#Types of Glass Wall Systems | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aleese1111 · 2 months ago

Note

Seong je protective over reader🙏

Honestly go crazy

the ribbon she wore | geum seong je x bullied!reader

summary: at ganghak high, she’s a quiet target for cruel games—until geum seong-je walks in. he almost walks past her, just another victim in the background… until he sees the ribbon she once wore while patching him up. he didn’t plan to step in. but some memories don’t stay silent.

warnings: violence, bullying, emotional distress, brief language, mild trauma, physical aggression .

author's note: i did not go crazy on this because i personally think geum seong je is not that type of man who lays a hand on women.. he consider himself romantic afterall . requests ,,

the gym echoed in emptiness, save for the distant squeak of rubber soles and the faint hum of old ventilation systems. a cold draft slipped through the slightly ajar windows near the ceiling, brushing across the glossy floor. fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting sterile white light over the scuffed wooden panels and the faded half-court lines. it was break time, but the gym remained deserted, save for the low murmurs and sharp, cruel laughter resonating from one corner.

she stood pressed against the far wall, her shoulders hunched, trying to make herself smaller. her backpack had already been yanked away, its contents strewn across the floor—books, pens, a half-open water bottle slowly leaking a thin stream that soaked into the pages. her breathing came out in short, uneven bursts. one of her pigtails had unraveled, hanging limply over her cheek, and her glasses sat crooked on her face. the cracked arm of the frame dug lightly into her temple.

"god, you're so pathetic," the taller girl spat, leaning into her space with a satisfied smirk. she shoved a biology textbook hard into her chest, making her stumble.

"didn’t you say you were gonna tell the teacher last time?" sneered the other girl, crouching just enough to pick up one of her scribbled notebooks, holding it up like it was dirty laundry. "what’s she gonna do, huh? save you from being such a know-it-all freak?"

she clenched her jaw, willing herself not to cry. "i didn’t say anything," she said quietly.

the taller girl laughed. "oh, so now you’re lying too? wow. miss perfect over here’s got claws."

the guy with them—leaning lazily against the folded bleachers—watched on with disinterest, chewing gum, his phone in hand. he barely acknowledged what was going on, except to glance up occasionally and snicker.

the other girl suddenly lunged forward, knocking her glasses to the floor with a harsh flick of her fingers. the lenses clattered, bouncing once before skidding under a nearby bench.

"oops," she said, feigning surprise. "guess you’ll have to read the world in blur now. maybe it’ll match your personality."

the girl flinched as a hand grabbed her collar, pulling her forward and shoving her back again. her head hit the wall with a muted thud. pain throbbed through her skull, but she didn’t make a sound. she wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

that’s when the gym doors groaned open.

geum seong-je stepped in, his presence like a ripple through still water. he wore the bordeaux school uniform, its deep maroon fabric tailored to a sharp edge that clung to his lean frame with casual indifference. no hoodie, no earbuds—just the crisp collar slightly askew, his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. a cigarette dangled loosely from between his fingers, unlit but familiar, like a habit he hadn’t yet decided to break. his eyes swept over the gym, indifferent at first, shadowed by an unbothered calm that veiled something far more dangerous beneath the surface.

he strolled across the court with no rush, hands in his pockets. his gaze passed over the girls, narrowing faintly at the noise but not settling on them.

"yo," he called out to the guy near the bleachers.

the guy looked up and grinned. "finally. thought you ditched."

"almost did. had to smoke out back."

"smelled like trash?"

"worse. like that stray dog that follows you around."

they both laughed, the guy tossing his phone into his backpack. seong-je cracked a faint smile, the closest he got to something resembling amusement.

as they continued trading jabs, the bullying in the background escalated.

the taller girl had now pulled out the contents of the bullied girl’s pencil case, tossing pens across the court one by one like stones into a river. the other girl grabbed her water bottle and emptied it over her hair, slow and deliberate.

"think this’ll help you cool off, brainiac?"

the cold water trickled down her scalp, soaking her shirt and collar. her lips trembled.

"say something," the first girl demanded. "go on. quote a textbook at me. fix your grammar. explain the science of why you're such a loser."

the guy with seong-je chuckled under his breath. "damn. they’re going all out today."

seong-je turned his head slightly. his brows furrowed.

"they’re still at it? thought they'd be done by now."

"they’re bored. that girl’s like a wind-up toy—poke her and she shakes."

seong-je scoffed. "screaming like stray cats."

he turned back, walking past them toward the bleachers again. he didn’t look at the girl. he hadn’t seen her face yet—just another blurred victim in the churn of daily violence.

but then—

as he passed the scene, something flickered in his peripheral vision. a flash of light blue.

the ribbon.

he slowed. stopped.

the taller girl raised her hand again, this time with a clenched fist.

before it could fall, seong-je’s hand closed around her wrist with unrelenting force.

everything stopped.

the girl's face twisted in shock. "seong-je?! what’s your—let go!"

his voice was low. cold.

"back off."

she tried to yank away. his grip only tightened.

the other girl backed up instinctively, nearly tripping over the scattered books. the guy by the bleachers blinked, confused.

"yo, what’s wrong? it’s just some loser girl. you don’t even know her."

but seong-je did know her.

he remembered the way she had sat beside him at the empty bus stop weeks ago, the night sky draped over them like a blanket. she’d seen him bloodied, nose caked with dried crimson, his lip split.

she didn’t scream. she didn’t ask.

she just opened her bag, trembling hands digging out a tiny first aid kit.

she patched him up.

her voice was soft, like a whisper, her eyes unsure but kind. it was the gentlest thing he’d felt in years.

he let go of the girl’s wrist.

only to shove her back hard enough to make her stumble.

"she’s mine," he said, voice like thunder rolling under ice. "touch her again, and i’ll make sure you never touch anything again."

the two girls looked like they’d seen a ghost.

"what the hell is your problem?! she’s nothing—"

"not to me."

the guy stepped forward, trying to de-escalate. "come on, man. chill. this is a joke. you’re acting like she’s your girlfriend or something."

seong-je turned slowly, his gaze sharp. deadly.

"out. all of you."

they hesitated.

he took a step forward.

that was enough.

the girls grabbed their bags, muttering curses under their breath, but their fear betrayed them. the guy followed, muttering "damn, fine" under his breath as they pushed through the gym doors.

and then—

silence.

the only sound was the soft drip of water from her soaked shirt onto the floor.

seong-je turned back. she was still crouched there, arms wrapped around her knees, face hidden by wet strands of hair.

he walked toward her, slowly, until he stood a few feet away.

"it’s you," he said quietly.

she looked up, her eyes wide. red-rimmed. she blinked through blurry vision, struggling to see.

he reached down, knelt beside her.

then, from his jacket pocket, he pulled a small folded cloth—worn and frayed at the edges. the same cloth she had used on him at the bus stop.

"you carry it?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

he shrugged. "didn’t feel right to throw it away."

she took it with shaking hands, dabbing at her face. her glasses were still under the bench.

seong-je retrieved them wordlessly, wiped the lenses with the edge of his shirt, and placed them gently into her palm.

"they’re cracked," she murmured.

"still usable. like you."

she blinked. "was that... a joke?"

"don’t get used to it."

a small smile tugged at her lips, tired but real.

the bell rang, distant, ending break.

he stood.

she followed, swaying slightly. he didn’t offer his hand.

but he stayed close.

they didn’t speak again as they walked out together, side by side.

not friends. not strangers.

something in between. something unknown. but real.

and for now, that was enough.

#weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #weak hero class #weak hero class 2 #whc2 #geum seong je x reader #seong je x reader #kdrama x reader #x reader #aleese1111

734 notes · View notes

stove-top96 · 5 months ago

Text

Wicked Game

Ch. 01

Y Batfam x GN Reader

Featuring: Platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephane Brown, Tim Drake, Cassandra Cain, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne.

1.9k words

Prologue <- Ch. 01 -> Ch. 02

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd Period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00: Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

( 5:00 -> Basketball game)

<Y/N>

Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then.

Tim stared down at his phone, unable to look away. you were just so cute.

He replayed your conversation in his head—every glance, every word, the way you copied his notes—over and over again. The fact that you were his partner? It was perfect. It practically accelerated their plans 10x.

His grip on the phone tightened. Giddy smile creeping on his face. He wanted to keep texting with you, but knew he couldn’t. He needed to be careful.

”What is so important that it is keeping you from your responsibilities?”

Tim rolled his eyes.

Damian. Snarky as ever, standing by the bat computer with the same judgemental expression he always had. He’s been pressing for updates nonstop, and throwing snide remarks whenever possible.Tim wanted to tell the family about the ‘new development’ right away, but Damian’s constant questioning made him hold off.

It’d be easier just to tell everyone on patrol. Dick would be in the city tonight, anyway. He’ll tell the whole family once everyone’s together.

Sure it’s a little selfish, but he’s not keeping it a secret forever, only a few hours.

It takes all his strength to put his phone away and get prepared for patrol. Excitement coarsening through his veins.

Damian Just scoffed and turned away in disgust.

Patrol is expected to go by without a hitch. Most of Gotham’s rogues are locked up in Arkham. The streets will be relatively quiet. Couple of rookies tonight at best. It'll be a breeze tonight.

But Tim wouldn't be able to focus tonight, not fully. His mind would be too preoccupied.

“Red Robin, Nightwing. There’s a bank robbery 3 blocks north”

Oracles' words snapped Tim back to reality. He was thinking about you again.

“On it” Nightwing spoke into the coms. Leaping off the Roof with an effortless grace making his way over. Tim was quick to follow, pushing down all thoughts of you.

“5 individuals, all armed… Be careful” Oracles voice echoed through the coms.

“Nothing we’ve never handled”

watching from the rooftop opposite of Westwood Bank, it was obvious these men were amateurs.

One was fumbling with the alarm system, cursing under his breath. Another was banging on the register, trying to force it open. The other 3 were likely in the back fumbling through the more valuable vaults.

It was very sloppy and clearly unplanned. Easy.

“Whoever takes down the most wins.” Dick smirked. The only way they’d be able to get any type of entertainment out of this was to make a game of it.

“Sure” Tim didn’t really care to win or lose but he’d figure he might as well humour Dick. It’ll make it go by quicker.

Busting through the window of the building, glass shattering in a hundred pieces. The men were slow to react, before they could even raise their guns. Dick and Tim’s batarang sliced through the air, disarming them with a clank.

The noise sent the other three into a panic. Two of them raced in guns blazing. They were clearly rushed, aim painfully sloppy.

Shots fired throughout the building, ricocheting off the walls. Dick was quick to throw one of his escrima sticks, CRACK. He knocked the smaller one out.

The bigger one hesitated for half a second, more than enough time for Tim. One swing of his Boa-staff and he was out.

Tim took a deep breath. Standing tall over the man, pride swelling in his chest. He took the biggest guy in one swing. His mind flickered back to you. What would you think of that? Would you be impressed? Tell him good job?

“TIM LOOK OU—“

Dick’s warning barely registered. Before he could even turn around.

BANG.

A noxious sting rang through his side. The impact sent him crashing to the floor.

The force left him winded. He knew his suit was bullet proof, but the pain was unbearable, a sharp fiery burn in his ribs. It was excruciating.

Dick was fast, he moved in a blur. Tim could hardly focus on him. His vision was beginning to fade. White spots clouding his vision; the pain was just too much.

He needed to close his eyes, he knew he shouldn’t.

but he did anyway.

+++++

BEEP BEEP BEEP

The grating alarm is quick to piss you off. You smashed the snooze button, groaning. You just wanted 5 more minutes of precious Beauty sleep.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Jesus— has it seriously already been five minutes?

With a groan you turn it off you and roll out of bed. You grab your phone to scroll through your socials as you make your way to the kitchen. You have a game today so you gotta actually eat breakfast for once— even if your options are limited.

Scanning the kitchen— seemed like cereal was your only option. You poured a bowl of ‘fruit rounds’. It tasted like cardboard but you had to eat. As you scrolled through TikTok your mind drifted back to yesterday.

Tim Drake

It was weird thinking about it, some random scholarship kid talking with the biggest nepo baby in Gotham. At least his family taught him some manners, he was nice enough to let you copy his notes. Which was more than you could say for most students. Yikes.

Finishing up with breakfast, you went about the rest of your morning routine. Packing up for the game you triple checked you didn’t forget anything. Coach would literally Kill you.

The ride to school was… odd.

Your stomach twisted and you broke into a cold sweat, it was like your first day of school all over again.

You stared out the window, trying to focus on the buzz and chatter in the subway anything to take your mind off this feeling

What would happen if you had a bad game?

The thought had been in your head since you found out about the game last week. But today it was relentless, it was all you could think of.

Bad games meant losing , Losing meant a bad season. Bad season meant.

No scholarship.

your breath hitched. This scholarship was your ticket out. Without it, you’d end up like her, like your mother. Swallowed by Gotham and everything she has to offer.

That wasn’t going to be your future.

Art and Maths go by in a flash. It’s always been hard for you to focus in class on game days.

Like always you make your way to Brandi’s locker, she’ll ease your mind.

“You look like a wreck” She raises an eyebrow, waiting for any sort of explanation “Game day nerves” you sigh feeling a wave of stress wash over you. You want nothing more than to collapse in bed. Pretend none of it’s happening.

She hums, “Ohhhh, forgot that was today” Brandi is the only one who truly gets it. Her GPA drops below 3.7? She's gone. you lose more than you win? you're gone.

She doesn’t press, instead talking about how her day was. It’s what you love about Brandi, she knows what to do.

You two go back and forth telling stupid jokes and gossip about other students.

Until you’re interrupted by a group of girls heading towards your lunch table. One girl breaks away from the group, she’s beautiful— blue eyes, shiny brown hair and flawless skin. The kind of pretty that can be bought. Expensive skin-care, hair products, the whole nine yards.

“Umm your y/n right?” She asks through giggles, the girls behind her are all whispering and laughing to each other. Something tightens in your chest. “Yeah… why?” You ask, voice quieter than you’d like.

“So like… are you like… friends with Tim now?” She hardly gets through her sentence, giggling and looking back at her friends.

“Uhh no?” You respond, with a little more confidence.

She stops laughing, her eyes narrowed “Oh!? So then why were you talking with him?” her voice is sharper.

What is with her? Is this middle school? “We’re assigned partners” you answer flatly.

“So you like weren’t passing notes with him?”

For a second you just blink at her. Why would you be passing notes with Tim Drake? You were just copying his notes.

”No”

“oh okay” She turns on her heels, heading back to her group. The giggles and side eye’s start up again.

You clench your first. This is why you wanted to avoid him— Dumb rumours, unwanted attention.

“What the hell was that about?” Brandi asks, “Why would I know?” you stab at your lunch, taking another bite of your food.

“Since when were you partners with Tim Drake?” She asked.

You froze.

If she didn’t know… How the hell did Tim get your number?

+++++

Tim woke up in his room. Mind still foggy and body aching, from whatever happened on patrol last night.

Fuck, he missed the chance to tell everyone about yesterday.

He groaned and reached for his phone—8:20. Still breakfast time, everyone but Jason should be downstairs.

It took all his strength to make his way downstairs. It was a bad idea to be moving so soon after an injury. But he had to tell them.

His body was screaming at him by the time he made it to the dining room.

“Quite the show Drake.” Damian sneered, not bothering to turn around and face him.“Who knew you were such an easy target?”

Tim rolled his eyes. No one at the table disagreed with Damian's comment. Deep down they all knew he was right.

“What happened out there?” Stephanie raised a brow. Dick and Duke looked up, expecting an actual, reasonable, explanation.

Tim paused, the pain stinging in his ribs.

“…I was thinking about y/n” he answered honestly.

A fork clanked on a plate.

“Enough to get shot?” Damian scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s not like you even have the guts to—“

“we’re assigned partners for a project… we were supposed to work on it today after school” Tim cut him off, hand clenching at his ribs.

Everyone at the table pauses. then everyone’s staring up at him.

Even Bruce.

”We sat beside each other yesterday, they copied my notes… I even texted them last night, before patrol” He tries to sound casual, but pride swells in his chest. He’s the first person in the family to talk with you.

The family see’s through him right away.

”you texted them?” Asks Dick

Tim nods, Damian scoffs.

“And you didn’t think it was necessary to tell us?” Bruce’s voice is calm, his expression neutral. But Tim knows him—he was analyzing everything.

“I was going to tell everyone on patrol” he exclaims, hand clutching his side as he limps to his seat. “it’d be easier to come up with a plan together”

His reasoning seemed sound, but the family knew better.

“You’re not fit to go to school today” Bruce stated coldly, turning back to his meal.

Tim paused “But-“

”you’ll invite them over tomorrow.” His voice is final, he sets his coffee cup down with a quiet clink “I’m sure they’d love to meet the family.”

+++++++++++

Chapter 1! Although the prologue feels more like Chapter 1 than a prologue. I stayed up way too late to finish this. If you want to be added to the taglist just ask me :).

Taglist: @jjsmeowthie @crazycaoticsimp

#batfam x reader #gn reader #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x reader #yandere dc x reader #yandere tim drake #yandere bruce wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere jason todd #yandere batboys #yandere stephanie brown #yandere #platonic

467 notes · View notes

satoruhour · 1 year ago

Note

Can I request Toji x reader smut (established relationship) where Toji’s dick slips out and the reader puts it back in?

CAN’T BE OUT A SECOND LONGER !?

a/n: :3 / tagging @jabamin @kizoken @kentophilia @redskyvenus @screampied ✶

warnings: soft dom!toji, fem!reader, reader deep in sub space, slight daddy kink, implied oral (both f and m receiving), sex under the influence, unprotected p → v sex, pussy slapping, breeding / creampie kink, implied multiple rounds, n*sfw under the cut

it’s simply too difficult seeing toji in proper attire, especially when he’s attending your brother’s wedding in a suit and tie, something he reserves for truly important events like these. otherwise, he’d just be in his sweatpants and compression shirt.

not that he didn’t look good in that — but it was eye-opening when he made the effort to get a suit jacket and waistcoat with a tie that matched your dress, hanging off his arm while you watch your brother go crazy on the dance floor.

“you okay there, doll?” his voice is soft over the booming sound system but you catch the concern laced in his words, knowing you had quite a few glasses of wine and mixed other types of liquor with the groom’s toast. “we can head back if you want.”

it’s all that you want but you want to do it discreetly, trailing a hand down his toned arm to twine your fingers with his. with a turned head toward him, you look up at him through your eyelashes.

“yeah . . let’s. i wanna—” toji isn’t fully sober either, the intoxication contributing to the blurriness of everyone else while your face stays in ultra focus; your exposed clavicle, your pouty lips. he can already feel himself getting semi-hard.

“you wanna what?”

you’re able to walk back to your hotel room, but with a giddy smile and laughter from your throat, pressing a firm hand against your lipsticked lips with a frown.

“no, not while you have alcohol in your body—”

you push his hand away, latching onto broad shoulders and making sure you appear as sober as you can to him, “what’s with a little alcohol, toji? you couldn’t find our floor in the elevator earlier either.”

teasing is your forte, moving a hand up and down his chest, over his waist, unbuttoning his waistcoat — and it’s true; toji’s a little gone as well, asking you a few more times until you’re shaking him by his lapels and telling him to “get naked already!”

that warrants a laugh from toji and he gives into you, definitely more open to drinking with you before you two get it on because he notices how everything just sends his skin ablaze: your mouth around his tip, his tongue slurping up your juices.

toji’s on cloud nine when you sink down on his cock, easing it into your waiting cunt after the many, many minutes of prep. your moans mingle with your boyfriend’s grunts, hyper aware of his hands that wrap around your waist to help you.

“cunt so t-tight, sweetheart, thought i stretched you out enough—” you’re silent, already half gone from the liquor in your body that it heightens your senses the same way it does to toji. with a hand, you guide him into you, whining softly at the small amount of pain it harbours.

“slow . . baby, don’t rush,” his words sound miles away when he speaks, eyes locked onto your bent body and your ass on display as you start to bottom out, “that’s it, you got it— good girl.” he maps out the line down your back, your tilted head, admiring you with one hand behind his head along the headboard; and when you start bouncing when he fully appreciates the high of whiskey.

the way your gummy walls hug his length, the fluttering your pussy does around his cock, the jiggle of your ass once you start moving — nothing compares to your moans though, hands forming marks on his thighs from how tightly you hold onto them.

“t-toji . . nngh—” incoherent sentences leave your lips, every hump of your hips providing a little friction for your clit. “s’good, daddy . .”

“is it now?” toji hums at the nickname and smiles to himself, admiring the transparent webs of your cum that sticks to your ass and his pelvis. instinctively his hips move up to meet yours, chuckling deeply when you lurch forward and moan loudly at the way he splits you open, so much so that you can feel him against your cervix.

