#so excuse any errors lol

[vwritesaus]

meet sasha and kiyoshi, disaster duo

going off this poll, i've decided to share a snippet of my original work ft. the main protagonist and her boyfriend :> more under the cut!!

.

      Sasha sucks in a deep breath and steps in front of the couch. Immediately, her boyfriend’s eyes flick up from his phone screen to her face.

      ‘Kiyoshi.’

      ‘Yes, Sash?’

      With as much will as she can muster, Sasha says, ‘I need your help with something. Something only you can help me with.’

      ‘Sure!’ Kiyoshi declares, and his enthusiasm is enough to cause a small smile to tug at Sasha’s lips. ‘What is it?’

      That small smile quickly falls apart and dread fills every crevice of Sasha’s being. But she needs to do this. She has to. It’s the only way. It’s the worst idea she’s ever had.

      ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but…’ She shakes her head, wincing at the words that come out of her mouth. ‘D’you wanna go to the gym… together?’

      The following silence is devastating. Sasha wants to dig a hole into the floor and crawl into it.

      Kiyoshi blinks at her, his mouth agape. ‘Huh?’

      Groaning into her palms, Sasha bites, ‘Please don’t make this more painful than it already is. Just say yes or no, dammit!’

      ‘Sasha…’ Peeking through her fingers, she sees Kiyoshi dump his phone onto the cushion next to him and hold his hands out to her, palms up. ‘As much as going to the gym together would make me very happy, I also know you.’

      There is no malice in his voice, just pure fact. He does know her, and she knows herself. Kiyoshi’s the sporty one, the gym rat, the muscle pig. Sasha is… not.

      ‘Which is exactly why I need you to motivate me to go. Who knows what can happen in the future?’

      ‘The future?’ Alarm is rife in his expression. ‘Babe, where are you going with this?’

      Sasha drops her hands from her face, her voice turning dry as she shoots Kiyoshi a weary look. ‘Well, y’know how it goes. All those YA novels. The trope is always the same: the protagonist didn’t know they were magic, and then all of a sudden they need to save the fucking world and they are very conveniently armed with MMA knowledge and are super fit and have amazing stamina and know how to hold their own in a spontaneous fight with otherworldly creatures. As you know, I am the complete opposite, so I better start training in case one of my future goddamn visions ends up being a plot to destroy the world and I’m somehow the only fucking person who can stop it.’

      Gasping for air, Sasha tries to catch her breath and curses her lungs for not being to do their job properly. It just hammers the truth of the matter right down to its core. Kiyoshi is frowning, deep in thought, but there’s something in his expression that flickers ever-so-slightly. She knows what’s up. He’s trying to keep his face neutral, and if her nerves weren’t so shot, she’d be doing the same.

      ‘Tell me I’m wrong,’ she says to him instead.

      ‘Sasha. My love.’

      It’s inevitable and Sasha cannot blame him for it. No longer able to keep his face straight, Kiyoshi crumbles and peals with laughter. Never mind that Sasha glares at him.

      ‘My love, I adore you, but you are thinking way too hard about this.’

      ‘I gotta be prepared, Kiyoshi!’ Sasha argues.

      ‘You are prepared!’ he counters. When all Sasha does is stare at him, question marks flying around her head, Kiyoshi puffs out his chest and states with confidence, ‘You have me! Ya think I’m gonna let ya fight alone should one break out? Girl, please. I’ll always have your back. Just say the word and I’ll come and one-two punch the living shit out of whoever tries to mess with you!’

      The whole scenario is emphasised with Kiyoshi’s signature grin, the one Sasha’s seen flashed at the opposing team during his volleyball matches, and with him flexing his biceps. The whole thing is hilarious, and Sasha would laugh if not for the overwhelming fondness that blooms across her whole chest. God, she got lucky with this guy.

      But there’s just one small problem with his proposal.

      She says gravely, ‘That’s sweet of you, darl, but I hate to break it to you... you don’t have MMA skills either.’

      Kiyoshi blinks. Sasha blinks back.

      ‘Guess we’re fucked then,’ he says.

      ‘Guess we are,’ she echoes.

      ‘Better go train then.’

      ‘Better go train.’

      Tapping a finger to his chin, Kiyoshi’s voice suddenly becomes pensive. ‘Say, wanna place a bet?’

      Not one to back down from a challenge, Sasha asks, ‘What kind of bet?’

      Dark eyes sparkle and Sasha’s hooked.

      ‘If you can survive two consecutive days training at the gym with whatever regime I throw at you to “prepare for the end of the world,’ Kiyoshi pitches, ‘I’ll do whatever you want for a week.’

      ‘A month,’ Sasha rebuts, smiling when Kiyoshi nods his head in agreement. Then she pauses. ‘And if I can’t?’

      She regrets the question the second it passes her lips for an evil-looking grin splits Kiyoshi’s cheeks.

      ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘If you can’t,’ he says, ‘you have to eat my famous stir-fry.’

      Horrified, Sasha splutters, ‘Kiyoshi—’

      ‘Broccoli and all. Every. Last. Bite.’

      ‘You fucking arsehole!’ she shouts. Seeing no other alternative that won’t end up with this conversation being a waste, Sasha throws her hands up in defeat. ‘Fine! Just you wait. I’ll fucking do it.’

Two days later

      She storms out of the living room, not wanting to give her boyfriend the satisfaction, but his delighted laughter follows her. It’s contagious, and she laughs quietly to herself. But her determination is stronger.

.

      ‘I gotta say, Sash. I’m very surprised,’ he says in awe.

.

Watching Sasha drop the weights on the floor with a deep groan, Kiyoshi’s mouth turns down at the corners.

      With her hands on her knees, huffing and puffing and wishing for a long, long shower, Sasha peers up at him through her eyelashes. Her hair is stuck to her forehead, disgustingly damp with sweat, and her arms are screaming at her, but she manages a smug grin.

      ‘What can I say?’ she wheezes. ‘I’d rather kill my arms and legs, hack a lung out and feel like death than put Satan in my mouth.’

      Kiyoshi laughs and smiles hugely at her. ‘I can see that! I’m super proud of you though.’

      He makes a heart with his hands to exemplify this, and Sasha barely manages to make one as well.

idk who else specifically is interested, but i'm tagging @alastairstom since you wanted to read ajksdas ♡

[vagueeyes]

a few additional notes on the matinee + what i wrote down for the final show of STAGE/FRIGHT (all apr 5. i'm probably the last one to realise apr 5 = 9??)

‼️ spoilers ahead ‼️

the matinee:

-during the SARDINES reference in the kidnappers, someone behind us gasped and said "sardines!" (so cute tbh!!)

-one thing i forgot to mention about the lack of video wall - we also miss the "Reece Shearsmith 1969-2025" bit. i wonder how that played out with the first-timers!

-on a related note - i'm 99.9% sure the 2 men sat behind us were seeing the show for the first time, bc the one who said "oh my godd" kept asking the person he came with, whether the show had been running for long. iirc his companion couldn't really answer & said "today's the last one i think"

-the people sat next to me i felt like they were wondering why i was covering my ears before it started. well. they found out why soon enough 🤣 (also at some point before the first jumpscare & the one before the start of act ii, i yelled at @somuchwatersoclosetohome that i wasn't listening to anything she was saying 🤣🤣)

anddd this behaviour did not change for the last show 😂 gosh how was knowing there were jumpscares even worse!! it's the anticipatory reaction or something, i guess??

anyway. for the last show - AGAIN thank you @somuchwatersoclosetohome for the ticket. honestly, the matinee show was an impulse decision made while i was at work (which really shows how terminally online i am 🤦‍♀️), but the final one i was like ?? do i even try? but after a brief chat and she came through so quickly it was like what!! this is happening i guess!!

a quick note: i'm aware more of the fandom have seen this one so none of the below is original or even coherent tbh. just everything i jotted down during the interval + formulated in my head earlier today!

the seating:

-was up in a box (with @donotbelasagne) this time! here's what the view was like:

-the far-left of the stage is obstructed view, so for moments like in terror at the asylum eg the goudron/cragg bit by the door or the painting of madame goudron's head coming off - you would miss if you didn't lean forward (well the former you would still miss, actually).

-on the plus side - what was fun was seeing all the marks on the stage!! which i didn't start focusing on until bcdr when tommy & len are moving/things around. and little things like seeing prop (or real?) sushi in the itsu box during a house divided, and something actually in maggie's pret coffee cup (but likely a prop since i don't think there was actual liquid in it lol). and vince's coffee cup was definitely completely sealed (there was what looked like a black sticker on it). also seeing len/steve crouching behind the wall during brown bottles! hehe

-the main bit that i stared at was during the self-taping scene when abby & sherrie go to play the tape back, there's nothing actually playing in the camera. i suppose that's obvious knowing the video wall footage is pre-recorded, but still oddly satisfying to see it!

-as an aside, us being in an upper box means i was conscious of people possibly staring at me covering my ears before the jumpscares loll but you know what! i saw a few people do the same thing before the end of the interval. so. you know.

the kidnappers:

-fr i just wanna quietly say, i was hoping the last guest would be tim key (more about him in my upcoming soppy/journey post)

-but jonathan ross was a nice surprise!

-the part that got me unexpectedly was tommy's usual "you're not on graham norton now" line, and jonathan's response of just flipping the bird lmaoo, then tommy/reece's subsequent "he wouldn't have you on anyway!" 🤣🤣🤣

-jonathan calling len/steve "odd looking" and tommy/reece "generic/short handsome guy"?? someone please tell me the EXACT phrasing bc i was too busy going 😮🤭 (self-reminder to watch that interview!!)

-when he goes to hide in the wardrobe, he doesn't close the door properly iirc! christina(?) had to close it!

-steve drawing out the celery line omggg it was amazing

-when jonathan bursts out of the wardrobe to correct len, he just goes back in again! i think someone backstage or christina again had to remind him to go back out.

-the only part of his tirade that's seared into my brain is calling len/steve a hedgehog (what!!!)

-as mentioned in @kookaburrito's post, jonathan's bit going up the stairs is namedropping mark (ofc), but he says "mark gatiss and his beautiful swan neck" (omg!!!) he was NOT expecting that combination of words to come out of his mouth lbr!!

interval:

-at the ~15min mark, the safety curtain kept going up and down, and the lights kept dimming and brightening? definitely got a bit nervous that the video wall wasn't working again.

-just for fun i recorded a bit of this (i hope this gets uploaded/posts properly, lmk if it doesn't):

-it went maybe 5mins over than usual but all seemed well when the theatre attendants closed the curtains!

stray observations:

-before the show, @donotbelasagne mentioned that there are recorded coughing noises playing throughout?? it was funny to hear this bc during the matinee, i can't remember during which part now, i definitely DID notice some coughing. i tend to be easily annoyed sensitive of this, so when i heard it, i remember thinking "who the HELL is coughing at a time like this??" for this one, i did clock coughing again!

-about the toby/reece switch - i realise it's not a huge technical thing but this time i did try to watch the centre of the stage. when it goes completely dark and abby starts circling around with the camera light, i did see that a body (don't know whose ofc!) was still lying there! and...that's all i have to say about that lol

-during tears of laughter, iirc after bloody belle's bit, the associate director & simon evans briefly go into that box to watch! simon was also recording a bit on his phone!!

-i missed looking at goudron's sleeve garters wtf!! but now that i think about it i guess i did see them but wasn't going gasp it's sleeve garters. idk?? gah!!

-steve flubbing the "bloody good piece(?) of theatre" line haha!!

-WHO shouted "bloody belle" three times early, during the addressing the audience part!!

-the curtain call and steve thanking every member of the company, the stage hands, and the front of house staff!! 🥹🥹🥹 (also iirc toby was actually crying or at least extremely teary-eyed! as was everyone i think!)

-for both shows iirc many people "aww'd" at the "maybe every ghost story really is a love story" line at the end <3

two thoughts on stage door:

-i did attempt to make eye contact this time! don't think i did last time due to the sudden-ness of it all, but alas r&s weren't really looking at anyone anyway - probably due to the rush!

-can i just say it didn't immediately occur to me before, but bhav is quite good-looking!!

alright i think that's it for now! anything i've left out or forgotten i'm sure someone else may bring up & articulate it better lol.

[yomixhiii]

He could be in this very room, he could be you, he could be me!

[lemedstudent2021]

Where should Jews live? Where do they belong? Where do you consider their native land to be? Honest question.

an honest question deserves an honest answer so here ya go:

Anywhere and everywhere. Jews- the followers of the Abrahamic religion Judaism- along with Muslims, Christians, Atheists, Sikhs, Vegans, and literally any human being under the sun have the right to live wherever they please (given certain criteria are met like visas and that it isnt a military station/ off limits area etc).

Yes my dear reader(s) you read that right; ones faith or lack thereof shouldnt be an obstacle in any aspect of ones life, be it medical services, education, job opportunities, so on and so forth. How novel.

That answers where they 'should' live (although I dont by any means impose anything on anyone; y'all do whatever as long as its legal and harms no one including yourself. God bless). Could is more accurate.

As for where they 'belong', this in my opinion is one of the beauties of religion: people from all walks of life can belong to a religion. Diversity lies at the heart of our existence as human beings and denying it is like denying the existence of the sun. Tolerance is a must if we are ever going to get along with each other. And this belonging isn't irrevocabley tied to geography. But I digress :)

Quick aside just so we're all on the same page: converting to a religion renders you just as valid and equal as someone born into a religion. Most if not all religions preach equality between their followers regardless of background, so i wont hear anything of 'oh theyre not real xyz' or 'they dont count' or any of that bs.

By this logic (religious demographics are, generally speaking, very diverse), there is no 'this set of people belong here, and those over there' ...and proof of that in a sense would be atheists/ agnostics; where would they 'belong'? Antarctica? Outer space? alright ill stop XD

If that were the case, most of the planet would be crammed in the Middle East lol [Syria, Jordan, and Lebanon alone are home to 34M (as of 2023), and the followers of the 3 main Abrahamic religions are an estimated 3.4B (as of 2020) globally. We wouldnt fit even if we used one of these]. Yeah nationality/ race/ ethnicity/ background influence and maybe even dictate one's religious identity, but it isn't the all or nothing we may think it to be.

Which brings us nicely to the next point, and here if you'll allow me i'd like to correct it to native land of Judaism (where it originated/ flourished/ spread whatever) as opposed to native land of Jews because as i mentioned above, a religion doesnt (or shouldnt) differentiate nor discriminate between its followers. By restricting them to one geographical location (and for some using it as an indicator of their authenticity) we do them great disservice as well as contradict the teachings themselves. A demonstration:

Im Jordanian right, (dad's maternal side are from bilad al sham; Syria) and im a born Muslim alhamdulillah. My dads Malaysian roommates from his uni days are also born Muslims (and have the best food lol, my all time favourite is lemak cili padi) and seperating us on the basis of them not being Arab or Middle Eastern is unislamic, intolerant, xenophobic, and wrong on every level. Alternatively, im just as Muslim as someone from Mecca or Medina. We're all Muslim. we are the world...

Circling back, Judaism the religion is native to the Holy land (I guess you can say it started in Egypt till it moved there but idk. Regardless), and Jews (adherants of the faith) can't in my humble opinion be fairly categorised as one monolithic unit... just like any and every other faith out there.

Another quick aside; this is merely a tumblr post that cant do the history and culture and intricacies and so much more of this matter a portion of the justice it deserves. I am but a tired medical student answering to the best of my abilities a question I was asked with my limited knowledge in theology and perspective in general, so do me a favour and keep that in mind. And to anyone reading this if you have questions or corrections or resources or anything you want to mention be my guest :)

If you're still here, I'm both grateful and amused. Here's what you probably came for, the piece de resistance if you will: 🍉israel🍉

Disclaimer: thanks for reading this far, but if you disagree in any way shape or form with any of the 30 human rights articles, you may as well stop reading and put your device through the shredder. Bigots, racists, fascists, anti vaxxers etc. dni

So far ive seen this idea, call it what you will, two times (which isnt a lot but its weird that it happened to me twice consecutively), that claims the freedom of Palestine equals a genocide of the Jews.

Er, no? No ma'am. One does not solve a genocide by comitting another genocide. What part of 'never again' are we missing here?

Before we get into politcal nominations and factions and other territories i dont plan on invading (pun intended) but might accidentally cross anyway (I forgot where i was going with this) i want to remind everyone that Judaism is not synonymous with Israel nor zionism (if u disagree with this go ahead and shred ur device too).

A refresher: Judaism is a religion, Israel is an illegal-occupying-apartheid-state, and Zionism is a movement/ ideology

So 'genocide of the Jews' is both wrong (diction) and more wrong (factually incorrect) in that the liberation of Palestine means freedom from oppression, discrimination, settler colonialism... the whole nine yards. Enough bloodshed already its been nearly 76 years.

When Netenyahu is eventually drop kicked out of office (and hopefully hung, drawn, and quartered for his plentiful warcrimes) what happens to the (illegal) citizens of Israel? Well first off, return the stolen homes and land to their rightful owners who have the keys (and documents if they werent tampered with or erased) to prove it.

As for the illegal-under-international-law settlements and new also illegal establishments; I have no idea what international laws will decree (not that I have that much faith in the judiciary system), but I assume they will be seized and evicted of the illegal tenants (how you like me now?) and given to those who have been displaced or homes ruined etc. because its theirs and theirs alone and it was unlawfully and cruelly taken away from them and not because the (remaining lol) former Israeli citizens can't or shouldn't live in palestine. they can go live somewhere where its legal. the priority is Palestinians tho.

What about the indigenous everyone else? As long as their houses aren't stolen or illegal they can should stay because its legal and its theirs and thats that. you cannot kick someone out of their home to give it to another (which was the basis of the creation of Israel.) because its ✨i l l e g a l✨

And the people who dont belong so to speak? I think this one's case by case; like I said at the very, very beginning; people have the right to live wherever as long as its legal and ok to do so regardless of faith or background, and no one should be denied their right to live in Palestine as a country like any other, but they certainly must be denied living in homes stolen and given to them because thats, say it with me now, illegal <3

[breezypunk]

2 and 25 for the soft prompts 🖤

Thank you! <3 (I will write #2 here, and #25 in a separate post, so it doesn't get too long)! :)

soft otp prompts here

───── ⑅ ♡ ⑅ ─────

2. Write about your ship helping each other to prepare a special meal.

Goro watched on day by day as Vaughn butchered every meal he ever tried making for them both, and day by day Goro would eat it with absolute pleasure, always admiring how hard Vaughn tried, knowing how picky Goro was with almost every food Night City had to offer, but he always made the exception when it came to his partner. Somehow with Vaughn being the worst cook ever, he managed to make his meals bearable.

It was the most endearing thing he'd ever seen, Vaughn wanting to make something good for his love every night, knowing just how hard it was to find something worth eating, it made it easier to eat anything Vaughn made, and he was happy with it no matter what.

The weekend had hit, and Vaughn's birthday had approached, and Goro thought it was a perfect opportunity to step into the kitchen, and help Vaughn prepare one of his favorite meals, spicy ramen. As basic as it sounded, it was Vaughn's absolute favorite, the spicier the better, and Goro was the expert on spice.

"I would prefer if you let me do it entirely, V.. but if you must, we can do it together." Goro spoke as he grabbed a medium sized pot before putting it on the stove and filling it halfway with water. He turned the stove on before stepping back over to Vaughn, who was already chopping some of the green onion.

"Oh, V.."

"What?" Vaughn smirked, he halted on chopping and looked over at his lover, who was dumbfounded. "Shapes are fun."

"I forgot you were still in elementary school." Goro slowly walked behind Vaughn, and reached an arm around Vaughn's side, his hand placed directly over his.

"Don't you know what happens when you do stuff like that?" Vaughn breathed out, just above a whisper. Goro leaned up towards his ear.

"Don't you know you could lose a finger with those chopping skills..?"

Vaughn rolled his eyes, but lovingly, as he allowed Goro to continue guiding him. He enjoyed these little moments of intimacy, doing things they both enjoyed even though one sucked terribly at it. But it was moments like these that brought them closer together.

The water was starting to boil just a little, but before throwing the noodles in, they got together the rest of the ingredients, adding them to the saucepan Goro had placed just a moment before, little by little, taking their time to make sure everything was right. Goro was still helping Vaughn learn how to chop the correct way, but it was still funny to see the way Vaughn could make actual shapes, even making a tiny heart out of one of the garlic cloves.

"You are a Casanova, V." Goro winked before adding the last of the ingredients to the saucepan. Now it was time for the sauce, Vaughn's favorite part.

Goro allowed Vaughn to take over much of this part, he loved spice, the spicier the better, and even though Vaughn could barely handle the heat, he loved it. The sizzling of the sauces and the dry ingredients coming together, and the smell looming around the kitchen made both Vaughn and Goro's mouth water. It was definitely the best birthday dinner Vaughn could ever ask for.

He turned around to grab the honey, ready to add in a generous amount, when he noticed Goro gripping the bottle. he snapped the lid open and squeezed a small amount of the honey into his index finger and slid over the Vaughn swiftly.

"Open." Goro stared at Vaughn intently, waiting for Vaughn to make the next move, and Vaughn wasted no time.

Vaughn very slowly gripped Goro's wrist, and brought his finger to his mouth before taking it all in, sucking leisurely as his eyes locked onto Goro's. He barely felt Goro's other hand clutching tightly onto his shirt. They both stood there wondering now what they had just gotten themselves into, but he continued excitedly.

Vaughn twirled his tongue around the entirety of Goro's finger, the softest hum you could hear escaped Vaughn as he reluctantly released Goro's finger with a gentle pop. They both stood there in silence for a moment, wondering who'd be the first to speak up. They both were breathing a little more heavy than they were two minutes prior. Goro couldn't take it anymore.

"I think.. maybe we should take this-"

Before he could finish, they both heard loud sizzling, forgetting that the water from the bigger pot was boiling, the water was starting to pour over onto the stove.

"Shit!" They both yelled out in tandem. They hurried to turn the stove off. It was starting to smell a little burnt from the items in the saucepan, and the water being spilled into the stove caused quite a mess neither wanted to clean up. As disappointing as it was that dinner was partially ruined, Vaughn had a better idea instead.

"Dessert?" He cocked his head over to Goro, who took a moment to understand.

"Dessert sounds very good right now V.."

Vaughn grabbed Goro's hand, making sure everything was shut off in the kitchen before hurrying up the stairs. Dessert was much better than dinner anyway, and it was Vaughn's birthday after all.

[sparkyscissorhands]

ok on a different note [context] finally got a response back from this person im trying to comm after trying to request a refund and their response is making me lose it i s2g 🫠 “i changed aspects about ur character because i thought they looked better!” I DIDNT ASK FOR THAT?? U CANT JUST,, DO THAT I THINK?? like that wasnt what i commissioned oh my godddd 😭 i gave u a ref sheet to follow. i didnt think i would have to state that???

and the “umm i was gonna finish it ive been busy” like,, i would believe u if u,, idk,, RESPONDED to my dm asking about it. cause like i get it. things happen. but how r u gonna show me nothing and not even like message me about any delays at least while still actively advertising and taking commissions on ur alternate account while going inactive for WEEKS on ur main.. its like,, ur trying to avoid something? hm?

[the-kneesbees]

The porch steps slowly turn red as the blood trickles down and paints the concrete walkway that leads to the sidewalk. Curly and Tim haven’t moved a muscle since Billy went down. All it seems they can do is state helplessly at the boy, at the body, draped over the front of their porch.

Tim never got to see Dallas’ body, but he wonders if he looked like Billy does now. Small. Fragile.

Broken.

Bile rises in his throat and from the corner of his eye he can see Curly starting to shake next to him, those tattooed fingers from a recent stint in the cooler still curled around the handle of the bat. The elder Shepard doesn’t move as the old screen door creaks open and Sylvia calls for them in a shaky voice.

The only thought in Tim’s mind is that he won’t let Curly go down for this. He can’t.

"tim never got to see dallas' body, but he wonders if it looked like billy's does now"

LEE THE WAY I SCREAMED. STOP.

I love the comparison here so much it is unbelievable

Dallas was small, fragile and broken, in the end. of course he was- he lost to only person that every really mattered to him. this big, tough guy fell from his tower.

but then so was billy- only in a different way. he wasn't "small, fragile and broken" because he was hurt- he was a little man who caused a big old scene trying to get to a girl who wanted nothing to do with him, and ended up dead on the porch

they were also both mean when they were alive-Dallas, a tough hood who "lived his life on the streets" (he was also never particularly nice to anyone haha) and then Billy who was. well. a dick

but they also both end up dead. no matter what "small fragile and broken" meant when they were alive, it meant the the same thing when they wound up dead on the floor...and I am having MANY feelings about this

ALSO. the word "get" in that quote- almost like Tim wanted to be able to see dallas in his final moments (say his goodbyes and whatever else) but then Billy is this mess on his porch- it speaks to Tim's feelings on the two of them (which are obviously very different but it's still quite nice) in spite of or because of their similarities and differences and what have you. you get my point yk

and then the last bit about "Tim won't let curly go down for this"- he knows that kid is trouble, but this is the good kind of trouble- not in the "this is a good situation to be in" kind of way, but in the way that he'd clearly do anything to protect his people. and I just know tim is so damn proud of him, and hes gonna do everything he can to make sure he doesn't get into any trouble for protecting the people he loves-

I love this lee <3

[pleasureable]

Pink Goes Well with Purple

Summary - After entering in a series of death games, a popstar fallen from grace finds comfort in a certain purple haired stranger.

