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ladsrlife2 · 3 days ago

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Sugar Daddy! Sylus - Part 2

Sylus x Reader

You thought Sylus was just your mysterious, well-dressed sugar daddy. Then you landed an internship - only to discover he’s the CEO.

tags: 18+ nsfw/smut, elevator blow-job, office-sex, sugar daddy sylus, bratty mc

With the love of many on ao3 and tumblr, I decided to write part 2!! Hope you guys enjoy this as much as the first <3

Part 1 💗

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Not too shabby for a CEO’s office.”

You say, walking into Sylus’s office, arms crossed like you own the place.

Sylus lifts his gaze from behind his sleek desk, amused. His crimson eyes glitter like garnets under the sunlight pouring in through the wall-sized window behind him, the skyline stretching wide - cold glass and mirrored steel.

He turns slowly in his chair as you strut past the leather sofas, running a finger along their edge.

��I’m glad it wins your approval.” His voice is rich and smooth, like wine served in crystal.

You ignore the compliment, scanning the office until your eyes land on the opaque glass wall at the entrance.

“So,” you say, turning back toward him. “Why did such an important man call a lowly intern into his office?”

His gaze doesn’t falter. “Because I supposed the intern had a lot to say.”

His eyes flick down to your figure and back up again, unmistakably pleased by your new formal look. You don’t blame him. You’re wearing your carefully chosen pencil skirt, silk blouse, black tights, and favorite heels.

“Let’s hear what the CEO has to say first.”

He gestures for you to come closer with his hand. You ignore it - and instead hop up onto the edge of his desk, your legs swinging idly.

He chuckles lowly, leaning forward to place a warm hand on your thigh.

“Things are… complicated,” he says, voice dipping lower.

You arch a brow. “That’s new. You, saying things are complicated?”

“It’s a personal mess. I didn’t want you to get involved in it.”

You tilt your head. “What, are you secretly married or something?”

Sylus scoffs, offended by the absurdity. “No. Of course not.”

You look down at his hand and slowly interlace your fingers with his. A calculated move. You bring it to your lips, place a kiss on his knuckles, and look up with wide, injured eyes.

“Even if you were, you know I would’ve understood,” you whisper. “I can’t believe you doubted me.”

He looks at you the way someone might look at a monkey riding a unicycle - a sight both entertaining and ridiculous.

Yet you continue.

“I’d go through thick and thin with you,” you begin solemnly, one hand to your chest. “And I would-”

“-go through thick and thin with my money,” he interrupts dryly.

You gasp, scandalized. “That is outrageous! Even if you were poor! And married! I’d still be by your side!”

You clutch his hand to your chest dramatically. “Feel it - the heartbreak!”

You flatten his palm against your breasts.

He raises a brow. “…All I feel is a healthy heartbeat.”

He gives a light squeeze. You swat his hand away.

“See?! That’s all you think about! What happened to dignity? And honor? And chivalry?”

“Alright, alright.” He waves you down like he’s swatting away an overly dramatic stage actress. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

You lean back on your palms, lips curving into something between amusement and triumph. “You should have.”

“I’m sorry, kitten.” His tone straddles that fine line between genuine remorse and theatrical sarcasm.

You cross your arms, wordlessly demanding more.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” he continues, slow and deliberate. “Even though you’ve been so loyal to me.”

The way he lingers on loyal - you can’t tell if he’s teasing or trying to guilt you.

“What could I possibly do to make it up to you?”

Your heart skips a beat in thrill.

“I don’t know,” you say, coy. “Nothing could mend this broken heart.”

“Right. I should’ve known kitten is not a materialistic girl. Perhaps I can make it up to you with... sincere actions.”

Nonsense.

“On second thought, I think maybe the new Ferrari collection looks rather beautiful.”

Sylus chuckles, shaking his head at your shameless audacity. “Unbelievable,” he mutters - and sighs. “Fine.”

“Really?!” you gasp, and before he can change his mind, you climb into his lap with all the grace of a triumphant winner. You wrap your arms around his neck, beaming. “Oh, Daddy. I think I’m healed already.”

He lets out a low laugh that reverberates through his chest as he pulls you in tighter.

“Maybe I should’ve picked something more expensive,” you say, trailing kisses across his cheek.