“you just stay there, baby, i’ll do the work,” he grunts out and stays true to his word, planting his feet down just so he can thrust up into you. your body moves with his, eyes rolling to the back of your head and legs spreading even more, but his hips are just too eager to feel your tight pussy around him that his cock slips out with a sloppy shlick.

your annoyed whine makes the other laugh again, but before he can reach forward to help you, you’re helping yourself, looking back at him dizzily and then to his pelvis, feeling around for his cock. you stroke it a few times and tap it against your folds, the dim lighting of the bedroom illuminating your skin and figure so perfectly.

“oh, f-fuck— you’re giving daddy a show, hm?” he says, words just above a whisper, watching how your hips grind against him. but being turned away from him has you having a little more difficulty, tip slipping out every few times toji tries to ram into you and he watches in awe with every time you glance back at him through hooded lids and lolling tongue.

and every time you’re scrambling back to get his length into you, to trail his throbbing tip along your slit to stretch yourself out, to roll your hips with disgusting squelching noises that emphasised how needy you were.

“tojiii . .” you sob when it happens again and toji’s pleasantly surprised to see you close to crying, eyes welling with tears in frustration. you just want him close, but your body’s already too loopy and too fatigued to hold yourself up so toji pulls on you with a tsk.

“dramatic princess, c’mon, i got ya,” from here you can see just how much of a mess you made — juices smeared all over your inner thighs, cunt still leaking, “but i need you t’do somethin’ for me, yeah?”

you sigh as his arm wraps around your middle and his other pulls on your knee so one leg is pulled to your chest; a good enough position, as long as he could fuck you in it. “what is it?”

there’s a certain pout in your voice that he catches, “help daddy get his cock back in you, baby.”

“but—”

“don’t worry,” toji soothes you with a kiss to your temple, adjusting you to properly accommodate you atop of body. not that he couldn’t handle your weight, oh, it was something he loved, but he only hopes you know what’s in store from the very first time you showed him how much you loved his cock in you that it almost brought you to tears.

he needs to see your focused face as you ease him into you, see that focused expression fall into pure ecstasy and a long, languid moan leave your lips as you totally surrender to him. you tick all the boxes soon after, reaching blindly for him while you both watch as you rub his pulsing dick along your sensitive clit; the other has to teasingly buck his hips to get your head back in the game.

“need to feel you ’round me, pretty girl, c’mon. don’t waste time,” he rasps out next to your ear, seeing the bite of your lip through his peripheral as you shamelessly whine at the entrance, sounds coming to a halt when you’re halfway through his length, and then a beautiful arch of your back when your boyfriend bottoms out in you.

“t-toji— mmgh—!”

“use your big girl words, baby.”

but he starts moving and you simply can’t, each vein, each twitch of his cock you can feel it with your sopping pussy as the room starts to smell like sex and sweat. toji holds both your legs, now, making sure you have a clear view of his hips fucking up into yours and relishes in how he’s already rendered you speechless.

“makin’ ya feel good? huh?”

“y-yeah . . daddy . . you feel so fucking g-good,” you barely manage to speak, not noticing the slight stutter he has when the nickname falls from your lips, but you do notice when his pace becomes regular and faster, panting out when your hand starts to rub at your clit. every slap of his pelvis against yours is like a reminder of toji’s overpowering strength over you, holding you up so easily, back curved to fit into his front perfectly.

“you feel so goddamn good too, princess,” he breaths out, feeling your rub circles into your clit and his eyes zone in on how his cock moves in and out of your cunt, taking him so nicely and pliantly that he feels his heart swell, “you know i can never get enough of y’r pussy.”

your heart and pussy pounds harder at that, fully letting your head rest along his shoulder while your body rocks limply along with his thrusts. toji can’t resist giving you kisses along your jawline, sending even more shivers down your whole body before he asks something of you.

“slap your pussy for me, doll,” he grunts into your ear and instantly feels you clench, able to feel his smile against your jawline, “so, soo filthy, just f’me.” you nod, each breath you take a moment of anticipation with someone as gruff but gentle as toji.

“now, spank it.” you obey, giving your pussy a few timid slaps until he releases one leg and shows you how it’s done — harsh, rough slaps against your clit that sends jolts of electricity, and your legs shake in his hold. his laugh is just sadistic, but you love every moment of it, even more so when he spanks your pussy again.

that paired with the noisy pap! pap! pap! sounds of skin slapping has your eyes rolling into your skull together with a convulsing body, not even able to give toji a proper warning before his hand lands on your core on a particularly hard spank and you’re cumming with a cry of his name, squirting all over the sheets and gushing over his cock.

multiple yes’s linger on your lips that it merges together into god knows what, “toji, toji— yesyesyes—” and like a good boyfriend, he talks you through until your pussy calms down and your stomach stops heaving, but god, you needed more.

your hips never stop grinding against his and toji takes it as a sign to chase his high, abandoning your clit before he slams into you like an animal, obscene squelches only highlighting how all of your cum was spraying everywhere. toji bites down into your neck and you gasp both in pain and pleasure, letting your body be used by him until his hips jerk.

“want to be buried in this fucking pussy forever,” it’s strained when he says it and groans when your cunt clenches around him. and it’s not long before he’s spilling his load, so thick and hot into your womb. it just fills you to the brim, little whimpers and mewls weasel themselves out of your throat before it’s taken by toji, a kiss that has you feeling like fire. “love my baby’s pussy, love you.”

“l-love you too, daddy,” you say with a giggle before turning your body over and you can feel his cum start to dribble out, eyes cloudy with the wanton need of more before you start to move down.

a swirl of your tongue, a hiss from toji, “and i love his cock, too.”

#asks #anon #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x you #touji fushiguro #toji fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk drabbles #jjk thirsts #fushiguro toji smut

3K notes · View notes

lixies-favorite-cookie · 8 months ago

Text

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’ simple acts of love from skz

—All the times stray kids said I love you in the little things.

words・6.8k pairings・stray kids x reader genres・fluff, a little crack, established relationships warnings・lots and lots of kisses!! happy tears, drunken re-confessions, silliness, playful living room dancing, minhos a shy baby, he's also a little shit in changbins, erotic painting in hyunjins, hans is a little bit more emotional, silly little proposals, my terrible attempt at writing lyrics, jeongin stalks your goodreads profile and buys your entire TBR list like I don't have at least a thousand tbr books...some of these are silly some of these are sickeningly sweet,

a/n・I wrote these drabbles based on these headcanons, but I did change Minho's because I believed it fit him better!! Also, this has been rotting in my drafts for MONTHS im not super proud of them, but I hope you like them anyways.

ᡣ𐭩 chan + sneaking into your bathroom to trace hearts onto the bathroom mirror.

"This is a suicide mission!" his lungs scream as he slips into your inferno of a bathroom, a heavy cloak of steam hugging him instantly. His respiratory system begs for release, a moist cough rolling up his throat; but like the magnificent boyfriend he is, he shoves those rebellious bodily functions right back down his windpipe.

Was his silly little plan worth the ability to breathe? Yes. Did he also wonder how you even could? Also yes.

The mirror fogs like the surface of an ancient lake, obstructing the image of his mischievous grin. He brings a pointer finger to the glass, drawing all his ardor in the mist—though it only comes out as lopsided hearts.

Your voice floats out from behind the curtain, absentmindedly humming to a silent tune. Shadows of your hands move through your hair, your body refracted onto the thin sheet.

You are so beautiful...

Cupid smacks his jaw shut.

He manages to slip out right as the water sputters off, sliding into the living room by his socks. He face-plants onto the couch, scrambling to sit upright. The loud smack of your towel echoes in his ears as his wide eyes dart to the table, frantically searching for something to occupy his attention. He snatches the first thing he sees, which just happens to be a... candle?

Whatever, no time!

Chan is intently studying the ocean-blue Bath & Body Works label, when you come pattering out, damp hair dribbling water behind you. The moment you step into his line of sight, his heart plummets—that stupid aromatherapy candle nearly tumbling with it.

There you were, in all your drenched glory, your towel wrapped snug against your chest, tears rolling freely down your cheeks. Did you hear that?! Tears!! You were crying?! Why were you crying?!?!

Chan must have embodied the spirit of a kangaroo, because he’s never jumped up faster in his life.

"Why are you crying? You're supposed to be happy!" he yelps, yanking your body into his arms, water seeping into the thin fabric of his tee shirt. His brain becomes the equivalent of the world’s most fucked-up ambrosia when you begin laughing, the curve of your smile pressed into his chest. He blinks—he doesn't know whether to kiss you or call a priest. Maybe he should do both?

Suddenly you pull away, cocooning his cheeks with pruney hands, your bottom lip wobbling as you sob, "I'm so in love with you."

Well, good job—now he's sobbing too.

"I'm in love with you too, baby."

You had drawn hearts on the walls of his soul in the same way he had drawn them in the steam of your mirror. The only difference is, yours would never fade away.

ᡣ𐭩 minho + randomly sending you songs that remind him of you.

Minho wasn't the type to throw his arms around you, pressing kisses to your face with all his overflowing ardor. Instead, in the minuscule overlaps of time between talking on the phone and constructing a perfect dance routine, he'll find himself sitting dazed upon the lounge room couch, mindlessly nodding to a catchy tune. He had left his Spotify on smart shuffle, finding comfort in the idea of a song found without searching, as if it were fate's gentle finger dusting the path to new adventures. He flutters his eyelids shut, ripples of sound washing over his skin.

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In a rash flood of emotions, he sends you the song just before Chan steps into view, announcing his dire need to finish choreographing the final steps of their newest single. Begrudgingly, he slips his phone into his back pocket, his earbuds following suit. The only thing that keeps him sane throughout the day is the anticipation that he will go home and see you, and that makes it all worth it.

ᡣ𐭩

May I have this dance?" you declare, extending your arm with feigned seriousness, though the playful smile tugging at your lips betrays you instantly.

“What?” Minho chuckles through furrowed brows, observing the unusual surroundings; candles flicker dim lighting on the walls, throwing shadows on the rose petals you had scattered around your living room, forming an intriguing resemblance to a romantic dance floor. He sets the bags of groceries on the ground. Lee Know is so beyond confused, yet also pleasantly surprised, especially when you waltz over to him, tight red dress hugging all your gorgeous curves.

“You still haven't answered my question,” you sing, playfully twirling into his arms. Your hands find their way to the nape of his neck, tracing mindless circles in his hair. A shiver rolls up his spine as you tilt your face forward, lips so close; his heart flutters like a fragile leaf tumbling down from an autumn tree. He blinks before exhaling—

“Of course, I'll dance with you.”

A delighted squeal erupts from your lips, and you jump away from his arms, heading straight over to your phone to play the song he sent you prior. A warm blush floods his cheeks, painting them a bashful red.

“Did you like it?” His eyes fall away from yours.

“Did I like it?? Of course I liked it!” you squeal, gaping at him like he was the dumbest person on the planet. World War Three rages inside his chest as he fights not to fold like a lawn chair, flopping on the floor like a flustered starfish. Though when your hands rub their way up from his chest to his shoulders, he's surprised he's even upright. Your hips sway to the melody, a warm smile melting away all his defenses; but when you guide his awkward hands to the dip in your hips, it’s game over. He stuffs his face into your neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses, his brain screaming: distract the enemy!! distract the enemy!!

“Do you know how much I love you?” he mumbles with striking genuineness. Instead of answering his question, you simply twirl yourself around his finger, placing his hand to wrap around the small of your back. He dips you down right as the music swells. It was magical, really—the candlelight twinkling in your peripheral, spills of starlight dancing off the ocean's surface. It was all so perfect—that was until your shoe caught on one of the rose petals, the floor turning slick under your feet. You send yourself tumbling straight to the ground. Minho squeals, grasping at thin air, but then he too also slips, frantically shooting his wrists out so he doesn't crush you.

The music cuts through the deafening silence as petals weave their way into your hair. You roll your lips into your teeth, glancing over to an eerily still Minho, staring at the ceiling like a spooked tabby. As if he could feel your eyes, his gaze finds yours, and only then does he burst out into roaring laughter, which prompts you to also join the fun.

“Are you sure you're the main dancer?” you tease through breathy giggles. He gasps, smacking a dramatic hand over his chest.

“I’ll have you know you fell first.”

And I've heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

And I'm pretty sure that you are that love of mine

'Cause I'm in a field of dandelions

Wishing on everyone that you'd be mine, mine

In that moment, as the light hits you just right, he swears he finds the universe in your eyes. Your skin is showered in candlelight, head tilted back—joy flickers on your tongue as honey drips from your teeth. His heart pounds against his ribs, flowers sprouting in his lungs. To the world, he was an aloof grump with smooth moves and an impressive affinity for cats; but to you, with you, he was so much more.

Mid-snort, he captures your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. In a single gesture, he is pouring all the words he wished to say—

though to you, it tasted a little bit like—

If he had to blow a wish on every dandelion in the universe just to keep you, he would; and only through your lips would he find the power to keep breathing.

ᡣ𐭩 changbin + gushing about you while drunk

The balmy patio is sticky with soju-infused groans, most of the boys slumped in their respective seats, throwing back exasperated swigs of their drinks as they desperately try to drown out Changbin’s relentless rambles.

The two semicircle outdoor couches form a full circle around an unlit bonfire pit. On one of the couches sits a completely unfazed Felix, taking small sips of his soju between chuckles; an extremely annoyed Seungmin, glaring daggers at Changbin; and I.N, who doesn’t seem to be doing much of anything except, well, sleeping—body slumped against the armrest. Hyunjin is sandwiched between Chan and Changbin on the other couch: Chan, who wishes he never even brought up the idea to buy beer in the first place, and Changbin, who is currently slumped over a very irked Hyunjin’s lap. Han is somewhere in the house, probably giggling at his own swirling reflection.

Hyunjin digs his fingers into the roots of his locks, fighting every urge not to yank the tufts straight out.

“N-no, but Jinnie, you don’t u-understand—she’s so pretty,” Changbin slurs, stuffing his face into his friend’s hoodie, which makes Hyunjin frown and swat him away.

“That’s it! I’m calling Y/N!” Seungmin announces, jumping up from his seat. Chan grabs his sleeve, yanking him straight back down, much to Seungmin’s dismay. he sinks into the polyester in a puddle of disgruntled grumbles.

"Or we could record him," Minho calls out from the shadows of the back entryway, only ever appearing when he needed more beer or more entertainment. And right now, it was dinner and a show. Minho simply shrugs as if his evil plan wouldn’t ruin his best friend's bad-boy reputation. "Send it to Y/N later," he mumbles to himself, the devil tilting his cheek up. Nobody seems to hear him, so he slyly pulls his phone from his pocket and presses record.

"No, no, no! You can't call Y/N. She’ll know I love her!" Changbin gasps in horror, stumbling to grab the phantom phone that apparently appears on Hyunjin’s lap with the way he paws at his jeans. Hyunjin takes a nice, long swig of his soju.

"You know you and Y/N have been together for over four years, right?" Felix chuckles, finding the whole ordeal pure comedic relief.

"No, you don’t understand. She’ll know I love her... lover," Changbin’s words slur into an incoherent shake of his head. Minho's evil cackles float out from the concealment of the doorway, and Chan perks up.

"Minho, what are you doing?!" Minho slams his phone against his thigh. What the hell?? Does Chan have Spidey senses or something??

"Nothing!" he yelps, sounding super convincing. Chan narrows his eyes toward the darkness where Minho is supposedly lurking, sporting an eerily perfect rendition of a frustrated father. That is, until Changbin begins a very off-tune version of “The Itsy Bitsy Spider,” rolling over on Hyunjin’s lap to tap his fingers up his arm and eventually landing on Hyunjin’s nose with a giggle. When Hyunjin almost bites his finger off, Chan finally diverts his attention. Minho thanks God for the shadows—how else would he have gotten away with recording all of that?

“I’m about two seconds away from bringing you back to Y/N,” Hyunjin sighs, his lips pressed into a tight line as he glares at the man whose eyes just burst with light at the thought of seeing you. Chan smacks Hyunjin on the back sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Why me, Lord? Why me?" Chan sings his woes under his breath but just loud enough for the camera to pick up—and for Minho to giggle.

"Y/N, I miss Y/N. Can I go home to Y/N, please?" Changbin hiccups, slumping his head onto Hyunjin’s shoulder. Hyunjin’s eye twitches. "I wanna tell the pretty girl I love her."

Felix emerges from his silence with a fit of laughter, nearly spilling his beer all over the floor. "Weren't you just saying you didn’t want to tell her you loved her?"

Changbin whips his gaze forward, his eyes hardening into a very foggy glare. "Well, now I want to tell the pretty girl I love her," he states matter-of-factly, his eyes fluttering a bit, betraying just how drunk he is.

Felix’s amusement is transparent as he raises his beer in Changbin’s direction. "Somebody needs to bring him to Y/N and let him re-confess his undying love for her."

Seungmin has never jumped up so fast in his life; he’s mid-volunteer when Chan grabs the cuff of his sleeve again and yanks him right back on his ass. Seungmin collapses onto the couch, ready to spit a disrespectful insult at his elder, but he folds like a lawn chair when Chan shoots him that look.

"Seungmin, you are far too drunk to take him home, while I," he looks to the sky with regret, "am very regretfully sober." Chan sounds like he’s going through the five stages of grief in one sentence.

"Okay, buddy, I’m taking you home," Chan grunts, clapping the drunken boy on the back. Changbin beams like he just heard there was a cure for cancer.

"Hell yeah!" He jumps up, only to stumble slightly, the patio swimming in his vision as he catches himself on Hyunjin’s forehead. When he finally, barely stabilizes himself, he throws his hands up. "See y’all bitches later! I—” he dramatically points to his chest in pride, “—am going to see my girl," he declares and marches straight out the door. Chan is mid-goodbye hug turned introspection with Felix, wondering what he’s doing with his life, when he hears a loud shatter in the hallway. Chan falls out of Felix’s arms immediately, his stride turned sprint.

"Son of a bitch, Changbin, that was my favorite vase!"

ᡣ𐭩

“Go ahead, tell the pretty girl how much you love her,” you tease, playfully mimicking kissy faces while simultaneously poking Changbin’s crumpled form, his boiling cheeks sandwiched between his knees.

Why did Minho have to send you that video? But most of all, why did he have to send it while Changbin was still hungover? All this humiliation can’t be good for his headache.

Changbin groans, falling back on the bed to pull a pillow over his scorching face. The fact that the whole mattress hasn’t burst into flames is truly beyond him. Giggles pour from your lips, even as they settle atop his stomach, leaving kisses all the way up his torso. You can hear his flustered pants from down here.

“Okay, that’s enough bullying for one day,” you say, straddling his waist to snake your arms around his waist, pressing your chests flush together. Your teeth graze his shoulder, softly biting the flesh. “Come on, baby, take the pillow off your face.” You press your smile against his shirt before resting your chin on his chest.

He peeks out from under the pillow, tugging it down just enough to reveal his eyes, still reluctant to fully reveal himself. You bat your lashes at him, pouting ever so slightly. He folds—like a damn lawn chair, at this point, he’s practically collapsing in on himself with how much he’s folded. His face melts into a grin as he finally pulls the pillow down.

He so regrets that.

Your face lights up with laughter as you take in his beet-red cheeks, your eyes disappearing into crinkled slits. “I’m sorry, I just... I just can’t,” you cackle, doubling over in heaves.

“I hate you,” Changbin shouts, flustered, smacking you square in the side of the head with the pillow. It does nothing to quell your amusement; in fact, it only makes it worse.

“That’s not what you said last night,” you snort, falling off him as you kick your feet against the sheets.

Despite his urge to tie a millstone around his ankle and jump off the face of the earth, he can’t help but smile, caught in an unusual state of awe. Your mouth is boxy, laughter filling the air like strands of warm honey.

“Apparently, you think about me a lot,” you snicker, still rolling around. his smile only spreads wider.

If only you knew how much he thought of you.

ᡣ𐭩 hyunjin + painting perfectly captured portraits of you

“Hold still for me, baby,” Hyunjin whispers, his voice low and intimate, as he lightly drags his brush down the length of your arm, adding the final touches to your portrait. His gaze traces your bare body, memorizing every inch until even the freckle on the upper left side of your waist is drawn onto the inside of his eyelids. The valley of your breasts trembles with each labored breath, your muscles tightening against the couch where you lay.

“I’m really trying, Jinnie, but it hurts,” you whine, fighting to keep your head steady. Your boyfriend lets out a breathy laugh, savoring one final glance at your naked form. With careful precision, he drags the sharpest part of his brush down your thigh, finishing the entire painting with his favorite peice of you.