Warnings - mentions of reader having pink hair (hence the title lol), ooc Thanos?, bad writing, please excuse any grammatical errors, this is pretty short

A/N - this is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction for a character so I know this story might be hot ass, I just really wanted to jump on the Thanos bandwagon since he's one of my favs from this season and there's not enough fics on here for him to quench my thirst lol

Once a universally loved popstar, the emotional distress caused by the separation from your ex-boyfriend caused you to fall down a rabbit hole of sex and drugs, not to mention the $70,000,000 lawsuit you were slapped with after punching a paparazzi for putting his camera just a tad bit too close to your face. The heavy fallout from the legal battle was enough to make the whole world turn its back on you. Essentially blacklisted from the industry as a whole, you were desperate to rebuild your image (or at least get your money back) in any way you possibly could.

That's when you were approached by a man in a suit offering you $100,000 if you beat him in a game of ddakji. Managing to win 2 out of the 3 games played, you were given your $200,000 as promised by the suit-clad man standing before you.

"You know, I have a simple solution to your debts." he said. You were confused as to how he knew you had debts, you didn't recall mentioning your financial situation to him, at all. You tried to brush his comment off, maybe he had seen your name in a tabloid mentioning your lawsuit somewhere and he recognized you.

"How do you know I'm in debt?"

No answer, he just pulled a card out of the inside pocket in his suit and handed it to you. "We don't have many spots left so if you're interested, please call us as soon as possible." Then, he was gone.

You spent the rest of the day looking at the brown business card given to you, you took notice of the shapes that were on the front of it. The simplistic design of the card was weirdly intriguing. On the back, a phone number. On one hand, you didn't want to be wasting your time. On the other hand, you needed money in order to rebuild your life. So, this could either be the biggest scam or the biggest blessing of your entire life.

Fuck it, you dialed.

You didn't really know it at the time, but that phone call would unleash a chain of events that would change your life, forever.

That's how you winded up in the situation you were in now. Transported to a room designed to simulate a courtyard, a giant doll on the other side of the room.

Suddenly, you heard a voice come up from behind you, "Hey señorita" the deep voice spoke. Turning your head around, your eyes were met with the sight of a tall, purple haired man. "Knew I recognized that pretty pink hair from somewhere. You're that singer that socked that paparazzi guy in the face; Y/N, right?"

"Yes, Y/N. Who are you?" I said back. "You don't know who I am?" He said, a twinge of pretend hurt in his voice. "Am I supposed to?" You always had a slight dislike for people who expected everyone to know who they were. Clearly, this guy was one of those people.

"No, but we can get to know each other. Tell me about yourself, beautiful."

"Are you flirting with me?" a slight smirk began to form on your face. While his attitude was a bit off-putting, he was pretty cute.

"Yo, pink hair, you're so fine

like a bouquet of flowers, all intertwined

You're the rose to my thorn, the petal to my stem

Red, orange, yellow, green

I'm a legend, Thanos"

You giggled at his comically bad attempt at freestyling. "Thanos, huh? I guess that would explain the purple hair. Although, you're not as hideous as the titan."

"I'll take that as a compliment, petal."

Masked men wearing pink jumpsuits began to round up every other person who was dressed in the same blue-green sweatsuit as you and Thanos; you did a quick head count, confirming the amount of people to be about 400. Once a female voice on the intercom explained that you were all going to participate in a game of Red Light Green Light, the big robotic doll began to recite the games' chant.

Red light, a bee had landed on the neck of the girl standing in front of Thanos while the doll was scanning the room for movement. ''There's a bee on you, don't freakout." Instantly, the girl began to swat at her neck in an attempt to get the insect off. While the scene unfolding was slightly amusing to watch, your heart felt like it had stopped once a single bullet pierced her forehead. Her blood had splattered onto Thanos's face, and you watched as his face dropped once her body hit the ground.

Green light, Thanos picked up his cross-shaped necklace and opened it, revealing an array of colorful, circular pills. "Want one, petal? They'll help you relax." Red light, you stood still while staring at the pills in his hands; you had been clean for a little over 3 months now, but pill popping had never sounded better. "Fuck it, give me one."

Green light, he quickly placed a blue colored pill in your hand then grabbed an orange pill for himself. He grabbed your hand and started to lead you both further across the courtyard. Immediately, you began to feel the effects of the mysterious pill you had just ingested. As you continued to advance through the game, your vision became nothing but a colorful kaleidoscopic blur. The sudden energy burst allowed you and Thanos to quickly cross the red finish line, jumping, dancing, and twirling together on the way there.

After the game was over, the remaining players were all taken back to the room where your bunk beds were. You and Thanos were standing against a wall together, giggling at seemingly nothing. "Stick with me from now on, petal. I'll protect you." He said, finishing his statement off with a playful wink. "THE Thanos wants to protect me? Wow, I'm so fucking lucky" you chuckled. "I'm serious! I wouldn't want anything to happen to my flower now, would I?"

You just looked at him with a slight smile. His nickname for you made you blush, your cheeks taking on a subtle hue that matched your hair. He had such a way with words, you couldn't help but be totally charmed by him. "Fine then, let's team up. Thanos the Mad Titan and Y/N, Popstar Fallen from Grace; world's greatest duo." Your words made him smile like an idiot. He loved your company already.

"Of course we're the world's greatest duo. Pink goes well with purple, petal."

[bunni-v1]

how do you think lighter would handle the reader after learning it is going to be their first time aka a virgin reader x lighter

Lighter and Virgin!Reader

🍓Yayay! I wanted to really take my time to write this one, so sorry that I didn't get it out super quick. Wrote it while listening to Christmas music btw, probably gonna write smth smutty for Christmas now. I've never written full-on smut outside of an RP setting so... apolocheese if this is cringe. You can throw tomatoes at me, I will eat them like the rodent I am.

Minors DNI

TW: NSFW; First time!; sickeningly sweet lighter; grammar errors probably lol (I promise I edit my stuff).

Info: Lighter x Reader; Nsfw; Fluffy; no pronouns but reader is fem bodied

Lighter is, and always has been, a rather simple man. While he loves you and respects you more than anything in the world, he too has thoughts that any man might have. It was only natural that he found you... mmm... titillating. You were his partner after all, and you were very good-looking if you asked him.

So many times he's found you on his lap, or beneath him whichever comes easiest at the time, drowning in your sweet lips. His hands wandered over your clothed sides, desperate for a taste of the real thing. He was addicted to you, and sweet candies couldn't placate him this time. It was heavenly having you in his grasp, so very close to everything he'd been dreaming about.

The only issue was that you always seemed to have some excuse to push him away. He'd fisted his cock one too many times alone in his room after another failed encounter, and he just didn't get it. You always seemed so eager, so pliant, right up until he slid his hands below your shirt.

The second his fingers made contact with the soft, oh-so-tempting skin there you would jump like he'd burned you. Then you'd push his eager hands down and come up with some lame reason to leave. He understood that maybe you weren't ready, that was okay, but didn't you feel safe enough to tell him? No, surely something else was going on. He could tell, there was something else that was holding you back, and he was going to figure it out.

Tonight would be the perfect chance to do just that. The girls were busy doing their own thing at the bar, leaving him with all the free time in the world to be alone with you. As usual, he had you on his lap, mouths working against each other. His tongue pressed into yours, happily exploring its space as he swallowed up your whimpers and whines.

Fingers press into your thighs like a vice, desperate for all the skin they can get their hands on. As you wind your fingers into his hair, he takes it as his sign to slide his hands up to your hips, slowly pressing you down into him. You jolt a little in his grasp, drawing a low chuckle from the back of his throat. So cute.

You pull back from him, a thin string of saliva keeping you connected, eyes wide and face flushed. Your chest heaves with effort, and your hair is an absolute disaster. It makes his cock twitch in his jeans, another gasp falling from your pretty swollen lips at the sensation.

"Lighter..." You say breathlessly, and he knows its meant to be a scolding remark, but he just finds it too cute.

He cocks his head to the side, "What? Too much to handle?"

You give him an eye roll that is all too endearing, trying and failing to straighten out your messy hair, "It's getting late, I should probably head to mine soon."

His smile falls from his face, disappointed again, like clockwork. He can't even find it in himself to hide it anymore, which makes you frown too. You press a kiss on his cheek, apologetically, "What's wrong? Why is my champion pouting?"

The pet name is almost enough to get him to forget everything, but then you shift on his lap a little and his hard-on screams at him to at least get some kind of answer. So he sighs, patting the meat of your thigh almost sadly, "Why do you always do that?"

You raise an eyebrow, which he mirrors. You know better than to play dumb, Lighter can see right through the schtick. Your demeanor cracks first, and you seem genuinely nervous as you respond, "I don't know..."

"Listen, baby. If you're not ready all you gotta do is tell me--" He tries to soothe you, because he doesn't want you to be upset. There was no shame in just not being ready, but you cut him off before he can finish his reassurances.

"No, it's not-" A grumble leaves your chest, "I want to, I really do I just... I get nervous."

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow at you, sunglasses slanting down his nose as he tilts his head curiously, "What's there to be nervous about...?"

You fluster, looking anywhere your eyes can find that wasn't him. You were awfully cute when you were embarrassed, but he couldn't let himself get distracted. With the gentlest touch to your chin, he refocuses your attention on him. A reassuring smile on his face, urging you without words to tell him what was wrong.

Some kind of war goes on behind your pretty little eyes, and he has to tap your lip with his thumb to center you again. You pout against the finger, and it takes everything in him not to push it up and into your mouth. Finally, after what seemed like ages of waiting, you give another sigh. "I'm... a virgin."

"Oh," he says, automated like a robot. It takes his brain a moment to click the gears together, but once they do, he nods. Oh. That makes so much sense.

"I'm sorry," you mumble, pressing off his chest to get up, but he tugs you back into his lap. Giving you a reassuring squeeze, praying to whatever there was out there for you to give him a moment to collect his thoughts.

It really isn't a big deal to him, not at all. He'd taken people's virginity before - former partners he doesn't even remember the names of - but you. Getting to be your first? It felt like the world had both blessed and cursed him at the same time. You didn't have a good frame of reference, which was great. He'd be the best partner you've had. Yet... he'd also be the only partner you've had, and that was a lot of pressure to put on a guy like him.

"Lighter?" You squeak out, face all nervous and cute in a way that just drives him wild.

A huff leaves him before he can think better of it, causing you to frown a little. His arms wrap around your middle, tugging you closer to him, "That's all? Here you had me thinking you weren't attracted to me all of a sudden."

The response takes you off guard, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Had you genuinely thought that would be a turn-off for him? What do you take him for, some prude? "I- I mean, you know... I don't have any experience, and I figured since... since you had it would just-"

He hushes you, trying his best not to laugh at how ridiculous the thought is. Most guys would leap to be in his shoes, it was a loser's wet dream to take some innocent angel like you and ruin you. Not Lighter, though. Despite how many times he'd fucked his hand thinking about your pretty little body, he would make sure your first time was perfect. He really needed it to be perfect.

"I don't care about that, baby." There's a teasing lilt in his tone that sends shockwaves down your spine, "I just want you to be happy."

It was your turn to be dumbfounded, staring at him like he had spoken forbidden texts in tongues you didn't understand. He tilts your head with the hand still holding your chin, and it's incredibly sexy the way his sunglasses dip a little so you can see the genuineness in his eyes.

"Would it make you happy if I took your virginity?" You give a slow, dumb nod, and he presses closer, "Do you wanna try tonight?"

Lighter watches with thinly veiled amusement as the pieces slip into place for you, face so warm he could feel it at this distance. You seem to have stalled a bit, so he gives you an award-winning smile and taps your lips to remind you to use them.

"Yes. Please." You blurt out, and it's so incredibly unsexy and awkward, but he still bites his lip like you were sex incarnate.

He gives you all but three seconds to admire the (so, so incredibly hot) look on his face before he's picking you up with no effort, hands wrapped under the swell of your ass like they were made to be there. You cling to his shoulders like a lifeline, and his cock strains in his stupidly tight jeans as he imagines you doing so without the jacket between your skin.

"Where are we going?" You ask, voice uneasy.

He smirks at you, "You didn't seriously think I was gonna let your first time be on some dingy outdoor couch, did you?"

You're silent all the way to his quarters after that, warm face buried into the crook of his shoulder. He can feel how nervous you are in the shaky breaths you let puff out onto his neck. He gives your butt a reassuring pat, which only makes you burrow yourself further into his neck.

He doesn't get to see your face again until he carefully lies you on his bed, and he's glad for it too. The nervous shimmer in your eyes would've been enough for him to bend you over any surface in a heartbeat. Your teeth nibble awkwardly on your swollen bottom lip, and he resists the urge to take it in between his own, instead busying his hands with shrugging off his jacket so he doesn't do exactly that.

You look near terrified when he climbs on top of you, so leans down to kiss your forehead, and in the gentlest voice he can muster whispers, "We'll go slow, but we gotta take our clothes off if we wanna do anything, m'kay?"

You give him a slow nod, slowly drifting your eyes down to his tight-fitting t-shirt. Once you seem to calm a little, he leans down and starts right where you left off. Capturing your lips in a soft kiss, slowly easing back into the passion from earlier. His hips press into yours, but they remain still against your heat. He would let you decide when you were ready for that again.

His hands eagerly slid around your thighs, squeezing the fat between his fingers and sighing as they sank against his touch. Always so malleable, it was addictive, but he couldn't get ahead of himself. This was all about you, after all.

Slowly, he inched his digits up to the edge of your shirt, pooling the fabric between them. You give a little jolt, pressing against his crotch a little harder than he expected drawing a hiss from between his teeth. He rubs his nose against yours, "Can we get rid of your shirt?"

Another slow, unsure nod, and he's easing you up just enough that he can tug the offending fabric up and out of the way. (No bra, thank god, he sucks at removing them.) The sight it reveals better than Lighter could've begun to imagine. Your chest rises and falls with your breath, mesmerizing him. You give him an unsure smile, nodding your head along with it, and he thinks he might genuinely die tonight.

He does not suddenly go into cardiac arrest, so instead his hands glide over your stomach, and it's everything he dreamed of and more. The skin is like heaven beneath his calloused fingertips, and the light whimpers and whines you give him are honey in his ears. You shift with every touch, jerking away and then easing into his touch. Unsure, but oh so willing and wanting.

He maps out each inch of your skin like he might lose his way exploring it, tracing all the way to the final destination of your chest. Your nipples are hard already in combination with his touching and the cold air around you. He gives you one last look, one last chance to tell him no, and then he runs his thumb over the tops of them.

The sound you make is delicious, something between a moan and a strangled choking noise -- almost confused at the pleasure you are feeling. He rolls them in his fingers a few times, watching your face intently as he does so. Your confused moans melt into sighs of contentment, so he decides to try his luck with his mouth. With your head rolled back, he ensures you can feel his breath before he presses his tongue to your skin.

You shoot up, gasping in surprise, but you don't make any move to push him away. No, instead you rake your fingers through his hair, pushing his shaggy bangs back so you can really look at him. Those emerald eyes lock with yours, making a show of slowly kissing his way back up to your chest. Along the contours of your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, and finally right down to your perky bud.

Lighter takes a moment to really appreciate just how nice it looks up close, rather than through the fabric of your tank tops. Just the perfect size for sucking on, he thinks right before he engulfs the needy thing in his mouth. You throw your head back, chest hefting with your cry of "Fuck, Lighter."

He hums, only making it so much worse for you, the vibrations sending a shock through your body that makes you twist your hips just right. He takes his sweet time with your breasts, alternating between the two until you're a messy puddle below him. He hadn't even gotten past the waistband of your pants yet, and you were already so far gone. It was an ego booster, to say the least.

His free hand draws its way down your stomach, stopping at the edge of your pants. They dance their way along your abdomen, just itching to be let in, but not willing to disrespect your boundaries. Lucky for him, they don't have to wait long, and your own join him and carefully aid him in their removal.

It's then that he finally gives your chest a break, pulling back to tug your pants down your legs. Giving himself the time to finally admire you. He'd left... more than a few purple marks along your chest, all of which he thinks look incredibly nice in the light of the moon. His eyes trace their way down your stomach, just like his hands had, and land on the underwear you still had on.

They weren't particularly cutesy or sexy, but on you, it was the hottest thing he'd seen in years. They had a sizable wet spot in the middle, right where he wanted- no, needed to be. The only thing standing between him and tasting you was that thin piece of fabric.

A tug at the hem of his shirt draws him out of his daze, meeting eyes with your cute, nervous ones. It takes him a second to realize you wanted his shirt off, but once he gets the message, he wastes no time in shrugging it to the ground. Following it with his pants, leaving him in his boxers.

Your eyes trace their way along his figure, over his shoulders, across his stomach, and settle shyly on the outline of his dick. It only occurs to him then that you might find him just as attractive as he finds you. With eyes blown wide and distracted as you drink him all in, it's hard to avoid how much you're admiring the view right now.

He has the decency to act embarrassed, despite how he was practically drooling all over you just a few moments ago. He shivers when you reach up and trace your fingers over a scar, breath catching in his throat. "They're so pretty," you mutter, completely unaware that you had said that out loud. It could honestly make him cry. The way you look at him like he's some kind of art piece. So much love and admiration in your eyes. He can't handle it for long, even though you seem to be content just admiring his scars.

He grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers together as he presses you back into the mattress. You let out a huff as he pressed his forehead to yours, pouting now that he had interrupted your show. He gives you a few apologetic kisses, smiling at your pouting.

"Are you sure you wanna keep going, we can stop now if you want," he whispers, soft and gentle.

You nod, confident this time, "I'm ready. I wanna do this with you, Lighter. Not anyone else."

That makes his heart swell, sending the feeling right down to his dick, throbbing and reminding him he needs to prepare you. He wasn't usually one to brag, but he knew he was big, and it would be a tough take for your first time. If he wanted you to enjoy it, he'd have to take care to loosen you up first.

"Okay," he hums, reaching over to grab the lube and condoms from his nightstand, setting them nearby for when he needs it, "I'm gonna have to loosen you up first, and it's gonna hurt. You sure you can take it?"

He feels your muscles contract as he trails gentle, feather-light pecks along the edge of your underwear. "You'll take care of me, just like you always do..." Ah, you were gonna be the death of him tonight, he just knows it.

He hooks his fingers over the sides of your underwear, carefully tugging them down your legs like unwrapping a present he didn't want to ruin. What a gift he received as he threw the useless fabric to the floor, your pretty little cunt already drooling for him.

"God..." He mutters out, enchanted at the very sight. He adjusts his position one last time, making sure he is perfectly positioned in front of your gorgeous pussy. The view is something straight out of a porno, Lighter's messy hair shadowing his eyes as they stare into your very being, big hands gripping at your thighs -- like he was readying himself to consume you whole.

"You ready, baby?" He asks one last time, though it's painfully hard to do so now that he was literally right where he wanted to be, "Cause if you're not you better say so now, I don't think I could stop myself once I start, angel."

You give him the slowest nod known to man, followed by a timid little 'yes' and he's gone. His strong arms wrap under and rest atop your thighs, carefully pulling your folds apart to reveal the shining pearl he'd been dreaming of. Involuntarily he huffs out a hot breath, causing you to squirm a little in his grasp, and then he leans down and kisses your clit.

You jolt at the new sensation, another awkward breathy moan leaving your lips. He pulls back to give you a second, watching your expressions and committing them all to mind, and then he licks his lips and leans down for another wet kiss against your neglected bud. Then another, and another, and another, and at some point his tongue joins the barrage but you have no idea when. Too caught up in how good he's making you feel. So much better than your own fingers.

Lighter is in heaven, completely surrounded by nothing but you. Your little sighs, your skin, your sweet smell, and of course your juices dripping down his chin. You tasted so amazing, better than all the candies he ate. He swallowed you like a man starved, arguably more desperate for your pleasure than you were. Your little whines of his name only fueled him to suck on the little bud like a sweet treat, humming at the taste.

He wondered how many more moans he could get out of you if he added a finger... He had to stretch you out anyway, seems like now was better a time than any. One hand unwound itself from under your leg, snaking along the sheets right up under your bum.

Without taking his eyes or mouth off you he gently traces around your hole with his middle and index. Your hips grind up into his mouth, and he feels the way you clench against his fingertips. A smile grows on his face, god you were adorable, weren't you? He presses the tip of his finger into your heat, and you squeeze around it sucking him in like nothing.

"Shit..." He groans against you, the grumble going right through your nerves drawing a delicious moan out of you. He slowly pumps his finger at the same pace as his tongue, when it rolls across your clit, the finger presses up into you again. The white, hot pleasure that curls up your spine and through your body makes you arch your back. If he kept it up like this, you would cum faster than you ever had before.

Unfortunately, he pulls back and you whine like a needy child. He presses his thumb to your clit instead of his mouth as compensation, rolling in sweet little circles. Not nearly as pleasurable, but still enough to make your head spin, especially when you watch him press his cheek to your thigh to watch his own ministrations.

He is mesmerized by the way your hips jerk into his touch, his finger disappearing and reappearing over and over awfully stimulating for his relatively blank mind. His eyes lazily roll up to yours, smirking when he sees you watching him with lidded ones. "You like it, baby?"

You mutter an incoherent sound of approval, head falling back to the pillows, but that doesn't do it for him. He grabs your face with his free hand, focusing your expression on him yet again. As he does so, he eases a second finger in and you let out the most sinful moan of his name he's ever heard. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh, encouraging you to keep making those pretty noises.

He keeps on watching you, eyes having trouble focusing on both your face and your messy cunt. They're both such a good show, how could he be expected to pick which one was better. All the while he was sucking marks into your inner thigh, adding to the growing coil below your naval.

It was all too much for your poor little untouched body. His eyes watching you so carefully, the sting of his teeth on your thighs, his calloused thumb rubbing delightfully perfect circles against your swollen clit. You couldn't even think about anything other than how nice his fingers felt with circular motions right against that spot that your fingers could never reach.

"Lighter..." Your voice is so much more airy than you thought it would be, "I'm-"

He hums, understanding you without you needing to say anything at all. He removes himself from your thigh, climbing over to press his forehead against yours without stopping his movements. He wanted to see the face you made when you cum clearly. Wanted to have it etched into every corner of his brain so he could never dream of forgetting it.

"Go on then, I've got you," He encourages, and that's all it takes for the tight ball in your stomach to burst, and the flood of pleasure to take its place. You spasm around his fingers, juices coating them and dripping down his wrist. It's a beautiful thing to Lighter, watching the way your face scrunches up and then melts into pure pleasure. That was a face he could never forget, not in a million lifetimes.

He keeps his fingers moving at a slow and steady pace, easing you back down from your high. Only pull them out when you stop clenching around them, sucking your essence clean from them with a groan of satisfaction. "Delicious," He whispers, easing you back into the sheets, limbs soft and limp with the pleasant aftershocks of your orgasm.

Lighter is still there above you, watching with all the admiration in the world as your gaze refocuses on him. It's an infectious look that you subconsciously mirror, cradling his face in the palm of your hand.

"Feel good?" He asks, playing with a loose strand of your hair.

You nod, pressing a kiss to his nose, "Wonderful, actually. I don't know what I was so scared of."

He chuckles deep and warmly from the back of his throat, "I'm glad."

He presses gentle kisses across your cheek, nosing along your jaw and following with soft presses into the sensitive skin. You scratch his scalp appreciatively, more than happy to accept the affections.

"You wanna call it there?" He murmurs against your throat, hot breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, "Don't wanna push you too far."

You shake your head, frowning down at him, "No, no. I wanna keep going. It's not fair of me to leave you like... that." You gesture to his still rock-hard dick pressed against your thigh.

He comes back up to look at you, caressing your face with utmost care, "Don't worry about me, I can live without getting off."

"I know," you giggle, and it's such a sweet sound to him, "I want to, Lighter. I want you. Please indulge me just a little longer?"

He really can't argue with that, not with how you're smiling at him. "Alright," He sits up, grabs the condoms, and rips the box open with practiced ease, "but it's not gonna feel good to start."

"I know," You answer, sitting up to watch him slide his boxers down. His cock springs out, tip an angry red and bleeding precum down the shaft. It was an incredibly hot sight to see him slide the condom over himself, his muscles flexing from the much-needed attention. "I definitely know."

He smirks, settling between your legs again as he picks up the lube this time. "Enjoying the view?"

"Too much," you respond, enraptured as he tugs along his member a few times, shuddering at the sensation.

He takes the time to adjust you beneath him, tugging your hips up in an angled position. The manhandling is surprisingly hot, and your heart skips a beat when he grabs at your thigh more roughly than you're used to.

"I hope I can keep you satisfied," he muses, lining himself up with your pussy.

He runs the tip against your clit a few times, spreading a mixture of lube and your cum around, hissing to himself at the feeling. He wasn't even inside and he was already needing more of you, god what did you do to him?

He presses the tip against your weeping hole, hot and desperate against him. It fluttered in anticipation, feeling far too empty knowing what his fingers felt like. It had you praying to know what his cock felt like fully pressed inside. Surely it would fill you up even better.

His emerald green eyes come down to stare into yours, an intensity you've only ever seen from him in fights burning behind them. "Ready?"

You take a deep breath and then nod as assuredly as you can. You had no idea what you were getting into, but as the tip slowly sunk into you, you felt lightheaded. The sting was deep, drawing a hiss of pain out of you, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. He wasn't lying when he said it would hurt, but this was way worse than you expected.

