’s not a fucking idiot like dunce face, and that yes, he is and is being perfectly fucking normal, he resolves to ask you for your name.

and he was just about to do that—he swears he was—when someone from the other side of the door calls out a name, and you whip to face their direction, breaking eye contact.

“yes, doc!” you holler back, and he watches you as you hesitate in place for a second, before turning to face him with an awkward smile.

“nice meeting you, bakugou-san.”

and then you’re off and shutting the door behind you.

he stands there for what feels like a few minutes, just blinking at the door in front of him, what must be your name echoing—again and again—up to the far recesses of his mind.

then: fuck.

he may or may not have just lied to his therapist.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[susicheng]

15% ... p.js

wc: 2,472 strangers to lovers - jisung x fem!reader

Jisung is, more often than not, the victim of Chenle's impulsive plans. This time is no different. Except, maybe it is. or Chenle asks Jisung on a date. Jisung gets a girlfriend out of it.

Seeing an incoming phone call from Chenle meant one of three things for Jisung. He was either going to be asked to play basketball, be gaslit, or be lured into an evil plan that he would more than likely end up regretting.

“Jisung, go on a date with me.”

Apparently, the secret fourth option was that he would be asked out. By his (previously?) heterosexual best friend. He could work with that.

“What?”

“There’s a discount at that one restaurant by campus for couples going on right now. 15% Jisung. We have to go on a date.”

“Ask Donghyuck.”

”No, he’d think it’s a date date. But it’s not. We just have to gaslight the employees into thinking we’re dating and get free money.”

“Why would he think it’s a date date? Plus, you’re rich. Why do you need a discount?”

“Because we kissed the other day. Just go with me.”

“…You what?”

“Be ready by 4 tomorrow.”

Jisung didn’t have time to unpack any of the words that were just said to him before Chenle hung up on him. So that was that. Option 3. He was not looking forward to this.

Despite the voices in his head assuring Jisung that this was an awful idea, he was ready by 4. The entire walk to the restaurant was spent with Jisung internally regretting having ever agreed to be Chenle's partner for a project in freshman year. Chenle was more committed to the bit than Jisung expected him to be.

Everything was going relatively smoothly until the waitress approached the table. Jisung had, officially, never regretted anything more in his entire life. Here he was, sitting across from Chenle on a fake date, with maybe the most beautiful woman he had ever seen serving them. This might be the fumble of the century. He had to kill himself.

"Can I get you guys started with any drinks?"

Oh god, you were looking at him. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. Holy shit, Jisung had never fumbled this hard in his life. He couldn't let himself talk because he knew his voice would come out at least 3 octaves higher than it usually did. His life was over.

"We'll just have 2 waters, thanks!"

Chenle swooped in and saved the day. He must have sensed Jisung's internal struggle. Which, by the way, did not calm down until you had nodded and disappeared out of his sight.

"Holy fuck, Jisung. You're so into her."

"Did you see her!?"

"Yeah, and I saw you looking at her like a lovesick puppy. You have no respect for this plan! She's never going to believe we're dating if you keep doing that."

"I didn't even agree to this."

"But you're here. If we don't get that discount, I'm making you pay."

"Fine."

Jisung was anything but fine, actually. He still wanted to die. Every time you approached the table, he had to make a conscious effort not to stare at you longingly. On top of being hopelessly in love with the waitress for his fake date, Chenle spent the entire meal making fun of him. When the waitress was at the table, he had to endure Chenle tossing wiki-how pickup lines at him (Seriously, how can he say "If you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber.” without batting an eye? In front of a gorgeous woman?) and as soon as the waitress left, Chenle spent every available second laughing at Jisung.

"Do you want me to say something to her?"

"No! Please god no. I thought you wanted the discount."

"I do. But watching you try to act normal around our waitress is more entertaining than getting 15% off."

"No. If you say anything I'm burning your Steph Curry jerseys. All of them."

"What the hell!?"

"I'm serious."