“Done,” Hyunjin murmurs, settling back into his chair with a satisfied smile, admiring the art he’s just created. Usually when he painted, there was always something he hated about his work—whether it's the proportions or the colors were slightly out of harmony—it was never good enough. but when he paints you, there's never an issue; for he could capture you with children's finger paints, and you'd still find a way to look utterly breathtaking.

“Let me see,” you squeal, jumping up from the uncomfortable spot you’d claimed on his couch. A faint blush appears on his face as he turns the easel around, unraveling his heart before you. And oh, when he does—you collapse into his arms, all your strength diffused into a shuddering gasp. He had dipped his brush into your soul, and with every meticulous stroke, he gathered the very essence of your heart. It was almost unreal how perfect he made you appear to be—your moles speckled across your skin in gold, dusted like stars; your stretch marks adorned in silver, shining like slips of light.

How are you not sobbing right now??

“Is it okay?” he asks, bashfully wrapping his arms around your naked waist, completely unfazed by your current state of undress.

“Hyunjin, this is more than okay,” you sniffle, voice crackling with emotion. You turn to meet his gaze, only for his palms cradle your cheeks with a touch so tender, it's barely there. One second, you’re breathing; the next, you’re transcending, existing only between his lips.

By the time you come up for air, the world around you has changed. He’s on top of you now, his hands resting on either side of your head, thoughts long forgotten. He moves closer, allowing whisps of his hair to tickle the sensitive flesh of your neck; for his lips to settle upong the delicate curve of your collarbone. He doesn’t stop—he doesn’t stop until the sun kisses your skin, until the sky is filled with the very stars he painted upon your skin.

Only in love and art are you eternal and in hyunjin, with hyunjin, you are both.

ᡣ𐭩 han + hiding messages into every song he produces

"In every lifetime," a heartfelt promise whispered between shuttering breaths. Han's lips parted, your tongue savoring his astonished gasp. "What did you say?" quickly transformed into "Did you mean it?" when you had tenderly threaded your fingers into his hair, the pad of your thumb settling just under his jaw. Your needy hands had fogged his head, but he never forgot it.

"In every lifetime," you had uttered many moons later, nestled underneath the stretch of midnight sky. The universe had stilled, all of time and space screeching to a deafening halt. You unraveled the scrolls of his soul, and with the eternal vow of "I do," swore forever. So, he, for however long he may live, intends to hold you to that promise.

From: Hannie 🐿 Do not by any means play my new song!!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Im serious!!

From: Hannie 🐿 Promise me Y/N!!!

You giggle at his earnestness, clicking the notification to message him back.

From: My Wife ❤ I won't I promise!

From: My Wife ❤ Scouts honor 🫡

You admired Han's dedication to his craft, but what you admired most was his need to share every single part of it with you.

"You didn't listen to the song, did you?" Han calls out from the foyer, slamming the front door behind him. He urgently throws off his shoes, his heavy footsteps following him all the way up the stairs. Your mirth bubbles up behind a bitten grin, lip firmly tucked between your teeth.

"No!" you shout back, feigning indifference; though when he swings your bedroom door open, you’re overcome with breathy giggles—his hair is tossed around at all angles, puffed cheeks pink and gasping.

Now that was the man you fell in love with.

"Somebody's eager," you tease, chucking your phone somewhere on the bed. His eyes are oddly fearful when you lift yourself up from the comforter, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. His chest heaves, breath labored and shaky; flighty fingers find the knot of his tie, yanking it loose. You reel your head back. Since when does he wear a tie? You flick your gaze down his figure. Since when does he wear suits?? Your confusion only festers as he lets out an anxious chuckle, wringing his hands like wet rags.

"You have no idea." You didn’t know—didn’t know what he was about to risk. His heart was clay in your hands, and with the delicacy of a butterfly's wing, you pressed your fingerprints into his skin. For now, through touch alone, his soul will find you in every lifetime; but first, he must promise you himself in this one, and that appeared to be an impossible feat.

It's now or never, he tells himself.

So, with an arduous breath, he steadies his quivering hands just long enough to slip his phone out of his back pocket. Was it just him, or is it suddenly really hot in here? He swipes to YouTube. Why was it getting so hard to breathe?? He presses play. His heart somersaults its way down to his stomach when the opening melody echoes from the speakers. Your brows lift, lips pursing in your signature concentrated quirk. His mouth forms around a smile, breathing getting marginally easier, but that peace is short-lived as the chorus begins—only then does he feel the symptoms of real fear.

In every lifetime, his warm voice melts from the speaker.

A falling star just shot from space and hit you directly in the chest, rendering you utterly speechless; even as your gaze finds his glassy eyes, you just can’t believe it.

In every lifetime you swore.

It’s just too perfect.

So, for as long as I may live, I wanna be yours.

He’s just too perfect.

In every lifetime I'll dip my knee down.

There’s no way.

And yet he sinks to one knee, slipping a velvet box from the confines of his pocket. Your hands make purchase around your mouth, stifling a wet cry.

In every lifetime I'll ask to be yours.

"Y/N L/N, will you marry me?"

You drop to your knees, tears tracing cordate-shaped rivulets down your cheeks. "Yes, Han, I'll marry you! I'll marry you!"

Your lips swear forever as they land on his, and that promise echoes far into lifetime number twelve.

ᡣ𐭩 felix + giving you gum wrapper hearts

Lee Felix was stupid in love, heavy on the stupid, figuring he was about to start World War Three to get that gum wrapper out of Seungmin’s hand.

“Please,” Felix begs, drawing out the "e" in an obnoxious whine.

Felix has been professing his love for you through gum wrapper hearts for about as long as he’s been chewing gum, so he is going to be damned if he lets one gum wrapper gets away without meeting his fingers first. Seungmin’s eyes harden into an frustrated glare, about two seconds away from punching a pizza-sized hole in his best friend’s face.

“You know, the more that you beg me for this wrapper, the more I don’t want to give it to you,” he deadpans, voice flat with irritation. Felix throws his head back in an ear-splitting groan.

“Whyyy not??”

“Oh my gosh, Seungmin, just give him the damn wrapper,” Chan interjects, exasperated.

“Yeah, listen to Chan. Give Felix the wrapper,” Felix teases, laying his chin on his hand, fluttering his lashes with a shit-eating grin. Seungmin clenches his jaw, crumpling up the foil—much to poor Lixie’s dismay.

“Did you see that, Chan?! Seungmin crumpled my wrapper!” Seungmin squeezes it harder. “Look! Do you see that, Chan?! Seungmin is bullying me!” Chan sighs, digging a knuckle into his eye. He is about five seconds away from sticking both grown toddlers in time out.

“Seungmin, for the sake of my sanity, give Felix the damn gum wrapper.” The fact that he actually had to tell two full-fledged adults that was truly beyond him, yet here he was.

“It’s the principle of it, old man—” As soon as the words leave his lips, Seungmin wants to stuff them right back in. Chan grits his teeth, steam practically whistling from his ears.

Oh, crap.

“You little—” Chan dives for Seungmin, to which he squeals, ducking from his elder’s hand, gearing up to smack him square in the forehead. In the clamber of movements, he ends up dropping the beloved wrapper. Felix lets out a squeal of excitement, lunging for the foil. When the crumpled aluminum sits in his hands, he has never felt so rewarded in his entire life, smiling like he just won a million bucks.

Almost out of muscle memory, he begins smoothing it out, folding up all the right corners. He beams, stuffing the little token into his pocket, fingers itching to give it to you later.

“Thanks, Seungmin,” Felix smirks, taking a proud sip of his drink. Seungmin manages to stick his tongue out while trapped in a headlock.

“You suck,” he wheezes, throwing weak slaps onto Chan's bicep. Felix giggles, his phone buzzing against his jeans. Felix quite literally drops everything to pick it up, his heart singing the same song as your special ringtone.

From: My world 💙 Look, baby, isn’t it so beautiful? I took the pic while I was on my way to work. I actually swerved off the road to take the picture, haha. Just wanted to share it with you. Love you, baby!! [Image.png]

When he clicks the image, his phone is flooded with the most breathtaking view. The sky is stained like melting ice cream, cotton candy colors that burst around your hair, though that isn’t what Felix is looking at—he is looking at you. The moment he looks into your lopsided smile, Cupid shoots him all over again.

From: My star-light 🌟 Wow.

From: My star-light 🌟 No words.

From: My star-light 🌟 I didn’t know my girlfriend could look so stunning.

From: My star-light 🌟 Oh, wait, there was a sunset back there somewhere.

From: My star-light 🌟 Yeah, that was pretty too.

From: My star-light 🌟 Are we still on for tonight?? I miss youuu.

From: My world 💙 Oh my gosh, Lix, you’re making me blush, haha.

Seungmin chokes somewhere in the background. Felix doesn’t notice. Felix is submerged in the silky ocean of rose-colored love.

From: My world 💙 Of course we are!!

From: My world 💙 I miss you too, baby!!

From: My world 💙 Literally can’t wait to see you.

Felix is mid-text when his friends suddenly turn bright red, clambering to untangle themselves from the mess of limbs they got themselves stuck in. Felix doesn’t realize the reason Chan is suddenly fixing his hair or Seungmin is unruffling his shirt is because two of the most stunning women just walked past them. Felix was too focused on making time move faster.

ᡣ𐭩

Felix has never been to space, though he can accurately say that he has tasted the sky.

He sips the stars off your lips, every shared breath an inhale of the galaxy. Felix knows that somewhere, someplace time exists, but not here, not now, not with the blades of grass lacing through his hair; not when he’s pressing your chest flush against his, rolling around on the ground until the night sky is kissing the earth in his vision. Your laughs are buried in his neck when he gets too dizzy to continue, littering kisses on the sensitive flesh there. You pull away for only a moment, brushing a rogue strand of hair off his brow. You smile, dipping to press a soft peck to the tip of his nose.

The two of you had crept into this darkened backyard hours ago; you proposing a date under the stars only to share them between your lips instead. You have been locked in this position for lifetimes, and Felix has no plan to stop.

His palms lift to graze your cheeks before sealing your mouths together again. His soft laugh puffs against the seam of your lips, his smile curving against your own. “God, I am so in love with you.”

He was; he so, so, so was.

He was so in love with you, he had almost forgotten about his gift. Key word: almost.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he gasps, chasing your warmth when he pulls away, sitting up.

“What?” you playfully whine, biting back a grin, settling your hips against his thighs. He chuckles, poking a finger into his pocket, fishing out the gum wrapper heart.

“I know it’s not perfect,” he whispers, cupping something in his palm, “but I hope you still like it.” He rolls his fingers out bashfully, offering you the crinkled silver heart. He bites his lip, a faint blush falling over the apples of his cheeks. The little gift was by no means perfect; it was ripped, wrinkled, and just a little lopsided. Yet you can’t help the fondness that explodes in your chest. Still cradling the heart with care, you throw your arms around his neck, tackling him to the ground. Your chest flush against his, he grunts when you land upon the earth, smacking slobbery kisses all over his face. You don’t stop, not until he is flipping you over, now attacking you with equally wet kisses. Your giggles live in the balmy summer air.

To you, he was the sun; but to him, you were the universe

ᡣ𐭩 seungmin + buying you a bouquet every time the old ones wilt

October 11th, 2020.

That was the last time your apartment smelled like something other than florals. That was also the first time Seungmin had ever bought you flowers—a simple gift for your one-year anniversary that spiraled into a four-year tradition. You don’t ever talk about it, and he certainly denies it, when you thank him for how the wilting tulips magically evolved into beautiful daylilies. You find it endearing, the faint blush that falls over his cheeks when he tries to convince you that it wasn’t him.

Now that you think about it, your white roses did seem to have a little bit of brown on them yesterday.

Mid-wipe of the bathroom counter, you rush down the stairs, almost sliding into the kitchen in your socks. Without fail, there they were: bright red tulips, replacing the withering roses that had been in the vase earlier. A spreading grin pulls at your lips as you check the stove clock, quickly connecting the dots.

You had been cleaning the bathroom most of the evening, your earbuds blocking the world out. He had probably heard you humming from upstairs, choosing the perfect time to sneak in through the door. You squeal, sprinting up the stairs to throw open your bedroom door. You expect to find him lounging on the bed, but instead, you find him below it, cradling a square object in his hands. His head whips around, panic falling over his features. He slams the lid shut before fumbling to shove it right back under the bed, much to your dismay.

“Hey, what?” You yelp, diving for the box. Seungmin blocks you, accidentally knocking it out of his hands, unfurling its contents all over the floor.

It looks like a garden just threw up in your bedroom.

Hundreds, thousands of differently shaped petals are scattered on your floor, tufts of colorful memories spread out like a silky scroll. First, you freeze. Then, you gasp; your muscles thawing like a flower unfurling in the snow. It hits you slowly, blossoming in your chest and spilling from your eyes—Seungmin hasn’t been throwing away the flowers he bought you. He’s been collecting them.

You didn’t realize you were crying—not until you spoke—“Seungmin, what is this?”—then you heard it, your voice withering and wet. When you finally go to meet his gaze, he can’t seem to look at you, tilting his head down in shame.

“W-Well I-I’ve just…” he begins, trailing off with a rub of his burning neck. “Fuck, this is going to sound so stupid,” he flushes, staring down at the single yellow petal that fluttered onto his folded thighs. Suddenly, Seungmin feels your thumb brushing over his knuckles, and something shoots through his skin, something that straightens his spine and evens his breathing.

“I-I’ve um…” This was harder than he thought it would be. “Been collecting them for a while now, I wanted to keep them for when we get married. Wanted to scatter them down the aisle…”

His voice gets smaller with every word, sinking into himself as though that will make the gravity of the sentence less exposed, less raw. For a second, as silence stretches between you, Seungmin feels so stupid, embarrassment painting his cheeks red. You must think he’s such a fool, must think he’s crazy for ever believing he could marry you—his thoughts stop the moment your lips meet his, palms pressed firmly against his cheeks.

“I love you,” you whisper in between breaths, kissing him until it feels like you can’t kiss anymore; until he falls back upon the feathery bed made of magnolias and memories; until, with a star-lit sigh, he pulls away, untucking the red of a dried rose tangled above your brow. Even surrounded by God's most beautiful creations, he can’t bring his gaze to fall from yours, your eyes and all the mesmerizing sparkles they hold.

Seungmin couldn’t trace the exact moment he fell in love with you. Rather, it bloomed slowly over time, a feeling that took root; wrapping around the slabs of his ribs.

With you, he grew, and all of a sudden, with every breath he inhales, he finds you fluttering in his chest. At first, it terrified him. Though, now he knows—some gardens never die.

ᡣ𐭩 jeongin + stalking your goodreads profile to annotate your favorite books

“So, you’re a stalker, huh?” you muse, brushing your palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, which was clearly not a good idea, cause no sooner do you make contact is he jumping twenty feet out of his skin. You throw your hands up when he swivels around, ripping off his headphones like they were going to materialize into a baseball bat.

“Crap, y/n, you scared the hell out of me,” Jeongin pants, a relieved smile pulling on his cheeks; grateful that the intruder was indeed his girlfriend and not a 6-foot-tall man in a scream mask. For a second, he wonders if you’re possessed, a lopsided smirk playing on your lips while you tweak out, kind of laughing, kind of nodding, kind of looking like you need an exorcism. Then it hits him. Hits him like a 200-pound dump truck, rendering him breathless once more. He puts Flash to shame by how fast he slams his laptop shut, scrunching his face in cringe. The laugh you let out is devastating, a full-belly guffaw that makes you double over, stumbling straight into his arms.

For a second, when the lamplight hits you just right, Jeongin has to stop.

His breath catches in his throat, taking all of you in. There you were, with your hair falling in messy tangles, your eyelids slightly smudged in black, your smile boxy and sun-bright, you were perfect, and you were sitting on his lap. If you didn’t start talking, he would have stared at you for hours—probably would have started drooling as well.

“So, this is how you’ve known all my favorite books, huh?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his neck. It takes him a hot second to gather himself, heart fluttering at the newfound proximity.

He stuffs his head into your neck, the heat of his cheeks burning into your skin. “Yeah…is that weird?”

“Is it weird?? Yang Jeongin, I’m pretty sure you just inadvertently proposed to me,” you reply, your tone light-hearted though you're dead serious.

“What?” He chuckles with a shy smile, leaning back.

“Yeah, I mean, you stalk your girlfriend’s Goodreads profile to read and annotate her TBR list. That is a proposal. I don’t make the rules.”

“Is that so?” he smirks, inching forward, your noses brushing together.

“Yeah,” you whisper, hot breath fanning across his lips, you lean in, finally sealing your mouths shut. Jeongin groans, your thumb swiping the nape of his neck. His heart pounds with a thousand different translations of 'I love you'.

“How many?”

He hums, slamming back down to earth, still a little bit dizzy.

“How many books have you bought?”

That sobers him up.

His eyes widen slightly before he bashfully chuckles, awkwardly scratching his ear. “Oh, uh…not that many.”

“Can I see them?” He’s two seconds from saying no, until you brush your lips against his cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his eyes, before, finally, he is tasting your grin instead, “Please?”

Well, how can he say no now?

He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, biting his lip before sighing and pointing under his bed. “They’re all under there.”

You squeal, clambering off him to dive at the foot of his bed, sticking your hands into the dusty abyss below. It doesn’t take you but five seconds to find the box, though it takes you 5 minutes to actually pull the damn thing out, feeling more like a dead body than dead trees.

However, when you flip open the lid, the struggle is all worth it. Your jaw drops. Jeongin’s stomach flips upside down.

"Yang Jeongin, there’s no way..." You peer at him through dewy lashes, there had to be at least fifty books in this container. "You were planning on giving me all of these?"

"Well, yeah. Just...when I had enough time to annotate them."

"You've already given me like 10. How have you found enough time to read them?"

"I read them every night before I go to bed."

"And annotate them?"

He clears his throat, a faint blush falling over his cheeks like rose petals. "Yes."

"Where did you get the money for all this? These books have to have been like a thousand dollars."

"My check had just come in, and I knew how much you liked to read... I just wanted to do something nice for you. Why is this starting to feel kind of like an interrogation? Are you mad? Is this, like, really weird?" Jeongin can feel his eyes widen, anxiously shifting in place.

“One more question,” you step forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. He shutters when you make contact, gaze fluttering down. Jeongin expects you to laugh, maybe demand that he takes them back, or the worst of them all tell him he’s too obsessed. What he doesn’t expect you to do is drag him forward, and smash your lips together.

“How are you so perfect?” you exhale, puffing onto his lips like a breath of his own. He was going to show you how, he was going to show you how all night long.

ᡣ𐭩

If you thought he was perfect then you definitely think he is perfect now.

The sun slips through the curtains, dyeing your sweaty skin in gold; your mouth is nuzzled into his neck, lashes tickling his skin every time you shift. He draws phantom circles over your naked waist, savoring this moment, soaking your body in until he can remember the feel of your form through memory alone. You stir, feeling his heartbeat pick up.

It must have been a dream that urged you to say it, because somewhere, on the edge of sleep, you murmur, “What’s your favorite story?”

He didn’t have to think about the answer, not when he had thought about it a million times before. Without hesitation, Jeongin whispers, “Ours.”

(I rushed tf out of some of these I'm sorry)

#stray kids #skz #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids headcanons #skz headcanons #stray kids fluff #stray kids imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz fluff #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

786 notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 1 month ago

Text

Collision 17/20

Summary:

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

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

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : none

Serie Masterlist

CHAPTER 17 :

Paris was grey that morning.

The kind of grey that soaked through wool and bone. That made the Seine look like smoke and the streets like a sigh.

Lando didn’t notice. Not really.

He stepped out of the car across from the Palais Garnier with a heartbeat he could hear in his throat. Cold air clung to him. His fingers were stuffed into the sleeves of a coat that wasn’t warm enough, his curls flattened by wind and worry.

He looked up at the gilded facade, the statues and columns, the massive green dome rising like it held all the stories in the world. The building seemed to breathe with history and elegance, like it knew he didn’t belong here.

But he went in anyway.

The woman at the front desk stopped him before he’d even made it past the first velvet rope.

“I’m sorry, monsieur. This entrance is for staff and registered company members only.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I’m not… I’m not trying to sneak in or anything. I just—” He hesitated, suddenly aware of how stupid he sounded. “I’m looking for someone.”

She raised a brow.

“Ariana Riverria.”

The name landed like a note played too softly on a grand piano.

The woman blinked once. Her voice stayed polite. “Mademoiselle Riverria is in rehearsal. Visitors aren’t permitted inside the studios.”

“I know. I’m not trying to interrupt. I just… I thought maybe I could wait?” he asked, quieter now. “Just in the lobby. I won’t cause any trouble. I just need to see her. Just for a minute.”

Something in his eyes must have reached her, the guilt, the longing, the grief still bleeding under the skin.

She sighed.

“You can sit. But you’ll have to wait until classes end. Maybe someone can pass a message, if she comes by the desk.”