He leans down, locking his fingers with yours and pressing loving kisses along your cheeks. His hair tickles your skin and it does wonders in distracting you from the burn of his stretching you. That was just the tip. If you couldn't handle that, how could you take the rest of him?

Lighter doesn't let you worry about it, rubbing his thumbs into your hips. Muttering sweet nothings into your sweaty skin, worshipping you like a god. Like you were his whole world. In his pleasure-fueled haze, that was more truth than it was fiction.

For every stinging inch, Lighter muttered praises and peppered a thousand more kisses across your burning skin. This was the most full you'd ever felt, and the more he pushed inside the more you wanted. He stuffed himself in to the hilt, stopping fully when his hips were pressed flush against yours. You shuddered at the sensation of his tip kissing your cervix. When he said he was big he meant it, and it was everything you wanted and more.

His rough hands slide gently along your sides, coaxing you to just look at him. Your glazed eyes slide over to his face, and you smile dumbly at his expression. His face is red, brows furrowed in concentrated effort and eyes clouded in lust. "You okay? Still hurt?"

You shake your head, chest rising and falling with more effort than you were used to. "It feels good. I like it."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Fuck, he just can't stand it. You were so tight and warm, sucking him in like he was your last meal. He could feel your pussy clench around him suddenly, and he had to bury his face into your neck to stop himself from moaning out loud.

Who could've imagined a few years without sex would make him so weak. Maybe it was actually just you that made him like this. He couldn't possibly imagine any pussy better than yours, it felt like it was molded perfectly just for him. The thought occurs to him, like a stroke of genius, that this was his pussy and it was molded to him. Now that you let him fuck you once, he could do it again and again and again whenever either of you liked.

He liked that idea a lot more than he probably should, his cock twitching a little at the prospect. You squeeze back and he does moan this time, deep and throaty into your neck. It's quite the sound from such a big guy, making your skin tingle excitedly. You had been the reason for it, after all, it was flattering.

"Lighter?" You say, startling him. He looks up at you from his spot against your shoulder, "Can you move? I'm too full with you just sitting there."

He blinks at you, taking in your words carefully and digesting them. Yeah, you were gonna kill him tonight. You had no fucking clue what you were doing to him.

"Whatever you want," He mumbles out, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek, before slowly pulling out.

You groan out in tandem, the drag of his cock and a squeeze of your walls more pleasurable than you'd imagined. Then he pushes back in at the same pace and you shudder in his arms. He keeps the pace slow and easy, still able to remember that he wanted to be gentle despite how much he wished to be anything but. First time, he echoed in his head, take it easy Lighter.

Each drag of his cock against your plush warm insides has you gasping out, desperate for more and more. He watches you with an intensity to rival his excitement during a fight, taking in each detail with careful consideration. The way your brows scrunch up when he brushes that gummy spot with his tip, and how your teeth tug on your lips, and the way your eyelashes flutter when his hips lay flush into yours.

Lighter never considered himself an artist, but damn if you weren't his greatest masterpiece like this. You open your eyes and finally look at him, and the intensity in his gaze has you shying away into your palms. He can't have that, he wanted to look, so he grabbed your wrists and set them on his shoulders. They curl into the skin, crescent-shaped marks sure to form in the morning.

You still try to evade his gaze, so he follows with his own face, leaning forward. "Don't hide," he coos, his hands moving your hips with his upper body so he's fully leaning over you now, the new position allowing him to not only look at you but hit much deeper than before. "Lemme see yer pretty face."

A wanton moan is ripped from your throat as he picks up his pace, and you finally look at him when he grabs at your chin. His hair is stuck to his sweaty forehead, breathing heavily as he keeps up the new speed he's set. The wild look in his eyes is enough to make you clench and get to watch in real-time the effect it has on him. Swallowing hard as his eyebrows come together in pleasured surprise.

You were making it so, so hard on him, really you were. Each reaction you had made it so much more difficult to keep himself together. When you clench around him again he lets out a sound between a sigh and a squeak. Your fingers are running along the nape of his neck and through his hair, and it's nearly got him choking on air.

You're no better, hardly even coherent as his hips continue pistoning in and out of you at such consistent pacing. The wet slapping of skin on skin is the only thing you can focus on, everything else is too much for your muddled brain to understand.

The hand that isn't keeping your eyes on him comes down to massage your clit again, fingers splayed across your abdomen to feel himself through your skin while his thumb takes care of you. He was close, and he could tell you were too. Your moans getting more and more desperate, and the squeezing you gave him more and more desperate to keep him moving.

He didn't have it in himself to say anything coherent, so instead he settled on kissing you. Sloppy and uncoordinated and more teeth than anything else, but he still kissed you. Swallowing up every moan like a man starved.

His pace grows sloppy as he chases your highs, both of you moaning unabashedly loudly. He would hear from Lucy in the morning, he was sure of it, but that didn't matter too much to him now. Not when he felt you come undone around him. Your whole body tensed, desperate little cunt squeezing him in a vice grip and moans so delicious that he couldn't help but follow your lead.

He gives one last harsh thrust, and then he unloads into the condom. He thinks for a moment that he wishes it wasn't there but focuses instead on sucking at the juncture of your neck. You writhe under him, fingers raking down his back harsh enough to leave red lines in his skin.

It was better than he had expected it to feel, that was for certain. Even as he calmed down and came back to reality, there were little sparks of pleasure ringing through his body. He kissed his way over the marks he'd left on your body, waiting patiently for you to calm down before he pulled out.

Both of you let out sounds of complaint at the loss, but he knew that he couldn't stay inside you forever (no matter how nice that sounded). He smiled warmly down at you, caressing your face with such gentleness it could make you cry. "You alright...?"

You nod, brushing the hair out of his face so you can look at him properly, "This is probably the best I've ever felt in my whole life."

That gets him to laugh, pressing his forehead against yours, "I'm glad I could be of service."

"Did you-" You start, but he doesn't let you finish before he responds.

"Yes. I did enjoy myself, very much, baby." He hums, washing away any insecurities you could've had with ease.

He eases you up into a sitting position with him, holding you there until he is sure you will stay like that by yourself. Then, he stands and digs around his dresser for a towel to wipe you down with. You take the time to admire how nice his ass is out of those skinny jeans, humming to yourself at the sight.

When he rejoins you on the bed, you smirk at him, "Your ass is nice."

"Yeah," he huffs out a laugh, "Yours ain't all that bad either."

You let him do what he needs to, wiping you of sweat and any fluids that might become uncomfortable after a while. Then he does the same for himself, and the show is rather nice. When he finishes cleaning the both of you up, he crawls into bed and pulls you to his chest.

You take your chance to trace over the scars again, admiring just how pretty his marred skin is. He doesn't say a word, and you have the understanding not to make verbal comments now. The warmth of his chest combined with the pleasant ache in your limbs was enough to lull you to sleep.

The last thing you hear is Lighter mumble a quiet, "I love you." Though you don't respond, you know he knows you feel the same way.

[mereyapalais]

JE SUIS LÀ POUR TOI

Modern Stack x Reader

Ignore the fire in the picture pls. Lol

Excuse any errors. Enjoy

Ghosting was your defense mechanism. Having been hurt countless of times in the past made it hard for you to completely trust anyone that came in your life and show interest.

No matter house much they show up and show out, that little voice in your head is always ready and armed with all the wrong words to convince you that it’s all for show. They’re just doing it cause they want something from you.

They don’t really like you, just passing time.

You’ve fallen victim to the little devil in your mind. Sure it cost you a few great relationships but the lack of effort put in to to truly trying to keep you in their life always made you believe that you were actually right. No one truly likes you.

That’s until you met Elias, alias Stack.

It’s almost like someone out there, it be God or any other Divine Creature, knew exactly what you needed in that moment. Stack was truly a blessing. A gift.

Your biggest criteria for your partner was that they had to be funny. Someone with whom you can share hearty laughs mixed with some deep conversations.

With Stack, you found all that and then some.

That man could laugh you out your panties. But once he got you in that bed, nothing was funny anymore. Your previous laughs turned into cries of pleasure. Lips singing a totally different tune which translated the state of euphoria he had you in.

Never had you met a man with a skilled mouth inside and outside the bedroom.

Every thing was copacetic. Until you started going ghost on him.

It started with you taking hours to respond to his text messages. Purposely missing his calls. Engaging less in conversation.

Until you started to actively limit your rendezvous. Each day of the week had its own unique excuse.

Despite him trying to be understanding and giving you time, Stack could notice something was wrong. Sure you’ve only known each other for a fraction of time, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been paying special attention to you.

You really came into his life and transpercer son coeur like a cupids bow.

When he found himself thinking about you at random times of the day, loosing interest in his little pass time ladies. That’s when he knew he wanted you in life. At least for a little while longer.

He tried to practice patience with you. Be understanding. Don’t smother you too much and be annoying. Lord knows he’s never felt such strong feelings for someone before. But after a few days of you ghosting him, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He didn’t even put much thought into what he was going to do. All he knew was that he hasn’t seen you in a minute and he was gonna see you today.

———————————————————————

There you were in your small bubble. Just enjoying the quiet of your home. At least you were trying to.

Before Stack, staying alone in silence for a prolonged period of time was not a problem. But things have changed. You don’t remember when they changed. They just did.

The silence in your home right now is just an indication that something’s missing. Someone’s missing.

Whenever stack was around, silence was a rare guest in the domicile. Whether it was the booming voice of his off key singing. Him telling you stories about all his multiple adventures. Even sharing some stories of his past crazy situationships.

Other times, his soothing voice was the only thing that could get you back to earth. Whispering sweet words in your ear. Cradling you in your arms so as to shield you from your thoughts. Sometimes he wished he could get in your head and remove all the weeds that have been growing there. Replace them with beautiful, colourful flowers.

Seven loud knocks in interval came to your door. The first few knocks were faint. But as the seconds passed without you opening up, the knocks became louder and louder.

At this point you feared your nosy older neighbours would be disturbed.

Approaching the door on your tippy toes so as to not reveal any human activity and alarm the other person of your presence, you looked through the peep hole.

“You don’t even gotta look. You already know it’s me, love. Open up.”

He was right you already know who stood on the other side of the door. You didn’t think he’d show up this soon. That’s a record. Normally they just get used to your absence. And vice versa.

“Aye, you better open up ‘fore I cause a scene for your bougie ass neighbours.”

You sighed proceeding to open the locks. As the door swung open his hand was in mid air as if waiting to knock again.

At the sight of you, he dropped his hand and with it went the wrinkles on his forehead. His face relaxed. Heart beating a bit slower when he saw you were still in one piece and breathing.

The both of you just stood there. No one uttering a thing. Simply contemplating each other.

No matter how much you tried to convince yourself you didn’t miss him, seeing him in front you made all the feelings you tried so hard to hide away came springing up to the surface.

“You really thought you could get rid of me that easily? I told you, you’re already in my system.”

“You not even gonna let me in?” His question was out of the ordinary. Any other time he would’ve already let himself in the minute you opened the door. Problem was, this wasn’t any other time. He knows he has to go slowly with you. Take his time so as to not push you away even more.

You didn’t give a verbal answer. Just stepped aside and he took the hint. Besides you couldn’t trust your voice in the moment. Your brain was running a thousand miles per minute trying to find the right excuse you were going to dish him.

Now inside the house, you were waiting for him to unleash his anger. Tell you how foul you were. Get all the things he has to say ofc his chest before storming out.

That didn’t happen. He looked at you with the softest expression in his eyes before meekly declaring “I miss you.”

Now that’s..new. Not knowing what to say since he caught you off guard. You simply stood there looking at him. You wanted to tell him how much you share the same sentiment as him. How much he has been occupying my mind lately. The word’s didn’t make it to your lips.

“You don’t even gotta tell me anything right now. Just let me be there for you. Please?”

Yeah, that did it. First it was the slight expansion of your nose, then you lips quivering lightly, like a child ready to cry, throat constricting, then finally your eyes stinging before they became blurry.

———————————————————————

You don’t recall how you got here. You body completely enveloped by a warm blanket, body melting in the comfortable mattress.

Looking outside the window, obscurity had taken over the sky. Time had really passed. How long have you been out?

Your senses started to awaken slowly but surely. One thing captured your attention. The aroma of some good home cooked meal seduced your nostrils. That’s when your stomach decided to announce itself with a loud grumble.

You left the comfort of your bed as you headed for the kitchen.

The sight in front of you tugged at your heart strings. There in your decent size kitchen was Elias, wiping down the kitchen that was visibly messy after his cooking. He was so focused on his task he couldn’t even hear you come in his space.

Not knowing how to announce yourself, you let out a small “ahem”. That caught his attention.

Turning around, he smiled as soon as he saw your face.

“You’re awake. I wanted to get done here ‘fore coming to wake you up. I know you don’t like eating when the kitchen’s messy.”

Good lord. He couldn’t get more perfect than this. Here he was taking care of you. Not once has he shown you his displeasure with

“It’s fine. The food actually directed me here. It smells nice.”

“Yeah I figured you’d be hungry after you wake up so I decided to throw something together for you.”

“Thank you.”

He plated your food before pulling out a chair which you thought was for you until he sat down. He patted his knees inviting you to sit on him instead.

“Are you sure..?” Came out your hesitant voice.

“Come on.” He said simply with a small smile on the corner of his lips.

You missed the proximity. You know he did too. Stack is the definition of touchy feely person. You will never find yourself close to him without him finding one way or another to touch you. Nothing sexual. He just constantly needs to touch you. You weren’t complaining.

You sat there in silence. Enjoying each other’s presence. You couldn’t help the sounds coming from your mouth. The food was

“You gonna have to slow down on those sounds. I know the foods not that good.”

“But it is though. What did you put in it?”

“Just some of my love and a pinch of salt to taste.”

“Corny.” You said flicking his ear slightly. Both sharing a laugh after.

“Stack, I’m really sorry about going ghost I-“

“Shh, we can talk about it tomorrow. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me? For now I just want you to enjoy your meal and rest some more. We gon’ talk about everything tomorrow.” With that he placed a kiss on your forehead. One on each cheek. On your nose before finally landing on your lips.

Yeah, you can’t comprehend how you were able to make it through the past few days without his lips on yours.

The kiss got hungrier. Messier. Each one pouring their all in the kiss. Hand’s roaming all over. Gropping, kneading, massaging the flesh.

As his hands found your breast and left a squeeze you couldn’t help but moan in his mouth. The vibration shooting straight to his member.

Breaking the kiss for air, your lips found themselves leaving open mouth kisses on his neck, sucking licking. Trailing up to his ears as your hands simultaneously found themselves going south, straight in his pants.

At the contact, his thighs jolted as your soft hands found him.

Your fingers found themselves playing with the his bulbous head. Spraying the already present thick liquid all over it. His thick leg’s spread apart to give you more access.

By now you, were straddling only one of his thick thighs. Rotating your hips chasing that sweet friction. You were definitely high off the pleasure.

Retracting the hand that was in his pants, you brought it up to your lips, licking around the digit. Sucking it like honey. He watched intently. Eyes narrowing lightly.

He took the finger that was in your mouth, coated with your saliva, and put it in his own mouth.

You proceeded to get on your knees ready to present him your excuses the only way you knew for now and show him how much you missed him.

“Wait, wait, what’re you doing?”

“What it look like?-”

“Nah baby, you don’t gotta do none of that.”

It wasn’t rare for you to use sex as a means to escape whatever mess going on in your head. Stack knew that. He never wanted you to feel like you were obligated to do anything.

“I want to. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Mhhm” You said eagerly. Mouth already salivating at the thought of what was about to happen.

Who was he to stop you. Sure he didn’t want you to feel like you had to do any of that but also if you wanted to he wasn’t going to stop you. Lord knows his body missed you bad.

One things for sure, it was going to be a long night.

Don’t forget to comment and reblog. Thank you for reading! 💋

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCRAZY WOMAN ON TOUR * CHRIS STURNIOLO * BLURB

SUMMARY　::　where during day 2 of the Sturniolo Triplets Surprise Party Tour, an insane woman tries to get the boys' attention in a very rude way, interrupting Chris and annoying Y/N.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　no.

WARNINGS　::　second-hand embarrassment (lol), purposefully change of the woman's name.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: For the ones who don't know what this is about, watch this.

A/N³: I don't know why, but watching the scene of the woman on yesterday's show reminded me of this, and I felt inspired to write this 😭.

Y/N's eyes gleamed with pride and admiration as she watched her boyfriend and his brothers, the golden stage lights casting a beautiful glow over the two vibrant orange couches where the triplets sat.

Matt and Nick lounged comfortably on the left one, their elbows draped lazily over the armrests, while Chris occupied the right couch alone, his right leg crossed over his left.

"Because we're triplets, and we're so close, like, doing all this-" Chris began, his fingers grazing the tattoo on his ankle. But before he could continue, an abrupt, high-pitched voice from the balcony cut the moment like a knife.

"MY NAME IS LANY!"

Chris blinked, his lips parting slightly as he turned his head toward the disruption.

"... Um, hi, Lany." With an exasperated look, he simply muttered before refocusing on his brothers, determined to continue speaking.

But before another syllable could leave his mouth, the same voice shrieked once more.

"MY NAME IS LANY!"

Nick, who had been shifting slightly in his seat, turned sharply toward the source of the noise, lifting his microphone to his mouth with such a strength that Matt swore it would hit his front teeth.

"Can you stop talking?"

For a few seconds, an uneasy silence stretched across the theater before Chris resumed his talking.

"But basically, what I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, was that our tour is so unique and so genuine-"

"MY NAME IS LANY!"

Chris’s jaw visibly clenched, his eyes momentarily shutting in frustration as the same disruptive voice rang out once more.

And that was it.

That was the moment Y/N’s patience finally snapped.

She had been trying - truly trying - to maintain her composure, to let security handle it, to ignore the way this woman was actively trying to end the boys' moment. But the audacity of continuously cutting Chris off, interrupting his focus, and disturbing the flow of their conversation made her skin crawl.

Y/N despised seeing him struggle to stay composed, knowing how much this tour and his surprise for this night meant to him - being right by his side when he got his tattoos. Her fingers curled into her palms, sharp nails hurting her soft skin, and with a steady exhale, she pushed herself up from her seat.

Her movements were smooth but purposeful, pure authority in the way she started walking toward the stairs leading to the balcony. She wasn’t moving impulsively - no, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Chris, noticing her stand, flicked his gaze toward her briefly, his lips pressing together.

But he didn’t stop her. He knew better.

As she walked, fans sitting by the edge of the rows around the small runway turned their heads, their eyes widening in excitement. Some exchanged whispers, giddy over seeing her so close, while others simply watched in admiration.

They adored her just as much as the boys.

As Y/N finally reached the first row of the balcony, her voice softened, a big contrast to the tension in those around the crazy lady.

"Excuse me." She murmured, offering polite smiles to the fans as she carefully navigated her way past them. "So sorry, just need to get through. Thank you."

Finally, she reached her target.

Lany, seemingly preparing to scream once again, inhaled deeply, but before she could release another obnoxious shriek, Y/N stepped between her and the railing, positioning herself directly in her line of sight.

Her presence alone was commanding, her expression unreadable yet firm. Lowering her voice, she leaned in slightly.

"You need to stop." She said, voice calm but firm. "If you keep this up, you're going to have to leave."

The woman scoffed, folding her arms as she tilted her head.

"Oh, and who exactly are you?"

Y/N's lips curved just slightly, but there was no humor in her eyes.

"I’m the person telling you to stop." She replied, her voice unwavering.

Lany opened her mouth again, tilting her body so her eyes could meet the stage, her breath hitching as she prepared to yell. Y/N, already anticipating it, exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes before making her next move.

In one swift motion, she draped her arm around the woman’s shoulders - not aggressively - but with enough pressure to assume control.

Immediately, several fans close by stood up, concern flashing across their faces, fearing that the woman would hurt Y/N. But Y/N was quick to turn her head slightly and flash them a soft, reassuring smile.

"I’m okay." She murmured, her voice smooth as silk.

Despite the subtle struggle, Lany quickly realized she was outmatched. With little choice, the woman allowed herself to be led toward the stairs.

At the top of it, Paul, the boys' head security guard, and Y/N's favored, was already waiting. His expression flickered with concern as Y/N approached, his gaze scanning her for any sign of distress.

"Please escort her out. She’s done here." Y/N instructed, her tone neutral but firm.

Paul gave a curt nod, his grip solid as he took the woman from Y/N's hold, ignoring the way she tried to escape his hands.

"Understood."

Y/N took a deep breath, her shoulders rolling back as she released the last bit of tension from her muscles. Her gaze instinctively dropped down to the stage, where Matt was talking now. Her eyes were quick to meet Chris's figure, his brows slightly furrowed as he processed everything that had just happened.

Then, as if sensing her eyes on him, Chris glanced up. And when their gazes locked, she sent him a small, knowing smile - one only meant for him.

Chris exhaled, his posture finally easing, his fingers once again tracing the ink on his ankle as he prepared to finally watch the video carrying his surprise.

© vanteguccir

[gojokive]

─── ⋆⋅ a guide on how to decompress ♡

❝synopsis❞ ‣ a simple look into how the men of jjk loves decompress after a long and stressful day.

𓆩☆𓆪 𝙿𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶(𝚂) › jjk men x gn!reader 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝚁𝙴(𝚂) › slice of life, fluff, suggestive 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙴 › headcanon 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳(𝚂) › 2.8k+ » 10min read. 𓆩☆𓆪 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶(𝚂) › none really, just cute fluff and men being in love. 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙴 › 06.15.25 𓆩☆𓆪 𝙰/𝙽 › look, I know I post every century but like I'm trying xD writing is so overwhelming frfr lol but I hope you like this! I think after everything they've been through they deserve a break, right? lol also excuse any errors, i've been trying to get this out lol. enjoy babycakes!

❝featuring❞ ‣ gojo satoru, geto suguru, itadori yuji, megumi fushiguro, nanami kento, shui kong, choso, toji fushiguro, inumaki toge, aoi todo, atsuya kusakabe, takuma ino, yuta okkotsu, ryomen sukuna, kiyotaka ijichi, masamichi yaga and hiromi higuruma ♡

♦ gojo satoru — clings. 

there's something in the way that your scent lingers that makes Satoru want to hold you hostage in his embrace. Never mind feeling your love and warmth, it's the naturality of how normal being with you feels. It leaves him with ignoring boundaries just to be near you. Your perfume? Makes you even more irresistible and the crazy part? It's the Christian Dior perfume he bought you for your birthday (it's not even stupid hormonal perfume your friend bought you).

Cooking Dinner? His face is buried in the back of your neck as he clings to you like a lifeline.

Laid out on the couch, mindlessly scrolling? He's found his place in between your thighs, hugging the middle of your waist and snuggling his beautiful face into your stomach. Sometimes sleep overtakes him, other times he's being his usual self. Sometimes you'll absentmindedly will start running your fingers through his hair, he's moaning and groaning obnoxiously (especially once you start to scratch at his scalp).

He treasures being in your presence, always wanting to be around when he's home (hell, even when he's not) to the point he thinks he's annoying you. You tell him you don't mind, you love him all the same. You're here if he needs you, regardless to, you'll be there.

The moment he walks through the front door with exhaustion written all over his being, you're pulling him into your embrace.

And, for that, he loves you so much for taking care of him when he needs it the most.

♦ toji fushiguro — sleep. 

Time becomes obsolete the moment he steps through the front door. Home to Toji is being close to you wherever you may be. And sleep just becomes a wonderful embrace once he has you in his arms.

Oh? You’re not sleepy?

Too bad.

You’re being dragged to your shared bedroom even if you're kicking and screaming. It’s not his fault you conditioned him to sleep in your arms, threading your fingers through his hair (which is surprisingly soft now). He clings to you once you’re laid together, an overgrown koala but you don’t mind. You often have to make sure the air is blasting so neither of you runs (too) hot. Toji doesn’t mind being the little spoon. Nor does he mind being your personal weighted blanket on the days you need to unwind.

When Megumi is born, he joins the sleep pile during his nap times. From baby to pre-teen, it becomes sort of a tradition nobody dares to break. When Megumi wants to take a nap, he seeks either you or Toji (when he’s home). Eventually Megs gets to that phase where he feels he’s too old for this but you'll always welcome him with open arms.

Cuddling into the California king size bed for some much-needed ease.

♦ nanami kento — dates/cuddling

Nanami Kento is man of few words. Although he loves listening to you ramble on and on about the latest book you've been nose deep in, he also loves when you both sit in nothing but complete silence. It's his way of decompressing. Book open, world forgotten with you in his warm embrace.

Dinner Dates. Museum dates. Aquarium Dates. Nanami is here for them.

Although, library dates have been a staple in your relationship since he could remember. It was your first date back when you were teenagers, something Nanami cherishes with every fiber of his being.

There's something about watching you sit and read on hours on end as you occasionally take sips from you coffee cup. Walking the aisle so you can find a book that's interesting, love taking that journey into finding something captivating to read. He's observant when it comes to your mood while reading. He thinks it's cute watching your facial expressions on every twist and turn in the book. Arm hooked behind your chair, he forgets about his own book too.

You’re too cute when you’re invested in something.

♦ geto suguru — long walks.

The night walks began when you were young. Teenagers who simply needed a break, sneaking out when you thought no one was watching. It was Suguru's favorite pastime, a memory he's grown fond of as the days carry on.

Even now as he sits and reminisces about the old times... his memory conjuring up the first time he kissed you on one of those walks and how nervous he was. He even remembers when Satoru (unfortunately) found out what you two were up to and tried to tag along. (He began to resent him for that but he quickly got over it). It was your guys’ thing and he didn’t want anyone fringing upon that.