He could hardly finish his food. He spent way too much time staring at you as you did your job. It was just too easy to laser-focus on the way you pushed a strand of hair behind your ear as you wrote down a table's orders, or the way you laughed with your coworkers during a brief lull in tasks. He could imagine being the one to pick you up from work in his car (he didn't have a car) and make sure you got home safe. Seeing your smile at the end of his day would have made it worth it.

"Dude."

Chenle's voice snapped him out of it.

"What?"

"You don't even know her name."

"Yeah I do. It's yn, it's on her nametag."

He chose not to acknowledge the bewildered expression that crossed Chenle's face, or the uncontrollable laughter that followed.

Jisung survived the rest of the evening (barely) and endured all of Chenle's teasing until the bill came. He figured his suffering would be over once Chenle paid. Chenle, apparently, did not catch onto Jisung's silent pleas for mercy. He decided to wait until they were collecting their things to leave to deliver his fatal hit. When you returned with Chenle's card, he decided to put the final nail in the coffin.

"By the way, he thinks you're super cute."

Jisung looked up just in time to see Chenle gesturing towards him, your eyes following the movement with shock evident on your face. His eyes met yours, and he almost combusted on the spot.

He was going to kill Chenle and then himself.

Valentine's Day was your least favorite season for a multitude of reasons. Primarily out of jealousy, but also because the restaurant you made the mistake of working at loved to promote themselves through couple discounts around this time. Not only were you forced to watch people in love in the wild all day, but they were also waiting for you the instant you clocked in.

Maybe the most evil part of all of this was one of the couples you were serving today. Both of them were attractive, objectively, but one of them was exactly your type. He stumbled his way through placing his order, he flushed bright red every time his boyfriend flirted with him, and he could barely hold eye contact. He was a complete and utter loser. Unfortunately, you were indescribably into that.

You felt a little bad, watching how they bantered when you weren't checking in on them. That boy always went dead silent the instant you stopped by their table, looking at you almost like he was scared. You wondered if maybe you looked homophobic? Maybe they felt unwelcome in the restaurant, being pretty much the only same sex couple in the establishment.

Having come to the conclusion that this was undoubtedly the case, you doubled your efforts. You went out of your way to make sure they felt welcomed. You even took an extra 5% off of their bill at the end (you really hoped your boss wasn't paying close attention to the checks tonight).

Honestly, you were a little bit confused about their dynamic. Both of them seemed like bottoms. Not that you were stereotyping them. But the little chatty one just had too much twink aura. But he was paying. The taller boy you were into was just too shy. And he wasn't paying. So truly, what was going on here? Maybe you were having problematic inner thoughts. You decided to stop thinking and return the little gay one's card to him.

You thought you were done with that exchange until the little one spoke up.

"By the way, he thinks you're super cute."

He pointed at his boyfriend, who you turned to witness turn paler than a sheet of paper. Your first aid training kicked in faster than your mind processed what was happening. One second, the boy was staring at you like a deer in headlights, and the next, he was passed out in your arms after you ran to catch him.

"Holy shit! Jisung!"

The shorter one ran to join you at his side, seemingly fighting between laughing and panicking.

"I'm gonna assume you guys would rather not pay for an ambulance or an emergency room visit. Help me carry him to the break room. Does this happen a lot?"

"I mean, kind of? Not really but he's socially awkward enough that social situations can make him freak out."

You let out a hum of acknowledgement as the two of you dragged him to the break room. Neither of you were tall enough for this. And this short guy was surprisingly weak, so you were doing the majority of the heavy lifting. One point to tall boy in the "Who is the top?" debate.

Nobody really questioned the two of you barely succeeding at carrying a man twice your size into the back. Which might raise some questions about the empathy of society, but you weren't here for philosophical discussions. There were much more pressing matters. Like the science behind how the hell this short guy could not shut the hell up. Seriously, he had not stopped yapping even once. You weren't even really listening, giving halfhearted replies as you plopped the tall one on the dingy couch in the back.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Mmm?"