“Thank you,” he breathed.

He took a seat on one of the antique benches, hands clenched together between his knees. Time slowed. The walls stretched. People came and went, dancers, staff, tourists with quiet steps and velvet voices.

And Lando waited.

Hours passed.

Every time a girl with dark hair in a long coat crossed the marble floor, he sat up straighter, heart thudding, only to deflate again when it wasn’t her.

Rumors started.

Who’s the guy in the corner?

He’s been here all morning.

Is he okay?

Some whispered he looked familiar.

Others said he was handsome. Some girls smiled at him. One even asked if he was waiting for someone important. He just nodded.

The woman at the desk checked on him once. Slid a bottle of water across the counter with a faint smile. “Still nothing,” she murmured.

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

By late afternoon, the sky had gone gold behind the stained-glass windows. The lamps flickered on, and the lobby glowed.

He had stopped checking his phone hours ago.

He had stopped trying to rehearse what he’d say, too. The speech had dissolved into dust somewhere around the fifth hour. All that was left was a feeling, sharp, aching, restless.

And then…

The doors opened again.

Footsteps. Light ones.

And Lando knew, before he saw her face that it was her.

Ariana stepped into the lobby in her long black coat, hair tucked into a soft scarf, ballet shoes in her gym bag hanging off one shoulder.

She paused.

Her body stilled, not with surprise, but something else.

Something colder.

Lando stood slowly, legs stiff, heart pounding like it had been waiting for this cue all day.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The marble floor between them felt endless.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

The words he’d rehearsed “I’m sorry,” “I was wrong,” “I miss you,” “I love you” all of them collapsed inside his mouth.

He looked at her like a man who had been crawling through a desert and finally found water.

She looked at him like she wasn’t sure what to say.

His voice, when it came, was rough. Quiet. Scared.

“Can we talk?”

A pause.

“Please?”

They didn’t speak again until they were alone.

Ariana led him to a side corridor, past the main rehearsal halls, to a small room tucked behind a velvet curtain, a warm-up studio, empty now. The light was soft, slanting through the tall windows in amber streaks. Dust floated in the air like breath held too long.

She dropped her bag in the corner.

He didn’t sit.

Neither did she.

They just stood there, ten feet apart, hearts louder than their voices.

Lando swallowed hard.

“I didn’t come here to fix everything in one conversation,” he said. “I came because… I couldn’t live with the way we ended.”

She didn’t interrupt.

“I said things I didn’t mean. I said things out of fear, not truth. I let jealousy get in my head, and I let doubt speak for me instead of love. And that’s not who I want to be. Not with you.”

He looked up, eyes glassy.

“You were honest with me. In your way. Quiet, careful, soft. And I… I didn’t know how to handle that. I wanted loud proof. Concrete answers. I didn’t know how to listen to silence.”

Still, she said nothing.

“I should’ve asked instead of assuming. Should’ve trusted you when you gave me every reason to. I let something from before define something we were still building. And I know now, that was the worst thing I could do.”

A pause.

He stepped closer, slow, not too close.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Every morning. Every night. Every time I look at my phone and hope to see your name. Every time someone asks if I’m okay and I want to say your name instead of answering.”

Finally, Ariana spoke, voice steady, but hushed.

“I left because I had to. Not because I wanted to.”

Lando nodded, wordless.

“I left because… I gave you the most fragile piece of me. I gave you the part I swore I’d never give anyone again. And the first time it cracked, you dropped it.”

She stepped toward him now, arms still crossed, but closer.

“I know you didn’t mean to. I know you were scared. But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

He exhaled, jaw clenched. “I know.”

“It wasn’t about you being jealous. Not really. It was about being asked to prove something I’d already shown you every day I was with you. In the way I held your hand when no one was looking. In the way I let you into my world even when I was still learning how to feel safe again.”

She looked away, then back.

“And when you questioned that... it felt like everything I feared was true. That love is never enough. That even when I give everything, it won’t be believed.”

Lando’s voice cracked. “I believed it. I just… I panicked.”

“I know.”

They stood in that truth for a while.

Then Lando spoke again, quieter now, voice shaking like a branch about to snap.

“I saw the post,” he said. “About Marc.”

Ariana’s eyes flickered.

“I saw what the Royal Ballet said. I saw everything people are saying.” He looked away for a second, like it burned to remember. “God, Ariana. I didn’t know. I didn’t want to believe you were still with him, but I let what I saw online—what he wanted people to see—convince me.”

He looked at her again, fully, with nothing to hide behind. “I’m so sorry. For the way I reacted. For not seeing the truth. For not asking.”

Ariana’s shoulders rose slightly, then lowered. Her voice came quiet. “I know. I saw your texts.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then she stepped back slightly, not away, just enough to breathe.

“When we were together… Marc lied. He cheated. He said things that hurt. He’d lose his temper sometimes. But it never got too bad. Not then…”

She paused.

Lando’s throat worked around the lump that rose. “That’s already too much, Ariana.”

Her eyes lifted to his, suddenly more tired than anything else. “It was worse after I left him.”

Lando stilled.

“That’s when he showed who he really was. He started making calls. Quiet ones. Blocking me from auditions. Dropping comments to directors. He told people we were still together. Told me I had to act like it, if I wanted to stay ‘relevant’ in the company. That I owed him, for everything he helped me get.”

Lando’s chest felt like it might split open. “Jesus, Ari…”

She kept going. Not coldly. Not with pity. Just fact.

“He manipulated every room he walked into. And I let it go on for months."

Lando’s jaw tightened. “That’s—Ariana, that’s… horrible. I'm so sorry really, I should've been better."

She looked up at him, tired but calm.

“I’m glad it’s out now. I’m glad he’s fired. But I don’t want to talk about him anymore. I don’t want to think about him.”

Lando nodded slowly. “Okay. I understand.”

Then, softly, like she didn’t want the words to exist yet she says “I miss you too you know ?"

His breath hitched.

“But,” she added, eyes meeting his, “I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

Lando nodded.

“I don’t expect you to. Not yet.”

She blinked. Surprised by how easily he accepted that.

“But I’m going to earn it,” he said. “With showing up. With doing the hard work of being better.”

He stepped closer now, just close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, not touching, but there.

“Because I know it now. It’s you. It’s always been you. And I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as you need. Because in my world, the noise, the chaos, the spotlight, you were the only thing that ever felt quiet.”

She didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then, a small smile tugged at her lips. Sad. Soft. Real.

Her voice broke on the edges.

“You matter to me too, Lando. That’s why it hurt so much.”

His eyes brimmed again. “Then let me try.”

She looked at him for a long time, studying him not like a stranger, but like someone she still recognized beneath the cracks.

Finally, she whispered, “Okay.”

The walk back to her apartment was quiet.

Not the uncomfortable kind, not anymore, but the kind that breathes. That lets two people simply exist beside one another, hearts still sore, but beating in sync again.

It was dusk in Paris. The sky the color of a bruised peach, buildings blushed in soft golds. The world was winding down. But for Lando, something was just beginning again.

Ariana didn’t say much on the way. He didn’t need her to.

He was too focused on the way her hand kept brushing his, not quite holding it, not yet, but close enough that he could feel her warmth and knew that maybe, someday soon, she’d let him hold it again.

When they reached her door, she paused with her key in hand.

Then she looked at him. Quiet. Unsure.

“Do you want to come up?”

He blinked.

He hadn’t expected that. Not yet.

But his chest tightened with something warm.

“Yes,” he said softly. “I’d like that.”

She opened the door and let him inside.

Her parisian apartment was... just like her.

Not just decorated by her, but inhabited by her essence. Every detail, from the neatly stacked books to the ballet shoes strung quietly by the window, the old records beside the player, the soft rugs, the muted tones, the corner full of candles she probably lit when the city felt too loud, it all spoke of her.

And suddenly, he understood.

This wasn’t just a space.

This was how she spoke. How she’d always spoken.

It hit him like a wave.

She never needed to say “I love you” ten times a day. She didn’t need grand gestures or big declarations. Ariana spoke in acts of trust. In proximity. In letting him in, literally, figuratively, entirely.

He saw it now.

She had let him in when she first texted him back.

When she agreed to see him again after the gala.

When she met his friends despite the fact she hated loud people and unfamiliar faces.

When she let him kiss her for the first time in front of her favorite painting and then again in the quietness of her appartement. When she tried karting with him even though the sound of engines made her flinch.

When she introduced him to her cat.

And as if summoned by thought, the small white ball of fluff strutted into the room from the hallway, blue eyes icy and unblinking, tail held with the arrogant posture only cats could pull off.

Lando froze.

The cat blinked at him. Judging. Displeased.

Ariana bit her lip, amused. “She remember you.”

“She always stare like that?”

“I think she knows you are the reason why I was sad lately.”

He sighed. “Perfect.”

Aria padded closer, then sat dramatically at Ariana’s feet, pressed herself to her like she was claiming her back from him.

Lando stared.

The cat glared.

It felt like a test.

“Do you want to pet her?” Ariana asked, smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

He shifted awkwardly. “I don’t know how.”

“You’ve never owned a cat?”

“I’ve barely been in a room with one that didn’t try to claw my face off.”

Ariana crouched down, stroked Aria’s head. The cat purred instantly, leaning into her hand. Then she looked back up at Lando, still amused.

“She’s soft,” Ariana said gently. “But she doesn’t like sudden movements. She doesn’t chase affection. You have to earn it.”

He swallowed.

“Ironic. That reminds me of someone”

Ariana said nothing. Just waited.

So he moved. Slowly.

Kneeling down beside them. His hand hovered, then, with all the hesitance of a man defusing a bomb, he reached forward and brushed a single finger along Aria’s back.

She blinked.

Didn’t move.

He tried again, this time with his whole hand.

And she… tolerated it.

It was the smallest of victories. But when he looked up, Ariana was smiling.

Really smiling.

Something soft and tired and almost proud.

He sat back on his heels, sighing. “I’m trying, you know.”

“I know,” she said.

He leaned against the couch, let his head fall back with a long exhale. His voice, when it came next, was quiet, nearly a whisper.

“I didn’t understand before.”

Ariana sat down beside him.

“Understand what?” she asked.

“You. The way you show love.”

She looked at him.

He turned toward her, eyes earnest, hand still tingling from the pressure of Aria’s fur.

“I kept expecting you to say things the way I would. To scream when you were angry. To cry when you were sad. To tell me exactly what you felt when you felt it.”

He swallowed.

“But you were loving me the whole time. Just… differently.”

Ariana was quiet.

“You let me into your world. Slowly. Carefully. And I missed it. I was too loud to hear you.”

“You were scared,” she said gently.

He nodded. “But I let the fear make me cruel.”

They sat in that silence, the kind that no longer felt empty, just shared.

Finally, she said:

“I wasn’t asking you to be perfect. Just… patient.”

He looked at her, really looked at her. Her hair slightly messy from rehearsal, her cheeks still pink from the walk, her hand now resting close to his on the cushion.

“I can be patient,” he said. “I’ll take it one day at a time. One breath. One pet of that terrifying little fur demon.”

She laughed.

And it broke something open in both of them.

Aria jumped up beside them, curled beside Ariana’s thigh, and let Lando exist in her presence without complaint.

Which, for a cat like her, was practically a love letter.

Ariana smiled again, softly this time.

“You’re learning,” she whispered.

Lando smiled too. “Yeah,” he whispered back. “Because you’re worth it.”

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1

Tell me if you want to be add to the taglist !

291 notes · View notes

midtalissa · 7 days ago

Text

# ‘TESTING WATERS’

-> Other parts: two

-> Summary: Jason Todd drags you into his violent world— but you’re not here to fix him. You just want to remind him what love feels like.

-> Pairing: AK!Jason Todd X F!Reader

-> WARNINGS: hurt/comfort but mostly hurt for a small part; but other than that, if it even counts, maybe nothing except amateur writing??😭

Life hadn’t been so good— not since Jason came back. The boy you once loved, the one who used to be all soft grins and bad jokes, was now… something else. Changed. Warped. Bruised beyond recognition.

Everyone at the base whispered that Joker left scars in Jason’s body and mind. You didn’t need to ask. That jagged mark on his cheek said more than enough.

And his eyes? Tired. Haunted. Full of something unreadable, like static behind glass. He barely talks now, but you can tell he tries. And that means everything to you.

How did he find you? Probably hacked a dozen systems, tracked your every step. One day, some militia kid knocked on your door and just said, “Jason Todd wants to see you.” Like it was normal.

And out of desperation, you followed without thinking about the worst.

Now he’s in a briefing you’re not allowed to sit in on. Not like you even wanted to. You couldn’t care less about his army or whatever revenge plan he’s making for Batman. You just care about him. The Jason you remember. Your Jason.

He’s basically a walking, barely-talking landmine. Notices everything. Like that one time you were too tired to shower and said you’d do it in the morning?

When you woke up he was on his side of the bed, placing his armor in place and getting ready to leave for whatever reason he had.

But before he left the room, he looked at you, deadpan, and muttered, “The bathroom is fully functional.” Then left. No further comment.

“Y/n? Boss wants you back in your quarters.” A guard— armed, of course— spoke.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m just getting my steps in. Which, by the way, have lowered drastically since I moved in here, thanks.” The tension, though? Thick enough to cut with a knife. He seemed to straighten up more than he already was. Why?

“Then maybe you should leave, if your steps matter that much.” Jason’s voice cut through the air like a blade. That’s why. You turned, heart sinking, and saw him stepping out— men flanking him on both sides.

“I was joking.” you called after him, softer this time. But he didn’t look back, taking a corner with two lieutenants behind him.

Later, you went back to your assigned wing and started a video call with a friend, Tori. “Girl, when are you gonna let me meet this mysterious man of yours?” she asked, eating some expensive chocolate she probably got from one of her 8 talking stages.

She was lounging in her room, you were slumped in yours— bored, overthinking, slightly confused and guilty. These four feelings swaying in a pot brewing other sentiments.

“He’s busy. Like— always. I can’t even sneak in a hug, let alone a kiss,” you muttered, frowning at your chipped nail polish.

“You know what, babe? Listen to me.” Tori tilted her head, sipping from a glass of wine she absolutely wasn’t classy enough to hold. “You live in Otisburg, right?”

You nodded. “Perfect. There’s this lingerie shop near there— think it’s called ‘For My Man’ or something. I’ll send the location.” She was already typing. “Maybe you’ll find some, y’know… stuff in there too.”

You broke a smile. “Thanks. I’ll see what I’ll do.” you said, already knowing damn well you weren’t doing any of that.

The call dragged on for another couple hours, the way it always did— Tori gossiping, you half-listening, heart full of someone else. Eventually, you ended the call, cleaned up a bit and waited.

As expected, about half an hour later, the door clicked open. You padded toward the sound and found Jason— alive, intact, and as emotionally unreadable as ever.

“Hey,” you said, leaning against the wall casually. “How was patrol?” “Fine.” He kicked his boots off, not looking at you.

“Good. Amazing, actually.” you replied with a smile he didn’t see. He brushed past, heading for the bedroom. “You know, Jason—” you called, and he paused mid-step, turning just slightly toward you. “Go on.”

“I missed you.”

He didn’t say anything. Just… stared. You could practically see the gears turning, the way he chewed over your words like they were something dangerous.

He also seemed to be analyzing your words, trying to figure out an answer not to hurt you. But you didn’t need words— you didn’t need a reply.

So you stepped forward, gently took his arm, and turned him to face you fully. Then, slowly, carefully, you closed the distance— until you were close enough to wrap your arms around him.

At first, he didn’t move. His body was stiff, tense, like it wasn’t used to this sudden kindness. One hand hovered at your back, then finally rested there, soft and unsure. And then— he leaned into you. Just barely.

“I love you,” you whispered, hands rubbing gentle circles into his back armor. “I never stayed out of pity, or guilt, or fear. I stayed because you never left my mind. You still haven’t.”

He shifted like he didn’t know what to do with the words. His hand patted your back. Once. It was awkward and silent and made your chest ache in the sweetest way.

You pulled back, smiled, and kissed the armor plating over his chest. Didn’t expect anything. Didn’t push.

Later, after he’d showered and had space to breathe, you found him on the couch, hunched over a tablet. Some mission data, probably.

You plopped beside him without a word. He didn’t react. No flinch, no sigh. Just kept tapping away. So, naturally, you pushed your luck— snuggled a little closer, shoulder to shoulder.

Still nothing. Just a faint sigh. Not annoyed. Just… Jason-ish. “Y/n.” “Yeah?” you asked, trying to keep your face soft, warm. Not too eager.

“About the hug…” He scratched his forearm, eyes flicking away. “You can do that. When you want. Just… not unexpectedly.”

You bit back a smile. “Noted.”

#jason todd #dc #dc universe #dcu #dc comics #jason todd x reader #arkhamverse #arkham knight #ak jason todd #ak jason todd x reader #jason todd fluff #jason todd comfort #batman arkham series #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd needs a hug

340 notes · View notes

yourownutopia · 6 months ago

Text

Shadowborn [Jin Woo x !Shadow !Fem Reader]

When the Shadow Monarch adds you to his ranks, he has no idea what he's in for. Not only are you uncontrollable, but you also harbor a secret that even the System keeps hidden from him. As he searches for a way to bring you under control, it becomes clear that your existence exposes a flaw in the perfect structure of the shadows—one that no one could have foreseen. Why don’t you yield to his will, and more importantly, why doesn’t the System want you to remember?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Chapter Index :

[Prologue ʰᵉʳᵉ], [1] [2] [3]

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Song: Shadowborn - Hiroyuki Sawano

Calm before the storm - It's me they all are coming for Be my shadowborn

We're back to take the pain - My soul is indestructible

I steal you from the grave - So cursed to be a slave

»»———-»--•--«———-««

Enjoy the prologue!

Note: I want to clarify that English is not my first language. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes or if I sometimes use incorrect words. Please feel free to send me corrections so I can continue improving my skills! 😊

[Prologue] “Arise.”

The Shadow Monarch’s voice reverberated through the room, deep and commanding, shattering the silence like fragile glass. Clear and resonant, his words echoed off the stone walls, lingering as though the air itself sought to hold onto them. The sound was low and powerful, vibrating faintly, giving the room a brief sense of life before the quiet crept back in.

A translucent window appeared in the air, the oppressive dark aura blanketing the ground retreating like mist. Once again, the extraction had failed. [Soul Extraction failed. 1/3 attempts remaining.]

Jin-Woo’s cold gaze flickered down to the lifeless figure lying on the ground. He exhaled deeply, raising his hand again.

“Is this truly where you wish to meet your end?” he asked, his eyes beginning to glow faintly. His voice was the only thing animating the desolate room. Vines crawled up the cracked stone walls, fractured beams of sunlight piercing through the shattered ceiling above. It looked like an abandoned boss chamber—ancient extinguished torches lined the walls, weapon gouges marred the hard stone—but there was no trace of life to be found. Not even the body before him radiated vitality.

So why couldn’t he extract her shadow?

Had it been too long since this monster’s death? Monsters decayed, yet her body showed no signs of rot. Only the deep lacerations across her skin, the missing heartbeat, and the faint, oppressive aura around her gave away the truth—she was dead.

“What a pitiful end,” he murmured. Jin-Woo didn’t expect a response, but something about her unnerved him enough to speak aloud, as though testing the air for answers.

“Arise,” he commanded once more, his hand tightening into a fist as though he could will her soul to obey.

The black smoke coiled around the lifeless body, intertwining with the tendrils rising from her chest. Slowly, the shadow took shape. Jin-Woo’s lips curled into a victorious smirk as the dark form solidified into the outline of a woman. Her glowing white eyes locked onto nothingness, the telltale mark of a newly risen shadow.

The system window popped up again, prompting for a name. Jin-Woo glanced at his latest recruit, who now knelt before him, one leg folded beneath her and the other bent upright. Her gaze remained forward, never meeting his.

“You belong to my Shadow Army now,” Jin-Woo declared, lowering his hand. “From this day on, you will serve me and obey my commands.”

He pondered briefly, then began typing a name into the prompt. Just as his finger hovered over the “Confirm” button, the window glitched, flickering erratically before closing. The chosen name replaced by another. [Y/N]

“No.”

The voice was so faint it barely registered. Jin-Woo paused, convinced he must have imagined it. Yet, before he could dismiss the notion, the shadows surrounding her physical body dissipated, retreating into the darkness along with the lifeless form on the ground.

“What?” His voice was sharp, his composure slipping for an instant as the word lingered in disbelief.

“No.” The second time was louder, firmer. The shadowy figure began to rise, her form shifting. The darkness coating her crumbled away, replaced by color. Her eyes, once glowing white, now gleamed a vibrant shade of [E/C], locked onto his in defiance. Her hair, [H/C], shimmered with an unnatural vitality, stark against the bleak surroundings.