Especially not him of all people.

As long as he was with you, he didn't mind where your legs would take him.

Now that he’s defected… those days are long gone but if he could, one last time, he’d take the chance...

Just to see you again.

♦ itadori yuji — disconnecting.

Yuji is a boy of a lot of words but there's something about being able to cut off his phone to be engulf in your presence.

No phones.

No internet.

No interruptions.

Even being able to get away for a weekend sounds so promising when all he wants is to be with you. Cuddling on the couch and watching TV, or rather he's watching you watch TV. Or even just being able to sit and talk about your day or any issues you may have had in the past week. Yuji is here for you when you need him and he’ll forever be that person when you need him to be.

♦ shui kong — cigarettes and fresh air. 

When you finally moved into your shared place, Shui was adamant on making sure the place had somewhere he could smoke without having to leave (happy when he found a loft with a balcony). You two quickly fall into the habit of sitting outside to relax after dinner. Watching the world pass you by and listening to the busk of the city. You maintained a peaceful routine. The balcony becoming your sanctuary, a place to unwind and reconnect amidst the chaos of daily life.

It's in these quiet moments that you both feel the most serene. Sharing things that's happened throughout the day, hopes and dreams, and laughter under the fading lights. It's truly a moment a peace and clarity as the cool evening breeze brings a sense of calmness.

Shui feels nothing but peace.

♦ hiromi higuruma — drinking wine and venting.

Higuruma is a social drinker. Rather if it's at a party or in your home, it's mostly wine he likes to indulge himself in. It's when he's four glasses in, he starts to let loose. And, five- well, he's loose lips 'Ruma (is what you and his colleagues call him). After that one mishap, he makes sure to stop drinking so much when he's but that's where your nights in became a routine.

Usually how Marge-san's filling system almost screwed him and a colleague over. Or how Yuki and her secretary are having an affair. Or how the other partner is so ass at the career he chose but there's not much he can do aside from do his part. Or even how the office's relationships change like your underwear.

You’re his confidant. He knows he can trust you with information (cause lets be real, who are you going to tell?).

Eventually the night ends with the both of you drunk, slowly dancing in the middle of your penthouse living room. ‘I love you’s’ spill from your lips as yours finds him in a soft smooch. Something Higuruma will never get tired of because let’s be honest, you’re his person and he knows there’s no one close to being you out there.

He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

♦ yuta okkotsu — entangling limbs

Yuta is (sort of) a fan of private PDA when he has down time. Which much like his cousin is very rare. When he does get to lay with you, he’s on you as much as he can be to mold himself into you. Sigh releasing his lips, all he can do is smile when your fingers thread through his hair or graze his cheek.

Eyes closed, he usually falls asleep to this but then he hates that he misses out on spending time with you so he tries his hardest to stay awake (even if sometime it’s literally impossible).

You don’t have to worry about Rika much since she sees just how relaxed Yuta is with you. She doesn’t intrude and if anything, she watches over both of you while you’re like this knowing he needs this time to relax (it always helps that she absolutely adores you as well).

♦ takuma ino — trying something new.

Finding new things to do comes naturally for Ino but, learning that you like the same things? It makes his mind run with all the possibilities. Random road trips, Mini Golf, Kickboxing- he's down for whatever next adventure you want to do next.

He wanted to try hiking for the first time (which ended with the two of you having to exorcise a curse). Another date consisted of going to a mom and pop café, piecing a puzzle together (that ended with you punching a girl in the face because she couldn’t take no for an answer).

Whatever it is, you’re both down to do what the other wants even if it’s something you haven’t even thought of doing.

♦ choso — playing with his hair.

Choso only lets you see him with his hair down. It's something he holds dear and sacred.

He finagles his way in between your legs as he lets you thread your fingers through it. He looks forward to this little activity, especially when he gets to cuddle into your middle at night. Rather if it's on the couch, in bed— Choso doesn't mind...

In fact, nine times out of ten he's the one initiating it.

He finagles his way in between your legs as he lets you thread your fingers through it. He loves this little activity, especially when he gets to cuddling into your middle as the evening fades into the night life. Rather if it's on the couch, in bed— Choso doesn't mind... In fact, nine times out of ten he's the on that initiates it.

Sitting, watching TV or playing a video game (even if he sucks at said game, he's having fun that's all that matters)? He's sat right in between your legs resting his head on your thigh. He lets the feeling of your nails sooth his irritation, he's quick to turn into putty in your hands.

His absolute favorite thing is when he's showering with you, you always end up washing his hair. He turns into putty in your hands when you start to scratch and honestly, he doesn't know how he discovered this was something that helped him mentally but he's glad you're here to help him figure it out.

♦ inumaki toge — listening to you talk about everything and nothing.

“Ooo, that new pastry place just opened! We should go.” You grab Toge's hand as he silently follows. “I think you’ll like it, babe!”

Agreeing with a silent nod, he stares as you continue talking about everything:

Animals being walked by their owners...

The stores you passed that had a gorgeous summer dress in the window.

The pastries you can't wait to eat once you get home.

He takes note of everything you've said, putting in a with your name on it in his mind. Smiling behind his jacket, all he does is listen. Your voice helps calm him after an overwhelming mission. He remembers asking for you after dealing with a particular curse that caused his throat to hurt more than usual. He listened to you vent and complain, laughed when you told him he needed to take it easy. He knows, he just wants to hear your voice.

He didn't even mind the soreness anymore.

Listening to you vent about him knowing his limits, always made his heart flutter.

“Are you even listening to me?”

He is. He always is and the day you stop talking will be the day his stress will hit an all time high.

♦ aoi todo — exercising/squabbling

There’s something about sparring with you that always makes Todo feel better (aside from sparring with his brother, of course). He tries not to go too hard on you but whenever he gets ahold of you, he's always quick to pin you down. His smile is always broad and he never hurts you (he'd harm himself before he ever lets that happen).

You're stronger than you look and he loves that about you, it's one of the reason’s he fell in love with you. You can definitely hold your own.

Slamming him against the mat (although he let's you do it on purpose), always leaves you in a fit a giggles when you start kissing all over his face. He holds you tighter before redirecting you lips to his.

You make his heart flutter.

Spending time with you will always be something that helps him decompress, even when he’s not truly stressed to begin with.

♦ atsuya kusukabe — cooking together

Kusukabe is a simple man. Work, Home- repeat. He thrives in being around you and well, coming home to his in the kitchen, cooking dinner?

He loves that.

He loves seeing you move about with ease while making whatever food you thought of on a whim. He loves it even better whenever he’s able to help. He hates when you tell him to have a seat, knowing he's had a rough day.

However, he doesn't mind.

He just wants to orbit around you.

With the both of you moving in sync, you're guiding him on what you need him to do. It’s your show and he’s your little helper. Whatever you ask of him he’ll do with no issue.

His favorite part? When the food is done and simmering, he gets the chance to grab you to hold. Lips pressed into your neck as he whispers how he's so in love with you.

♦ megumi fushiguro — listening to music/laying together

The thing about Megumi is he loves the stillness peace and quiet brings. He doesn't want for much, only to be surrounded by you (especially when he's coming home from a troublesome mission). All he wants to do is cuddle with you as you sit in silence or he (half-hardly) listens to you ramble on about your day (it's not his fault, poor baby is tired). Sometimes he even lets you put on music to fill the quietness but other times, you would simply nap together.

All things doesn't mind, if anything he enjoys revolving around you when he can be simply Megumi!

Not (Ten Shadows) Sorcerer Megumi.

♦ ryomen sukuna — sitting on his throne

Slouched but amused, head leaning against the back of one his hands. This is the position Sukuna is usually in whenever you've decided to grace your highness with your presence. He sits as still as ever, letting you straddle his lap as you bury your face into the crook of his neck (your pathetic attempting to get comfortable).

He doesn’t mind.

He’ll kill anyone who dares to look or even mutter a word about your presence as if it’s any of their business. He’s already rid himself of his worthless concubines for you.

What’s a few servants?

He won’t say it out loud, but he beginning to crave times like this. Times where the both of you can simply relax without the cares of the cruel world.

Oftentimes you'll fall asleep like this and when you do, he never hesitates to pepper kisses where he can because what kind of man would he be if could show his woman how much he cares?

A useless one, and that is something Ryomen Sukuna will never be.

♦ masamichi yaga—date night(s)/stay date(s)

Rather if it’s at home or out in about, Yaga has no problem showing you off. Relaxed and cool, these times are the only times he feels as if he can let loose. Be free of anything Jujutsu related.

No kids running amuck...

No higher ups demanding the impossible...

Just you, a movie and dinner or doing something either of you enjoy.

(The only one he didn’t do was coloring but he’ll happily sit back with his wine and watch your masterpiece unfold before his eyes).

Honestly, as long as you’re in his arms by the end of the night, (albeit) cuddling or doing nastier things. He doesn’t mind as long as he’s with you.

♦ kiyotaka ijichi — picnicking/surprise dates

You know for a fact Satoru Gojo has been stressing him out. You can see it in his face every time he returns home (when he can since he's mostly on call whenever he needs him). You simply try your best to keep your home stress free. He loves you for this, knowing he's able to leave the chaos at work until he’s ultimately called to pick up one of the sorcerers. Ijichi isn't really a spontaneous person (opposites attract) so he's glad you are.

He loves that you know when he needs a break, picking a day to sit outside and enjoy each other's company, which in return results in you packing a ridiculous amount of food.

Picnic’s sort of became your ‘thing’ after that and to see him smile and enjoy himself, it’s the only thing you strive for while the two of you are together.

© GOJOKIVE 2024 - 2025 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED! PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARISE -and/or- TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORK! thank you for reading! & remember: you nice, keep going.❤️ comment(s)/reblogs(s)/like(s) are totally welcomed!

[hhaechansmoless]

LIGHTS OUT PT.2

pairing: f1driver!haechan x PRmanager!femreader

genre: fluff, angst, romance

description: Part of the Beyond The Grid series. Haechan, bold, aggressive and unrelenting, is back after a narrowly missed opportunity to become the world champion in 2024. This time, he's set his sight on making it all the way to the top. You, as his newly appointed PR representative, are assigned with the task of keeping up with a world of high stakes, unpredictable twists and well, him.

warnings: strong language, stressful situations, descriptions of car crashes and physical exhaustion, slowburn, honestly quite f1 heavy

w/c: part 1 - 17.8k part 2 - 15.8k glossary taglist a/n: the last part!! for any errors in descriptions of any of these places, reminder: i've never been there LOL. Writing Haechan in this threw him back into my bias list (very up high too) and it was so fun :)) this is the biggest fic i have ever written and i think that I'd like to be proud of it. I hope you all like it too! (If you do, i may or may not have a ferrari scoups fic in the working to make this into a series for all my caratzens 👀 so please be on the lookout for that as well!) This might have a few typos ngl...proofread this half late at night so excuse them 😔Please feel free to comment or send an ask about your thoughts on this. Feedback is always appreciated <3

COLOGNE, GERMANY

September 12th

You: Haechan you’ve been to Cologne before right? What was the name of that restaurant you said you really liked? In Alstadt. [12:47]

Lee Haechan (RB): Are you in Cologne rn? [12:47]

You: Yeah!!! My sister and I decided to go on a little girls trip since yk there’s a break. She has a college sem break now too so the timing was perfect haha Anyways, what's the name? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): What the hell 😭 omg where are you exactly rn This is INSANE I’m ALSO here with my SISTER ??? [12:48}

You: NO WAY??? We’re walking back from the cathedral rn Old town’s like 2 mins away by walk where are YOU? [12:48]

Lee Haechan (RB): There’s this lock store thing nearby in old town My sister wanted to buy one for her and her boyfriend so we’re going to head there after lunch 🙄 We should eat togetherrrr ask your sister Mine’s fine with it. [12:48]

“Rina,” You call your sister to grab her attention. She hums as she turns one last time to take another photo of the cathedral looming in the distance, “Promise me you won’t freak out.”

She turns to look at you then, furrowing her brows, “Why?”

“So I asked the friend that I told you I’d be asking…” You grimace as she stares at you for a moment before it clicks.

“Ah! The guy you lowkey have a crush on but will not admit it. Yes, why?” She grins, looping her arm through yours as you begin to walk again.

“Shut up,” You roll your eyes, “Coincidentally, he’s here too and he’s wondering if we can catch lunch together. He’s with his sister too.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel the excitement coursing through your sister, a small jump in her next step as her hand tightens around yours.

“Yes! Tell him we’ll come,” Rina giggles, “Oh, I can’t wait to meet this guy!”

You sigh again, regretting your decision already, “Please don’t embarrass me? And don’t say anything I wouldn’t want you to say, okay?”

She nods her head, lips stretching into a smile, “Go on, tell him!” 

You pull your phone out of your coat pocket.

You: We’ll come!! Are you sure your sister is fine w it? [12:50]

To your surprise, your phone buzzes in your hands, Haechan’s profile pic flashing on your screen.

You quickly swipe to answer, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended. “Hello?”

“Hey,” his voice is casual, but you can hear the underlying excitement. “I figured it’d be easier to call. Are you in Alstadt now? My sister is really excited, by the way.”

You take a moment to look around the old town. It’s a charming sight, cobbled roads with colourful, narrow buildings leaning against each other. The air carries a faint scent of fresh pastries from cozy cafes nestled between quaint shops selling handcrafted trinkets and souvenirs. There’s a relaxed and calm energy in the air from the soft murmur of laughter and conversation drifting out of the many breweries in the area. 

“Yep, where do we go?”

“Awesome. Okay, see the fountain in the middle of the square?” Haechan asks, his voice clear through the phone. “We’re at this brewery right behind it. It’s got these big wooden barrels outside and a green sign. You can’t miss it.”

You look up, spotting the fountain just ahead, surrounded by people taking photos and chatting. “Yeah, I see the fountain. We’re heading over now.”

“Cool,” Haechan replies, his voice light. “I’m standing outside so you can spot me.”

You can’t help but smile. “Alright, see you in a bit.”

“See ya,” he says, and the call stays connected, neither of you hanging up.

It’s strange how comfortable it feels, just having him on the other end of the line. You’re not sure if he’s waiting for you to hang up first or if he’s waiting to spot you. You don’t have the heart to hang up either.

Your sister, on the other hand, has no qualms about your situation. She pokes your shoulder, her voice loud enough for Haechan to probably hear. “Are we going or what?”

You snap out of your thoughts, feeling your face heat up. “Yeah, we’re going.” 

The sun shines bright over the square, but there’s still a chill in the air. It’s pleasant and frankly it’s exactly the weather you love. As you pass the fountain, the sunlight glinting off the water, you promise Rina that you can take photos on your way out. Just beyond it, you spot the brewery Haechan described, the wooden barrels outside and the green sign hanging above the door. And there he is, leaning casually against the wall. 

He’s wearing a slightly oversized beige knit sweater that looks warm and comfortable, the fabric soft and relaxed around his shoulders. It contrasts nicely against his black jeans. His hair falls messily over his forehead, tousled by the breeze, and he looks so put-together that it takes you a second to remember how to breathe.

I see you,” you say softly, your heart doing a little flip.

You see him perk up, his eyes searching the crowd before locking on you. A bright smile spreads across his face, and he waves.

You wave back, suddenly feeling shy before you cut the call.

“Is that him?” Rina whistles. Haechan stands a little awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets as he waits for the two of you to come over. As you come closer though, Rina gasps.

“What the fuck? That’s Haechan.” She stops in her tracks, hand falling out from yours.

You nod sheepishly, scratching your neck, “Yeah…”

“You have a crush on Lee fucking Haechan, shut up.” Her mouth falls open. You grimace before pulling her along again. 

“Please behave yourself.” 

“Do you think I could ask for an autograph?” She pipes up, “I didn’t want to ask you till now cause I didn’t know if it would be appropriate but holy shit, you like him and by the looks of it, he does too so I think it would be fine.”

“Rina, stop.” You grit out, still smiling.

“Hey, you made it!” Haechan’s smile grows wider when you approach. Without thinking, he moves in closer, his arm slipping around your shoulders for a brief second, a quick, casual side hug as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s barely more than a brush, just enough for you to feel his warmth against your side, his fingers resting lightly on your shoulder before he pulls away just as quickly. 

Rina grins at you, making you narrow your eyes as you turn back to Haechan. 

“Haechan, meet Rina, my sister. Rina,” You point at him, “This is Haechan.”

He holds out his hand for her to shake, which she takes willingly.

“I don’t mean to make this awkward,” Rina begins, “And she’s probably going to kill me for saying it so soon, but I’m a big fan! You were really cool in Austria!”

Haechan laughs, eyes flitting over to you once, “Thank you. She’s really mean about it though, isn’t she? She never tells me that I do well.”

“I just don’t want to inflate your ego,” You roll your eyes defensively, “And hey! I do tell you sometimes.”

He nods, but you see the look he shoots your sister, making her giggle in agreement.

“Anyways, let’s go in, Dahyun’s already caught us a seat.”

—

The plates on the table are mostly empty, remnants of lunch scattered between glasses of half-full beer and water. The lively chatter coming from the other side of the table contrasts the comfortable silence between you and Haechan.

You lean back in your chair, eyes fixed on Rina, who’s explaining something to Dahyun, her hands moving wildly as she talks. Dahyun watches her with rapt attention, nodding along enthusiastically, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“They’ve really hit it off, huh?” Haechan’s voice is low and close, his shoulder just barely brushing yours as he leans in.

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I didn’t expect them to get along so well.”

Haechan hums, “Dahyun’s usually shy around new people, so this is a nice surprise.”

You glance at him, taking in the soft, fond smile on his face, “She’s cute. I was honestly worried that Rina might be a bit too much. She’s—if it’s not obvious already—the extroverted one between the two of us.”

“You talk to a lot of new people, though,” Haechan turns to look at you, “Quite confidently, too.”

“It comes with the job,” You shrug.

“Speaking of, it’s nice to meet outside of work, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, you’re probably glad I’m not eating your ear off about saying the right things, no?” You joke, expecting him to laugh and retort. Instead, he looks slightly taken aback.

“No, I don’t mind it.” Haechan tells you, but when you shoot an unsure look, he continues, “I mean, at first it was a bit weird. You were all business, all the time. But then I got used to it... and now...” He trails off, his eyes flicking to yours before quickly looking away. “Now, I like having you around.”

Your pulse quickens, not expecting him to sound so serious. “Oh,” is all you manage to put out.

He seems to want to say something else when a burst of laughter from across the table catches your attention. Dahyun and Rina are completely lost in conversation, their heads bent close over Dahyun’s phone as they snicker at something.

“It’s kind of crazy how we’re both at the same place, if you think about it.” Haechan scoffs, smiling at them, “And crazy how they’re getting along. So random.”

“I’m pretty sure I overheard them exchanging numbers too.” You giggle, “Guess it was just meant to be.” You glance at him.

Haechan’s gaze is already on you, his eyes softening, “Yeah, maybe it was.”

You’re not sure who looks away first when the moment is broken by Dahyun.

“Oh! The love locks!” she exclaims, her eyes bright as she turns to Haechan. “We’re going after this, right?”

Haechan sighs, “Yeah, yeah.”

Dahyun beams, turning to Rina. “There’s this bridge nearby where couples put locks on the railings and throw the key into the river. It’s supposed to be, like, a forever thing. Isn’t that cute?”

Rina’s eyes widen with excitement. “That’s adorable! We should put one too,” She looks at you.

You laugh, “Hey, you can’t get rid of me. We’re already sisters forever, or whatever.”

“Still,” She insists.

“Oh my god,” Dahyun gasps, “We should all put one together! Like... as a memory of today!”

Her words hang in the air. All of you? Together? Your eyes flick to Haechan only to find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, his gaze lingering just a little too long before he looks away, a small smile playing on his lips.

Rina claps her hands excitedly. “That’s such a cute idea! And we can write the date on it too!” She turns to you, her eyes sparkling. “C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

You hesitate, feeling strangely shy. “I mean... yeah, I guess that could be cute.”

Haechan leans back in his chair, his arm resting casually on the back of yours. “You sure? Thought you’d think it's cheesy.”

You scoff but your lips curve up anyways.

It’s just a lock. It’s just a silly little tradition, you try convincing yourself.

But the thought won’t leave your mind. The image of writing on that lock, snapping it in place on the bridge... standing next to Haechan, side by side, surrounded by hundreds of other locks glinting in the sun. You can almost feel the warmth of his shoulder against yours, hear his soft laughter as you fumble with the key. It’s silly. Completely unrealistic. But the thought makes your chest flutter all the same.

“Okay!” Dahyun announces, breaking you out of your thoughts. “It’s settled then. We’re all getting one!”

She looks so excited that you can’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. I’m in.”

“To be fair,” you turn to Haechan as you get up from your seat, slipping your arms into your coat, “This seems like the kind of thing you’d call cheesy too.”

He shrugs, helping you pull the sleeve as you struggle with your left arm, “Yeah, but it’s different if it’s with you.”

You freeze. His eyes are bright, reflecting the golden afternoon light. You don’t see the playful spark in them that’s present whenever he pulls pranks on his engineers and mechanics. Are you just imagining it, or does he look the most sincere you’ve ever seen him?

You tear your gaze away, clearing your throat, “What is that even supposed to mean?”

He laughs, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “C’mon, let’s catch up before they leave us behind.”

Without a second thought, he holds out his hand to you, palm open and waiting. You try not to stare, hesitating for a moment before slipping your hand into his. 

Haechan’s fingers curl around yours, slowly, maybe a little unsure now that he’s already done it. You lose your breath at the way it feels so right.

For the first time, as he leads the two of you out, you stop trying to convince yourself that it doesn’t mean anything. Right now, it’s starting to feel like everything.

SINGAPORE, MARINA BAY STREET CIRCUIT

Thursday, Media day October 2nd

Haechan walks out of the meeting room with a lot more on his shoulders than he had walking into it an hour ago. There's a sense of finality, excitement in him as he peeps into the corridor, wondering where you are. At the same time, it feels like the biggest burden ever. Six years he's prepared for this, fought for this and now that the weekend is already here, he is overwhelmed beyond words. Even though he's known that it's been coming this entire season, even though he came close to it last year, Haechan realizes that no matter how many times it happens, he might never get used to it.

He sees you walking towards him, turning into the corridor he's in. Your eyes are stuck on your tablet, strides long and in a rush.

He realizes you're the first one he's going to tell. It's electrifying.

You come to a stop in front of him, beginning to greet him when he stops you by putting both his hands on your shoulders. His hand shakes a little and you notice it.

“Are you alright? Do you feel si-”

“They said I could win the championship this weekend.” 

Haechan watches as you smile, like you already knew. Do you?

Your smile grows, “I know! I just got the news. The press will probably ask you about it.” 

He leans against the wall, hand coming up to his heart, “I can't believe it, honestly.”

“You can do this!” You grin, “I'm so happy for you, genuinely. Finishing the championship with like 6 more races left is crazy and you're so close to it.”

“You think I can do it?” Usually Haechan asks such questions when he's completely confident and digging for compliments, but today you know he really means it.

“I believe in you, come on.” You drag him, “You will be fine. Right now, there's a press conference to get to.”

“You're going in with Seungcheol, Doyoung and Jeonghan.” You inform him as you leave the hospitality and head towards the FIA building. “They will definitely ask you about the drivers championship and since Choi is also there, there'll be questions about the constructors too. There's no need to make digs at anyone right now, so be careful.”

“What do I tell them if they ask about the drivers championship? Fuck, I really don't know what to say.” He sighs, shaking his head, “It feels kind of unreal.”

“It's better to play it safe right now. I'm sure that this weekend decides if you're going to be champion, not Jaehyun, right? So even if you don't win here you don't have to be too worried. Don't freak out so much. You only have to tell them that you're focusing on the race here. There's no need to commit to anything beyond that.” You bite your lip, “Honestly Haechan, you'll be fine. Say what comes to your mind, just don't sound overconfident, alright?”

He nods. You give him an encouraging pat on the shoulder as the two of you enter the conference room. You'll be sitting behind the reporters, right there. He has nothing to be worried about.

The moderator begins to speak as Haechan sits down next to Seungcheol, “Good afternoon everyone. Welcome to the FIA driver's press conference ahead of the Singapore Grand Prix. Joining us today, on my right we have Doyoung from Mercedes, Jeonghan from Williams, Seungcheol from Ferrari and Haechan from Red Bull.”

The first few questions from the moderator are directed towards the other three, with Jeonghan answering questions about how it's getting more competitive in the midfield right now, to Doyoung talking about the problems he's been facing with the car as of late. The next question, though, goes to Seungcheol.

“Seungcheol, Ferrari are in contention against Red Bull for both the Driver's and the Constructors’ Championship, and it seems the team’s focus has shifted more towards Jaehyun’s title fight. How are you balancing supporting the team’s goals with pursuing your own results this weekend?” The moderator asks.

Haechan can tell it ticks off the man beside him.

“The team’s goal is to secure the best possible result in the Constructors’ Championship, and I’m fully committed to contributing to that. Jaehyun’s in the title fight, and it makes sense for Ferrari to back him. But that doesn’t mean I’m just here to play support. I’m still a competitor, and I’m racing for myself too. My focus is on maximizing my own performance, and if that helps the team, then that’s a win-win.” Seungcheol asserts before setting his mic down.