“Your greed knows no bounds,” He murmurs into your neck, and takes a second to deeply inhale your scent. “But I’m always impressed by your efficiency.”

You reply, voice quieter, like you’re whispering a naughty secret. “How about,” you say, locking eyes with him as your hand drifts lower to graze the outline of his cock, now hardening fast beneath your palm, “...I make up for my so-called greed… starting now.”

His crimson eyes flicker, darkening instantly.

You keep the gaze as you palm him harder, slow and steady. His cock stiffens beneath your fingers, straining against his pants.

Just as you start to unzip him, his hand closes around your wrist.

“As much as I’d like that, kitten.” His deep voice is full of restraint. “Unfortunately I’ve decided to keep my office sex-free. As CEO. Dignity, or whatever you were saying earlier.” .

You look at him, mouth open. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not.” Sylus says, mouth upturned into a smirk.

“You’re doing this just to get back at me, aren’t you?”

He raises a brow, voice calm. “Hardly. I made that rule when I founded the company. Years ago.”

“…and I respect that.”

Sylus laughs, amused by your forced diplomacy, and plants a kiss on your lips. “Why, thank you.”

Just then, the phone on his desk rings. You rise from his lap, smoothing your skirt, giving him space. As he reaches for the phone, his fingers brush your back in a quiet, lingering touch.

“I need to get back to work,” he murmurs. “Thomas will escort you back down.”

You pause at the door, glancing back. He’s already answering the call, voice level, posture straight, every trace of indulgence vanished. The tension in the room dissipates like smoke - replaced with cold, crisp professionalism.

It scratches something in you.

That he can switch off so easily, that you're left hot and bothered while he returns to work like nothing happened.

That kind of control is... infuriating. And sexy.

You follow the assistant down the hall, and step into the elevator and press the button.

As you watch the numbers decrease steadily, you begin to wonder:

What ever you should do to make sure Sylus breaks his precious little ‘rule’ that is oh, so unlike his character?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

The opportunity presents itself.

It just so happens that Sylus doesn’t always use his exclusive elevator.

On your fourth day of work, you’re wrapping up a minor errand at a nearby bank around noon. You enter one of the three main elevators in the hall - only to find Sylus already inside, alone, head bowed over his business phone, texting.

Too immersed, he doesn’t notice you entering. You eye the buttons and see that only the top most floor - 53 - is lit. You don’t press 8, your floor.

Instead, you slowly walk towards him, slightly undoing the top most buttons of your silk blouse, heels clicking quietly on the floor. It’s only when you’re right in front of him, barely a hand’s width apart, when he looks up from his phone with a full look of caution.

His crimson eyes relax instantly when he realizes who you are.

“Oh, it’s you, kitten-”

His words taper off as his eyes fall to your cleavage, lush and spilling over your bra beneath the undone blouse.

His lips curl into a smirk.

“Hey, boss-man,” you say, voice low and slow. You raise a hand to his stomach and stroke down gently. “Busy day at work?”

“…Surely you didn’t walk into work like that.”

“And what if I did?”

He sighs, eyes briefly shutting as he rubs his temple, like he already knows you're about to test every limit he thought he had.

“Just button it up, before anyone walks in, please.”

The mirror behind him reflects floor 14.

“How about-” your hand trails lower to the waistband of his slacks.

With the way he jolts, you know he knows what you’re about to do. Before he can stop you, however, you slip past his hands and cup his balls, giving them a deliberate squeeze.

“-No.”

You know he loves it when you do that.

A sharp breath escapes his lips.

He catches your wrist, intent on stopping you - but as your fingers begin massaging his heavy sac, his grip slackens.

“Kitten.”

His voice is strained.

But despite his threatening words, his grip loosens like his body has lost all will to resist.

It’s been a week since he last had you. He’s as pent up as you’d expect.

You stroke him through his pants with your free hand, watching his dark, unreadable expression.

“You never said anything about no sex in the elevator,” you murmur.

Before he can respond, you unbutton and unzip him in one smooth, practiced motion.

The mirror now reflects floor 23.

And then you drop to your knees.

Before he can even utter a protest, his briefs are down and your lips wrap around his length. You take him all at once, warm and slick and deep into your throat.