Jin-Woo’s usually impassive expression flickered with subtle astonishment. A shadow capable of speech? Only Beru had ever displayed such an ability.

He cast his gaze toward the floating information above her:

Name: [Y/N] Level: ???

He couldn’t read her level. And she already had a name.

A tense silence filled the space, his dark aura intensifying until even Igris, his loyal Blood-Red Commander, shivered. Yet, [Y/N] stood unflinching, her jaw tight as she met Jin-Woo’s penetrating stare. Despite the icy dread running down her spine, an unyielding resolve kept her rooted. She refused to kneel.

“I refuse,” she ground out through clenched teeth, watching as the black-haired man’s glowing eyes narrowed into sharp slits. Her voice was thin but steady.

Before she could react, he had grabbed her chin and leaned down toward her; after all, he was a good head taller than she was. His grip was firm, not enough to hurt, but enough to convey his dominance. His hands were icy cold. Could shadows even feel such sensations? His face was mere inches from hers, and his piercing gaze sent a cold shiver crawling up her limbs.

[You are forbidden from harming your master.]

The window that briefly popped up caught her eye for a moment before her gaze returned to the Shadow Monarch’s icy stare.

“What was that?” he asked in a deep voice, as though his physical intimidation and the flicker in his glowing eyes could compel her to reconsider her defiance in light of what he was capable of.

“Say that again,” he growled, his tone icy and measured, daring her to reconsider. He was giving her one more chance to retract her initial refusal and do what—at least in his mind—was the only correct thing. [Y/N] stared at him for a moment. Her irritation over the situation gradually gave way to anger, which settled heavily in her chest. Who did he think he was? More importantly, who did he think she was? ... Who was she?

But there was no time to dwell on that thought, as the Shadow Monarch grew impatient. He made this clear with a brief but painful squeeze of his hand. But her defiance didn’t falter. “I. Refuse.” The words were deliberate, slow, and unwavering.

For the first time, Jin-Woo felt something beyond annoyance—curiosity laced with disbelief. Never had a shadow disobeyed him. His dominion was absolute. So why did she stand so boldly against him?

“You’re either very brave or very foolish,” he said, his voice low as his violet eyes flickered dangerously. “Do you even realize who I am?”

Her lips curled into a faint smirk. “When you’re dead, titles lose their meaning. Honestly, nothing really matters anymore.”

For a fraction of a second, Jin-Woo’s stoic mask slipped. Her words, blunt and logical, were disconcerting. Yet his pride demanded he reassert his authority.

“If you won’t obey me, I have no use for you,” he declared coldly. “I’ll kill you again a second time”

“Go ahead.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, her expression challenging. “I have nothing to lose.” Something in her tone—half daring, half resigned—made Jin-Woo hesitate. The tension between them crackled like static, thick enough to choke. Shadows coiled at his feet, thick as ink, creeping toward her like serpents. Yet, as they reached her, they paused, lingering for a moment as though recognizing her as one of their own before retreating.

Even Jin-Woo couldn’t deny what he had just witnessed. Releasing her chin, he let out a heavy sigh, his energy dissipating as the oppressive weight in the room lifted.

This was no ordinary shadow.

The shadows retreated as quickly as they had appeared, his eyes returning to their cool gray, and the immense energy he exuded vanished entirely.

He couldn’t simply let the chance of having a powerful shadow slip away, even if her lack of respect infuriated him to no end. The fact that he couldn’t determine her rank and that she didn’t yield to his will suggested she must be strong.

[Y/N] exhaled in relief; the whole ordeal hadn’t left her unscathed, but she was incredibly fortunate that the black-haired man hadn’t killed her on the spot. Despite her earlier words, she really didn’t want to die again.

His cold expression remained unchanged, but his gaze lingered on the [H/C]-haired woman, who stared back at him blankly.

Her appearance was human—different from his other shadows. She had color, glowing eyes, and if not for the name and lack of rank floating above her head, he wouldn’t have even guessed she was part of his army.

“Let me put it another way: as the one who revived you, you don’t have a choice but to follow my commands. So stop being so stubborn and just obey,” he said, his voice slicing through the silence as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Stubborn? Me? Does he even listen to himself? [Y/N] thought.

“Clearly, we’re both stubborn,” she stated , rubbing her chin, which still bore faint pressure marks from his firm grip.

She didn’t notice the faint flicker of concern in his eyes. Did he hurt her?

“If you’d stop being stubborn and accept that you can’t just go around resurrecting people and making them your slaves,” she retorted, earning another angry glare from the black-haired man. He at least seemed to accept that physical intimidation wasn’t going to work on her.

Jin-Woo turned slightly away from her and opened the window displaying the current number of his shadows.

“I revived you for a reason. You are now part of my army and will serve me. End of discussion.”

[Y/N] laughed humorlessly—a cynical laugh. He still didn’t get it.

She rolled her eyes, though there was that peculiar feeling in her chest—a strange connection that had been there since her resurrection. It felt more like a tether pulling at her core, drawing her toward him.

But she didn’t feel compelled to obey him—so why should she?

“Nope, as long as you act like an asshole, I’m not even going to consider it.”

The Shadow Monarch froze mid-movement, shooting her a deadly side-eye.

Did she just insult him?

His frustration grew with every passing second. No one had ever defied him like this, especially not someone he had revived.

“And why should I be nice to you? You’re the one defying me here. You’re the one refusing to obey me. What have you done to deserve my kindness when all you’ve shown me is disrespect?” he said.

[Y/N] responded without thinking, “You reap what you sow.”

Yes, he was an asshole, and she couldn’t stand him, but her reaction wasn’t exactly the best icebreaker either. Besides, they were both in a pretty crappy situation, and it wouldn’t get any better if they kept clashing.

Plus—what choice did she have? She had no idea who or what she was, where she was, or where she was supposed to go.

A resigned sigh escaped her lips, and her tense posture relaxed a little.

“Maybe... just maybe, we got off on the wrong foot,” she said, her voice softening slightly, almost innocent—though theatrically so.

The Shadow Monarch was once again surprised by her words. She had personality—and plenty of it, apparently.

He could insist that she was his shadow and that he was therefore superior to her, but what would be the point in the end? Perhaps it was time to swallow his pride and admit he might have been wrong.

Maybe he had simply spent too much time alone, consumed by his role as the Shadow Monarch, losing whatever social skills he once had.

His expression remained cool for a moment longer before his features softened slightly, and he scratched the back of his head. “That’s an understatement,” he muttered, reflecting on how he was almost the cause of her second death. [Y/N]’s eyes lit up slightly. Had she just detected a hint of humor in his voice?

His tone had lost some of its anger, which gave her a bit of relief.

“Okay. What am I even supposed to do, and where the hell are we anyway?” she asked, glancing around the room and taking it in. She knew she had seen this place before—clearly, it was where she had died—but it didn’t feel familiar. Jin-Woo, still a bit taken aback by her sudden cooperation, followed her gaze.

“We’re in a dungeon,” he said matter-of-factly. He really didn’t share more than he absolutely had to, did he? As for what she was supposed to do? Well, his shadows usually fought for him, but what about her? She had no weapon and didn’t seem magically inclined—at least he couldn’t sense any significant mana coming from her.

“Follow me. That’s enough for now,” he finally said, turning on his heel. His cloak lifted slightly with the abrupt movement before settling back down.

Jin-Woo didn’t look back, his footsteps silent on the cold stone floor. The young woman hesitated for a moment, but the invisible force seemed to nudge her forward, almost pushing her to follow him. She let out another frustrated sigh. “Okay,” she said, taking a few quick steps to catch up with him, though she stayed a few meters behind. “I’ll follow you,” she said after a brief pause. “But I won’t follow your orders blindly. If a command seems pointless to me, I’ll refuse,” she added—a compromise she could live with. Jin-Woo stopped abruptly, nearly causing her to bump into him. He paused, processing her words. For a moment, he hesitated. With a sigh, his expression softened slightly. “Fine. I’ll accept your compromise,” he said, reluctantly agreeing to her terms. “But if your reason for refusing seems pointless to me, don’t expect my mercy,” he added without glancing at her and continued walking. Though he was satisfied with this for now, there were limits—even for her.

What had he gotten himself into? ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎ ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Thank you for all your support! likes, reblogs & commentsor just reading <3 .'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

♡¸.•*' ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

#Solo leveling #jinwoo sung x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #female reader #shadow monarch #solo leveling x reader #fanfic

421 notes · View notes

yummybrainzz · 1 year ago

Text

Yandere! Rich suitor idea

Hear me out-

The rich suitor that your parents have in mind for you to marry once you turn 30, the guy who's parents your parents are best friends and how they've been imagining their offspring getting married for decades! And how you absolutely can't stand your unofficial fiance!

Of course, he couldn't stand you either. All your lives grown up together with both your parents insinuating that you two will carry on their names. Each year you two would be sent off to some exotic vacation (your parents loosely supervising) and each year you both failed to hold a conversation without fighting. The pressure was always too much for you, you hated the idea of being tied down to some guy only your parents liked. And no matter how beautiful the boy was, he simply wasn't your type. He was too pretty, too spoiled, too prissy with his blonde hair tied in a ponytail and his stupid eyebrow piercing that made no sense considering his personality.

The guy you were supposed to marry felt the same, he couldn't understand what his parents saw in you. You were too wild, he couldn't imagine trying to carry on a family with how you barely even wanted to do school work. He didn't even consider ugly just so... Weird! With your weird, odd sense of fashion and refusal to think about your future , you were definitely not his type. You two hated each other.

Until the summer you two turned 21. The yearly vacation y'all took started off like any other. With both you dreading the sight of each other. But that changed very quickly once he saw you. This was the first year you two were alone, and maybe it was the fresh alcohol in your systems or the soft lights in whatever high class restaurant you were in, something clicked in your suitor's brain.

Turns out a year (or a couple) can really change the way you see someone. Whether he knew or not he started to admire the way you refused to comply with the strict set of rules set by the high class society you two lived in, and how you didn't care what anyone else thought of your peculiar way of self expression. It was admirable he had to admit.

And the night you two shared an accidental drunken kiss, it made the hair on his arms stand up, it made his face flush red(which he blamed on the liquor), and it made his heart pound in a way he never thought possible.

Every bone chilling reaction was forced out of him and it made his skin light on fire. After that night, he only wanted more to come out of your relationship.

But, the attraction was simply one sided.

You still only saw the same prissy boy. He still refused to look at things from more than one perspective, he still poked fun at your style of clothes, he still refused to say thank you to whatever person who was serving him!

He was everything you hated all wrapped up in one ball of a man.

And when he dropped the idea of getting married the next morning while you were still recovering from your hangover, you almost vomited.

"Ew! What the fuck are you talking about?!" You yelled while almost dropping the mug you had in your hand. The guy was just insulting you yesterday like he always does and now he's talking about marriage?

"You act as though marrying me is the worst thing possible." Andrew sighed while sipping on a glass of orange juice. He looked out the nearby window onto the private beach of the resort while leaning on the nearby wall. It didn't show but your response clearly hurt him just a bit.

"'Cuz it is." You groaned in frustration while sitting down on the living room couch. The guy you hate proposing is definitely not helping with your pounding headache.

You took a sip out of the mug of coffee and tried to rub away the ache from your temples. Why now of all times to propose? You two had at least 5 more years of freedom before yours and his parents would put their foot down and set a date for you two to sign the wedding papers.

"I mean- why not now? Its be better sooner than later, it would be like ripping off a bandaid-"

"Hell no." You sighed and set down your mug on the coffee table next to you and dropped your head onto a pillow. How were you going to deal with this?

"Anyway," you paused trying to gather your words, "don't you hate me? Why would you want to tie the knot so soon? I mean, you're an attractive guy right? Why don't you try out other options before having to-"

"I don't want other options."

You lifted your head and stared at Andrew for a second. The pink dusting his fair cheeks and avoidance of eye contact was all you needed to know.

You looked away from his face and stared at the wall behind him. Your head hurts even more than when you had woken up.

"I'm leaving."

"What?"

"I said I'm leaving." You hauled yourself off the couch and into your room. You could hear Andrews faint footsteps and even more of his questions but ignored it. You packed your backpack, only the necessities and a small bag of seashells. You were getting on the next plane and heading back home. Or wherever you could land first.

You were not staying here. You refused to marry. Not yet at least.

But as you try and open the door to leave, a large hand slams it shut before you can completely open it.

"Andrew. What the hell are you doing."

"You are not leaving." Andrew says while placing his other hand against the door, caging you.

You never realized how muscular Andrew was before this moment.

"Yes, I am. Now let go of the door-"

"No." He says in a much firmer tone.

It dawns on you that you're on a private beach with no one to hear you yell for help. You see one of his hands leave the door and for a second you think he's come back to his senses and stopped whatever crazy shit he was thinking- but instead he snaked his hand around your waist and lays his forehead on your shoulder.

"You're not leaving."

HEHEHEHE JUST A THOUGHT THOOO

Not proof read forgive me 😔

#yandere #oc x reader #oc #original content #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #orginal #yandere oc #yandere x reader #maybe more

3K notes · View notes

kittenan2 · 18 days ago

Text

Troubleshoot My Heart

Trope: IT Helpdesk Chaos Pairing: Grumpy Genius IT Guy!Yoongi × Bored, Unhinged Newbie!Reader Warnings: Explicit 18+ content, office romance, age gap (~10 years), smut, forbidden romance, workplace chaos Word Count: ~5k Rating: 18+ | Explicit | Minors DNI Some viruses come from shady websites. Others wear glasses and a smirk.

The office is a prison of beige and buzzwords. At 22, you’re a fresh graduate, drowning in Excel spreadsheets and shared calendars that multiply like roaches. Your cubicle is a purgatory of motivational posters and recycled air, and the 4 PM quarterly update call is sucking the last dregs of your soul. The presenter’s voice drones on about “synergy” and “KPIs,” and you’re half-asleep, chin propped on your hand, when boredom—your old, reckless friend—whispers in your ear.

Just one click. For the thrill.

You know better. You do. But the corporate firewall is a challenge, and you’re restless. So you type a shady URL (NSFW) into the browser, something you overheard in a freshers' group chat about “exclusive content.” It’s blocked, of course—big red warning, “Access Denied.” But not before something slips through. Your laptop stutters, screen flickering, then freezes entirely. A pop-up screams: “CRITICAL ERROR: SYSTEM COMPROMISED.”

Panic claws at your chest. You mash keys, but nothing works. The IT helpdesk form is your only salvation, a digital confessional for your sins. You type, hands shaking: “System acting weird. Might’ve clicked something. Send help (preferably cute help).” You hit submit and pray.

Ten minutes later, he arrives.

Min Yoongi, head of IT support, is a walking paradox: hoodie under a blazer, dark hair falling into sharper eyes, and a voice so low it should be illegal. At 32, he’s a legend in the office—not for charm, but for fixing disasters with minimal words and maximum disdain. He doesn’t look at you as he drops into your chair, his fingers flying over your keyboard.

“Did you accidentally download six trojans,” he says, not asking, “or was that part of your productivity strategy?”

You lean against the cubicle wall, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just… clicked a link.”

He glances at you, one brow raised, and you feel it—a spark, like static from a bad outlet. His glasses slide down his nose as he mutters, “Idiots who think VPNs make them invincible.” But he’s already working, pulling up diagnostics, his hands moving with a precision that makes your throat dry.

The screen stabilizes. He stands, brushing past you, close enough that you catch the faint scent of coffee and cedar. “Don’t do it again,” he says, and he’s gone.

But you’re already hooked.

By Wednesday, the office is a hamster wheel of monotony, and Yoongi’s dry wit is your only lifeline. You decide to make a game of it: How far can I push the grumpy IT guy before he cracks? It’s not just boredom driving you—it’s the way his eyes linger a fraction too long, the way his voice dips when he’s annoyed. You want to unravel him.

Your first move is small but deliberate. You submit a ticket: “Mouse not working. Urgent.” He shows up, slouching into your cubicle, glasses catching the fluorescent light. “Urgent,” he repeats, voice flat as he picks up the mouse. It’s unplugged. His eyes flick to you, narrowing. “Really?”

You bat your lashes, all innocence. “It just… stopped. Maybe it’s shy?”

He snorts, plugging it back in with a flick of his wrist. “Shy. Right. Next time, check the cable before you waste my time.” But he’s lingering, leaning closer as he tests the mouse, his arm brushing yours. You catch a hint of his cologne—cedar, sharp—and your pulse spikes.

“Waste your time?” you say, tilting your head. “I thought you liked visiting me.”

His fingers pause on the mouse. He looks at you, and there’s a glint in his eyes—half irritation, half something else. “You’re gonna be trouble,” he mutters, but he doesn’t move away.

By Thursday, you’re bolder. You spill a splash of coffee on your desk—nowhere near your laptop, but close enough to justify a ticket: “Coffee incident. Laptop at risk. Save me.” Yoongi arrives, tie loose, sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your brain short-circuit. He scans the desk, sees the tiny puddle, and sighs, long and suffering. “This is what you call a crisis?”

You lean forward, letting your blouse gape just enough to draw his eye. “Could’ve been. Better safe than sorry, right?”

He grabs a tissue, wiping the desk with exaggerated care, his movements slow, deliberate. “You know,” he says, voice low, “if you keep crying wolf, one day I might not come.”

You pout, twirling a strand of hair. “Oh, Yoongi, you’d miss me too much.”

He freezes, just for a second, then tosses the tissue in the trash. “Keep dreaming, princess.” But his voice is rougher, and when he leans over to check your laptop, his shoulder brushes yours, lingering a beat too long.

Friday, you go for broke. Ticket: “Desktop icons too aggressive. Hostile work environment.” He shows up, arms crossed, leaning against your cubicle like he’s bracing for a storm. “Aggressive icons,” he deadpans. “Care to explain?”

You point at the screen, where your perfectly normal icons sit innocently. “They’re glaring at me. It’s intimidating.”

He stares at you, then at the screen, then back at you. “You’re unbelievable.” He slides into your chair, closer than necessary, his knee brushing your thigh as he pretends to inspect the screen. “Maybe they’re just mad you keep breaking shit.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “Language, Min Yoongi. What would HR say?”

He smirks, typing something pointless. “HR would say you’re a menace who needs constant supervision.” His fingers brush yours as he slides the laptop back, and the contact sends a jolt through you. “Or maybe just a leash.”

Your breath catches, but you recover fast, leaning in until your lips are inches from his ear. “Only if you’re the one holding it.”

He stiffens, glasses slipping down his nose. For a moment, you think you’ve gone too far, but then he updates your ticket with a note:

Try restarting. If that doesn’t work, I’m available. For troubleshooting. Or kissing. Whichever works first.

You choke on your smoothie, heart hammering. He’s already walking away, but you catch the smirk on his lips. Game on.

The flirting is a full-blown war now. You’re addicted to the way Yoongi’s jaw tightens when you push his buttons, the way his eyes darken when you get too close. You call him for every minor issue, each ticket a thinly veiled excuse to see him. He knows it, and he’s playing along, showing up in person even when he could resolve things remotely or send someone else. His sarcasm is sharper, but so is the heat in his gaze.

Monday morning, you’re chewing a pen cap, voice deliberately breathy as you call him. “Yoongi, I think I clicked something bad again…” You’re perched on your desk, skirt riding up just enough to be dangerous.

He arrives, tie loose, hair slightly mussed, looking like he’s already had three coffees and zero patience. He leans against your cubicle, arms crossed, glasses glinting. “Clicked something bad,” he repeats, voice dripping with skepticism. “What was it this time? Another ‘productivity’ site?”

You twirl the pen, letting it slip between your lips before answering. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted your expertise.”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping to a low growl. “My expertise? Or my attention?”

Your pulse spikes, but you hold his gaze, smirking. “Can’t it be both?”

He chuckles, dark and low, and slides into your chair, his knee brushing your thigh as he checks your laptop. “You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he mutters, but his fingers linger on the keyboard, brushing yours. “Keep this up, and I’ll start charging you for house calls.”

You lean in, close enough to smell his cologne. “What’s the price? Coffee? Dinner? Or… something else?”

His eyes flick to yours, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you right there, cubicle walls be damned. But he pulls back, adjusting his glasses. “You couldn’t afford me, princess.”

Tuesday, you up the ante. You wear a tighter blouse, top button undone, and submit a ticket: “Laptop lagging. Need urgent assistance.” He shows up, visibly fighting to keep his eyes on the screen. “Lagging,” he says, voice flat. “Or are you just fishing for compliments in that shirt?”

You gasp, mock-scandalized. “Min Yoongi, are you objectifying me?”

He leans closer, voice a dangerous whisper. “If I was, you’d know.” His fingers brush your wrist as he types, and you swear the air crackles. “Fixed. Try not to break it again by lunch.”