"You can't edit our check or anything, right?"

"I mean, I could. But I really don't feel like it regardless of what you're about to say."

"Awesome. We aren't dating. Like me and Jisung. We aren't a couple."

"Oh."

"Yeah. He's so into you, man. Like so bad. I think he wanted to kill me for flirting with him in front of you."

"Oh, nice."

"Yup. I'm leaving now, you got this though, right?"

"What?"

"Yeah, bye!"

This guy, you learned, was a terrible friend. But you did learn the cute one's name from him. And that he was single. And that he was into you. So there's that.

You were just lucky that your manager had told you that you were cut after finishing the table with the gay couple (who were actually not a couple). As anyone would do, you decided the best course of was to sit on instagram reels after putting a cold compress on Jisung's forehead. He would wake up in a minute, probably.

You were right. He shot straight up a couple of minutes later and caused you to jump approximately 2 feet into the air out of shock.

"Fuck! Oh my god."

He was staring at you like a deer in headlights again. You watched him pinch himself a few times and continue staring at you like you were from another planet.

"You okay?"

"Where's Chenle?"

"The little twink?"

"Uhh. I guess?"

"Oh. Yeah he left. Didn't really give a reason."

"Seriously?"

"Dead serious. Sorry. He seems like kind of a dick."

"You don't even know. Oh my god. He dragged me here because he just needed a 15% discount, which, by the way, doesn't even make sense! I've seen his bank account! I don't think I've seen that many digits anywhere besides the lottery! And he picked me of all people to be his fake boyfriend. Seriously, me!? And then he spent the whole time making fun of me, I didn't even get to enjoy my food. And now he just left me here!? Unbelievable, seriously."

Your smile grew as he continued to ramble about his traitorous best friend. Man, you wanted him bad. He seemed to notice the audience he had, or rather, who his audience was, a bit belatedly.

"Oh man. I just said way too much. You're not gonna make me pay back what was discounted, right?"

"No, the other one already told me it was fake."

"He did?"

"Yeah. Also mentioned something about you being into me?"

"Oh my god."

You watched him visibly shrink into himself. It was cute how embarrassed he got at everything.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about. Don't listen to a word he says."

"Really? That's a bummer, so that means you wouldn't want to go out with me this weekend?"

"Right, yeah."

He paused. He stared at you in silence. His brain was definitely lagging. You watched the realization finally dawn on his face.

"Hold on. What?"

"I think you're cute. I'm off this Sunday if you want to go out for lunch or something. I'd like to get to know you."

"You're being serious?"

"Never been more serious in my life."

"I'm free too." (He wasn't. He had agreed to play basketball with Chenle already. He was cancelling that plan the second he was not longer in your presence).

"Perfect. Are you doing anything else tonight?"

"Besides plotting the murder of my best friend? No, nothing."

"I'm off work now, mind if we walk around together for a while?"

"That sounds great, actually."

You made him wait in the break room for a couple of minutes while you changed out of your work clothes, finally leaving the restaurant together shortly after. Conversation flowed surprisingly easily between the two of you now that he wasn't stuck in his head like he must have been at dinner. It was easy to slide your hand into his, interweaving your fingers and swinging your joined hands lightly. His blush now, you thought, was prettier than it had been during dinner. Maybe that was because it was all your doing that caused it this time.

His voice was soft, but deep, lingering in the air in a way that made you crave to hear his voice all the time. Conversation ranged from what you were doing with your lives (both of you were pursuing higher education, though you went to different universities in the city), to your favorite kind of Minecraft wood (Jisung liked dark oak. That's how you knew he was the right one).

You let him walk you home, like a real gentleman. With a fleeting kiss on his cheek, you walked into your apartment building with your heart a little fuller and a new contact sitting in your phone. Maybe this year you would start to like Valentine's day.