“Thank you, Seungcheol. Moving on to our championship contender. Haechan, you have a chance to secure the driver's championship this weekend. How are you managing the pressure of that possibility, especially at a track as challenging as Singapore?”

Haechan clears his throat, “Yeah, I mean I'd be lying if I said there was no pressure. But it's a part of the job. I've learned that the moment you start thinking too ahead, you lose focus of what's in front of you right now. So I'm trying to take this entire weekend one step at a time. Singapore is a tough track, nothing's guaranteed. I'm going to approach it like any other race. Try to give my best. If it happens, it does. Otherwise we keep pushing.”

The moderator nods, “Well, all the very best to you. We'll now open the floor to questions from the media.”

A journalist in the first row stands up, “My question is for Haechan.”

“Hello,” Haechan smiles, earning polite laughter from the journalists.

“Both Seungcheol and Doyoung have been in your position before. Have you sought any advice from them on handling the pressure of a title decider?”

“I mean,” Haechan laughs a little, “Not really? I've seen first hand how they've handled it and that in itself has been sort of a lesson. But at the end of the day, all drivers experience things differently and deal with things differently. But who knows, maybe I should ask them.” He turns to look at the two world champions sitting near him.

Seungcheol throws a small smile, “You'd have to ask nicely.”

Haechan rolls his eyes at this, playfully poking the inside of his mouth with his tongue in mock irritation.

Doyoung laughs along with the rest of the room before speaking, “Honestly, with the way he's been driving this season, I wouldn't say he needs our advice.”

The next journalist stands up with a question for Seungcheol.

“There have been rumors going around since Monza that you might be in the talks of leaving Ferrari. Do you have anything to comment on about that?”

“Rumors are just that—rumors. Nothing is confirmed till you hear it from me. Right now, I'm focused on the constructors. Anything beyond that, we will talk when the time comes.” He says with an air of finality, giving the hint that he will not entertain more questions about this.

—

Lee Haechan (RB): Can you wait for me? I'm almost out of debriefing We're going to the same place anyways, I'll drive you [20:29]

You: stalker much? I'm in front of the Ferrari hospitality. [20:34]

Lee Haechan (RB): More like I saw you leaving in the morning Where are youuuu [20:36]

“Hey,” Haechan greets as he walks up to you.

You take his arrival as an excuse to leave, bidding farewell to Jaehyun's PR manager.

“God, you came at the right time, really.” You groan as the two of you walk into the parking lot.

“Why? She's that bad?”

“Don't even get me started,” You let out, exasperated, “I pity Jaehyun, honestly.”

Haechan lets out an offended noise as he opens the door of his car for you. You slip inside, too preoccupied with your thoughts to notice the gesture. When he gets into the driver's seat, he sighs.

“You can't pity my competitors, come on. Unless it's because of what's coming for them.” He jokes.

You sigh, swatting his arm, “No that's not it. She's weirdly really open with whatever is going on at their team. I think if we’d stayed a few more minutes she would’ve straight up started talking about the contract situations in Ferrari.”

“My first PR manager was like that too. And I think because I was a lot younger, he thought he could just control me and boss me around.” Haechan exhales as he drives out of the gates. 

It makes you bristle. “I hate people like that, honestly. Like you’ve got one job, it’s really not that hard to stick to it while being a nice person too.”

Haechan hums, nodding his head. 

“You know, thinking back on it, she was like that in college too. Never knew how to keep things to herself. She had this grand nickname— The Leaky Faucet.”

It makes him laugh. You can’t help but stare at him while he drives. He looks like he feels better than he did in the morning, his shoulders are more relaxed and his head gently moves to the beat of the song playing on the radio. The soft, dim glow of the dashboard makes his features look softer and more innocent.

You look away before he can catch you gazing. “Is the hotel far from the track? I didn’t really have the time to notice it in the morning.”

“Nah,” Haechan glances at you for a moment before focusing on the road again, “We’ll be there in like five minutes. Come to think of it, this is the first time you’re sitting in a car that I’m driving.”

You gasp, “Wow, it is! I’d give you a 4.8 rating out of 5.”

“Where did the 0.2 go?” He scoffs.

You sigh, sinking back into the seat, gazing outside the window at the Marina Bay Sands hotel outside, forever illuminated. “Nowhere. I need to keep your ego in check.”

“You wound me,” He says, making you laugh at the way it sounds so monotone, “By the way, I called my parents up today and they were so excited, I’m pretty sure they already booked tickets to fly in for tomorrow.”

You coo at that, unable to stop your lips from smiling, “That’s great! It’s insane honestly. I mean, you’ve probably heard it from so many people already, but I’m truly very excited for you.”

He pulls into the hotel entrance, shaking his head towards the valet to let him know that he’ll park the car himself. Looking back at you, he smiles. “Thanks pretty.”

If his words didn’t make your breath hitch, you’d be rolling your eyes right now, fighting the urge to pull him by the ears. Too bad you actually fucking like the stupid guy.

“Dahyun’s coming too, I think,” Haechan mumbles as he backs into a parking spot. He does it with only one hand, the other resting casually on the center console. He does it with so much ease that you have to blink a few times to snap out of your thoughts. The effortless way he controls the car, barely glancing at the mirrors, makes you wonder how many times he’s done this before. There’s something undeniably attractive about how relaxed and composed he is. You remind yourself that he’s a driver, for god sake. It would be concerning if he didn’t know how to park well.

“I honestly think she’s more excited to see you than see me win.” Haechan speaks again as he turns the ignition off, turning his body sideways to look at you.

Although you scoff, your heart warms at the thought of his sister liking you, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Believe what you will,” He shrugs, “I’m telling the truth, though.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you. For a second, you let yourself savour the idea of being more involved in his world.

“You’re exaggerating, Haechan. But do tell her I’ll be happy to see her as well.” You say, getting out of the car. He follows you, gently shutting the door before locking it behind him.

As the elevator doors close, Haechan speaks up again. “I'm glad you two like each other, honestly. Hope your sister doesn't mind me either.”

You're about to laugh it off and tell him that Rina would love him anyways when the first part of his sentence hits you. A part of you wants to ask him why, wants to put a name on this, wants everything cleared up. The other part wants to let everything die down before you address anything.

Tonight, you ask anyway, sure that you'll regret whatever answer you hear from him. Both your rooms are coincidentally on the 25th floor giving you plenty of time to talk if you must.

“Haechan,” You begin, carefully, “Really, what do you mean by that?”

He looks at you properly, turning his entire body towards you. 

Haechan thinks you feel the same way that he does. Although you're professional most of the time, he's noticed the way you blush or look away when he throws something flirty at you. He's noticed the way you've become much more comfortable with him, the way you don't seem to mind how close you've become. The lines between coworkers and friends had been erased a while ago, but the line between friends and a little something more lies there in the space between you two, stretching long and thick. He wants to bend over it, hold your hand and jump onto your side to erase that too. He's just not sure if tonight is the night. So he makes himself, and hopefully you, a promise.

“Sunday,” He finally says, sounding a little short of breath but determined nonetheless, “I promise we’ll talk about this on Sunday, after the race.”

You nod. In a way you are relieved, but now that you know you're going to hear something from him, it keeps you on your toes. 

When the two of you get off the elevator on the 25th floor, Haechan stops you by grabbing your hand. You glance at it for a second and it makes him take his hand off. You wish you could tell him that you would rather him not do that.

“I hope this doesn't make it awkward between us for the next few days.” Haechan admits, looking down as he shuffles from one foot onto the other.

“Of course not,” You furrow your eyebrows, “It won't, don't worry.”

Your rooms are on two different ends of the corridor, so he shyly bids you goodbye and promises to leave only after he sees you go inside. You can't help the butterflies that rise in your stomach as you turn on your heels to go back to your room. You don't dare to turn back. You don't know if you can control yourself if you do.

—

Saturday, qualifying October 4th

“Welcome back to a crucial qualifying session here under the bright lights of the Marina Bay Circuit! We’re in for a tense evening, and one of the biggest stories heading into this weekend is Lee Haechan’s grid penalty. After taking a fresh energy store, the Red Bull driver will drop ten places from wherever he qualifies today.” 

“Yeah, and that’s a big blow for him. He’s got the chance to walk away with the driver’s championship this weekend, and on a track like Singapore, which is notoriously difficult on the drivers, that’s going to be a tough hill to climb on race day.”

Usually, you don’t sit through qualifying. There are more important things to do back at the hospitality. Articles to overview, media obligations to manage, last-minute preparations for whatever chaos might unfold post-session. But tonight is different. The Red Bull garage is packed, not just with the engineers and strategists and mechanics but with most of the crew that usually don’t attend. It’s an important qualifying that leads to an important day for not just Haechan but the entire team. The last time Red Bull had a world champion on their hands was a long time ago. 

His family is here too, in one of the corners of the garage where there are normal televisions to watch the qualifying. You see Dahyun wave at you and smile in return. You can’t walk up to her right now, but you’d already met her earlier in the day when her mother and her had stopped by the hospitality to grab a coffee before heading down to the garage during FP3. 

You turn your attention back to the screen when you see Haechan roll out of the garage for his first run. The RB21 glows under the artificial lights as he leaves the pitlane. 

“Out lap now. Track conditions look stable. Let’s build into it.”

“Copy.” Haechan responds. 

He’s worried. 

This grid penalty just had to fall on the weekend that mattered the most and there’s nothing he can do to even protest against it because it’s the team’s decision, and because it was done to maximise his performance this weekend in the first place.

As Haechan begins his outlap, he pushes the penalty out of his mind. He needs to focus on getting pole. It’s the only way he can lessen the damage. 

On the bright side, the car feels good under him. He approaches the corners confidently and the car is well balanced, taking the high speed straights well. Maybe the new energy stores were a good decision after all.

You watch as the first times come in. Doyoung sets the benchmark, a 1:35.982. Jeno follows, then Seungcheol. The screen flickers as sector times update, and you feel the tension build as Haechan’s name lights up purple in Sector 1. 

He’s faster than Doyoung by a tenth in sector 1. As Haechan approaches Sector 2, you’re on edge. If he can stay ahead here, sector 3 won’t be too hard. The screen flickers, and there it is—another purple. Faster than Doyoung again.

"Yes!" someone mutters under their breath. You can’t help but feel a surge of pride, even though it’s far from over. 

He hits the final stretch, and you watch as the seconds increase. The timing screens update, but this time, it's Haechan’s name that dominates. A 1:34.926. Purple across the board.

The garage erupts. The engineers shout in excitement, high-fiving each other. The team principal gives a nod of approval, but his focus is already on what’s next. Haechan’s provisional pole doesn’t guarantee anything yet, but it’s a damn good start.

The team radio crackles on Haechan’s side, “Mega job, Haechan. Mega. You can head in if you’d like.”

Haechan doesn’t have room to be satisfied with his performance. He will not, until he has a clear lead over the others. He wants to push, see how much more than a second he can go. Plus, Singapore is a track where the grip increases with more rubber lay-down.

“I’ll stay out.”

After a slow, recharge lap, the team watches as he winds up for another flying lap. It’s a gamble, his tires will have lost some of their peak performance, but if he nails the lap, it won’t matter.

“Alright, you’re clear,” his race engineer says. “Push now.”

Haechan’s first sector is clean and precise. He shaves off time where he can and maneuvers through the corners perfectly. Then comes sector 2. The garage watches as he approaches Turn 14, braking even later than before. The car responds sharply. The rear wobbles, side pods almost grazing the wall, so close that for a moment, everyone in the garage holds their breath. It’s the kind of moment where, if he gets it wrong, that’s the lap over.

But Haechan doesn’t lift. Doesn’t hesitate.

“That’s a purple sector 2. Doing good, push harder if possible.”

“I’m trying, man,” Haechan grits out. He’s already wringing every bit of performance out of the car.

He storms through sector 3, showing insane speed on the straights. You think that the people back at the factory who are most definitely watching right now, deserve to be really proud of themselves.

When Haechan crosses the line again, the times update.

1:34:582.

“What’s the gap?”

A beat of silence, then his engineer’s voice,“P1 by 1.4 seconds. You can box, box.”

And that is pole position occupied for the rest of quali, you think, unable to help the grin on your face as you watch his family celebrate.

The pitlane is still buzzing as the final cars complete their laps, but no one comes close. Haechan’s time remains untouchable. One by one, the names shuffle on the board, but his stays on top.

When the session ends, confirmation comes through. “Session over, P1 confirmed,” his engineer tells him. “We’ll start P10 tomorrow. Lots of work to do but good job, you did your best.”

Haechan knows it too. He climbs out of the car, removes his helmet, and though his face is calm, you know him well enough to see the flicker of frustration behind his eyes. Pole position means nothing when you have to give it up.

He barely has a moment to breathe before his family surrounds him, his mother pulling him into a tight hug before he can even react. He stumbles back a step, but his hands come up instinctively, resting on her back as she murmurs something only he can hear. Whatever frustration was lingering in his posture melts just slightly, replaced by something softer. 

Dahyun grins beside them, waiting for their mother to let go before nudging Haechan in the ribs. “Fastest man on track,” she teases. “Shame you’re not starting there.”

Haechan rolls his eyes, but there’s the briefest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to be annoyed but can’t help himself. His father claps him on the shoulder, saying something about how he drove well regardless, and for a moment, the tension of the session is forgotten.

You hesitate a few steps away, watching the scene unfold. You don’t usually get involved in moments like these. They’re personal, belonging to the drivers and their families, not to you. You know when to blend into the background, to let them have their time. But you also know when to step in, because there’s still a job to do.

Still, approaching feels different this time.

Adjusting the collar of your team polo shirt, you take a breath before stepping forward.

“Haechan,” you say, voice level, “we need to head to the media pen soon.”

He turns at the sound of your voice, eyes flicking to you before he gestures for you to come closer. “Oh, right—Dad, Mom, this is my PR rep,” he says casually, “She makes sure I don’t say anything that’ll get me fined.”

His father chuckles, holding out his hand, “Well, that must be a full time job.”

You shake it firmly, offering a small smile, “Some weekends more than the others. But he’s fine.”

“We appreciate it,” his mother says warmly. “This one can be a handful.”

Haechan groans, throwing his head back as he sets his helmet on the table, “Come on, I’m really not that bad, she said it herself!”

He turns to you, “Can we please leave before they say something that would actually look like I’m a PR liability?”

You laugh at that, smiling and nodding at his family before you leave behind him.

The paddock is still alive and will be for a few more hours to come. Mechanics start packing up, Jeno’s side practices a pit-stop, engineers bent over their data. Haechan walks ahead, his pace unhurried. He doesn’t look particularly frustrated, but you can tell the result is still sitting with him.

“You’re quiet,” you say as you catch up.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Just thinking.”

“You drove well.”

He hums, “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“It could’ve been worse,” You point out, “You’ve done all that you could have.”

He sighs softly. “Yeah. Still feels shit, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that.

The media pen is bright and waiting. You can see the other drivers and their representatives and trainers hanging around the area, probably waiting for their turn or coming out after finishing. The journalists wait, cameras and mics ready.

Haechan breathes in deeply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers catching briefly before falling back to his side. Then, with barely a pause, he steps forward, and you follow.

—

The hotel is quieter than expected when you walk in. It’s a little late, but you did expect to see at least a few people from the team in the lobby. You step into the elevator, pressing your floor number before leaning back against the wall, already half distracted by your phone.

The doors are just about to close when a hand slides in between them.

Haechan.

He steps inside, the doors shutting behind him. You blink, caught off guard. It’s late. Too late for him to just be getting back.

“You’re back now?” you ask, brows furrowing.

He leans against the railing on the glass back-wall, hands stuffed into his hoodie’s pockets, eyes trained on the floor. “Meetings went on forever. The debrief was long and there’s a lot to do tomorrow.”

You nod to yourself. Of course there is.

“What about you though?” Haechan looks up, “Why were you down so late?”

“I went to dinner with a friend,” You shrug.

“How was it?” He hums before looking up at the floor that the elevator stops on. 16. Someone gets on and you step behind, closer to him.

“It was fine,” You reply, a little softer, “Did you eat?”

Haechan nods.

“In your dressing room like a lonely little kid?”

“I didn’t feel like sitting with anyone. Everyone’s just going to talk about strategy and I felt like I was going to lose my mind.”

The person gets off on floor 19.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask softly. He can feel your stare on him, but it doesn’t feel harsh or expecting.

“It’s been a while since I’ve mentally dreaded a race this much.” Haechan sighs, looking at his shoes again, “It’s going to be really hard. Singapore always is, but with this championship hanging on the line, it’s going to be worse.”

You shift, leaning against the railing beside him. “Yeah,” you say, because what else is there? He already knows what tomorrow is. He doesn’t need you to tell him he’ll be fine, or that he can do it. He just needs to say it out loud.

He exhales, pressing his lips together. “I just don’t want to fuck it up.”

“If it makes any difference, I don’t think you will.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “You sound confident.”

“Someone has to be.”

That pulls a quiet laugh out of him. His fingers rake through his hair, messing it up worse than it already was. “I’m supposed to sleep properly tonight, but I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. You step out first, Haechan falling into step beside you. When he doesn’t say anything else, you pause, looking back at him. He’s still stuck in his own head.

Before you can think too much about it, you step forward and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down slightly.

You feel him tense for a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Then, slowly, he exhales, his shoulders dropping as he leans into you. His hands come up hesitantly, resting against your back before wrapping around your waist. 

He sighs when you gently rub your palms up and down his back and it sends a chill down your spine. Haechan is warm and soft and smells like fabric softener. His grip tightens, just slightly, like he doesn’t want to let go yet. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and for a second, the weight he’s been carrying all weekend seems to melt away. His body molds easily against yours, the space between you completely gone, like this is exactly where he needed to be without realizing it.

“You’re good at this,” he mumbles, voice low and muffled against your shoulder.

You huff out a small laugh. “At what?”

He shifts, his chin grazing your shoulder. “Making things feel less bad.”

—

Sunday, Race Day October 5th

“Welcome to race day here in Singapore,” the commentary plays in the background. “Today, there’s more than just a race win at stake. For the first time in the track’s history, it may see a driver crowned world champion tonight. Red Bull’s Lee Haechan has a chance to clinch the 2025 World Championship at the Marina Bay Circuit.”

A slow pan across the grid shows the top ten, cars lined up in neat formation, waiting. 

“But it won’t be easy,” the commentator continues. “After taking a grid penalty for a new energy store, Haechan starts tenth, meaning he’ll need to fight his way through the field if he wants to leave here as champion.”

“There’s more,” His co-commentator picks up. “He needs to finish in the top two, and Jaehyun who is still mathematically in the fight, must finish P4 or lower. If that happens, the title is his.”

The team is gathered around his car, making final adjustments. His race engineer says something to him, but Haechan only half listens, nodding out of habit. He already knows what he needs to do.

“And let’s not forget—his teammate, Jeno, starts from P3,” the broadcast continues. “He’s not in the championship fight, but he could be a major factor today, whether that’s helping Red Bull control strategy or playing a defensive role later in the race.”

Haechan exhales slowly, rolling his shoulders back as the national anthem begins. He stands among the other drivers, hands clasped in front of him, eyes fixed straight ahead. He barely hears the music. His mind is already in the race.

There’s no point overthinking now. He’s already run through every scenario, every risk, every move he needs to make. All that’s left is to drive.

As the anthem ends, the grid stirs back to life. Mechanics move around him, engineers making last-minute checks. He reaches for his balaclava, adjusting his gloves, but just before he pulls it on, his eyes flick toward the front row.

Jaehyun’s had a bad qualifying, so Haechan thinks that at least he had a little luck on his side as he watches the former get into his Ferrari standing at P6.

Jeno’s car sits in P3, just ahead of the chaos Haechan will have to navigate.

Jeno is already getting ready, helmet on, listening to his engineer. He doesn’t look back. He doesn’t have to.

Haechan knows he’ll be there when it counts.

He exhales, pulling his helmet on. The engineer beside him pats his back.

"Let’s do this."

The grid clears. Engineers step back, mechanics rush off, the final checks are done. Haechan is in the car, helmet on, visor down. You put your earplugs back in as the roar of all twenty engines amplifies, getting ready for the formation lap.

You should be thinking about the media responsibilities that will come if he wins, if he loses, if something goes wrong. That’s your job. That’s what you always do.

But right now, none of that matters.

Right now, all you can think about is him.

Everything he’s worked for. The pressure he’s carried. The way he refuses to let himself enjoy the good moments because there’s always something more to chase. The way he overthinks, the way he drives like he’s got something to prove, the way he wants this more than anything.

Your fingers tighten, nails digging into your palm.

You want this for him. So badly it makes your chest ache. 

Dahyun stands next to you, palms pressed together beneath her chin. She doesn’t talk. For all the teasing and affection she shows for her brother, she understands this moment isn’t one for words.

You glance at her briefly, catching the way her eyes stay locked on the screen, unblinking. There’s no joke poised on the tip of her tongue, no playful jab about how dramatic all of this feels. Just quiet, unspoken hope.

The two of you stand there, side by side, a little away from her parents, watching as the cars snake through the final sector. The pit wall is alive with movement, engineers murmuring into headsets, strategists making their final calculations. But none of it feels real. Not the voices murmuring in the garage, not the bustling of the mechanics as they settle down, just the car marked with the number 66, rolling into position on the grid.

Dahyun lets out a breath, barely audible. You don’t realize you’ve been holding yours until you exhale, too.

Haechan pulls into his slot. The rest of the field follows.

The engines rev louder than before. The first light flickers on.

Haechan’s grip on his wheel tightens. His hands stay still, his breathing steady.

Two.

The tension in your chest coils tighter. The grid is motionless, waiting, but the air feels electric, charged with everything that’s about to happen.

Three.

Haechan’s foot hovers over the throttle. The start will make or break his race.

Four.

Your palms feel sweaty. It feels like everything is balancing on the edge of a knife.

Five.

Make it count, Haechan thinks.

The lights hold. For a second, and then another.

Then, they go out.

Haechan gets a start so good it almost doesn’t seem real.

The second the lights go out, he’s moving—reaction time faster than most of the midfield teams, his car shooting forward while others hesitate for a split second too long. Before they even reach Turn 1, he’s already ahead of one, then another, slipping into the gaps before they close.

“He’s off to a flying start, already gaining places down the straight!”

The onboard feed flickers, his hands steady, engine roaring as he picks off another car before the braking zone. The midfield is tight, but he’s making space where there shouldn’t be any.

“He’s up to eighth already!”

The next car ahead is slower, leaving the inside open just enough. Haechan takes it without hesitation, braking later and edging forward as they go side by side through the corner. For a second, it looks like the Alpine will hold him off, but Haechan keeps his car planted, forcing him wide on exit.

“Nicely done! That’s seventh!”

The camera shifts, showing the cars funneling through the first corners, the Red Bull slicing through cleanly.

The field begins to stretch out as the front row cars start pulling away, but the midfield is still clustered together, the gaps tight. Haechan is right in the middle of it, eyes fixed ahead, mind already calculating the next move.

“He’s closing in,” commentary picks up. “He’s looking for another place.”

His Red Bull is practically glued to the car in front, catching on the straights, losing slightly in the slower corners. He needs to be patient. The driver ahead knows he’s there. One wrong move could ruin everything.

Haechan waits. The dirty air makes the car slide slightly through the high-speed turn, but he corrects it instinctively. It doesn’t shake him. He’s done this a hundred times before.

And then it happens. A small mistake, a hesitation on the throttle, a loss of momentum. Haechan doesn’t wait.

“He’s making a move! Down the inside!”

You barely realize you’ve shifted forward, hands pressed together, breath held. The car ahead squeezes him, forcing him tighter to the inside line, but he holds firm, braking just late enough to slip ahead.

“He’s through! That’s P6 for Haechan!”

The cars behind him start to grow smaller in his mirrors.

Haechan doesn’t need confirmation. He can feel it in the clean air stretching ahead. The midfield is behind him now. No more defending. No more fighting for scraps.

Now, he hunts.

His race engineer’s voice crackles through the radio. “Gap to P5, 3.8 seconds. We’re in a good window. Start pushing.”

“Pace is strong,” the engineer comes back. “You’re faster than the cars ahead.”

Good.

The numbers on his wheel flicker, confirming what he already knows. The gap is shrinking.

Another lap. Another sector. Another second gone.

The laps start blending together.

From Haechan’s perspective, the race has settled for now. No fights, no wheel-to-wheel battles, just the steady determination of closing a gap.

“Gap to P5, 1.6 seconds,” his race engineer updates. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

Jaehyun is right there.

Haechan doesn’t need an engineer telling him the gap. He can see the Ferrari ahead, steady, controlled, the same way it’s been all season. The same team that spent last year pushing him to the limit, waiting for him to crack.

But not this time.

Mathematically, Jaehyun is still in it. He’s over a hundred points behind, but as long as the title isn’t clinched today, he still has a chance. He’s holding on, dragging this battle out for as long as he can.

But Haechan isn’t interested in waiting.

His grip on the wheel tightens, the tension settling deep in his chest. The car is working under him, the balance just right. He doesn’t have to overthink it. He just has to keep closing.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 1.4 seconds," his race engineer says.

In the garage, your hands are pressed together, fingers locked tight, knuckles stiff. You’re not praying, but it feels close to it.

The energy around you is suffocating. No one is talking, no one is moving. The mechanics are barely breathing, eyes fixed on the monitors. You can’t take your eyes off the screen. The energy is different now. This isn’t just about moving up the order anymore. This is the championship fight, laid out in front of you, two cars, two drivers, one of them about to take everything. He’s the last obstacle, the only thing keeping this title fight alive.