Wednesday, it’s a fake email issue. He’s at your desk in minutes, looking like he’s one ticket away from throttling you. “Your email’s fine,” he says, not even touching the keyboard. “What’s the real problem?”

You lean back, crossing your arms, pushing your chest out slightly. “Maybe I just missed you.”

He stares, jaw tight, then mutters, “You’re gonna be the death of me.” But he doesn’t leave. He lingers, pretending to check settings, his hand brushing yours again. “Stop looking at me like that,” he says, voice low.

“Like what?” you ask, all innocence, batting your lashes.

“Like you’re begging for something you can’t handle.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover, whispering, “Try me.”

He doesn’t answer, but his eyes burn, and you know you’re winning.

Then comes the fire drill, means everyone needs to evacuate building for around 30-40 minutes.

It’s the third one this month, alarms blaring, everyone groaning. You’re halfway to the exit when Yoongi grabs your arm, pulling you toward the server room. “Need to check something,” he says, voice clipped, but his grip is firm, possessive. You follow, heart racing, the chaos of the drill fading behind you.

The server room is a claustrophobic box of humming machinery, blinking lights, and stifling heat. The door clicks shut, auto-locking. It’s tiny, fans roaring, air heavy with static. You’re both sweating, your blouse clinging to your skin, his tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He leans against a rack, glasses fogging slightly, and growls, “You really don’t care about fire safety, huh? Following me in here like it’s nothing.”

You step closer, bold, reckless. “Maybe I just like tight spaces. Especially with you.”

His eyes darken, pupils blown. “You’re trouble,” he says, voice rough. “And you know it.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “And you’re not? Dragging me in here, all alone, no witnesses?”

He steps forward, closing the gap, his breath hot against your cheek. “Keep talking like that, and I’ll give you something to complain about besides your laptop.”

Your stomach flips, but you hold your ground, whispering, “Promise?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

The air in the server room is thick, charged. You’re inches apart, and you can’t resist pushing him. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been doing?” you tease, voice low. “Fixing my laptop so fast, showing up every time I call, even when you can do it remotely or can send someone else from your team. You’re obsessed.”

He snaps. “You think I’m obsessed?” His voice is rough, dangerous. “You’ve been downloading viruses, calling me for fake crashes, bending over your desk like it’s part of your job description.”

Your breath catches. He steps forward, crowding you against the server rack. The metal is warm against your back, cables brushing your arm. His hand grazes your waist, then slides under your skirt, fingers skimming the edge of your panties. “You want chaos?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll give you chaos.”

You gasp as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, finding you already wet. He groans, low and feral, and you’re done for. His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and desperation, tasting of coffee and something darker—need. You tug at his belt, fumbling, and he chuckles against your lips, dark and teasing. “Impatient.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, yanking his shirt free. His hands are everywhere—under your skirt, gripping your thighs, lifting you slightly so you’re perched on the edge of a rack.

The machinery hums, vibrating through you, amplifying every touch. He pushes your panties aside, fingers sliding inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right. You moan, loud, and his free hand clamps over your mouth.

“Quiet,” he growls, but his eyes are wild, pupils blown. “Unless you want the whole office to know you’re getting fucked in here.”

You bite his palm, and he curses, thrusting his fingers deeper. Your nails dig into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist. He’s hard against you, straining through his slacks, and you grind against him, desperate for more. He undoes his belt one-handed, freeing himself, and you nearly whimper at the sight—thick, flushed, and all for you.

He doesn’t wait. He pushes inside you, slow at first, letting you feel every inch. The stretch is exquisite, and you arch against the rack, cables tangling in your hair. He thrusts harder, deeper, the rhythm relentless, each movement sending sparks through your core. The fans drown out your gasps, but not the slick, obscene sounds of him moving inside you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, voice wrecked. His hands grip your hips, bruising, pulling you onto him with every thrust. You’re close, so close, and he knows it, angling just right to hit that spot that makes you see stars. Your orgasm hits like a wave, crashing through you, and you clench around him, trembling.

He’s not far behind. His thrusts grow erratic, and he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name as he spills inside you. You’re both panting, sweat-slicked, clinging to each other in the humming dark.

Then you shift, still dazed, and your elbow bumps the emergency restart button on the rack.

A low hum dies. Lights flicker. The servers reboot with a whine.

You freeze. Yoongi’s eyes widen. “Did you just—”

“Oops,” you whisper.

Monday morning is chaos. Emails flood in:

“Why did the servers reboot?” “We lost six hours of sales data.” “Also, someone left a bra in the server room.”

Yoongi’s inbox is a warzone, but he’s calm, typing responses with that infuriating deadpan.

You’re avoiding IT helpdesk department now, because the office is buzzing. Whispers follow you—your tickets get resolved suspiciously fast, and someone saw you leaving the helpdesk department, blouse misbuttoned.

It’s early afternoon, and you’ve locked yourself out of your laptop again—right before a client presentation, a bad habit of not remembering the password. You could’ve go to helpdesk, but you’re avoiding the department after the server room fiasco, terrified someone saw you. Instead, you text Yoongi directly on his personal contact:

“Locked out my laptop. Conference room. Help. Have client presentation in 1 hour.”

He storms in, tie askew, glasses slipping, looking like he’s ready to strangle you. “You forgot your password?” he snaps, slamming his admin laptop onto the conference table. “Again?”

You’re leaning against the table, blouse tight, top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of lace. “No,” you say, voice dripping with mischief. “I just wanted to see your face.”

His jaw clenches, but his eyes betray him, flicking to your chest before he catches himself. “You’re impossible,” he mutters, typing override commands with aggressive precision. You slide closer, letting your hip brush his, and murmur, “You know, no one uses this room until after 2.”

He freezes, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice low, but he doesn’t move away. You lean in, lips grazing his ear. “Good thing I like danger.”

That’s his breaking point. He spins, grabbing your waist, and pulls you under the table, out of sight of the glass walls. The projector hums to life, casting the company logo across the room, but you’re already on your knees, hands working his belt.

His breath hitches as you free him, stroking slowly, teasing the tip with your thumb. He’s thick, hard, and you can’t resist tasting him, tongue swirling around the head before taking him deep.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice barely a whisper, his hand fisting your hair. You move slowly at first, lips sliding along his length, savoring the way he twitches against your tongue. The projector light dances across your face, the hum masking your soft moans.

His hips jerk, pushing deeper, and you hollow your cheeks, taking him to the back of your throat. His grip tightens, guiding you, and you can feel him unraveling, his breaths ragged.

He pulls you up, voice wrecked. “Get up here.” He spins you, bending you over the table, your skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside. His fingers find you soaked, and he groans, teasing your entrance before sliding two fingers inside, curling them just right. You gasp, gripping the table’s edge, the wood cool against your heated skin. “Yoongi,” you whimper, and he chuckles, dark and low.

“You wanted my attention,” he murmurs, withdrawing his fingers to replace them with his cock. He pushes in slowly, letting you feel every inch, the stretch making your thighs tremble. He grips your hips, thrusting hard, the table creaking with every movement.

The projector flickers, casting distorted light across your back as he fucks you, relentless, each thrust hitting that spot that makes you see stars. His hand slides up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper in your ear. “You feel so fucking good.”

You’re close, the pressure building, and he knows it, angling his hips to hit deeper. Your orgasm crashes through you, and you clench around him, gasping his name. He follows, pulling out just in time to spill across your thighs, his breaths heavy against your neck.

He zips up, adjusting his glasses. “Next time you lock yourself out,” he pants, “I’m locking you in instead.”

You’ve been avoiding the IT department like the plague, terrified of the rumors swirling after the server room incident. But your laptop’s battery is genuinely overheating now, the fan screaming like it’s possessed.

You try to fix it yourself, but every troubleshooting guide fails, and you’re forced to face the inevitable: you need Yoongi. Emailing him feels too risky—too many eyes on the network—so you swallow your fear and head to IT, clutching your laptop like a shield.

The department is quiet, most of the team out for lunch. Yoongi’s at his desk, headphones on, typing furiously. You hesitate, heart pounding, but you need this fixed before your afternoon meeting. You clear your throat, and he looks up, eyebrows raising behind his glasses. “You,” he says, pulling off his headphones. “Thought you were avoiding me.”

You blush, setting the laptop down. “Battery’s overheating. It’s real this time.”

He smirks, leaning back in his swivel chair. “Real, huh? Not just another excuse to get me alone?”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse races. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

He stands, locking the office door with a casual flick of his wrist. “Break hours,” he says, pointing to a handwritten sign taped to the door: “IT Lunch Break: 12-1 PM.”

“Can’t have anyone walking in on us troubleshooting.”

Your stomach flips, but you play it cool, perching on the edge of his desk. “So, you gonna fix it or just stare at me?”

He steps closer, crowding your space, his voice dropping. “You mean you’re overheating.” His fingers brush your knee, and you shiver, skirt riding up as you shift. He’s right—you’re burning up, even more than your laptop.

You grab his tie, pulling him closer, and kiss him hard. He groans, hands sliding to your waist, lifting you onto his lap as he sits back in the chair. The blinds are half-open, light chatter drifting from the hall, but the locked door gives you courage. Your skirt hikes up, and his hands find your thighs, squeezing as you grind against him, feeling him harden beneath you.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters, lips trailing down your neck. You fumble with his belt, freeing him, and he’s already tugging your panties aside. His fingers tease you, circling your clit before sliding inside, slow and deliberate. You gasp, rocking against his hand, and he smirks, voice low. “Keep making those sounds, and the whole department’s gonna need help.”

You bite your lip, trying to stay quiet as you sink onto him, the stretch making your head spin. He’s thick, filling you completely, and you rock your hips, slow at first, savoring the way he grips your waist.

He’s on a call now, headset on, voice infuriatingly calm as he says, “Yeah… just another quick fix. Shouldn’t take long.” You clench around him, and he stifles a groan, pretending to adjust his headset.

You lean forward, whispering in his ear, “Liar.” He thrusts up hard, making you gasp, and you ride him faster, the chair creaking under you. His fingers dig into your hips, guiding you, and you’re both teetering on the edge. The blinds cast slatted shadows across your bodies, the risk of being caught only heightening the thrill.

You come first, trembling, biting his shoulder to muffle your moan, and he follows, thrusting deep, spilling inside you as he mutters, “Fixed,” into the mic.

You collapse against him, panting, and he kisses your temple, voice soft. “You’re gonna get us both fired.”

The rumors hit critical mass by Wednesday. Your tickets are resolved before anyone else’s, and the whispers are deafening. Someone saw you adjusting your skirt outside helpdesk department again.

HR calls you both in, and you’re sweating, heart pounding as you sit across from the stern-faced manager. Your job—your first real job, the start of your career—feels like it’s slipping through your fingers. You’re 22, barely out of college, and the thought of being fired for “unprofessional conduct” makes your stomach churn.

The manager peers over her glasses. “Is there a reason her tickets are prioritized, Yoongi?”

He leans back, glasses glinting, voice calm as ever. “She breaks things a lot. I’m just thorough.”

You nod, throat tight, barely breathing. The manager’s eyes flick to you, and you force a smile, but your hands are trembling in your lap. “We’ve noticed… irregularities,” she says.

Your heart stops. Yoongi’s knee brushes yours under the table, a small anchor, but it’s not enough. You’re spiraling, imagining unemployment, blacklisted from every corporate job, your career dead before it started.

After the meeting, you’re a wreck, avoiding Yoongi’s gaze as you hurry to your cubicle. He catches up to you in the hall, pulling you into an empty stairwell. His hands are on your shoulders, firm but gentle, and his voice is low, urgent. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, eyes stinging. “I can’t lose this job, Yoongi. I just started. I—”

“You’re not losing anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’ve been through this—corporate bullshit, getting blamed for things that aren’t your fault. I won’t let that happen to you.” His thumbs brush your arms, grounding you. “We need to cool it at the office. No more server rooms, no more conference tables. Not because I want to stop, but because I won’t let you go through what I did. Your career’s just starting. I’m not gonna fuck that up for you.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “But… what about us?”

He softens, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “My place. After hours. I do repairs there too.” He leans closer, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I’m not letting you go, princess. Not now, not ever.”

It’s Friday night, and you’re at Yoongi’s apartment, a small, cozy space with exposed brick and mismatched furniture, a stark contrast to the sterile office. He’s cooking—actual cooking, not just microwaving ramen.

The kitchen smells of garlic and sesame oil, and he’s stirring a pan of japchae, sleeves rolled up, glasses fogging from the steam. You’re perched on the counter, swinging your legs, watching him move with quiet precision.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, not looking up. “You’re distracting me.”

You grin, stealing a noodle from the pan. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re domestic.”

He snorts, but his cheeks pink slightly, and you feel a warmth that has nothing to do with the stove. He plates the food, handing you a bowl, and insists on feeding you the first bite, chopsticks hovering at your lips.

“Open,” he says, voice soft, and you do, letting the flavors burst on your tongue. His eyes are on you, warm, unguarded, and you realize this is a side of him the office never sees.

You eat in comfortable silence, sitting cross-legged on his couch, a soft lo-fi playlist humming in the background. When the dishes are cleared, he pulls you into his lap, arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. It’s quiet, intimate, and you feel the weight of something unspoken.

“Yoongi,” you say, tracing circles on his wrist. “Why are you so… cold at work? I know it’s not the real you.”

He tenses, then sighs, his breath warm against your neck. “Ten years ago, I was a cybersecurity hotshot at a big tech firm. Thought I was untouchable. Then a system crashed—major project, millions lost. Wasn’t my fault, but they needed a scapegoat."

" I got dragged through the mud, humiliated, fired. Landed here to lay low, avoid the corporate bullshit. I hate the politics, the small talk, the way people treat you like a machine. So I shut down. Keep my distance. It’s easier.”

You turn, cupping his face, thumbs brushing his cheeks. “But you’re not distant with me.”

He looks at you, eyes soft, vulnerable. “You’re different. You’re reckless, restless, like I was back then. You don’t treat me like a tool—you tease, you challenge, you see me. First time in years I didn’t feel like I was rusting away.” His voice cracks slightly, and he pulls you closer, forehead against yours. “You bring color to my life, princess. I didn’t know I needed that until you.”

Your heart aches, and you kiss him, slow and sweet, tasting salt and warmth. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and he smiles, real and unguarded, pulling you against his chest.

“You better not,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “Because I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

A/n: Well recently I raised a ticket regarding my email's not working and somehow this idea popped in my mind. But why my office IT Helpdesk doesn't have Min Yoongi? 😩

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

#yoongi #agust d #yoongi fanfic #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi bts #bts smut #suga x reader #suga smut #bts suga #kittenanwrites #suga

242 notes · View notes

in-silver-lake · 1 month ago

Text

strong

synopsis: you sign up for a self-defense class, and your teacher - well, let's just say you won't be missing a single class if you can help it. cw: none really, very very small mention of being in uncomfortable situations at the beginning, billie's a self-defense instructor, just read ig? not proofread, like at all ummm a/n: planning on writing a part 2, i got so excited about this idea, but could not for the life of me think of a better title. 2.3k

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚.°

i pushed open the glass doors, stepping into the bright-white lights of the gym, the air inside smelling faintly of sweat and disinfectant wipes. the walls were painted a charcoal gray, the floors covered in matching rubber mats. to my right i could see rows of machines and stacks of free weights, to my left was the boxing gym, i assumed, if the punching bags hung in the middle of the room and the speed bags lining the walls were anything to go by.

i approached the front desk, meeting the eyes of the purple-haired receptionist, absentmindedly admiring the stacks of silver piercings that adorn her ears, my eyes flicking down to read her name, becca, embroidered on her polo shirt.

swallowing before i spoke, i said, “hi, i signed up for the eight-thirty self defense class?”

her eyes flicked up and down once as she took me in, her fingers pausing from her rapid typing on her phone.

“name?” she asked, sounding completely disinterested.

“oh, sorry, yeah,” i nervously chuckled, before giving her my name. oh my god, why am i so awkward?

she looked over to the computer screen in front of her, long acrylic nails clicking against the keyboard briefly before she reached under her desk, pulling out a card from a drawer and placing in on the bench in front of me.

“this is your membership card. just tap it over there to walk through the barrier. you need it to use the lockers too. If you loose it there’s a fee for a replacement,” she droned, reciting a spiel she had clearly given a thousand times before. “your class is over on that side, there are lockers along the back wall” she continued, flicking her hand in the vague direction of all the boxing equipment.

“alright, thank you,” i said, snatching up my card and adjusting my bag strap on my shoulder as i walked over to a row of lockers, fumbling with the locking system for a little too long.

i had signed up for this class late the other night, heart still pounding a little too fast, my neck still coated in cold sweat, fresh out of a nightmare, and thoroughly sick of feeling uncomfortably vulnerable and unsafe everytime i walked at night by myself without a guy next to me, everytime i hit away wandering hands. so, i signed up at this gym. it was close to my house, had good reviews, and had classes that ran at night - pretty much all i needed.

once i had figured out the unnecessarily complex locking mechanism on my locker, i turned around, fiddling with my water bottle and checking my phone before i walked over to the empty corner that had a few rows of mats already set up for the class. i sat on an empty one in the back corner, smoothing my hand over the orange foam surface. i looked around, seeing that everyone else in this class was some variation of a middle-aged woman. perfect.

“alright guys, you’re all here for the self defense course, yeah?”

i turned my head at the sound of the low, feminine voice of who apparently was my teacher, and my breath caught in my throat because holy shit.

her shiny black hair glistened slightly underneath the gym lights, pulled back by a black bandana. a few pieces escaped, framing a perfect, pale face, full, pink lips, and the delicate curve of her nose. her eyes, pale blue and piercing, carefully observed the group. and her body - this woman was built. she wore a dark red muscle tank, showing off the distinct curve of her biceps and forearms, the defined lines of her muscle a clear show of her strength. her loose basketball shorts stopped just under her knees, and her calf muscles flexed with every step she took as she came to stand in front of the group. she radiated confidence and a steady sort of calm and safety that was intoxicating.

“hi everyone, i’m billie, i’m gonna be your instructor for the next few weeks,” she introduced herself, lips falling into an easy smile. “alright, we’re gonna start with a little warm-up. i want everyone to bring their arm across their chest…”

along with everyone else, i stood on my mat and started copying her actions as she lead us, demonstrating a few stretches, trying and failing not to stare too hard as her arms flexed with every movement.

“nice!” she celebrated, sitting down on her mat after finishing the warm up, gesturing for everyone to do the same. she settled down, reaching for her water bottle, and said “how about everyone introduces themselves? i’m billie, as you know, and i’ve been teaching classes here for a few years now, mostly boxing and self-defense. my brother, finneas, actually owns this gym - but i promise there was no nepotism involved when i was hired! um…oh! i have a dog named shark, he’s a rescue pitbull and the most loyal dog you’ll ever meet.” she grinned especially wide at that last part, before gesturing to lady in front of her to continue. i listened as most of the women introduced themselves, most talking about their children or their partners, and i couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. eventually, everyone had spoken but me, and i looked up to meet billie’s eyes, her expression open and curious she leaned back, one arm brought up to rest on her bent knee.

“oh, um, hi, everyone,” i said, stuttering ever so slightly as everyone turned to face me. i said my name, muttered something about what college i went to and the biology course i was doing. when i was done, billie clapped her hands together and faced the class, but i didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered on me for a split second too long, desperately trying to ignore the slight flush that brought to my cheeks.

she pulled up one of the women from the front row and demonstrated a few basic moves, like how to pull your arm from someone’s grip, how to best adjust your stance and your weight, before instructing us to pair off and try it for ourselves. i found myself opposite kathleen, a forty-something-year old who, if i remembered correctly, had two kids in high school and was currently working in human resources. it was a little awkward, practicing a movement that required so much physical touch with a stranger, but we both just focused on the task, making polite small talk. billie made her way slowly around the room, carefully watching each pair practice and giving feedback.

as hard as i tried, i just couldn’t do the move right, never quite being able to free myself from kathleen’s grip when it was my turn to practice. i was increasingly aware of billie as she drew closer to our corner of the room, my heart rate inexplicably climbing slightly as she walked up to us. she watched me with careful concentration, eyes focused on my body as i tried once again to execute the move, but i still couldn’t twist my arm away like how she had demonstrated. my face flushed involuntarily with embarrassment which was in no way alleviated by the fact that the most attractive person i had seen in my life was standing less than a foot away.

“i don’t know what i’m doing - am i moving my arm right?” i asked, my eyes meeting her piercing blue ones, a tinge of desperation seeping into my voice.