Jisung :) : Just got home

Jisung :) : Can't wait to see you on Sunday :3

mel yaps: this is my 600 follower and 127 post gift for all of you, please enjoy the evil bs my brain decides to spew out. also thank u to @jisusung for the assistance with brainstorming for this guy.

#: @f6llsun @i03jae @jeonghansshitester @holyhaech @chenlezip @mi1kteaa @ayukas

[cherrysweetink]

fratboy!roomate!gojo x fem!reader

suggestive, mdni <3

You should've known what you were getting into the second you signed the lease. Gojo Satoru. You'd heard of him, of course. Everyone had. Tall, loud, impossible to miss. Half the campus either wanted to punch him, fuck him, or both. The moment you walked into the shared apartment and saw him shirtless, sprawled out on the couch, wearing sunglasses inside, and eating straight from a Costco-sized tub of cheeseballs, you knew living with Gojo Satoru would be a problem. Not a “he’s messy” problem (he is). Not a “he throws parties every other night” problem (which he also does). No, it’s the way he looked up and said, “You’re my new roomie?”, lips already quirking into a grin. “Oh, we’re gonna have fun.”

And he meant it. Fun, to Gojo, includes (but is not limited to) weekly keggers, drinking games, stripping shirtless every time he loses, blasting music at 3 a.m., and somehow always ending up in your personal space. Like the time you were doing yoga in the living room and he sprawled out on the floor next to you, chin propped on one hand, sunglasses still on. “Downward dog looks real good from this angle, angel.” You hit him with a throw pillow. He winked.

You’ve developed a sixth sense for his presence. You can feel him behind you before he says a word; tall, warm, always standing way too close. In the mornings, when you shuffle into the kitchen in nothing but his oversized hoodie and fuzzy socks, you can feel his eyes trailing over you like it’s the first time. Every time. “G’morning, sunshine,” he purrs, coffee mug in hand, white hair sticking up in every direction. “You always wake up this pretty, or is that hoodie just magic?” You never give him the satisfaction of an answer. Just sip your coffee with a flat stare and ignore how your pulse jumps.

Except it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the way Gojo really looks at you when you’re walking around in your big T-shirt and tiny shorts. The way he suddenly gets quiet when you’re laughing at something on your phone, biting your nail. The way he leans a little too close when you’re cooking. 

His room is a mess. Protein shake powder dusted on the floor like it’s seasoning. Two different girls' earrings left on the nightstand (he swears he’s going to return them). Your room is off-limits. You made that rule clear on day one. “No parties in here. No girls in here. No you in here.” He’d raised his hands in mock surrender. “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel. Unless you invite me, of course.”And weirdly… he’s honored it. Even when he's drunk. Even when he's sleepwalking. “Sacred space,” he shrugs. But his eyes linger when your door is cracked. The one time you fell asleep with it open and he caught a glimpse of you curled up, wearing one of his old shirts you 'borrowed', he stood there for a full ten seconds, silent, before backing away like he just witnessed a crime.

Parties are weekly. sometimes his, sometimes Geto's down the street. You never intend to go. But he always pulls you in. “Just wear that little black top,” he says, leaning on your doorframe like it’s his full-time job. “You know, the one that makes all the other girls at the party mad.” “Because they think I’m trying to steal their man?” “Nah,” he grins. “Because you’re already have me.” (You don’t answer. But you wear the top.)

The teasing is constant. You argue about laundry, over his collection of identical, stupid sunglasses, about why he keeps using your expensive shampoo. “It smells like you,” he shrugs. “I like it.” One day, the arguing gets heated. Voices raised, faces inches apart. You’re glaring up at him, and he’s leaning in, chest heaving just a little. The air between you shifts. “You done?” he asks, voice lower now, eyes flicking to your lips. “Are you?” you fire back. He doesn’t kiss you. But he almost does. You feel it in the curl of his fingers at your hip. The way his jaw clenches like he’s physically holding himself back.