If Haechan doesn’t get past him, it all drags on. Another race. Another chance for Jaehyun to claw his way back.

Jaehyun isn’t making this easy.

Haechan knew he wouldn’t. Even with the championship slipping out of reach, Jaehyun isn’t the type to roll over. He’s still fighting, still defending, still forcing Haechan to work for every inch of track.

"Gap to Jaehyun, 0.8," his engineer calls. "You’re in DRS range."

Finally.

The Ferrari stays planted through the high-speed corners, Jaehyun’s placing the car exactly where it needs to be. No mistakes. No wasted movement. Haechan is faster, but faster isn’t enough.

He closes in on the straight, opens the rear wing, gains a few meters, but Jaehyun moves first, covering the inside, forcing Haechan to think twice.

You hold your breath as the onboard flickers on the screen. He’s close, but not close enough. Not yet.

Haechan tucks in behind him, barely lifting through the next corner, tires screaming for grip.

He waits.

Another straight. Another chance.

This time, he moves first.

A sharp flick to the outside, forcing Jaehyun to react and he does. Just a small shift, a split second of hesitation, enough for Haechan to dive back inside.

Side by side.

You can hear the mechanics shout out in encouragement, elbows on their knees as they bend forward in anticipation, the tension hanging heavy in the air.

They brake late, almost too late, tires locking, fighting for control. Jaehyun holds the line, refusing to back down, squeezing Haechan toward the curb but he doesn’t flinch.

He keeps his foot in. Holds his nerve.

For a second, they’re wheel to wheel, neither giving an inch.

Dahyun reaches out for your hand, her grip tight and lips muttering, “Please, please, please don’t touch.”

Then just before the next turn, Haechan edges ahead.

"He’s through! Haechan takes P5 ahead of the Ferrari! It’s an uphill battle now, to make it to P2 and make sure Jaehyun stays behind him.”

Dahyun jumps a little next to you, letting out a cry of relief. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding too. But it isn’t over yet. Not until Haechan sets a solid gap between him and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun is still there, still in his mirrors, still waiting for a mistake. And for a second, Haechan almost expects him to fight back immediately, to dive into the next braking zone and throw everything at it.

But he doesn’t.

The Ferrari stays close, but not aggressive. Not reckless. He guesses that this is the biggest difference between Jaehyun and his teammate.

The radio crackles. "Nice work. Let’s pull away now. Next car, 3.4 seconds ahead. How are the tyres feeling?"

Haechan exhales slowly, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

“Starting to wear, but I can hang on for a few more laps. Tell me when the Mercs and Ferrari pit.”

"Copy. We’ll keep you updated," his engineer responds.

Haechan doesn’t say anything after that, eyes locked on the road ahead. The Ferrari and Mercedes up front are still running strong, but their tires are wearing just as fast as his. The undercut is coming. He just doesn’t know when.

He settles into his rhythm, stretching the gap behind him little by little. Jaehyun is fading in his mirrors now, not close enough to be a threat but still there, lingering just out of reach. 

The radio comes back a lap later. "Ferrari in the pits."

Haechan exhales sharply, eyes flicking toward the pit lane as Seungcheol peels off early. That’s aggressive. Too early for pure tire strategy.

"He’s playing the team game," his engineer confirms. "Seungcheol could be pitting now to put pressure on Jeno. Joshua might try to hold you up."

Not because Mercedes is helping Ferrari, but because Joshua is racing for himself.

Haechan tightens his grip on the wheel. That’s a problem.

Joshua isn’t just going to let him through. And if he stays out too long, Haechan will get stuck behind him, wasting his tires while Seungcheol gains time on fresh rubber. If Red Bull reacts too late, Haechan could come out of the pits behind both of them.

No. That’s not happening.

"Stay out. We’ll extend and cover the overcut," his engineer tells him. "Let’s push now."

Fine. He can push.

Joshua is just up the road, P3 still in his grasp, but the Mercedes is holding position, taking defensive lines. He knows Haechan is coming. And he’s not going to make it easy.

Haechan exhales slowly. So this is how it’s going to be?

Ahead, Jeno still holds P2 and Doyoung leads the race. The fight up front hasn’t started yet, but the midfield is already shifting. One mistimed stop, one second lost, and everything could flip.

The radio crackles again. "Seungcheol is on hards. Jaehyun’s pit right after him. Jeno and Doyoung are still out."

And every lap spent behind Joshua is a lap lost to Seungcheol.

"Gap to Seungcheol, 19.3 seconds," the engineer calls. "They’re warming up the hards, let’s get past Joshua now."

Yeah. He knows.

The next straight is coming up. He tucks in behind, inching closer, feeling the slipstream pull him forward. DRS open. The Mercedes shifts slightly left, not a full move, just enough to discourage a late lunge.

Haechan lifts. Backs off.

Not yet.

In the garage, you feel the frustration creeping in. He’s fast enough to take the position. But every attempt costs time, and the gap behind is closing.

"Seungcheol is matching our pace," the engineer updates.

You feel a little sick.

Haechan has to go now.

He knows it, too. The moment he brakes into the next corner, his mind is already on the next opportunity. Joshua is covering the inside. Fine.

Haechan sets up wide and gets a better exit. If Joshua wants to defend, he’ll have to do it twice.

The next straight comes up fast.

This time, he doesn’t wait.

A sharp flick to the right, making it look like he’s going for the outside. Joshua shifts, just slightly, just enough—

And Haechan dives left instead.

Inside line. No time to react.

They’re side by side.

Joshua holds his ground, braking as late as he dares, keeping the nose of the Mercedes alongside but Haechan is already there, already committed, tires squealing as he forces the car through the corner.

There’s barely any space, but it’s enough.

Joshua tries to hang on, but the exit is compromised. Haechan is already ahead before the next turn.

"He’s through! Haechan into P3!"

The mechanics start falling into position, wheeling out the tyres. 

"Box, box," the engineer calls immediately. "We cover the undercut now. Let’s go."

It takes Haechan a split second to process it, his hands already moving.

"Understood."

Haechan dives into the pit lane, the speed limiter kicking in as he barrels toward his box.

The Red Bull crew is already waiting. The stop is fast. Clean. The car drops, the mechanics move  and Haechan launches back out onto the track.

"Good stop. You’re rejoining P7, ahead of Jaehyun."

He exhales, gripping the wheel tighter. That was the first hurdle. But Jaehyun is still there, still a threat. If he gets caught behind traffic now, that gap could disappear in seconds.

Back in the garage, the tension is barely contained.

The screens flicker, cameras shifting between pit exits and live timing. You don’t blink, don’t move, don’t realize how shallow your breathing has become until your chest starts to ache.

By the time the pit cycle is completed, the cars ahead disappearing into the pits to get fresher tyres on, Haechan is back to P3. 

“Jeno is pitting ahead of you, that is P2. He’s been told to stay back, so he will not chase you.” His engineer informs him.

Haechan barely acknowledges the call. He sees the Red Bull peeling off to the right, diving into the pit lane just as he flies past, officially taking P2.

But he doesn’t feel any relief.

The heat is suffocating.

His race suit clings to his skin, drenched in sweat. His gloves feel heavier, his grip on the wheel tighter than it should be. His mouth is dry, but drinking won’t help—the liquid in his drink packet is already warm because of the heat of the engine. He presses the drink button anyways, cringing once the warm water hits his tongue. 

He blinks hard, forcing himself to focus.

"Jeno is rejoining now… P3, just ahead of Joshua."

Good. That’s good. Jeno held out just long enough to help, but not long enough to ruin his own race.

But Haechan can’t think about that right now.

His breathing is heavier, his body dragging against the weight of the car. His shoulders burn from holding the wheel steady through every turn and his entire body hurts. So much. The exhaustion from all the pushing he’s done until now hits him as he finally comes up to a safe position.

“Where is Jaehyun?” he asks, voice rough, eyes flicking to the lap board.

Lap 61.

Two more. Just two more and it’s done.

The radio crackles back. “P6. He’s not a threat.”

He exhales sharply, but it doesn’t feel like relief. Not yet.

In the garage, no one talks. No one moves. The only sound is the low hum of the monitors, the voices over the team radios, the distant roar of the cars.

Your nails dig into your palms, but you don’t even feel it anymore. Lap 61. Two more to go.

You glance sideways at Dahyun. Her hands are clasped so tightly together that her knuckles are white. She hasn’t spoken since the last pit stops, her usual excitement replaced with something quieter, more anxious.

She exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but it’s breathless. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

You don’t answer. Because so do you.

Over the course of the race, Haechan’s parents have come to stand near you two. His mother holds onto his dad. You think she’s praying.

The camera flickers to Haechan’s onboard. His hands are stiff on the wheel, no wasted movement, but you can see it now—the exhaustion. The way his shoulders don’t sit as steady. The way his breathing is heavier through the radio.

The commentators pick up on it, too.

"He’s done everything right today, but you can see the toll it’s taking now. The heat, the intensity, the pressure, it’s all hitting at once."

Dahyun shifts beside you, biting her lip. "Come on, Haechan," she mutters under her breath.

Lap 62. The last one

He’s almost there.

The moment the lap board flashes past, Haechan’s breathing quickens.

One more. Just one more.

Everything hurts. His arms feel leaden, his fingers ache from gripping the wheel too tightly, his head is pounding.

But the finish line is right there, only one lap away.

“Final lap, Haechan,” his engineer says, voice measured, but he knows they feel it too.

He barely acknowledges it, eyes locked on the road ahead. Doyoung is too far ahead to catch, and Jeno is holding P3. The positions won’t change. It’s just him and the track now.

The crowd is deafening, even through his helmet. He can see the lights flashing from the grandstands, the energy building as he weaves through the final corners.

In the garage, you can’t breathe.

He hasn’t crossed the line yet, but the mechanics are already getting up from their seats to run to the pitwall. There’s not much to go wrong here.

The numbers on the screens blur together, and everything else—the people around you, the cameras, the noise—fades into the background. It’s just him on the monitor, his car flying through the final sector, the realization slowly, finally sinking in.

Dahyun has stopped fidgeting, but her hands are still clasped so tightly together that it looks painful.

He’s almost there.

The final corners. The final turns.

You remember the moment you were told that you’d be his PR rep for this season. It wasn’t meant to be anything special. Just another job, another person to manage, another year of handling media schedules and press conferences. You weren’t supposed to care.

But then the season started.

And you watched him race. You watched the way he carried himself, the way he fought for every position like it was the only thing that mattered, the way he never let himself get too comfortable, the way he refused to believe it was his until the numbers made it undeniable.

You’ve seen him exhausted, frustrated, drowning under the pressure. You’ve heard him at his most bitter, his most doubtful, when he let the weight of it all slip through the cracks.

And you’ve watched him get back in the car every single time.

Now, he’s almost done it. World Champion.

You don’t even realize your fingers are trembling until the moment his car crosses the line.

“He’s done it! Haechan finishes second with Jaehyun at P5, and with that— Lee Haechan is the 2025 World Champion!” The commentator exclaims.

The garage erupts.

Mechanics leap into each other’s arms, engineers cheering into headsets, the pit wall exploding into celebration. Somewhere behind you, someone is yelling, but all you can do is stare at the monitor, at the car with number 66 rolling past the checkered flag.

Dahyun lets out something between a laugh and a sob, hands flying to her mouth before she hugs you tightly. You swallow hard as you hug her back, unable to hold back the grin on your face. It’s an overwhelming kind of relief, not sharp, not explosive, just deep, sinking into your bones, settling in the way you hadn’t let yourself feel until now.

The crowd outside is deafening.

The cheers flood through Haechan’s radio. His engineer’s voice cracks with emotion. Someone from the pit wall is already yelling his name.

But all Haechan does is exhale.

His hands are still locked on the wheel. His arms are trembling, his body aching in ways he doesn’t have the energy to acknowledge yet.

It’s over.

And all he can think about is how long it’s taken.

Every year, every setback, every time he thought he was close only to watch it slip away. Every grueling season where it felt like no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough.

But this time, it was.

His vision blurs—not from exhaustion, not from sweat—just pure, overwhelming relief.

He breathes in. Breathes out. 

Sees the World Champion board where there should’ve been a P2 in parc fermé. 

When he parks, he finally lets go of the steering wheel, slumping into his seat. 

Jeno is the first to walk over, patting his helmet, his voice muffled but warm. Haechan barely processes it, only catching fragments—"Proud of you, man." Doyoung bends down next, saying something he can’t quite comprehend. The words don’t matter. He knows what they mean.

He nods, hands shaking as he reaches up, pulling off his gloves, his helmet, his balaclava. The rush of cooler air hitting his face is almost dizzying.

The moment he’s free of it, his eyes lift toward the barrier.

His team is there. All of them.

The mechanics, the engineers, the people who have been with him through every season, every late-night debrief, every painful loss. His mother, standing close to his father, hands pressed together as if she can barely believe it. His sister, bouncing on her heels, already reaching over the barrier.

And you.

Haechan doesn’t think. Doesn’t stop.

He moves on instinct, throwing himself out of the cockpit, barely registering his own exhaustion as his legs hit the ground.

And then, he runs.

Straight to them.

The second he reaches the barrier, the arms are already there, grabbing, pulling, holding. Someone ruffles his hair, someone yells his name, but he barely registers who is who. He just knows that this is his team, his people, and they’re all here.

Dahyun is the first to properly reach him, throwing her arms around him, squeezing tight. His mother is next, her hand cradling the side of his face for half a second before she pulls him in. His father’s grip is firm when he hugs him, yelling into his ears that he is proud, so proud.

He barely has time to think before another set of arms wrap around him, yours.

His breath catches for just a second. He can feel how tightly you’re holding on, how solid you feel against him despite how hard everything is still hitting him.

He shuts his eyes for just a moment.

It’s real. It’s over.

And he’s really won.

—

Monday, Post Race October 6th

12:05 AM

The dressing room is quiet.

For the first time in hours, there’s no noise, no cameras, no voices in his ear. Just the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of his team still celebrating downstairs.

Haechan sits on the small bench, head tilted back against the lockers, eyes shut. His whole body aches, the exhaustion hitting now that the adrenaline has fully worn off. 

His damp hair sticks to his forehead and he can still smell the champagne on his race suit that he’s abandoned in a corner of the room. The shower did make him feel better, washing away the litres of champagne that he’d been doused in. His clothes, a normal t-shirt and sweats, feel so much lighter on him after hours of being in the sweat-soaked, heavy race suit. 

The door creaks open.

He knows it’s you before you say anything.

You step inside, letting the door click shut behind you. 

“You’re here,” he murmurs after a moment, voice rough with exhaustion.

“Your parents are waiting downstairs,” you say softly. “I told them I’d check on you first.”

His lips twitch slightly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Checking to see if I passed out in here?”

“Something like that.”

You cross the room without hesitating, sinking down beside him. He doesn’t move, but when you lift a hand and press it gently against his back, you feel him lean into your touch, his shoulders losing the last bit of tension he’d been holding onto.

For a moment, you just sit there, your hand tracing slow, absentminded circles between his shoulder blades. The weight of the day still lingers in the air, but this moment feels different. Quieter, softer, just the two of you.

You let out a small breath, glancing at him. “You did it.”

His eyes flutter open, meeting yours.

“I did,” he says, barely above a whisper, like he hasn’t fully let himself believe it yet.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your hand moves up to the nape of his neck, raking through his hair. He hasn’t cut it since the first day you met him.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

He watches you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

“Sunday,” He finally answers. You hum, a little confused.

“I told you we’ll talk on Sunday.”

You still. It had been the last thing on your mind during the race, so you’re a tiny bit surprised when he brings it up. You breathe in deeply before meeting his eyes and letting out a small laugh.

“Well, World Champion, I don’t know if you know, but it’s Monday now.”

Haechan shakes his head, turning his body to face you. “No, I know. But—” He cuts off, throwing his head back before he reaches out for your hands, “Hold on, I’ve kind of rehearsed this, but I’ve never done this before so give me a moment.”

You blink, a laugh escaping you as he stumbles over his words. “Rehearsed it? Haechan, what are you—”

“I just…” He takes a breath, looking at you with a sort of quiet, soft determination. “Okay, here goes.” He squeezes your hands lightly, his fingers warm against yours. “I’m not good with words, you know that. But I’ve been thinking a lot about this, and I—I just need you to know…” He hesitates, and for a split second, his confidence falters.

You watch him, waiting. Despite knowing what’s coming, you can’t help the way your heart races. You feel breathless for a moment.

“I like you,” he says finally, his voice steady despite the nervousness in his eyes. “I like you more than I ever meant to. More than I’ve ever let myself admit.”

The simplicity of his confession knocks the breath out of you. He’s not asking for anything, not trying to pressure you, but it’s clear he’s laying everything out there, raw and open.

“I didn’t expect this. Didn’t think it would be this important, but it is. And I need you to know that,” he adds softly, his grip tightening just a little on your hands as though he’s grounding himself in the moment.

He waits for you to say something, but the words get stuck. Your mind races, and all you can do is stare at him.

Haechan’s brow furrows slightly, unsure of your silence. “You don’t have to—”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice soft but steady as you squeeze his hand. “I’m just… surprised. I mean- I’m not, because you’re not very subtle about it. I just didn’t expect you to say it today, you know, after all that’s happened. But I—” You swallow, the truth coming to your lips before you can think. “I like you too.”

You can see the relief flood his face, his shoulders relaxing as though he's been holding his breath. But then, a playful grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Well, I think I knew too,” he jokes, the tension in his voice lifting with the teasing. “I mean, it wasn’t exactly hard to tell…”

You blink, surprised by the shift in his tone. “You’re a little full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just a little,” he grins back, his eyes lighting up with that familiar spark as he shifts closer to you. “You know back there, after I got out of the car, I thought you’d go all WAG mode and kiss me on my helmet or something.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands away from him, making him laugh, “Oh, so I’m a WAG now? You know I'm really professional. So I’d never do that. In public too? Forget it.”

“I mean, I’m not complaining ‘cause I wouldn’t mind,” Haechan shrugs, “You should do it sometimes.”

You give him an exaggerated look of disbelief, but the warmth spreading through you makes it harder to stay serious. “You really think I would?”

“I’m just saying, it’d be a really nice surprise,” he says, his voice lowering, the teasing fading into something more sincere.

You hesitate for a moment, the playfulness still hanging in the air. And then, before you even fully process it, you lean forward, your hand finding the back of his neck. Haechan’s eyes widen slightly, but before he can react, you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his softly, with a tenderness that’s more than just a playful kiss.

You can feel the warmth of him, his body moving ever so slightly toward yours, his hand sliding to your waist, fingers gently curling around you, anchoring you to him. The world outside this little bubble of yours fades into the background. Haechan’s lips slot perfectly between yours. He still tastes like champagne. You’re not particularly fond of it, but for him, you think you could make an exception.

 His hand slides up to your cheek, fingers brushing against the soft skin there as he tilts his head just slightly, deepening the kiss. You feel his pulse against yours, a rhythm that matches the way your heart begins to race, each beat a little faster, a little louder. 

When you finally pull away, your lips still humming from the closeness, Haechan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath a little quicker than before, as though he’s still coming back to reality. You can’t help but smile softly, feeling something in you settle, like a weight being lifted.

“Was that surprising enough for you?” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His smile stretches slowly, like he’s trying to still comprehend. “Definitely.”

The two of you stay silent for a moment, processing and acknowledging whatever just happened when Haechan speaks up again, “But… just for the surprise to hit harder you could do it again.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, but before you can even think of a reply, he tugs you just a little closer, his lips brushing against yours again—lighter this time, but just as sure.

WINTER BREAK

December 21st

You hadn’t meant to spill the news to your mother this soon. It had just sort of… happened.

You had been on the phone with her one evening, catching up like you always did when you were both too busy to visit in person. She had been asking about work, about life, about whether you were eating properly, when she had casually slipped in, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

And because you hadn’t really been thinking, half-focused on something on your laptop, you had answered honestly.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence. Then a distinct shift in her tone, lighter, curious. “Oh?”

Your stomach had flipped. There had been no taking it back now.

“Yeah,” you had said again, slower this time, as if easing yourself into the reality of this conversation.

“Since when?”

You had hesitated, glancing at the calendar on your desk. “A little while now.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?”

You had exhaled through your nose, already hearing the teasing smile in her voice. “Eventually?”

She laughed. “Eventually. Right.” A pause, then, “Well? Who is he?”

You had bitten your lip, then said, “Haechan.”

Silence.

Then, after a few seconds, a sharp inhale. “As in your Haechan?”

You had winced. “Yeah.”

“As in the same Haechan I see on TV? The same one you’ve been working with this season?”

“Yeah.”

She had let out an incredulous laugh, clearly caught off guard. “And when exactly did this happen?”

You had hesitated, because when had it happened, really? There had been no defining moment, no grand realization, just a steady shift, an unshakable pull toward something you had probably always known was there.

“It wasn’t all at once,” you had admitted. “It just… made sense.”

Your mom had hummed like she was turning that over in her mind. “Well,” she had said eventually, “if it’s serious enough for you to tell me, you should bring him home for dinner.”

Your breath had hitched. “What?”

She had repeated it like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Bring him home. If you care about him, we’d like to meet him properly.”

You had swallowed. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, hadn’t considered when or how you’d introduce him to your family. Not because you hadn’t been sure about him—you had, you really had—but because the idea of sitting at that table with him, of merging two parts of your life that had always been separate, had made everything feel so real.

But… wasn’t that the point?

You had let out a slow breath. “I’ll ask him.”

Your mom had chuckled knowingly. “Good. Let me know when.”

You don’t bring it up right away.

It’s not that you’re nervous about his reaction—you know he’ll say yes. But when you finally mention it, just a casual, “My mom wants you to come over for dinner,” he still pauses for half a second longer than usual.

Then he blinks. “Dinner? Like, ‘sit at the table, be on my best behavior, answer your dad’s questions’ dinner?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Haechan leans back, tilting his head at you. “So, just to clarify, there’s no ‘pretend you don’t know me and let me sneak out the back’ option?”

“Nope.”

He exhales dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright, then. What do I call them? Should I be formal? Or do I go straight to ‘Mom and Dad’ to establish dominance?”

You snort. “If you do that, my dad might actually kick you out.”

“Got it. Saving that for the second dinner.”

You shake your head, watching as he stretches his arms over his head before finally settling back against the cushions. For all his joking, you can tell he’s actually thinking about it. He’s always been quick to roll with things, but this feels like something he’s mentally preparing himself for.

After a beat, he glances at you again, quieter now. “You want me there?”

“Yeah,” you say, just as soft. “I do.”

He holds your gaze for a second before nodding, more certain now. “Alright.”

—

Dinner passes in a comfortable blur.

Haechan is nervous at first. You can tell by the way he sits up a little too straight, the way his fingers drum lightly against his thigh as if he’s reminding himself to stay composed. But as the meal goes on, the warmth of your home eases him in. Your mom fusses over his plate, your dad throws in the occasional dry joke, and Rina’s teasing keeps him engaged. By the time the table is cleared and your mom waves you both off with a “Go relax, I’ve got this,” Haechan follows you upstairs looking much more at ease.

Your childhood room is just as you left it. Familiar, unchanging, a space to return to whenever you visit. You can hear Rina’s Frank Sinatra album playing through the walls. You remember when Rina was still small enough to curl up beside you on lazy afternoons, insisting you play music for her. You remember the way she’d hum along, her voice soft and uncertain, trying to match the notes, how she’d giggle whenever she stumbled over the lyrics. It takes you back to being seventeen, to the quiet comfort of these walls, the long stretches of time where it felt like nothing would ever really change.

But then your eyes land on Haechan as he steps inside, and the memory settles into something different. Not quite distant, but no longer the world you live in.

Seventeen was a lifetime ago. Before flights and paddocks, before conferences and championship fights. Before Haechan.

And yet, here he is, standing in the middle of it all like he belongs. Like there’s room for him here, too.

Because there is, You think fondly.

You watch as his eyes scan the space, gaze moving from the overstuffed bookshelf to the small collection of stuffed animals still tucked into the corner of your bed. He lingers on the little trinkets lining your desk, a few old keychains, a white dreamcatcher from a school trip years ago, a cup of dried-out gel pens you never threw away. It’s a time capsule, a version of you he never got to know.

But it’s the photos on your wall that really draw him in.

He moves closer, his fingers hovering near them but never quite touching. There’s one of you at five, or six maybe, in a navy blue sweatshirt with your hands cupping your cheeks as you smile so wide your eyes disappear. 

Haechan lets out a quiet laugh, turning towards your figure, flopped on your bed. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “You were actually the cutest kid alive.”

You grin. “It’s one of my favourite pictures of me too, honestly.”

He nods, but instead of moving on, he lifts his phone and takes a picture. You don’t notice, too lost in the comfort of your bed, the warmth of the moment.

Haechan doesn’t say anything either. Just tucks his phone away and keeps looking, his gaze flicking over another photo from a class trip, where you and your friends are grinning wildly, arms slung around each other. A few graduation photos, one with your parents standing proudly on either side of you, another with Rina making a face behind your shoulder.

You watch as Haechan’s gaze lingers on the framed family photo that sits on your desk, his fingers hovering over the glass like he’s memorizing every detail. There’s something unreadable in his expression, not quite wistful, not quite sad, but thoughtful in a way that makes you want to say something before he gets lost in it.