“no, you’ve got that part down perfectly, it’s just the way you’re stood, the way you’re distributing your weight that’s screwing you up,” she responded. “can i?” she asked me, eyebrows raised and hands lifted, gesturing to my hips. only after i answered with a yeah, sure did she move to stand behind me, resting her hands gently but firmly on my waist as she nudged my body to twist slightly. she was saying something about posture or stance, but i wasn’t really paying attention, too preoccupied with the way her touch made goosebumps erupt across my skin, suddenly extremely grateful that i had opted to wear a baggy shirt rather than a sports bra. from this close i could smell her cologne, the distinctly masculine scent of something musky and incense-y engulfing my senses. if i concentrated hard enough, i could feel the warm whisper of her breath dancing across the back of my neck as she spoke. i only refocused when i felt her hands pull away from my waist, brushing against my back ever so slightly as she stepped back, a strange, cold absence replacing the places where her hands were just touching.

“okay, try it now,” she said, stepping back as she offered me an encouraging smile. She crossed her arms against her chest, toned biceps once again on display in a movement that i shouldn't've found as attractive as i did. my eyes lingered for a split second too long, and i swear i saw the ghost of a smirk dance across her lips before i turned away. this time, when i tried the movement, i was able to pull my arm away with surprising ease, and an unbelieving smile burst across my face as i thanked her, my voice a little breathless.

“you don’t need to thank me, you were already more than capable,” she grinned, my excitement at realising what i could do mirrored in her own eyes. she watched me practice the move a little more, praising me with every successful attempt. my confidence grew with every time, my smile growing wider and wider. eventually, she peeled her eyes away from me and walked back to the front of the class.

“alright everyone, that’s it for today’s class, thanks for coming - i’ll see you all next week!”

at her dismissal, everyone dispersed, collecting their belongings and calling out thank yous as they left. i, however, was caught up fumbling with my locker as, apparently, the device had decided to get no easier to understand in the hour since i put my bag in there. after a few minutes of fiddling, the room now empty, i heard a soft giggle from behind me and a voice that asked, “you need a little help?”

i turned around, frustration on my face as i breathed a grateful yes, please, handing my keys to billie.

“are these lockers really this hard to use or am i just being a little stupid?” i huffed, leaning against the wall as i watched her fiddle with my card for less than a second before the locker popped open.

“right, so option number two,” i laughed, shaking my head slightly as i reached past her to grab my bag, finally freed from its prison.

she chuckled, lips stretching into a humoured grin as she looked at me, “i mean, it took me a while to get the hang of as well…” she tried.

“it’s alright, you don’t have to make me feel better, i can acknowledge my flaws,” i replied. that made her let out a real, loud laugh and throw her head back, and i couldn’t tear my eyes away from the movement, an immediate need to make her laugh like that again and again shooting through me and settling deep in my chest. i didn’t even really know her yet, but god, i wanted to.

“are you heading home now?” she asked me, falling into step beside me as i slowly walked towards the door, wanting to drag out my time with her as much as i could.

“yeah, i just gotta walk a few blocks to my car, i couldn’t find parking nearby before,” i replied, slinging my bag over my shoulder. i watched her eyebrows draw together, eyes briefly flickering to the clock on the wall that now read ten-thirty, a ghost of something like concern flashing across her face.

“let me walk you to your car?” she asked, eyes hopeful.

“oh, oh no, that’s okay, you don’t need to, i’ll be fine,” i tried to assure her.

“c’mon, please? i’ll feel better seeing you get there myself,” she responded, pleading, with not a moment of hesitation. in the moment i didn’t recognise the implication of her statement, the hidden i want to see you safe, the i care about you.

and so, we both set out through the car park, the winter air cold and biting, making me pull my jacket around myself a little tighter. i eyed her tank and shorts incredulously, “aren’t you freezing right now?”

she looked at me for a moment, confused, before she followed my line of sight to her clothes.

“no, i mean, i just don’t get cold easily, i suppose,” she responded, humour dancing in her eyes as she saw the way my arms wrapped around myself in an attempt to stay warm.

for the short walk back to my car, she asks me all about myself, about school, my job, never once loosing interest, eyes never leaving my face as she absorbed every word i spoke. her expression was always open, wanting to listen, and it warmed something in me that she was genuinely interested to learn more about me. i asked her about boxing and the gym, and she told me about how she used to compete in boxing competitions, eyes lighting up as she reminisced. she spoke about how, even though she loved it, the strict training regimes were a lot, and she decided she wanted a little more freedom in her life, so she started working at the gym as an instructor.

eventually, we made it into my car, a small blue hyundai hatchback. i couldn’t help but imagine billie driving this car, doubtful that her tall frame and thick muscles would even fit in the drivers seat.

“well, this is my car. thanks for walking me over, billie, i appreciate it,” i said, feeling unreasonably disappointed at the prospect of leaving her, especially given the fact that i only met her a few hours ago.

“ok, well, drive safe, yeah? i’ll see you next week,” she grinned, waiting until i got into my care before turning to walk away, but not without looking over her shoulder for one last, lingering glance.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfic #fanfic #wlw #wlw fluff

185 notes · View notes

pinksugarscrub · 3 months ago

Text

Headcannons

Batboys x meta! Reader

Synopsis: I finished the main storyline for Gotham Knights and need some fluff in my life (Talia sucks). So here's Jason, Dick, and Tim with a bat mutant reader.

*Can be read as romantic or platonic, you be the judge.

Words: 700 +

Warnings: None

Jason Todd

In the beginning Jason tried really hard to dislike you, he did.

If he was seen being soft with you he’d never beat the allegations he was a bat through and through.

But then your ears were flopping as tears flooded your vision because someone called you a less than polite term for being a meta.

Yes he beat them up as a civilian and he’d do it again.

He likes your ears the most because they perfectly display your emotions.

Reading your expressions and attending to your needs makes him feel important.

His heart grows a little fuller everytime you say thank you and come to him for anything ranging from advice to a shoulder to cry on.

He makes fun of your poor eyesight despite your echolocation being an asset on missions.

You scare the crap out of him by hanging from the ceiling. He never hears you and you pop up seemingly from thin air.

Despite having a large wingspan and long pointed ears, Jason is still taller than you.

He makes sure your nutritional needs are met depending on the type of bat hybrid you are. Fruit, meat, etc.

He won’t admit it but every time you spread your wings to shield him either as a joke or on a mission he’s melting.

Jason’s used to being strong so having someone protect him on first instinct and actually be physically capable is mind boggling.

The Outlaws love you just as much if not more and it pisses Jason off when they hog you

Dick Grayson

Bat jokes. Bat puns. Lots of them.

He has some already in his arsenal because of Bruce but it’s just ten times worse.

When he looks at you with that grin and glint in his eyes you know you’re in for the cheesiest dad joke of your life.

He likes to tease you about being a vampire while pulling on your cheek to see your smile (canines).

Plays with your wings just like he did with Batman’s cape as Robin. He even deepens his voice.

He will not tolerate any slander about you in or out of costume.

People at galas and charities know to steer clear of any topic relating to you or metas unless they want an eight hour lecture and powerpoint presentation.

His nicknames or pet names are the worst. Usually a play on words or an outdated term from the eighteenth century.

Talks like he’s in a Shakespearean play when you’re in a sour mood because it makes you laugh.

He does not like to be flown around. None of the bats really do but on occasion he’ll let you parade him around.

He’s happy you and Garfield get along so well when he brings you with him on a visit to the Titans. Not to mention the rest of team.

Loves hugging you because your wings wrap around him like a blanket.

He will never forgive you and Wally for dragging him around like a ragdoll just prove who could get him to missons faster.

Tim Drake

You’re both on a separate time zone compared to the rest of the world.

3 AM snack trips are a must, especially on patrol.

You both buy each other energy drinks or coffee to get through the morning. Especially if you stayed up longer than usual.

Yes you’ve used your fangs to open a can when the tab was missing. It did not go well.

You’re the only one who understands his system of disorganization and commonly help him find things he’s lost in stacks of case files.

Studies you almost constantly because your abilities are so fascinating. There’s definitely a file on his computer dedicated to you. (*cough* Deku coded *cough*)

Insists on you getting glasses despite how well you maneuver throughout the manor and the world for that matter because you accidently walked into a wall once.

He has the most unhinged photos of you where the lense is .5 and your eyes are glowing. It’s his screensaver and the pictures change every few months.

Whenever he wants something from Bruce he sends you with the most heart wrenching puppy dog eyes because the old man has a soft spot for you.

Is always awestruck when he watches you fight. Then he’s got a smug grin on his face when he notices everyone else on the team is just as mesmerized.

You and Kon get along swimmingly.

One day you decided you wanted to get your ears pieced so you asked Kon for help. That was the most traumatizing experience for Tim.

He couldn't stand to see you in pain even if it was only for a moment.

After getting over the initial panic he thought you looked really nice with the new accesories.

#dc imagine #dcu #dcu comics #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red hood #red robin #red robin x reader #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing x you

226 notes · View notes

writing-girlie · 2 months ago

Text

Crossing lines

Pairing: James Wilson x Fem! Coworker Reader

Blurb: James chooses you to come along to a conference but a messed up hotel booking leaves you sharing a bed.

WC: 2k

Warnings: Smut, One bed

Note: Not 100% edited so forgive any mistakes

You arrive at the hotel after your flight was delayed by a couple of hours.

“Booking for Dr. James Wilson, two rooms,” he says, both of you ready for a smooth check-in. The receptionist tilts her head, a look of hesitation crossing her face as she types.

“Just one moment, please,” Her fingers continue to quickly move over the keyboard. “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s only one room available.”

James frowns, his voice tinged with frustration. “But I booked two rooms. I double and triple-checked that.”

“I understand,” she replies, still apologetic. “The system says the same thing but we must have overbooked because a guest checked into one of those rooms this morning. And unfortunately all other rooms are booked.”

“It’s fine,” he says, his voice calm, he couldn't be bothered arguing or changing hotels. “You okay with it?”

You shrug, trying to make light of the situation. “Sure. It’s just a bed.” You follow him to the room, and despite the inconvenience, the suite is stunning. Floor to ceiling windows stretch across the far wall, revealing a view of the city and the river below. Along with a balcony has two chairs perfectly placed to take it all in.

The bathroom is as luxurious as the rest of the room, with marble countertops and soft lighting. The shower is large, like enough for two people with extra room, large, enclosed by glass.

“You can go first” you nod towards the bathroom.

“Thanks,” he says softly, sliding the door closed. You step out onto the balcony, The cool evening breeze greets you as you step outside. You lean against the railing, taking in the view. For a few moments, you lose yourself in the beauty of the cityscape.

You hear the door open, you glance back toward the room. He steps out, looking much more relaxed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, his hair slightly damp from the shower.

You turn your attention back to the view for a moment, before heading inside and into the bathroom. The faint scent of his aftershave lingers in the air, mixing with the warmth of the room. You don't take too long before changing into your pj's. The shirt is flimsy and the shorts are shorter than you'd usually wear but you didn’t expect anyone to see them.

When you step out of the bathroom, James is sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up, his eyes flicker downward, and then back to your face.

You linger by the door for a moment before walking around to the other side of the bed and sliding under the covers. You were tired from working through the day, and then waiting around at the airport. Tomorrow was going to be an early start so you decided to just settle for the night. After a while James also gets in. The bed is more than big enough, but the space still feels strangely small.

“Goodnight,” He says with a yawn. You turn your head slightly toward him, catching the faint outline of his face in the dim light. “Goodnight” you whisper back.

You stared up at the ceiling for a while, quietly pretending you weren’t both hyper-aware of the other’s breathing. Or the way the bed shifted with every movement.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You begin to wake due to the streams of soft light that pour through the cracks of the curtains. They softly bump into each other, as you had left the balcony door open a little for fresh air. You can feel the coolness hit your face only then do you realise how cozy the rest of you feels.

You realise the arm around your waist.

His palm rests against your stomach, fingers relaxed just under the hem of your shirt, where it had ridden up.

You feel the soft rise and fall of his chest, pressed to your back. His breath on your shoulder. One of his knees is tucked behind yours, his body curved perfectly into yours.

Apart from soft breathing you don't move an inch. Not from fear, you're just not sure you want this to be over. Last night, you both made a point of keeping to your sides of the bed, and sometime during the night, that boundary disappeared.

As if he had sensed that you were awake he woke up, also taking a moment before he came to.

“Shit- Sorry” his voice is lower than normal.

“Don't be, it's actually... it’s kind of nice.” That's enough that he doesn't move his arm away.

“Nice?” He repeats, a little surprised. You nod although not facing him..

“Yeah. You’re warm. It’s comfortable.” You wait a beat before turning in his arms, slowly rolling to face him. There’s a moment of rustling sheets and shifting limbs. You meet his eyes for the first time and they look softer than you've ever seen them.

“Hi” you say, barely above a whisper.

“Hi” He echoes, a faint smile on his lips.

“You were talking in your sleep”

His brow lifts, just a little. “Was I?”

You nod. “Something about your suitcase getting lost. You sounded very stressed.”

“That's embarrassing," he mutters, his voice muffled by your skin.

You laugh, soft and breathless. “It was kind of cute, actually.” He lifts his head enough to look at you, one brow raised skeptically.

“Cute? Me panicking over lost luggage is cute to you?”

“You sounded so serious about it.” biting back another laugh.

“If I'd known you thought I was cute, I might’ve skipped the whole ‘stay on your side of the bed’ thing.”

“Oh, so you admit it. You wanted to cross the line.” You raise your eyebrows.

He shrugs slightly. “I wasn't gonna stop it if it happened”

Before either of you can say anything else, a shrill alarm cuts the silence, buzzing insistently on your nightstand. You both flinch a little.

James groans quietly and lets his arm slip away from your waist, rolling onto his back.

“Guess that’s our cue,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“The conference waits for no one.”You sigh, reaching to silence the alarm.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and James sit across from each other at one of the slim white tables. The morning slips; a haze of lectures and polite applause. You stayed close during the lunch break, talking to people James had previously crossed paths with. You can feel an ache building in your feet, like the shoes are a size too small.

When you find your seats again you slip your heels off and stretch your legs out, deciding to rest your feet onto his lap, crossing one over the other.

James glances down, then at you, eyebrows raised slightly. You pout at him.

"My feet hurt."

He shakes his head before his hand finds your ankle, his thumb drags slowly along the bone.

The afternoon drags on, and when the final speaker wraps up, a low murmur of relief rolls through the crowd. You slip your feet off his lap and back into your shoes and place your bag on the table. Without hesitation James reaches over and grabs the bag.

"You don't have to"

He gives you a look, one brow raised. "Humour me” You don't argue with him, and you leave the conference pretty quickly. Your hand brushes against his while you walk back to the hotel. The sidewalk is cracked and uneven, and you lose balance momentarily. Before you can stumble forward, James grabs your forearm, steadying you.

"Falling for me already, huh?"

"You wish." You shake your head, biting back a grin.

When you get to the room the door shuts with a soft click. The tension sits heavy between the two of you, a complete 180 from the night before. You don’t spare him a glance as you put your stuff away, afraid you might say or do something you’ll later regret. But James doesn’t think that way, He knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to try.

You turn to head for the bathroom, maybe to pretend you're busy, maybe just to breathe but James stops you. His hand wraps around your wrist, you look down at the contact.

"Look at me" he says, voice low. You do and instantly regret it, because there's no room to hide in his eyes.

“James...” Your breath catches in your throat.

“I just want to know if you feel it too.” You nod. His gaze flickers down to your lips for a moment, and then back to your eyes, searching, asking for permission. Without a word you lean forward just enough that he can’t mistake your intent. His hand slides from your wrist to the small of your back, pulling you toward him as he closes the gap between you. His lips find yours in an instant, soft at first, like he’s testing the waters.

The kiss quickly grows more urgent, the need between you both undeniable. His hands come up to cradle your face and yours find his shirt, curling it in your fingers to ground yourself. Your head spins as his lips move to your neck, kissing and biting, marking you with an urgency that makes your pulse spike.

He guides you until your legs hit the bed, and you slowly fall back against the sheets with him following, never breaking contact. You work on getting his tie and shirt off and he removes yours, pulling it over your head. You get your bra off while he works on his pants, it’s rushed, neither of you wanting to wait a second more.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs against your skin, kissing along your neck again.

“Then show me.” That was all he needed to hear, he yanks your skirt down and just hooks his finger around your panties, moving them aside before pushing himself in, slowly. He starts to move; slow, deep, every shift of his hips deliberate. One of his hands roams all over your body, like he wants no part of you untouched.

“Give me your hands” he breathes out, next to your ear. You raise your hands above your head crossed over the other and his roaming hand comes up and engulfs your wrists. “Good Girl” He kisses the corner of your lips, you pucker, wanting a proper one, which he happily gives. You moan into his mouth.

"James..." you whimper into the kiss, your voice a mix of plea and desire. He responds with a low growl, his hips moving with more urgency, each thrust deeper and more intense than the last.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, his voice rough with emotion. "Completely mine." You nod.

“Yours” You arch your back and he keeps his pace but thrusts harder, a surprised gasp leaving your lips. “Fuck, I love you James. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? Love you too, the first day I saw you. God! Knew you were prettiest girl ever” His words sent warmth through you. He was fucking you so good and the sincerity of his words felt so real, the way he looked at you with those soft, brown eyes made you crumble. You would believe every word he said without hesitation. His pace begins to become messier and you squirm underneath him.

“Please, I'm gonna cum. Need to, please.” You softly beg. He responds with a deep, possessive growl, his grip on your wrists tightening.

"Let go, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "Let go with me." Waves of pleasure wash over you, leaving you breathless. He continues to grind against you as you come down, your legs shake slightly.

You stretch your head up to kiss him. He doesn’t move, just rests his body weight on you, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs and sheets. He releases your wrists, his hands gently cupping your face as he kisses you softly, tenderly.

"I meant it by the way, I love you,"

"I love you too, James.”

As you both lie there, breathless and entwined, you can't help but smile at the thought that crosses your mind. He looks at you skeptically.

“I think we should test if that shower is still comfortable with two people”

He doesn't need any convincing. With a swift movement, he scoops you up into his arms, making you giggle in surprise as he carries you to the bathroom.

#james wilson smut #james wilson x reader #house smut #house md x reader #house md smut #james wilson fanfiction #house fanfiction #James Wilson

257 notes · View notes

nikkeora · 3 months ago

Text

It's 2 a.m. and you're sitting in some dingy bar in the bad side of town, hand covering your fifth? drink of the night.

It's a little hole in the wall no one really knows but always stumbles into whenever they need it. You’ve only been in here twice before. The bartender is an older woman with not much makeup save for a dark brownish rouge on her lips. She’s nice enough, though. She gave you a bowl of cheap candy after your third drink.

Your eyes fall on the man on the far side of the counter. He's almost impossible to miss, what with being one of the three other people there, but he's also massive, which doesn't really help him blend into the shadows of the corner he's sitting in. His hair's in need of a trim, a little shaggy in some parts and almost covering his eyes, but it's clean and fluffy in a way that makes you want to run your hand through it. He's in a hoodie that's a little oversized even for him. Prime estate for any girl/boyfriend.

You've been staring a little too long, though. Seemingly feeling your gaze, his eyes flick up, meeting yours through the white strands in the way. He looks tired. Not too tired to send a glare your way, though.

But he’s pretty, so you decide he’s interesting.

Taking your glass and your candy, you walk the long, wobbly journey to his end of the table. The bartender keeps an eye on you, probably deciding to cut you off for the night. Bummer. In hindsight though, she probably should have done that a while ago. The hangover’s going to kill you tomorrow.

The man doesn’t acknowledge you when you sit down on the stool next to him. He doesn’t bat an eye when you keep staring either.

You scrunch your nose a little when the smell hits. “You smoke?”

You wonder if he’s just going to keep ignoring you when he shifts a little, angling himself away from you. “..go away.”

You rest your hand on your palm, taking a candy from your bowl and sliding it towards him. “It’s bad for you, y’know.”

“I don’t care. Go away.”

“Sweet things help.”

“Leave me alone.”

His voice is deep, but not in an ‘I chain smoke every day’ kind of way. Puberty must’ve hit like a bitch. A social smoker then, maybe. He doesn’t seem the social type though.

You sigh, taking a piece of candy for yourself. Your friends are social smokers. Well, ex-friends, but that sounds kinda silly. It’s a little melted and it sticks to your teeth and tastes like fruit flavored plastic. You shrug and enjoy it anyway.

You can feel him watching you out of the corner of his eye. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to be left alone, you’re not that oblivious. The alcohol in your system makes you bolder, though. And apparently makes your stranger danger alarm go away, because you suddenly realize you’re sitting next to a grown ass man you don’t even know, and who’s twice the size of any guy you’ve seen around. Normal you would have left the bar as soon as he walked in. It’s Gotham, after all. Never too safe.

“…how many of those have you had?” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you go to answer but have to finish chewing first. You’d apparently stopped when you drifted off.