Sometimes you catch him staring when he thinks you’re not looking. But it’s not casual, it’s hungry. Like he’s imagining exactly what you’d sound like moaning into his pillow, or what you’d do if he slipped his hand between your thighs instead of the blanket you share during movie nights. He’ll tilt his head, tongue poking his cheek, blue eyes sliding over your lips like he’s already kissed them a hundred times in his mind. “What?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady. He smiles, slow and shameless. “Nothing. Just... trying to remember if you always look this good when you’re ignoring me.” You throw a pillow at him. He catches it, still smiling. Later, you hear him groan through the paper-thin wall. You tell yourself you imagined it. But you know you didn’t.

One night, you almost say it. You're buzzed after a party, warm from the inside out, barefoot in the kitchen, eating cold pizza from the box. Gojo strolls in, shirtless again, hair wet from a shower, sweatpants slung low on his hips. He watches you for a moment. You're wearing one of his t-shirts with no bra underneath, and he knows it. You swear his gaze burns through the cotton. He corners you in the against the counter, hands braced on either side of hour hips. The scent of his cologne, rich and citrus-y, envelops you.“You keep looking at me like that, angel,” he whispers, voice rougher than you've ever heard it, “and I’m gonna stop pretending this is friendly." You swallow, hard. “Who says we’re pretending?” That’s when he touches your waist. Large, warm hands with enough pressure to make your breath catch. "You gonna let me kiss you yet?" He murmurs, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. And you want him to. But you stop him. Barely. Fingertips curled into his shirt like a warning. “Not like this.”

He makes pancakes the next morning. No shirt. Just low-slung sweats and sleepy eyes. “Didn’t even touch you, and I’m still wrecked,” he mutters, flipping a pancake like he’s trying not to look at you. You’re standing there in your tiny shorts and one of his old hoodies, arms crossed, pretending to ignore the way his gaze keeps dropping to your legs. “You always cook for the girls you don’t fuck?” He grins, devilish. “Just because I didn’t hit doesn’t mean I’m not a gentleman." You tell him he’s insufferable. He tells you that you look really good in his hoodie. 

You leave the hoodie folded on his bed later, along with a note that says: if you’re gonna touch me, do it right next time. And that night, you swear you hear him groan again, louder.

divider by @thecutestgrotto

[zyart-jpg]

just realized I had put in myself as anon (I was the one who requested the wooin with a hard to please reader) when I asked to tag me when u wrote yellow part two. 💔mb! now u have my user so u could tag me.

(ps. apologies for having to send two requests again!)

a/n: sorry this took so long for me to do, my inbox is full of mixed messages and request i have to clean it up! here's a little something from me since i still haven't finished the part 2 of yellow :>

"Grease And Games"

Pairing: Wooin Yoo x Reader

Summary: You've always said no, until one greaseful day.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Get-together (sorta), Reader is part of Sabbath

Women had always been easy for him.

A smile. A compliment. A flash of charm laced with just enough bad intentions to make it exciting. Maybe a little flex here, a quick brush of his fingers there—and boom. 

Hook, line, and sunk.

It wasn’t strategy. It was just something he did, the way someone breathes. Natural. Unthinking. Always worked.

So why the fuck is it not working now?

“No, I don’t wanna go on a date with you, Wooin.” 

You didn’t even spare him a glance. Knees tucked under you, hands working methodically as you tightened a nut on the front fork of your fixie. Grease smudged your cheek, your sleeves were rolled to the elbow, and your expression hadn’t changed once since he walked in and started talking.

Brutal.

“Geez,” he groaned, flopping dramatically onto the bench like a wounded poet. “Come on, sweets. Just a little drive. Sunset, top down, my music, your pretty face in the passenger seat. What’s not to like?”

“The fact that it’s you behind the wheel.” 

You didn’t even say it meanly. Just flat. Like it was a fact. Like saying the sky’s blue or coffee makes you anxious. You gave the wrench another twist. Clicked your tongue at it. Reached for a new bolt like he wasn’t even there.