“That was taken after dinner at my grandma’s house,” you tell him, shifting so you can see it from where you’re sprawled on the bed. “We almost didn’t get a picture because Rina kept running off to play. My dad had to bribe her with extra dessert to get her to stay still.”

Haechan huffs out a quiet laugh at that, his lips quirking up slightly. “I should’ve guessed.”

You nod toward the frame. “It’s one of my favorites too.”

He tilts his head, still staring at it. “I get why.” Then, after a beat, he exhales and glances at you, hesitating for just a second before saying, “This might be a little forward, but… I kind of wish we knew each other before. Like, what if I could’ve been one of those people in your class photos, or—”

“You would have driven me insane,” you interrupt, glancing at him.

Haechan lets out a laugh, tilting his head. “Oh, really?”

You nod, leaning back against your bed. “Absolutely. You would’ve been the kid who never sat still, who found new ways to annoy me every day, who somehow convinced me to break all the rules.”

He smirks, nudging your knee with his. “Sounds like we would’ve had fun.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

Haechan hums, studying your expression for a moment before murmuring, “Still wish I was there.”

The words settle between you, soft but heavy.

You’d never really thought about before. About how your life would have looked if he had been there earlier.

But now, as he sits beside you, fingers tracing the edge of an old photograph, you can’t help but picture it.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old. Would he have been the boy who stole your notes in class? The one who passed you secret messages during exams just to make you roll your eyes? The one who always found a way to drag you into trouble, just so he could laugh at how flustered you got?

You exhale, suddenly aware of how fast your heart is beating.

Would you have fallen for him faster?

You sit up properly now, meeting his gaze, searching for something in it that you already know is there.

“I think you would’ve fit right in,” you say quietly.

Haechan’s lips curve into a small, almost shy smile, and he nods once, like he’s tucking the thought away for later. He looks back at the photo as he sits next to you. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing the back of his palm with your thumb.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get to be in one.”

You squeeze his hand, “You will be.”

The two of you settle into an almost comfortable silence when the music from Rina’s room catches your attention.

"There is nothing for me but to love you… and the way you look tonight."

Haechan’s head tilts slightly, a slow, knowing grin creeping onto his lips as he turns to you. “Well, that’s convenient.”

You groan, already feeling the warmth rising to your cheeks. “Oh, come on. Don’t.”

His grin widens. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

He shrugs, leaning just a little closer. “I mean… if the music insists.”

You smack his arm, but he only laughs before resting his head on your shoulder. 

—

December 23rd

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Haechan pauses, one hand still adjusting a silver bauble on the tree. He turns to you with an incredulous look. “How can I possibly be doing it wrong?”

“You’re clustering all the ornaments in one spot,” you say, pointing at the lopsided section he’s been working on. “It’s all too heavy on that side.”

He scoffs. “Excuse me for trying to create a focal point.”

“It’s not a gallery wall, it’s a Christmas tree.”

“Same concept.”

You roll your eyes and get up from his couch, stumbling a little over all the boxes on the floor. He flinches, rushing forward to catch you. You don’t fall, but you end up in his arms anyway. You reach to move one of the ornaments, but he swats your hand away. “Nope, decoration rights revoked,” he declares. 

You stare at him in disbelief, eyes falling on the hand that swatted you away before moving to the one around your waist. “Hello? You can’t do that.”

“I absolutely can. My tree, my artistic vision.”

You give him a deadpan look. “I was the one who convinced you to get a tree in the first place. Otherwise, your house would just be sad and lifeless. I chose the tree too!” rolling your eyes, you continue, “Besides, your artistic vision looks like it got tired halfway through and took a nap.”

Haechan gasps, clutching his chest like you’ve personally offended him. “Okay, that was uncalled for.”

You bite back a grin as you place a red bauble exactly where he had just moved it from, making him groan in protest.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “I let you into my house, I let you touch my Christmas tree, and this is how you treat me?”

“You’re all bark, no bite,” You narrow your eyes at him, “Get your hands off me then!”

Haechan doesn’t even hesitate. “No.” He smirks, fingers curling a little tighter around your waist. “I won’t. What are you gonna do about it?”

You open your mouth, then close it, then sigh in defeat. “Nothing,” you mutter.

“That’s what I thought.” He grins, rocking you both slightly where you stand. The Christmas lights cast a warm glow over his face, and for a moment, neither of you move. He’s looking at you, not in the teasing, smug way he usually does, but in that softer, quieter way that always makes your chest feel too full.

Then you sigh, glancing at the half-decorated tree. “We’re decorating way too late.”

Haechan groans in agreement. “I know. If we started earlier, this wouldn’t be so stressful.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, whose fault is that?”

He blinks at you. “Not mine? I won both championships before December. It’s not my fault they don’t let us go until all the races are over. Blame the F1 calendar instead!”

You sigh, relenting. “Okay, fine. It’s the calendar’s fault.”

“Thank you.” He grins, rocking back on his heels. “Finally, some sense.”

You shake your head with a laugh, nudging his shoulder before turning back to the tree. “Still, if we started earlier, we wouldn’t be scrambling to finish before Christmas.”

Haechan hums in agreement, reaching for another ornament. “Guess we just have to get better at this whole off-season thing.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “We?”

Haechan nods, his gaze flickering to you for a moment before he looks back at the tree. “Yeah,” he says simply, looping an ornament onto a branch. “We. We are quite good during the season, don't you think?”

He hooks another ornament onto a branch, “Oh, by the way, there’s fruitcake on the kitchen counter.”

You pause, your hand holding an ornament in mid-air and turn to look at him. “Oh?”

He nods, adjusting a light on the tree. “Yeah.”

You frown slightly. “But… you don’t like fruitcake.”

Haechan shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah, but you do.”

You frown slightly, touched by the gesture, “How do you know that?”

Haechan glances at you, lips curving up. “You’re not as mysterious as you think you are.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please. When have I ever mentioned liking fruitcake?”

He hums, stepping back to take a look at the tree, “I think it was in Budapest. Jeno was talking about how he got sick from eating fruitcake off season.”

You laugh, pleasantly surprised that he remembered that.

“As much as I love fruitcake, it’s definitely not the best thing to have in any month other than December,” You admit, “Also, you really have to get the right ones. Some are loaded with too many spices, some are too greasy… I’d never complain about having too many nuts or fruit but I guess people wouldn’t like that either.”

His laughter is light as he lets his forehead rest against yours, his hands slipping to your waist. The tree lights flicker in the corner of your vision, a warm golden colour. They remind you of Haechan. 

“This is kind of the last thing I expected getting into this year,” he murmurs after a beat.

You blink, the playfulness between you both settling into something more serious and heartfelt. “What? Decorating a tree with me?”

His fingers drum lightly against your hip. “More like all of this. Us.”

You exhale, nudging your nose against his. “Yeah,” you admit. “Me too.”

Haechan hums, thoughtful. “I mean, if you told me at the start of the season that I’d win both championships and have you here at the end of it, I would’ve laughed in your face.”

You tilt your head. “Oh? What part was more unbelievable?”

“The championships, obviously.” He grins, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You? I think at one point it just became obvious that you were inevitable.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a response, he reaches past you, placing the star in your hands.

“Go on, then.”

You eye him suspiciously. “No catch?”

He shakes his head. “Never.”

You glance at him again, making sure before standing on your tiptoes to place the star at the top. As you adjust it, Haechan’s hands settle at your waist again, steadying you without a word.

Once you step back, the tree finally completed, he lets out a satisfied hum. “Not bad.”

You turn around to look at him.

He looks back at you, tilting his head, a smile playing on his lips before he leans down

The first time you met Haechan, he barely spared you more than a glance, too caught up in the frustration of strategies and a season that hadn’t even begun. 

Now, Haechan kisses you like it’s second nature, like he’s done it a hundred times before and will do it a hundred times more.

His lips move against yours with a quiet sort of certainty, like he’s memorized exactly how to kiss you. Not rushed, not hesitant, just sure. His hands slide up, fingertips pressing into your back to bring you closer, and when you splay your fingers across the fabric of his sweater, you feel the way his heartbeat kicks up under your touch.

He exhales softly against your lips before kissing you again, deeper this time, slower. The world narrows down to the quiet press of his mouth, the steady warmth of his touch, the faint scent of pine and cinnamon lingering between you. You can feel it in the way he holds you that this isn't something that will slip away.

And then, just for a second, it’s like standing on the grid, the air electric, the whole world holding its breath.

Just before the countdown. Before lights out.

tagging: @yukisroom97 @awktwurtle

[pbaz7]

NORTHBOUND PART 2

paige x azzi

word count: 6.2k

A/N: Once again thoughts on a page. This one isn’t as heavily revolved around religion but it is definitely still mentioned so do with that what you will! Let me know what you think (in a kind way preferably lol) Also if you see any errors lmk!

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Since the train ride, they hadn’t seen each other. Not in the way that mattered. Where breath folded into conversation and glances stretched into something.

Still, there were footprints.

A few liked posts.

A late-night message from Paige: “Is it weird that I started reading the book again just to feel a little smarter around you?”

Azzi smiled at that one, tracing the words with her thumb before replying hours later after getting distracted with hair and makeup: “Not weird. Endearing.”

And another interaction, quieter, more unexpected—Paige posting a picture of a sunset over an empty court. No caption. Just color.

Azzi had double-tapped it without thinking, the screen flickering with her silent acknowledgment.

The world had gone on spinning: campaigns, practices, events. Fame shifting around them like restless tides. But somewhere between it all, there was them—small, bright interactions that kept them tethered to one another.

So when Azzi’s agent suggested attending a Dallas Wings game for “visibility,” after noticing how much the internet seemed to like the two of them together Azzi almost said no.

She didn’t need more cameras. She didn’t crave another headline. Her career was already a constellation. Already recognized amongst smaller stars.

But the thought of stepping into the city, of feeling the weight of Paige’s gaze again—the quiet one that saw her in paragraphs rather than photographs. it caught something inside her. Something curious.

So she didn’t outright refuse like she normally would. She just tilted her head, thumbed the idea like a coin between her fingers, and said, "Maybe. I’ll think about it"

And when her agent offered it a second time—after more sparse messages and quiet likes. After a few late-night book suggestions and thoughtful questions passed back and forth—Azzi said yes.

Not because of visibility. Not because she needed another headline. But because of Paige.

Because of the way their conversations had lingered in quiet hours—Paige sending her a picture of a book, “This one reminded me of what you asked about stories shaping belief.”

Azzi replying days later with a picture of an old mythology collection from a secondhand shop, “Found this today. Thought you’d approve.”

Their words had been careful and curious. A slow weaving of something neither of them rushed to name.

So when the offer came again, Azzi’s yes wasn’t for the cameras. Not for the stories about her at the game. But because a part of her wanted an excuse to see her again. Maybe talk to her in person again. Pick her brain.

That’s how Azzi found herself sitting again against Paige’s headboard, legs folded beneath her, an open book resting lightly in her lap.

The room was lit in soft lamplight, the kind that blurs edges and makes silence feel deliberate, almost sacred.

Paige was laying across the bed a little ways down, propped up on one elbow. Her fingers toyed with a loose thread in the comforter, but her eyes were on Azzi. “What does it say…” Paige said, her voice curious, “about memory and the body? How it kind of holds onto everything I think?”

Azzi ran a thumb along the seam of the pages, glancing down for a moment before speaking. “It says that trauma isn't just a story we retell ourselves. It’s stitched into the way we move. The way we breathe. Even when we think we forget...our bodies remember.”

Paige was silent as she thought about it, her mouth pulling into a soft line of concentration.

She pushed herself up a little. “I remember there was a part I underlined when I was reading it,” she said. “Something about...in the absence of safety, the body learns to live in survival instead of living.”

Azzi smiled—small, impressed —and found the page, flipping through like she knew exactly where to go. “Right here,” she said, tracing the words with the pad of her finger. “'In the absence of a loving, safe environment, the body organizes itself around defense and fear rather than exploration and pleasure.” Azzi turned the book towards her and Paige leaned closer, reading it again, slower this time.

“My thought process when reading it was kind of just,” Paige took a moment to gather her thoughts. “How you can be alive but not really living. Just always reacting. Preparing for the next thing to go wrong instead of being in the moment.”

“It teaches you to anticipate harm even when there isn’t any.”

Paige gave her a crooked smile. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.” Azzi let the book fall closed softly between them. “But I think a part of understanding the book is understanding that survival isn’t the end of the story.”

Paige tilted her head, that quiet curiosity between them blooming again. “So what is?”

Azzi tucked a curl behind her ear, thinking as she looked out the window before saying, “Healing. Connection. Letting someone stand close without expecting the worst from another human.”

“That’s harder than survival.”

Azzi laughed under her breath, the sound barely there. “It is. But it’s better.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke—both of them untangling their own thoughts.

Paige, still toying with the loose thread, lifted her gaze to Azzi’s. “What makes it better?”

Azzi studied her for a moment, then tilted her head slightly, a soft amusement flickering through her. “Do you disagree?”

Paige shook her head slowly. “No. I just...I want to know why you think it’s better. Understand your point of view more.”

“Because surviving is lonely,” Azzi said simply. “You’re always half-bracing. Always floating somewhere else in your mind. When you heal...when you actually let yourself connect...you get to be here. Fully. You get to notice the way the sun feels on your skin. The way someone laughs when they aren’t guarding themselves. You get to actually live your life instead of just trying to survive it.”

Paige took a long breath, like she was trying to take the words in through her whole body to fully process them.

She turned onto her side to face Azzi more fully, resting her head against the curve of her bent arm. “I think you’re right,” Paige said. “But I think it can be scary for some people. Letting yourself get soft again after you’ve spent so long...armored.”

Azzi nodded, her eyes gentle. “It’s terrifying,” she agreed. “But armor gets heavy after a while. Starts getting harder to carry. Makes you miss the good stuff, too.”

Paige smiled faintly.

And another long slow beat passed.

“Yeah I guess it’s a trade,” Paige said eventually. “Risking the fall for a shot at something real.”

Azzi’s thumb traced absent circles against the closed spine of the book between them.

“Best trade you’ll ever make,” she said as she looked up to see Paige looking at her.

She didn’t look away.

Not for a long, long moment.

Azzi toyed with the corner of the page again. Then shifting her gaze toward the window she asked, “How do you respond to someone who tried to find themselves in religion…but couldn’t?”

Paige’s mouth curved, into an almost imperceptible smile. “We talking about you?”

Azzi smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hypothetical,” she said simply, shrugging one shoulder.

Paige studied her for a moment before answering. “Then I’d find another way in.” She shifted, sitting up a little more. “I’d talk to them about science. About how atoms bind and break and rebuild again. Or about nature—the way a tree still grows toward the sun even after a storm splits it down the middle. I’d meet them where they do believe. Because faith isn’t always a church or a scripture. Sometimes it’s just…the fact that the seasons change. That your heart keeps beating. That we’re all still here, somehow, despite everything in this world being thrown at us.”

Azzi watched her, something unspoken unfolding slowly across her face. “The words that come out of your mouth are always so beautiful,” she said, almost under her breath.

Paige shrugged again, shy in a way that didn’t match her words. “It’s just true,” she said.

“So you think…faith can live outside of religion?” Azzi asked.

Paige nodded. “I think it always has. Like I said on the train, religion's just one language for it. There are thousands.”

Azzi toyed with one of the rings on her finger, the silence stretching between them in a way that felt full, not empty.

Paige tilted her head, a ghost of a smile pulling at her mouth as she watched Azzi think. “What about you?” she asked. “What do you believe in?”

Azzi thought about it before answering. “I believe in connection. In something bigger moving through all of us. Even if I don’t always know what to call it.”

Paige’s smile grew, a warmth creeping into her chest. “Sounds like you found it then,” she said quietly.

Azzi met her gaze across the short distance of the bed, neither of them moving to break it.

“Maybe I just needed someone to listen for me to see it differently,” Azzi murmured, her voice almost a confession.

Paige’s heart beat once, hard.

Then Paige changed her position so she was laying on her back now tilting her head so she could look at Azzi. “So…religion’s not your thing?”

Azzi shook her head, not in disagreement but something caught between yes and no.

“It is,” she said quietly. “I just—” Her mouth curved, like she was searching for the right shape of the words. “I’m struggling with certain parts of it. Struggling to…wrap my head around some things. Being okay with what I can’t make sense of yet.” She paused, running her thumb along the ridge of her knuckles. “But I don’t want to miss out on the world while I figure it out.”

Paige nodded, something bright flickering in her eyes. “So let’s start with what you do understand. What makes sense to you?”

Azzi smiled, a little more sure of herself now. “Evolution,” she said. “How the body adapts. How it changes to survive, even without our permission. How our chemistry shifts with love, with grief, with hope.”

Paige’s mouth quirked into something like awe as she connected the dots. “The body keeping score,” she murmured, referencing their earlier conversation, and Azzi’s smile grew.

“Exactly,” Azzi said.

They sat there, unwinding ideas like threads between them. They talked about how a broken heart could physically hurt—how fear could make your hands shake, your stomach twist,

how joy could bloom so deeply inside you it left a mark.

They talked about spirituality—not as a doctrine, but as a sensation. How sometimes you meet a person, or walk into a place, and something in you knows. Before logic. Before language. Just the body recognizing something ancient and familiar.

Azzi spoke about the ocean, how its pull felt like a prayer she didn’t have to understand.

Paige countered with the way certain songs made her chest ache, as if she was remembering a life she hadn’t lived yet.

And somewhere along the way, they drifted into space—into the infinite stretch of black velvet and burning stars—into how humans invented time to measure their own lives. “How we cut up forever,” Paige said, “just so we wouldn’t be so scared of it.”

Azzi looked at her like she was seeing something rare, something precious. Something she maybe hadn’t even known she was hoping to find.

They talked until their voices turned into murmurs, until their ideas overlapped and blurred—until it wasn’t clear who was teaching and who was learning.

Just two people, tracing the shape of the world between them, learning how to name the things and ideas that mattered most to them.

Before they knew it, the clock on Paige’s bedside table read 2:37 AM. The city outside—usually pulsing—had quieted into something softer.

Lights flickered like distant stars beneath the wide glass windows, but up here, it almost felt like they were floating above it all in Paige’s apartment.

Paige stretched, blinking slowly, reluctant to break the moment between them. She glanced at Azzi, now curled up more against the pillows, still flipping absentmindedly through the book in her lap with tired eyes.

“You should just stay here,” Paige said, her voice a little horse from talking so much. “It’s too late for you to go back to your hotel.”

“It’s ok I have a driver. It wouldn’t be a big deal.”

Paige’s mouth curved into a small, tired smile as she stood, already pulling the extra blanket off the foot of the bed as if the decision had been made. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’ll take the couch.”

Azzi opened her mouth to argue again, but Paige just shook her head with a gentle insistence

and Azzi, finally, nodded.

“Goodnight, Azzi,” Paige whispered, one hand lingering on the doorframe.

“Goodnight, Paige,” Azzi said.

Paige closed the door behind her with a quiet click. The room felt different instantly—heavier, somehow, filled with the echo of everything they hadn’t said.

Azzi settled against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. Her mind wandered through every conversation, every glance, every shift in Paige’s expression. The way she listened—really listened—like she wanted to memorize the shape of Azzi’s thoughts.

Across the apartment, Paige lay on the couch, doing the same. Thinking about the way Azzi’s voice softened when she spoke about things that mattered. How she seemed to hold the whole world in her hands, questioning it but never letting it fall.

They both were awake longer than they should have, hearts humming with something they didn’t have words for yet.

It wasn’t romance—not exactly. But it felt like something deep, something patient, inevitable. A silent pull toward understanding. A desire to know every thought the other carried.

Morning crept in slowly, spilling through the high-rise windows in slanting beams. Azzi stirred, the unfamiliar quietness of her morning waking her before anything else did. She blinked up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, before the memory of last night settled over her like a warm blanket. The laughter. The books. The way Paige had looked at her—like she was something rare and worth being studied.

Azzi slipped out of the bed, the floor cool under her bare feet as she padded softly toward the living room. She stopped just at the edge of the hallway, unseen for a moment.

Curled in the corner of the couch, was Paige. Still in the same hoodie from the night before, legs open in front of her, a small devotional open in her hands. The city stretched out behind her, muted and far away, but Paige’s whole world seemed tucked into those quiet pages.

Azzi watched her for a moment longer than she meant to. Something about the scene—the sereness of it, the reverence—made her feel like she was intruding on something sacred. But then Paige glanced up, catching her eye, and smiled—that soft, easy smile that wordlessly said you’re welcome here.

Azzi crossed the room, lowering herself onto the couch beside her, their knees almost brushing.

“What are you reading?” she asked, her voice still a little scratchy from sleep.

Paige flipped the little book around so Azzi could see the embossed cover then turned it back.

“Just a daily devotional,” Paige said, messing with the page she’d been on. “A little grounding before the day gets ahead of me.”

Azzi tucked one leg under herself, pulling the sleeve of the sweatshirt Paige had given her after the game over her hand. “What’s today’s?”

Paige smiled like she was surprised she wanted to know, but in the best way. She cleared her throat, reading one line she had been thinking about quietly: "Be still and know that I am God."

She turned the book so Azzi was able to read the context surrounding it. “You believe that? Being still is enough?”

Paige thought about it for a moment, setting the book down between them like it belonged to both of them now.

“I think…” she started before pausing, wanting to choose her words carefully, “going back to what we were saying yesterday, sometimes we think healing has to be loud. Or obvious. Big declarations. But most of the time, it’s just sitting still long enough to feel something real. Trusting that we don’t have to have all the answers all at once to be okay.”

Azzi picked at a thread on the hem of the sweatshirt, nodding slowly. “I like that,” she said before adding, “I think I’m bad at being still.”

Paige bumped her shoulder lightly against Azzi’s, smiling at her. “You’re not bad at it. You’re just used to a fast-paced life. It’s different.”

For a while, they sat there—the devotional open between them, the city waking up in muted colors beyond the glass as they talked about belief and stillness and all the ways people tried to outrun their own hearts.

Paige listened the way she always did and Azzi found herself saying things she hadn’t even known were lodged inside her chest.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just two people, sitting still enough to let something real find them and somehow, that felt like the rarest thing of all.

After that morning, something changed, almost like a door quietly swinging open between them. They exchanged numbers this time and from there, the distance between their cities felt a little less permanent.

Nights blurred into mornings. Time zones lost their sharp edges. Azzi’s phone would buzz at 1:43 AM with a picture of a book Paige had picked up with a quick “You’d hate this chapter.” Or a picture of the skyline from Paige’s window.

Azzi answered with voice notes whispered half-asleep, little bursts of laughter, an article she thought Paige would like, or a retweeted quote from some philosopher neither of them could ever remember how to pronounce.

Sometimes it was lighter—Paige replying to a story of Azzi’s with a flame emoji, Azzi rolling her eyes but smiling anyway as she responded. Other times it was heavier—quiet late-night conversations about the ache of their ambition, about homesickness in cities that were supposed to feel like dreams.

Still, whatever it was—it wasn’t romance to them. That wasn’t what their minds were on. It was something else, something quieter and maybe even rarer: an ache to know the other person’s mind the way most people only ever wanted to know bodies. Wanting to go on the journey of understanding the world with another soul.

In comments and likes. In shared songs and book recommendations, in the long spaces between texts when they were both busy that somehow still felt full—they built something neither of them could name yet. But they were building it all the same.

It wasn’t until a haphazard afternoon, when the world outside was just beginning to tilt toward oranges and yellows, that the tone shifted.

Paige was sitting across from Cameron Brink, mic in front of her, the casual rhythm of the podcast filling the air. The conversation wound easily through basketball, life, and travel until Cameron, grinning, leaned back in her chair.

"So what's really going on with your little interactions on socials with the model?"

Paige chuckled. "You can say her name, Cam."

Cameron raised her eyebrows, playing it up. "Fine. Azz Fuddi. What's going on there?"

Paige shook her head, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Nothing, she's just...she's a great person. We met randomly on the way to New York and just...clicked, I guess. We stayed in touch."

"Clicked how?" Cam pressed grinning. "Because from the outside looking in, it looks like something. Fans seem to love the idea too."

Paige laughed, rubbing the back of her neck—a little shy, a little flustered. "Nah, it's not like that. We just talk. Like, real conversations. She's genuine. She's curious about everything. Smart in a way that makes you think differently."

"You’re glowing right now," Cam said, pointing at her. "I wish y’all could see her face."

Paige laughed again, trying—failing—to look unaffected. "I mean...Azzi's a very beautiful woman," she admitted, voice soft. "Inside and out. But we're just friends."

Cameron threw her hands up dramatically. "Friends? You need to hop on that!"

The room broke into laughter, Paige included, cheeks slightly pink but smiling.

Azzi’s phone buzzed against her nightstand later that evening. One message from Paige. Three from friends linking her to the podcast clips.

“Beautiful huh.” Sent without any afterthought just that light teasing tone Paige had learned to expect now.

Paige grinned down at her screen, fingers already typing back before she could think twice. “Inside and out.”

Simple. Unfiltered. The shift was so slight it was almost imperceptible.

After that night, their conversations thickened—like honey stirred into warm tea. Still sweet, still simple, but heavier now, richer.

Texts stretched longer. Less about facts and concepts of the world, more about feelings. About fleeting thoughts that crossed their minds at midnight. About songs that made them shiver for reasons they couldn’t name. About the way the sky looked when it broke open before a storm. Little things. Big things. Everything in between.

Azzi would send her favorite lines from a book she was reading and Paige would send a picture of a page she dog-eared in response.