“Like… at least two,” you shrug, glancing at the small bowl. It had been nearly full when the bartender had given it to you. Now it’s just about half empty. “Yep. Definitely at least two.”

He looks at you like you’re stupid. Rude. “..I can see that.”

“Your hair’s white.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Stressed much?”

Again, no answer.

“I am.” Your arms are crossed in the table now, and you lay your head on top. “Wanna know why?”

“No.”

“I cut off all my friends.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean ‘no, I don’t care.’”

“They were real toxic.”

“Okay.”

“Shoulda done it sooner.”

“Sure.”

You grab another candy. His eyebrows raise the slightest bit.

“Those are bad for you.” He says, a little gruffly.

“So’s smoking.”

“That’s different.”

“I’ll stop these when you stop smoking.”

“It’s different.”

He runs a hand through his hair, and you get a clear look at his eyes for the first time. They’re such a pretty green. Or maybe blue. What was the color… teal? Cyan? Either way, they’re pretty. You tell him so.

“You’re pretty.” Your words come out a little dazed. You swear his eyes are glowing in the dim light.

He frowns at your words, gaze a little sharper now. “I’m not.”

Well that’s just ridiculous. “You are.”

“Stop it.”

“Is this some toxic masculinity thing?”

“Shut up.”

“But-”

“I’m not pretty,” he grits out. There’s a finality in his voice that makes you hesitant to push. You notice him looking down at his hands, closed around his nearly untouched glass of whiskey. Not much of a drinker usually, then? Must’ve had a bad day. You also notice the scars littering his skin. His knuckles are the worst, but that’s really only because they’re cut and bruised, not fully healed like the backs of his hands.

“..you fight much?” You ask, a little quieter now. His fingers twitch, like he’s trying not to pull the sleeves of his hoodie up to cover the entirety of his hands.

“What’s it to you?”

“I fought too.”

“With your friends?”

You can’t help but smile at that. “So you were listening.”

“Wasn’t.”

“Sure.” You’re silent for a moment before you down the rest of your own drink, squinting at the bitter burn at the back of your tongue. “..yeah. With my friends. Lotta screaming. My throat hurts..” you pause, “..alcohol probably isn’t helping.”

He’s looking at you. “…no.”

“No as in ‘I don’t care’?”

He shakes his head. You swear there’s almost a smile ln his lips. It’s probably your alcohol-ridden brain seeing things where they aren’t. “No as in, ‘no, alcohol probably isn’t helping.’”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I have common sense.”

“Do you, though?”

“You calling me dumb?”

“I’m calling you drunk.”

You giggle. “Maybe.”

“No, not ‘maybe’,” he rolls his eyes again, glancing at the bartender when she comes over to take your empty glass. “Jess is cutting you off.”

So her name is Jess. You squint at her as she puts your glass in the sink. Suits her.

You reach for another piece of candy when he takes the bowl away from you. “I’m cutting you off, too.”

You groan. “But why though..”

“You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.”

“So give it back.”

“No.” So bossy.

You glare at him. Some of his hair falls back in front of his eyes. “..you need a trim.”

His eyebrows rise, caught a little off guard. “..haven’t had the time.”

“Can I do it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re drunk.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“I still don’t trust you with scissors near me.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know you,” he pauses, considering the half-empty bowl he’s keeping away from your reach. A weird but somehow generic name is printed on each candy. No ingredients, though, just flimsy plastic. “And because you eat Gotham store-brand candy by the handful… god, what’s in these?”

He looks at the bartender - Jess - with an almost disappointed look. “Really, Jess? You couldn’t even get the good knockoffs?”

“It was on clearance,” Jess drawls, unbothered.

“You do know me, though,” you murmur, head resting on your arms again. The man shakes his head slightly.

“I don’t even know your name.” Okay, fair point.

You give him your name. “What’s yours?”

There’s a minute before he answers. You can tell he’s contemplating just leaving right then. You’re getting a little too close for comfort. You don’t want him to leave. Your eyes shift to look at the table instead.

“…Jason.”

“Jason,” you hum. It suits him.

There’s really nothing to do here anymore. You’ve been cut off from the two things that gave you purpose here. “What am I supposed to do now?”

He shrugs. As if he’s not part of the reason there’s nothing to do now. “Go home.”

Your expression darkens at that, and you muffle a groan by now lying face-down on the table. It’s not sticky, thankfully. That’s really all you can ask of a place like this. “I can’t.”

Jason frowns. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

“The friends I cut off were also my roommates..” Bit of a stupid decision on your part.

“That was dumb.”

“Yes, Jason, I know. Thank you.” You sigh. There’s definitely going to be a shit ton of glitter in all your stuff by the time you get back home. You don’t have the strength to deal with that today. Evil little fuckers.

You’re busy trying to remember if there’s a motel around you can actually trust when it happens. Maybe you looked a little too miserable to ignore. Jason, after a couple minutes of seemingly endless self conflict, blurts out,

“You could crash at mine.”

…

Um…

I mean, yeah, sure. Why the fuck not at this point, right?

“Um… thanks, but, I don’t know..” you decline once to be polite. And also because holy shit, some guy - very pretty guy, but still some random guy - just offered for you to sleep at his place. You’re not getting murdered, right? He’s been nice(ish) up to this point, but…

Jason, apparently also utterly confused on why he’s offering in the first place, adds, “we have a guest room. Probably a lot cleaner than any motel within walking distance.”

“We?”

“My roommate.”

“Oh.”

You sigh again. Thinking too hard about this is starting to make your brain hurt. And you really don’t want to go back home.

The bartender comes over to take the candy bowl. You wave her over, leaning over a little to talk ‘discreetly’.

“You know this guy?” You ask, tossing what your drunk mind thinks is an inconspicuous glance at Jason.

She shrugs. “Yeah. For a while.”

“So he’s safe?”

She raises an eyebrow. “..safe as it gets around here.”

She shakes her head at the skeptical look you give her. “I’ve known him since he was little. He’s a good kid.”

Alright. Good enough.

You turn back to Jason. “..Mind if I sleep over?”

He shakes his head, leaving a twenty under his still mostly full glass and sliding off his stool. He’s even bigger standing up. What did his parents feed him?

You pay your tab and follow behind him, stumbling occasionally. It’s cold when you get out of the bar, you’re sure it has to be, because your breath fogs up the slightest bit. You should be shivering with how thin your shirt is, and you’d neglected to grab a jacket when you’d stormed out of your apartment, but the drinks you’ve had dulls the sense. Your cheeks are warm enough you’re sure there’s a very noticeable blush there.

You stumble on the crumbly pavement, hand instinctively reaching out to grab Jason’s arm to keep yourself from falling. He tenses, but doesn’t pull away. You hold onto his sleeve for the rest of the walk.

He’s nice. Just.. nice. While it may be a catch all phrase to describe someone who doesn’t have much else going for them, it’s also often overlooked how difficult it is to find someone who’s just nice (in a non-creepy way) in a place like Gotham, and especially Crime Alley. Just look at the name.

He finds somewhere clean-ish for you to sit when you’re feeling a little dizzy and entertains your little detours, like stopping at some random convenience store to fill a random cat food bowl on the street because there’s a little left at the bottom, “and that means something’s eating out of it. It’s probably hungry now.”

When you get to his place, you tentatively step inside, looking around but not really taking in much. You’re not comfortable showering here so you just decide to sleep in your outside clothes. Not the most comfortable thing either, but it’s not long to fall asleep after your head hits the pillow, so you don’t have to think about it much.

Vaguely, you feel something soft being haphazardly pulled over your head.

It barely feels like you’ve blinked when the sun peeks through the blinds, dark circles and a pounding headache keeping you company as you groan, trying to make sense of the world again.

You’re in a strange bed. You reach up to rub the sleep out of your eyes when you realize you can’t.

Looking down, there’s a hoodie pulled over the thin top you wore out last night. It’s on in a weird way that you’re technically wearing it, but your arms are stuck inside the torso and not in the sleeves. It smells faintly of cotton, the brownish paper of books and Irish Spring. There’s also the smallest hint of cheap gas station cologne. It’s not bad, but it doesn’t quite fit in with the rest.

You opt to keep it on since it’s chilly. Pushing your arms out the sleeves, you try to stand up from the bed and immediately sit back down, the headache worse with the sudden movement. Your muscles aren’t much better either, some screaming in protest since you slept positioned like a crumpled piece of paper in the night. Taking a moment to recover, that’s when you notice the cup of water and a packet of pills on the bedside table.

Taking the necessary amount, you feel a little heat in your cheeks. The alcohol must not have completely worn off yet.

You sit there a minute before trying to get up again. Success. You reach the door and are just about to turn the handle when you hear voices outside.

“-can’t believe you brought a girl home-”

“She needed a place to crash. That’s it.”

“And you gave her my hoodie!”

“It’s my hoodie.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, was it meticulously stashed in your closet?”

“No.”

“No! Because it was in mine, and therefore, is mine.”

“You can have it back when she goes home.”

“I want it now..”

“There’s like half a dozen more in the closet. Pick one.”

It’s then that you decide to open the door. It didn’t sound like they were stopping any time soon. Plus, you needed something hot in your system right that minute or you were definitely going to throw up everywhere.

You recognize Jason, but the other man - a ginger in a tank top, well-built but not massive like the former - is new, and he stares at you for a solid minute like you’re an alien creature.

“…hi?” You mumble awkwardly, not really knowing what to say. It’s the first time you’ve been taken to a stranger’s place drunk, with nothing but literal sleep happening after.

“Hey,” Surprisingly, the ginger is the one to move first. He gives you a toothy grin, holding out his hand. Jason pushes it away, but it persists. “I’m Roy.”

You take his hand after a second. “y/n.”

Your eyes flicker over to Jason, who’s already staring at you. He looks a little softer here than at the bar, the natural coming through the small living room window makes him look a little less weary. Or maybe he just had a good night’s sleep. Are the circles under his eyes lighter?

“So…” you start, feeling a little uncomfortably warm under his gaze. “Thank you.. for everything.”

You’re expecting him to kick you out. After all, letting you sleep here in the first place must’ve been an impulsive decision made under the influence of alcohol and pity - god, why had you told him so much?

It’s another minute or something of staring before Roy ‘subtly’ elbows him, apparently bringing Jason back online.

“..can I take you out for breakfast?”

bruce / dick / tim

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd drabble #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood #dc #jason todd fluff #red hood imagine #red hood fluff

289 notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 2 months ago

Text

Collision 13/20

Summary:

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

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

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : Angst

CHAPTER 13 :

Serie Masterlist

The sun had long vanished behind the cliffs, leaving the villa wrapped in honey-warm shadows and the flicker of golden lamplight. It was the kind of evening that felt weightless, full of laughter that lingered too long and glasses that refilled themselves.

No one wanted to go out. They stayed in.

Pietra made pasta barefoot in Pierre’s oversized hoodie, Max toasted garlic bread on the stove with a chef’s reverence, and Kika’s sangria hit with deceptive sweetness. The windows were wide open. The salt air clung to everything. A speaker hummed somewhere near the bookshelf.

The night was slow and soft, the kind that makes everything feel like it’s going to be okay.

Ariana sat curled beside Lando on the floor, tucked between his legs, her head resting lightly on his chest. She wore one of his old t-shirts, threadbare and hanging halfway down her thighs. Her skin still smelled faintly of sunscreen and salt. His hand skimmed her spine in slow, unconscious circles.

She felt like a part of him. Like something that had always belonged there.

It was a perfect moment.

Until it wasn’t.

Charles, three drinks in and too curious for his own good, leaned forward.

“Okay,” he said, slouching against the arm of the couch, “I’ve always wondered something about ballet dancers.”

Ariana turned her head lazily toward him. “Mm?”

“I mean… you’re dancing up close with these guys all the time. Shirtless. Sweaty. Ripped. Like, come on, isn’t there ever a spark?”

Lando’s hand stopped.

Max snorted. “Classic Charles.”

Charles grinned. “It’s a fair question.”

Ariana sat up slightly. “It’s work,” she said, breezily. “Technique. Control. You’re thinking about placement, not attraction. There’s no time for that kind of energy.”

“But it’s human,” Max added. “You’re human.”

Kika chimed in, her voice light, “You ever catch feelings? Or at least a crush? Something?”

There was a pause. Not long. But long enough.

Ariana’s voice was calm. Measured. “Sometimes people date. It happens. Like any job.”

Pietra’s eyes lit up. “So you have, then?”

Lando didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Ariana’s tone didn’t shift. “Maybe. Once.”

The table reacted the way friends always do : teasing, laughing, letting the subject drift again like a leaf on the current.

But not Lando.

He was stone still.

Ariana felt it, the chill in his body where warmth had been a second before.

She leaned toward him, her voice low. “Hey. You alright?”

His answer was too fast. “Fine.”

“Lando—”

“I said I’m fine.”

It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

The whole room felt it.

Pietra tried to break the tension. “Oh, come on. Don’t be weird. You won, you’re the one she’s dating.”

But Lando was already standing.

“I need some air.”

He moved fast, not storming, not dramatic. Just leaving.

Ariana stood too quickly. “Wait—”

He didn’t.

The glass door slid closed behind him with a soft click.

The silence after he left didn’t feel empty.

It felt haunted.

Ariana stood near the couch, arms folded, staring at the door like she could will him to come back.

“I should talk to him,” she said.

“Let him breathe,” Pietra murmured. “He’s just… overreacting.”

Outside, the air was still warm, but Lando felt cold beneath his hoodie. He walked barefoot across the stone terrace until he found the wall overlooking the cliffs and sat down hard, elbows on his knees, staring out into the dark.

It wasn’t the sangria.

It wasn’t the long day or the teasing or the wine-soft laughter from inside.

It was the way she said it.

“Maybe. Once.”

Like it didn’t matter.

Like he didn’t matter.

And maybe that was unfair, he knew it was. He knew, deep down, that she hadn’t done anything wrong. But it didn’t stop the jealousy from curling like barbed wire through his gut.

He pictured her, in a studio, in someone else’s arms, her body pressed close to someone who knew how to lift her, how to make her laugh between takes, how to see her at her most focused, her most brilliant.

Someone who belonged in her world.

And worst of all someone she hadn’t told him about.

The door slid open again.

He didn’t turn.

Footsteps behind him. Then the soft sound of her sitting down.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did he.

Finally, she tried. “Lando—”

“Was it recent?” he asked.

His voice was low. Measured. Controlled. But barely.

She paused. “What?”

“The guy. The one you dated. Was it recent?”

She didn’t answer.

Lando’s jaw tightened. “Is he still around? Still dancing with you?”

More silence.

She exhaled, clearly trying to stay calm. “I don’t think this matters.”

“It matters to me.”

She looked at him then. “Why?”

“Because I’m trying to understand what I’m walking into,” he said, sharper now. “I didn’t even know you dated a dance partner until thirty minutes ago. And suddenly I’m sitting there, hearing you admit it in front of everyone like it was no big deal.”

“I didn’t hide it,” she said.

“You didn’t say it either,” he snapped. “You’ve had so many chances to bring it up.”

She pulled back, expression cooling. “So what, now I need to submit a report on every person I’ve ever touched?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you’re implying.”

“No,” he bit out. “I’m implying that maybe I’m an idiot for thinking I knew you.”

A beat of stunned silence passed between them.

Her voice dropped. “You don’t get to say that.”

Lando stood suddenly, pacing a few feet before turning back. “You could’ve just told me. After everything we’ve shared, you couldn’t just say it?”

She stood too, arms crossed tightly. “It wasn’t a secret. It just wasn’t something I wanted to drag into this.”

“This?” He laughed, short and bitter. “What is ‘this,’ Ariana? Us?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “Us. You and me. What we’re building. That doesn’t mean I want to unpack every past thing that ever meant something and put it on display for your approval.”

“It’s not about approval,” he said, but his voice was rising now. “It’s about honesty.”

“No, Lando,” she shot back. “It’s about control.”

That stopped him.

Dead in his tracks.

She stepped closer, voice shaking slightly now — not with fear, but fury.

“I didn’t lie to you. But the second I didn’t give you everything, you turned cold. You walked out. You sat here and decided I was hiding something because you didn’t like that you didn’t already know it.”

Lando said nothing.

His fists were clenched. His breathing shallow.

Ariana shook her head. “You know what’s crazy? I wanted to tell it. I almost did. But I saw your face, the way you reacted before I even finished speaking and I knew if I told you the truth, it wouldn’t stay between us. You’d twist it.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You already are,” she said. “And that’s why I didn’t tell you.”

Something snapped.

“You want to talk about control?” he said, voice sharp enough to cut. “How about the way you never let me in unless it’s on your terms? How every time I ask you to open up, you deflect. You disappear behind metaphors and silence and artistry.”

Ariana’s breath caught. Her expression shifted not to shock, not to sadness.

But to fury.

She took a step back. “You don’t get to weaponize my boundaries. Not because your ego got bruised.”

He blinked.

Because she was right.

But it was too late.

The silence between them now was filled with anger, or miscommunication.

Clean, cold, sharp.

She wrapped her arms around herself, stepped back another pace.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“Don’t,” she said. “Not now.”

“Ariana—”

She turned and walked back inside.

Didn’t slam the door.

Didn’t even look back.

Just left him there, on the terrace, under the stars, breath still heavy in his lungs, hands still trembling from things he hadn’t meant to say.

Things he could never take back.

The villa was still. Quiet. Everyone asleep.

Everyone except him.

Lando lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the sheets tangled around his legs. Ariana was asleep beside him, curled into her side, away from him.

He couldn’t sleep.

Not with the image of her dancing with another man playing on repeat in his mind. Not with the echo of her voice when she refused to tell him who it was. Not with the ache in his chest every time he thought of the way she look at him after their last talk.

He stared into the darkness for what felt like forever.

And then he made the mistake.

The stupid, cowardly, heartbreaking mistake.

He reached for his phone.

Tried to keep the light low so it wouldn’t wake her. His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

He typed:

‘Ariana Riverria boyfriend’

Nothing came up. Just a few old fan posts. Articles about her shows. A couple of ballet photos from the Opera Garnier. No press. No gossip. No tabloid headline. She had kept her private life just that, private.

But then he opened Twitter.

And that was when it started.

At first it was small, blurry fan-taken photos from backstage. Her in costume. Her smiling with flowers.

And then he saw them.

One by one.

The worst is that they weren’t old. He could tell. Her hair was the same. Her body looked the same. She wore the same rings, same necklace. It wasn’t some distant past.

@parisnightwhispers

the way marc looks at ariana is NOT professional.

and never was.

@balletfangirlunhinged

Ariana latest boyfriend Marc is the lead dancer in Opera House in London

@satinshoestories

New pictures of Ariana and her boyfriend @marcbertrand_official

His breath hitched. He searches the guys insta and opens the comment of his latest post.

@marcbertrand_official

Always light. Always movement.

@danseforever

this doesn’t look like just dance partners energy 😭

@tutusandtension

WHY is no one talking about how close they still are?? that second photo says everything omg

@balletwhispers

this feels… really recent. like last month recent 👀

@rosesandruelights

his hand over hers in slide 3 made me GASP

@nocturneandnails

don’t even care if they’re “private” they’re soulmates, you can tell

@curtaincallheartache

if they broke up, someone forgot to tell their bodies 😭💔

@opalgaze

how do you even date other people after being that intimate with someone on and off stage?

@glassslipperedgirl

can we get a timeline on this or are we all just guessing if they’re back together again

@balleteditsforyou

you’re telling me he posted this knowing exactly what it looks like?? yeah they’re still in love bye

@thepasdetwo

slide two. her body language. his hands. his face. okay.

Immediatly, he recognized him.

The man.

The same man from that night at the Royal Opera of London. The man who played the prince. The one who kept his hand on her lower back all evening. The one Lando had watched with a sinking feeling in his stomach. The one she had called just a friend. Like a brother.

He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

She had lied to him.

She had looked into his eyes, that night by the Opera balcony and said “they’re like siblings”.

She had said “it’s not like that”.

And now here he was. In every photo. Holding her. Touching her. Loving her, maybe. Or at least, having her, in ways Lando hadn’t even asked about, because he was too scared to hear the answer.

His hand dropped the phone.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his breath shallow, eyes burning, body cold.

Ariana stirred behind him. “Lando…?”

He froze.

“Come back to sleep." she whispered sleepily.

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t look at her without seeing him.

He stood up quietly, walked barefoot across the room to the bathroom, and shut the door behind him. Locked it.

He stared at his own reflection.

Eyes red. Mouth tight. Hands trembling slightly.

And for the first time since he met her — since their gaze met in that stupid party, since their first kiss in front of a painting, since the balcony and the opera and the backseat of his car — he asked himself the one question he never thought he’d have to.

“Was she with someone else all this time?”

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

262 notes · View notes