“Cold,” he whistled, sitting up, elbows on knees. “You know, usually I get called dangerous in a fun, sexy way. You make it sound like a court order.”

You wiped your hands on a rag, finally glancing his way with the kind of look that could put out a fire. “I’m not interested, Wooin.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that. It’s cute.”

You gave him a dry look. “You’re used to girls tripping over themselves for you, huh?”

“Can’t lie.” He grinned, all teeth and mischief, leaning back with casual ease. “They don’t usually put up a fight. But hey, I like a little chase. Makes the win sweeter.”

“This isn’t a game,” you replied, turning back to your bike, voice steady and unbothered. “And I’m not something to be won.”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Wooin watched you, watched the way your fingers worked with precision, how you moved with confidence, not caring if your hair was a mess or your face had streaks of grime. You didn’t fidget. You didn’t try to impress. Like youreally didn’t need him to look at you.

It was infuriating.

And maybe—just maybe—a little bit exhilarating.

“…Damn,” he murmured, a slow smile spreading again. “Why is it even hotter when you’re mean to me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Get a new hobby.”

“I did,” he said, and winked. “You.”

You snorted, loud and unladylike. “Jesus Christ.”

“Look,” he said, suddenly leaning forward, voice dropping a little—smooth now, a little more real, just enough vulnerability at the edges to make it feel like a dare. “I’m not saying you have to fall in love with me or whatever—not yet.”

You rolled your eyes again.

“But maybe—just maybe—you’re wrong about me,” he added with a tilt of his head, dark eyes gleaming. “Maybe you’d like it. The drive, I mean.”

There was a beat.

Your wrench slowed.

And then—

“Nope.”

He actually laughed. Loud, delighted. He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him and slumped back onto the bench.

“You’re killing me, baby,” he groaned. “Absolutely murdering me.”

You huffed, finally looking up at him fully, chin tilted.

“Good. Then maybe you’ll shut up long enough for me to finish fixing my bike.”

God help him—he’d never wanted to kiss someone so bad.

You gave the pedal one last spin, satisfied with the alignment, and brushed the back of your hand over your forehead, smearing grease across your temple. The chain purred clean and smooth now—good enough for a test ride tomorrow. You stood, dusting your palms on your thighs, glancing at your work like it was a finished painting.

Wooin hadn’t moved.

Still slouched on the bench, watching you with the lazy interest of a man who’d just discovered his favorite show had a hundred more episodes. His own fixie leaned untouched against the garage wall, clearly neglected: bar tape fraying like a drunk raccoon got to it.

You nodded toward it, frowning. “That thing still rideable?”

He raised a brow. “Jealous of my beast?”

“I’m worried it’ll fall apart under you before you hit the first turn.”

“Aw, concerned about me now?” he grinned, sitting up as you walked over to his bike, inspecting it like it personally offended you.

You didn’t answer. Just crouched and ran a finger along the chain, held it up.

Black.

You looked at him, deadpan. “When’s the last time you oiled this?”

He shrugged, easy. “Dunno. 2 weeks?”

You blinked at him. “We have a race in three days.”

“I’ve got a lucky streak.”

“You’re gonna die, is what you’re gonna do.”

“And here you are, saving my life.” He leaned in a little, voice dropping. “Starting to feel like fate, huh?”

You stood and gave him a flat look. “No. It feels like I’m surrounded by idiots.”

He gave a dramatic gasp, hand on his chest again like you’d stabbed him in the heart. “You wound me, truly.”

You shook your head and grabbed a clean rag, already reaching for your tools again. “Sit down. I’m not letting you ride this piece of shit into a race.”

“Hold on,” he said, eyes lighting up, “are you fixing my bike right now? Is this your love language?”

“Shut up before I change my mind.”

“Oh, I like it when you’re bossy.”

You glanced up, grease-smudged and exasperated. “Wooin.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever stop flirting?”

He thought about it for half a second. “Not when it’s working.”

“It’s not.”