Between their own lives, they found each other in small pockets of stillness. Azzi, moving through airports and studios, wrapped in fabrics and flashing lights, the weight of expectation always brushing against her skin in the form of a makeup brush

Paige, bouncing from hotel rooms to locker rooms to arenas, the roar of crowds still humming in her ears long after the final buzzer.

There were hours where they missed each other—where time zones folded wrong and sleep clawed them away. But somehow, the messages always found their way through. Somehow, they stayed stitched into each other’s hours.

One night, Azzi sent a picture from her balcony of a skyline blurred with gold and soft navy. “Wish you were here.”

It sat in Paige’s chest for a beat too long, made her thumb hover above her phone before she typed back: “Me too.”

No teasing. No emoji to soften it. Just two words and Azzi stared at them longer than she meant to, feeling something small and warm anchor itself behind her ribs.

The next night, Paige returned the favor—sending a picture of a half-lit street from her hotel window, rain streaking the glass like a painting, the quietness of a city that wasn’t really hers seeming through the pixels. “You’d like it here.”

And somehow, Azzi knew she wasn’t talking about the city.

One night—or morning, depending on which continent you stood on—Azzi’s phone rang instead of buzzing.

Groggy, tangled into her pillows, she answered without thinking and Paige’s voice filled the line.

"I’m sorry did I wake you up?" Paige murmured, her words filled with guilt. "I didn’t mean to. Go back to sleep."

Azzi smiled into the darkness, the corners of her mouth brushing the pillowcase. "Maybe you did. But I don’t mind. I want to talk."

On the other end, Paige went quiet for a moment, like she was testing if this was real, if she was allowed to stay inside the soft moment with her. Then, a quiet, "Okay."

Azzi shifted under her blanket, phone warm against her cheek, eyes fluttering closed again, trusting that Paige’s voice would keep her tethered.

There was something special about talking like this—half-dreaming, half-confessing—words sliding out easier when the world was quiet and dark.

"What kept you up?" Azzi asked.

Paige hesitated, then said, "Not sure. Just...kept thinking. Couldn’t turn it off."

Azzi hummed. "What were you thinking about?"

A rustle on the other end—maybe Paige rolling onto her back, staring at a ceiling she'd seen too many nights alone. "Everything," Paige said, a small laugh tucked into the word. "Games. People…You."

Azzi's heart tucked itself a little closer to her ribs.

"You ever get that feeling," Paige said, "where you’re standing in the middle of your life, and it’s so loud, but you still feel like you’re missing something?"

Azzi's fingers curled into the blanket at her side. "All the time," she whispered. "Kind of like you're inside a song you know by heart, but suddenly the lyrics don’t make any sense."

Paige breathed out, almost a sigh. "Yeah. Exactly like that.”

There was a moment before Paige continued, "What do you do when it feels like that?"

Azzi thought for a moment, racking her mind so she could answer authentically. "Sometimes I try to hold on tighter," she said. "Sometimes I take a risk and just let it break open and see what’s hiding inside."

They talked for two hours without meaning to. About how books felt like secret doorways. About how certain cities seemed to recognize you. About how some strangers in airports—in train stations—make you feel more seen than people you’d known your whole life.

Azzi described the way the city air tasted different after a shoot, heavier somehow, but alive.

Paige talked about the calmness before a game started, the strange holiness of a thousand people holding their breath at once.

They still didn’t name the thing building between them. Didn’t rush it into something solid too soon. Instead, they kept weaving it—thread by thread, word by word, until the distance between them didn’t feel quite so wide anymore.

The days folded into each other, stitched together by little check-ins that meant more than either of them said aloud.

Paige would text after a rough game, shoes kicked off in some unfamiliar hotel room, bruises blooming along her arms like watercolor. “you up?”

Almost always, Azzi was. Sometimes at a shoot, eyeliner winged against her sleepy eyes, half-dressed for a camera she didn’t always feel real in. Sometimes just lying on her bed, book open, world heavy on her chest.

Their messages always curled into each other. No pressure. No expectations. Only space offered, and space taken.

One night, while a makeup artist dusted powder across her cheekbones, Azzi took a quick picture—not of herself, but of her worn paperback lying open on her lap. “Chapter 6 is crazy. Thoughts?”

Paige replied within minutes—a rarity given her schedule—with a blurry picture of the same book open. “That part about forgiveness fucked me up a little ngl.”

From there, they fell into a soft debate—unraveling passages, quoting lines, sending voice memos when words felt too clumsy to type until Paige’s soft words were replaced with harsh camera flashes.

Azzi’s voice would slip into Paige’s headphones late at night. Paige’s laughter, half-hoarse with exhaustion, would tangle itself through Azzi’s quiet spaces.

Small pieces of themselves, traded like worn-out coins.

By the end of a particularly heavy week—travel, press, endless expectations for her upcoming campaign—the ache sharpened into something Azzi could no longer name. She didn't even think about it as her thumbs moved across the screen. “when am i gonna see you?”

The question sat there, trembling slightly in the blue light of her phone. Not quite demanding. Just...open.

Paige’s reply came after a minute that felt like a lifetime. “i'll make it happen soon.”

It was simple but it cracked something open in both of them—something that had been humming beneath every conversation, every soft exchange.

Azzi smiled at her screen, a slow, helpless smile.

The show was already a breathing thing; a pulse of lights and camera shutters, velveted music stitched through the room like thread. Azzi stood backstage, a perfect statue carved of stillness and nerves, the silk of her dress against her skin.

The runway stretched before her like some impossible dream and when her cue came, she stepped into it, years of discipline folding into every movement.

Paige sat in the front row, sitting between strangers in designer suits and wide-lensed photographers, her presence quiet amongst everyone else.

For a moment, a split second, the world sharpened into just this: The lights flooding downward like captured stars. The crowd leaning forward, breaths held. And Azzi floating down the runway, grace folded into every step, eyes forward, untouched by the noise.

Until there was a flicker.

As she reached the middle of the runway, Azzi’s gaze, steady and sweeping forward, caught on something—someone.

The crowd was a blur behind the lights, but not her. Not Paige.

Front row. Centered. A stillness in the ocean.

Their eyes met—not like a collision, not a stumble—more like a tether. Soft. A thread drawn tight between them in the sparkling air.

Paige didn’t move. Just the smallest lift of her eyebrow, the smallest tilt of her head as she smiled at Azzi.

Azzi’s face didn’t change, she was a professional, after all, but something loosened inside her, something sighed and made room for joy.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t break stride. Just kept going.

Paige’s heart thudded once, twice, a heavy rhythm against her ribs as she watched Azzi glide past, as flawless and untouchable as moonlight on water.

The cameras flashed. The music swelled. And the two of them, in the center of all that noise, all that glittering chaos, had found something only they could feel.

The room was still filled with life—laughter echoing against marble walls, champagne flutes clinking, designers in sharp silhouettes shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Camera flashes still stuttering through the air like fireflies caught in a jar.

Paige stood a little off to the side, hands in the pockets of her jacket, talking to someone who recognized her.

And then—Azzi. Moving through the crowd like a current through water, graceful even without the runway beneath her feet.

Their eyes found each other before their bodies could and Paige excused herself.

A smile bloomed across Azzi’s lips—a small real smile. Paige’s smile in return was softer, something private carved into the chaos.

Azzi was the first to reach for her, arms slipping around Paige’s neck with a sense of familiarity that surprised them both, tucking herself into the crook of Paige’s shoulder like she belonged there.

Paige's hand slid to the small of Azzi's back, fingers pressing into her skin, grounding them against the whirl of the room.

For a breath—or maybe a lifetime—they just stood like that.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, breathing in the warmth of Paige’s skin, the faint trace of her cologne while Paige exhaled into Azzi’s hair, the whole world narrowing down to the feeling of her body against hers.

They knew they shouldn’t linger but neither moved, not right away. The flash of cameras was a distant thing, meaningless compared to this.

Finally, reluctantly, Azzi leaned back.

“You looked amazing,” Paige said.

Azzi’s smile tilted into something shyer at Paige’s compliment, a spark behind her eyes. "You always say that."

Paige’s thumb brushed, featherlight, along the curve of Azzi’s waist. "Because it’s always true."

Somehow, without speaking, they slipped out of the crowded room, weaving through groups of glittering strangers, past velvet ropes and heavy doors, until they found themselves tucked into a quieter corner of the venue.

A small lounge, half-lit by golden lamps.

Paige sat first, legs spreading slightly, arms thrown on the back of the couch, her body relaxed. Azzi sat down beside her, elegant without trying, one leg crossing gracefully over the other—the curve of her calf brushing against Paige’s knee.

Neither of them moved away. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward. It never had been.

Azzi leaned her head back against the couch, her eyes fluttering shut for just a second before she spoke, "Do you ever think about...who you would’ve been if none of this happened?"

Her hand gestured vaguely—to the fame, the spotlight, the heavy things stitched into both of their lives.

Paige turned her head, studying her—the curve of her jaw in the low light, the vulnerability carved into the question.

"All the time," Paige said, her voice slightly louder than she meant it to be. "I think I’d still be looking for something that made me feel the way basketball does. The way—" she hesitated, her gaze flickering to Azzi’s profile, "—the way certain people do."

Azzi’s lips quirked, just a little. She didn’t press.

Instead, she opened her eyes and turned, their knees bumping more solidly now—a deliberate thing rather than accidental.

"You’re good at this."

Paige raised an eyebrow. "At what?"

Azzi smiled slowly, a little shy. "At seeing people. At listening."

Paige let the compliment settle between them for a second before nudging back, her voice lower now, threaded with something softer: "I think you’re a little bit more worth seeing."

The air tightened in a way neither of them had the heart to break.

Azzi’s hand drifted down, fingertips brushing lightly against Paige’s leg as she adjusted—so light it could've been a mistake, if not for the way her touch lingered.

A beat passed.

And then Paige, with a small grin, bumped her knee against Azzi’s playfully, easing the tension before it could unravel too fast.

But the shift had already happened.

Outside the lounge, the city still roared with life. Inside, it was just the two of them, caught in a moment that felt somehow inevitable.

Azzi shifted again, her voice softer, but there was something almost...light in it, a warmth that Paige hadn’t heard from her before.

"I’ve been thinking about it," Azzi began, and Paige, eyes fixed on her, tilted her head slightly to show she was listening. "Religion, I mean. I’ve been...reading more, you know? Slowly, but I’m starting to see it differently. I never thought it would click, but...it’s like something small is finally falling into place."

Paige’s expression softened, a gentle smile forming at the corners of her lips as she leaned in slightly, her body leaning toward Azzi’s as though the space between them might close on its own if they stayed like this long enough.

"I’ve been looking at it more like you said…just a different way of understanding things, of feeling like there’s more to this life than just... surviving like we always talk about," Azzi’s voice trailed off, but the honesty in it was enough to fill the space. "I can’t explain it all, but when I read, when I think about it—there’s a peace I never thought I’d find."

Paige’s smile grew, the kind of smile that made her eyes hold a secret. "I’m proud of you," she said simply, her fingers almost without thinking brushing lightly against Azzi’s wrist. "I can hear it in your voice. You’re making progress, even if it feels small."

"It’s strange," Azzi said, almost as if she were speaking to herself now. "I used to think that belief had to be something big, some grand declaration, but now...I’m realizing it’s more like a slow unraveling. Just tiny bits at a time."

Paige nodded slowly, her voice drifting back into that quiet, familiar cadence. "Sometimes," she said, her hand going back to resting casually on the back of the couch, close enough for Azzi to notice but not to touch, "sometimes the answers come like that. Quiet. Unassuming. Like you’re collecting little pieces until one day it all makes sense. It’s just about letting yourself listen."

Azzi smiled at that—the rare kind of smile that reached her eyes when she talked to Paige. "You always know what to say."

Paige laughed softly. "I think it’s just that I listen to you. Listen to what the world is telling me.”

Azzi shifted, her knee grazing Paige’s again, this time on purpose, as if the closeness didn’t feel like an accident anymore.

“Maybe I just needed someone who could hear all the little things I never said out loud."

Paige’s heart skipped a beat, the words settling into her chest like something precious she wanted to hold on to. "I’m glad I could be that for you," Paige replied softly, her eyes locking onto Azzi’s with a depth that had only grown stronger over their time apart. "I’m glad you have someone to listen."

"You’re...you’re different," Azzi whispered softly,as if the words were something fragile. "In a way I can’t explain."

The room outside, still full of voices and noise, felt distant—muted somehow. Almost like they were alone in the world, in the soft unfolding of something new, something that didn’t need to be rushed, something they both knew was unfolding with a slowness that was divine in its timing.

“Do you... want to come back to my place with me?” she asked, that same softness in her words. “We could talk more. Away from all this. I have so many thoughts…questions.”

Paige's answer was a quiet nod, a slow smile. “Yeah of course..”

As they stepped into the hallway, the light of the photographers’ cameras flashed in different areas of the room, staccato bursts of light that felt like jagged pieces of a world that didn’t quite fit with the one they’d created.

The door to the car swung open, and for a moment, the harshness of the world seemed to fall away completely. Azzi slid into the seat, the familiar smell of her leather interior mixing with the scent of her perfume, a scent that now seemed inseparable from her presence, from this softness between them.

They slipped into the waiting car, the door closing with a soft click that cut the world clean away—shutting out the flashing lights, the prying eyes, the world that didn’t make room for learning one another.

Inside, it was quieter. Warmer.

Azzi leaned back, eyes fluttering closed, a small, secret smile curving her lips. They had created something here, something quiet and careful, something that would grow without needing to rush.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Cw: OOC and fem-presenting reader, incorrect military stuff

But anyways I just had a lil thought about you, a young, feminine soldier, being offered a spot on the 141. And of course you take it, who wouldn't?

And you show up at base and you meet the team, an they are all welcoming gor the most part. You get settled in, meet and train with them, and form some sort of comradery with them.

And then the rumors start. Not from the 141, no, but from the other teams on base. That you slept your way into your position, that the only reason you were even offered a spot is because Price likes you in bed, stuff like that.

And it hurts, of course, but you don't mind so much because you've got a team of people who trust you and know your skills and are like a family to you. Except, maybe they aren't.

It wasnt your fault the mission went wrong. Or anyone's. There's was no way to know that the supposedly-sunny weather would turn on you. And it's not your fault that Ghist keep trying to push forward, even when visibility was almost than zero. Not you fault that you both got stranded.

It took hours for Price and Soap to find you. Hours of sitting in the cold, harsh winter weather with no real protection. By the time you guys were found, both you and Ghost were nearly frozen.

They got you in the chopper, wrapped you in blankets and gave you hand warmers to tide you over till you could get checked out by medical. Your eyes were closed, your head leaned back, looking like you're sleeping as you listened to Soap and Ghost bicker.

You thinks that's why he said it. He thought you were asleep, thought you wouldn't hear what he really thought of you.

"She's barely a real Soldier and you know it." Soap had spat at Ghost, "She's just Price's little plaything that he wants to feel important. Don't act like she's on the same level as us."

You don't even know what they were arguing about, don't know why that sentence needed to come out of his mouth. But it did. And maybe he meant it, maybe he didn't, but regardless, he still said it.

And what made it worse is that no one responded. There was no defense from Ghost, from Gaz, from Price- well, Price you could excuse cause he was flying the chopper, but everyone else? There was no excuse.

Of course everyone acts confused when they ask why you're upset, why you're giving them the cold shoulder, refusing to talk to them.

And it comes to blows one night, when your transfer request ends up on Prices desk. They corner you, demanding to know why you're leaving.

"Because." You say, "I'm not staying on a team that thinks my only purpose is to be some-some-some...sex toy for its captain, which isn't true, by the way. I've never had sex with anyone in this base, much less in this room."

Price gapes at you, completely floored by the words coming out of your mouth. But everyone else looks sheepish, cheeks flushing as the realize why you've been so frosty recently.

"That's not true." Gaz says finally, "we-"

"Oh puh-lease. Everyone here thinks it. 'A woman, and young one at that, getting into the 141 on her own merit? Preposterous.' But I didn't mind cause I thought..." your voice cracked and you had to take a deep breath before continuing, " I thought my team at least could value me for my skills. Clearly I was wrong."

And thats all I ahve for now folks, sorry for the abrupt ending I don't know even know where this was going and also my hands are shaking for some reason sorry for any errors lol

[sinning-23]

Hot Tatted Uncle Pt.2 (Uncle!SukunaAu x Teacher!Reader)

Thanks so much for the love and support on pt.1 you guys are the besttt lol, honestly might be a 3 parter we'll see! ANyway, enjoy :0

Also pleaseee excuse any spelling errors yall

Link to Pt.1

PART THREE HERE!!!

_______________________________________

You stared at the text message, throat tight with excitement but dread. It had been a few months since the last incident with Yuji and his Uncle. The roguish male often picked up the young boy, tagging along with Yuji’s father. You’d usually just give Jin a rundown of his son’s day, ever so often catching Sukuna’s gaze as he leaned against the door frame. And every time it happened, you’d choke, clearing your throat and focusing your attention on Yuji and his father.

It didn’t help that he was always texting you, asking his his nephew was behaving. Even though it was cordial and polite, you still felt giddy getting texts from him.

This comes to the next point, why you’re sitting here practically gawking over the most recent message request from Yuji’s father.

-YOU HAVE A NEW MESSAGE:

Hello Miss Y/n! Do you babysit? I know Yuji loves having you as a teacher and I was wondering if you’d be interested in babysitting for him along with his Uncle while me and my wife go on vacation. Of course, you will be paid as well.

-Jin Itadori @ 6:28pm-

You wait to open it, pacing for a moment, thinking, first of all if you were available for the weekend and second, why couldn’t his uncle handle it?!

Well, given the man’s track record maybe an experienced hand in childcare could be useful. With a heavy sigh, you respond and you'd have to quickly come to terms with the fact that you would be essentially babysitting over 2 days with your students' hot uncle.

-----------

It's Friday now, and arrangements for you to simply drive Yuji back home and meet up there with his uncle were already in place. You were trusted with a spare house key, and their precious baby boy, who so seemed to be happier than a fly on shit that you would be spending even MORE time with him.

You gather your things and a few activities to pass the time, loading them into your car. Yuji insists on helping, carrying a small container of building blocks with his chubby hands. And god damn does he not stop talking while he does. It's adorable really, whatever comes off the top of the boy's head simply flying free.

"My-My uh uncle, he doesn’t have no girlfriend." He speaks, the statement making you choke.

"Ahaha is that so? He tells you to say that?" You joke, setting the pink-haired toddler in his car seat, and buckling him in with ease.

"MHM! My uh-" He coughs, quickly covering it with his elbow as you give a small 'good job' seeing as he's learning to keep his germs away from everyone, including you.

"My Uncle says uh he says that you got pretty eyes." He explains, your heart fluttering.

You sit in the driver seat finally, the boy still rambling on and on about what his uncle thinks about you. Though all you can do is respond with a simple, "Oh that's very kind, or a awee", Yuji is nonstop.

It’s quiet for a moment and as you’re pulling into the driveway when he says it, clear as day.

"Uncle says your ass is fat too."

You slam the brakes, the car jerking a bit when you do. What. The. FUCK-

The culprit is already awaiting you, arms folded over his chest as they flex. He’s got a white tank top on and a pair of black basketball shorts paired with slides and ankle socks.

Yuji squirms, growing ever more excited as Sukuna takes him out of the car seat and lightly jabs his knuckles to the boy's sides with a 'Rahhhh', as if he were some kind of tickle monster. Yuji of course laughs and if ALMOST makes you forget about what he'd just said a moment ago.

"Wanna help Miss Y/n put this inside?" Sukuna asks the small boy, handing him the block container from before. Yuji is quick to nod and scurry to the front door.

"I can bring the rest of this, Jin gave you the housekey right?" He asks, leaning against the frame of the car, your neck snapping towards him as you swallow thickly. Fuck you can see even more of the tats now in that shirt.

"U-Uhm yes, yes. I'll go get the door. I can get some of this too I-" You speak, fumbling to find the key. He only puts his hand up and shakes his head, the silver chain around his swishing a bit.

"Nah I gotchu. Yuji knows how to turn the TV on so he can watch his lil show for a bit.”

Sure enough, the minute you unlock the door, Yuji crawls atop the couch, using the remote to try his best to navigate. It takes a while, and he mispresses a few buttons but after about 5 minutes he manages to play something entertaining for him.

Sukuna had finished bringing your bags in as well as the one with activities in it, setting it on the stairs. He rolls his shoulder, pointing at Yuji who was immersed in the show.

"See." Sukuna hums, leaning against the countertop next to you, also skimming over the note. His body heat is practically radiating off of him, just standing by him is warming you up.

You nod in response, looking over the brief note Jin left for you both and according to what it said, your next step was to head up some leftovers for Yuji and then run him a bath.

"There’s two bathrooms so I can get the boy.” He offers, resting his hand behind his neck as you give a nervous laugh. FUCK this nervousness was most likely only on you. There’s no way he could be just as filled with anticipation as you were?!

You take the offer, giving a small thank you before fishing the shower and taking one considering you did just get off of work. Packed away in your bag was a set of comfortable clothes and a book with you figured would help pass the time once Yuji went to sleep.

You could hear footsteps and Yuji fussing back and forth with his Uncle.

“Hush man you’re making me look bad.” Sukuna groans, throwing the toddler over his shoulder as he giggles but continues to thrash, pounding tiny fists against the older male's back.

“No! NO BATH! I don’t wanna!” Yuji whines, his Uncle only growling in response.

“I’ll give you candy if you stop.”

And just like that it was quiet.

-8:30pm-

The night had gone smoother than you thought, you and Sukuna both interacting with Yuji as it’s beginning to be time to wind down. His eyes were beginning to get heavy and before you knew it he was slumped against the couch, clutching an unfinished sucker in one hand and a white puppy plush in the other. You smile, scooping him up and patting him when he stirs.

“Be right back, let me tuck him in.” You whisper, seeing Sukuna look up from his phone and nod, one arm slung over the sofa while he practically manspreads

-9:00pm-

Turns out, Yuji took a bit longer to fall asleep when he realized he was being put down and so you had to sit and pat him for an extra 30 minutes. And once you returned to the living room, there was Sukuna, still scrolling. Well, that was until you came in.

“Sorry, he wouldn’t go back to sleep.” You explain, sitting at the farthest end from him, picking up your book in the silence.

“So you like working up there? At the school?” He asks, putting his phone down to hold the conversation with you.

It takes you by surprise for a second but you are quickly to respond.

“Well yeah, I love the kids and I love working there and teaching them things. Yuji is a sweetheart and it’s definitely kids like him that make it all worth it.” You explain, a smile making its way to your lips.

“You got kids?” He asks, eyes on your frame as you laugh a bit in response

“Nah, don’t really plan on it right now either. Kids are difficult.” You answer, now facing him a bit more, body relaxed.

What was there to be so scared of?! He’s a chill guy who just so happened to be hot as fuck asking you about your career and life?!

“How about you? Kids? Working?” You flip, seeing him shift a bit uncomfortably.

“Hell nah. I see how Jin deals with Yuji and I’m not really cut you to be a dad. And for work well, I’m a priest.” He states, smirking at the surprised look on your face.

“R-Really??” You question definitely surprised.

“Nah I’m just fucking with you.” He laughs and you do the same, trying to keep your volume down since Yuji did just fall asleep.

-11:08pm-

It was crazy to believe you’d spent about two hours just talking back and forth, with him about his past, his brother, and his nephew. You about your own life and current living situations. Somehow the conversation took…a turn.

“Y’know, it’s funny because Yuji keeps telling me about these things you say and I think it’s so funny. Like he’s your little wingman.” You laugh, seeing him grin right back at you.

“Yeah like what?” He asks, more teasing than anything.

“Well he said that you said I have pretty eyes and on the way here he goes, ‘uncle says your ass is fat’” you explain with a laugh that he doesn't return.

Instead you see his lip tuck between his teeth after he licks them.

“I did say that.”

Suddenly the room is hot, and you’re very aware of how sharp his canaines look in that stupid grin. How his hand is grinning the back of the couch cushion. And for some goddamn reason you just had to look down, that fucking print so visible against his inner thigh.

Your breath falters, eyes wide and you swallow back any doubt. So he had said all that stuff and it want just Yuji repeating something or just talking.

“I-Well I…Thank you? I-I mean I’d be lying if I said hadn’t looked at you too.” You admit, his body shifting to face you more, almost caging you in on the couch.

“I figured. Every time I come to pick up you can’t seems to form a sentence correctly .” He notes.

“Suku-“

“Ryo.” He corrects. Lifting the strap of your nightshirt over your shoulder, playing with the fabric for a moment.

“Ryo.” You test, hearing his exhale heavily.

“Let’s stop pretending there’s nothing happing and has been happening here. No rule against fooling around with me is there?” Sukuna tests, his hand trailing up to rest no on your neck, his thumb pulling your lower lip down.

“No.”

And with that you make the first move to connect your lips, his arms immediately going to lift you up ans set you against his lap.

Damn does that bulge feel to much better resting between your legs than just looking at it.

___________________________________

Authors note: OKAY YEHA ITs gonna be a 3 parter with smut in the next one I cant resist lol yall know smut is my specialty! LMK if you wanna be added to the taglist shawty!

Taglist: @manikosii @ya-boi-v @tergyri @ninacutebee16 @minaloq @kriegsumire-blog @samisfunky @peachhiz @teupaidecalcinhasblog @khaotic-luca @gurutoru @molita111 @snail-squasher @rowrowrowyourboat13