You barely shot him a glance when you picked up the rag and started running it along his chain.

“You know,” you muttered, “you treat this thing like a party trick. You ever settle it after races?”

Wooin scoffed from his place on the bench. “Of course I do. I’m not a heathen. I just don’t overthink it like you do.”

“You don’t think at all.”

“Slander.” He leaned back lazily, watching you crouch beside the frame. “I built this thing with my own hands, you know.”

“Doesn’t mean you maintain it.”

“I do,” he said, slinking off the bench and plopping down beside you, too close again. “Just not with the same… sensual aggression.”

You snorted. “If by sensual you mean competent, then sure.”

He laughed, bumping his knee against yours lightly. “Look at you. All mean and greasy. I’m into it.”

“Into needing a tune-up?” you muttered, adjusting the tension. “Tires are underinflated too. How the hell do you sprint on this like a lunatic?”

“I am a lunatic,” he said proudly. “Plus it’s light enough, that’s all I need. Teaches discipline.”

“No brakes. It teaches recklessness.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

You shook your head, sweat beading at your hairline. Your shirt clung a little, smudged at the collar. You wiped your forehead again and didn’t notice the streak it left across your temple.

He did.

Wooin had stopped talking.

You didn’t notice it at first—not until you paused, glanced to the side, and saw his eyes fixed on you, the playful gleam gone all at once.

Just looking, like he hadn’t really been before.

You blinked. “What?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just leaned forward slowly, like the moment had shifted under both of you, and reached up to gently tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. The pads of his fingers barely brushed your skin—grease on his thumb, but he didn’t seem to care as it traced along your cheekbone, slow and certain, like he’d done it a thousand times in his head.

“You got grease on your face,” he said quietly, but didn’t pull away.

You froze, gaze flicking to his. His voice had dropped—not teasing now. Just quiet. Real. A little too real.

The corner of his mouth tugged up, soft. “You always this good to the things you ride?”

You exhaled through your nose. “Don’t make that a metaphor.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smirk.

Just watched you, thumb still brushing lightly at your cheek, eyes softer now, slower.

“…What if we went for a ride? Bikes.” he said.

You barely looked up. “We are riding. The crew’s meeting at—”

“No.”

He shook his head slowly, something quieter threading into his voice. “Not Hyuk. Not Joker. Not the crew.”

You blinked.

He was watching you again—not with the usual smirk, not with that smug, full-of-himself glint in his eye. This look was... still. Focused. Like everything else in the garage had dropped away and only you were left, framed in warm light and engine grease.

“Just you and me,” he said, voice lower now. “Just… go. Wherever you want.”

The words didn’t land the way they should have.

Not slick. Not charming.

Just honest.

And it messed you up more than anything else he’d said all night.

You stared at him, caught off guard by the tone—by the stillness in him. The usual cocky swagger dialed down into something careful. Like he knew he was asking for more than a ride. Like he was giving you a way out, but hoping you wouldn’t take it.

“I know the city like the back of my hand,” he murmured. “But I wanna see where you’d take me.”

And just like that, something glitched.

Your chest stuttered. You felt the heat crawl up your neck before you could catch it, before you could shut it down. Your fingers went still against the frame. You didn’t speak. You didn’t move.

You just flushed—just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

Shit.

He caught it immediately. Didn’t say anything, didn’t tease—but his lips curved gently, softer than before. Still a smile, but not a smirk. Not this time.

And somehow, that was worse.

He was serious. Not performing. Not pushing.

Just waiting.

And maybe that’s what finally did it.

“…You better keep up,” you muttered, quieter than you meant to.

Wooin’s face lit up like a match. “Baby,” he grinned, eyes gleaming, “you won’t outrun me.”

You tried to roll your eyes. Really, you did. But the corners of your mouth betrayed you—tugging up against your will as your heart thumped a little too loud in your ears.

Because damn it.

You wanted to ride.

And for once… you didn’t mind if it was with him.

dividers from @anitalenia!

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