A groan tears from his chest, and his hand flies to your hair, instinctive and desperate.

“Get off-”

You suck harder in answer.

His cock slides deeper into your throat, your nose buried against his pelvis, eyes glistening with the effort as you fight the urge to gag.

He curses low under his breath. His legs tremble.

Your throat tightens and releases in rhythm, massaging him in a way he can't resist. His grip loosens, turning from restraint to encouragement.

Floor 29.

You look past your wet, fluttering eyelashes and lock onto his dark, undone eyes.

You bob your head steadily, filthily, letting slick sounds echo against the mirrored walls.

His brows draw together, lips parting as he exhales through clenched teeth. There's amusement in his eyes now, despite the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his hips.

Of course he likes this. Who's he trying to fool?

Floor 35.

“Mmh-”

A soft moan escapes your lips, muffled by his cock, as he nudges you to go faster up and down his length.

You stroke the base with your hand, jerking him as your mouth works his length. The way his deep breaths border on groans, the way his hips buckle every time you suck, the way his balls feel hard as you massage it with your hand, you know he’s close.

Floor 45.

Just as he’s about to tip over, you pull off with a wet pop.

He gasps, blinking in disbelief, flushed and furious and painfully hard.

You stand smoothly, adjusting your blouse, fingers nimbly buttoning each undone hole.

His eyes blaze. His cock is still fully erect, standing against his stomach, flushed and leaking.

But the elevator begins to slow.

Floor 48.

He looks at you, about to speak - probably to curse you out - but you step in quickly, fixing his pants, zipping him up, tucking in his shirt like nothing happened.

The doors slide open.

A small group of employees stands outside. You walk out casually, slipping past them like a shadow.

“Sylus! We were just on our way to your office for the 3pm meeting! What a coincidence.” Chirps a perky female voice.

“Charmed,” he mutters back, tone flat.

You don’t turn around. But as the doors begin to close again, you risk taking a last minute glance. You jolt to find out he’s still watching you - crimson eyes burning with restrained fury, humiliation and… hunger.

The doors shut, and he disappears behind polished steel.

Serves him right, you think.

That’s what he gets for being pretentious.

…Or so you try to tell yourself.

You swallow hard, heart still racing.

You try to ignore his last minute, furious gaze from floating back to your mind.

Surely, he’s not that mad. Right?

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

“Sylus- Daddy- please, I’m sorry! Please, just stop- ”

You find yourself pleading for forgiveness in his office a few hours later.

You’re bent over his desk, the surface rattling beneath your body as he pounds into you, deep and ruthlessly from behind.

It’s been an hour. You lost count of how many times you came. How many times he came.

Your shredded black tights cling uselessly to your thighs, soaked in slick and cum, both yours and his, dripping down all the way down to your ankles.

Perhaps you should’ve known it would end up like this from the moment he ripped your tights apart and didn’t even bother to undress you nor himself before burying himself inside. “Isn’t this what you wanted so badly, kitten?”

He growls, punctuating every word with a brutal thrust.

Your legs tremble violently beneath you, your hands scrambling for purchase against the wood as he holds your hips in place, unrelenting.

“You’re right,” he mutters, almost to himself, breath ragged. “I should’ve known better.”

Your moans melt into the sound of flesh slapping flesh, echoing off the office walls.

“No-sex rule, my ass,” he huffs with a dark chuckle, angling his hips just so - hitting your g-spot with surgical cruelty. “Right?”

You cry out, body locking up as another orgasm crashes into you. Your legs give out, but he catches you easily, keeping himself buried to the hilt as you squirt down his cock, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms.

“A-ah—!”

Your mind barely resets as you slump back into his chest. You reach for his forearms wrapped around your waist, clutching him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

Tilting your head back, you look up into his yet insatiable crimson eyes, and ignore the occasional twitching of your limbs and murmur, “Please, Sylus. I’m sorry. I won’t- I won’t do it again.”

You jolt as you feel him starting to slowly grind his hips against yours, again.

“What was that?” He teases.

“No- wait.” You plead out, urgently. “Don’t you have work to do?!”

Sylus chuckles and answers, pleasantly. “I made sure to finish everything before calling you in.” He purrs. “Told all my assistants to call it a day, even.” He grinds into you, his cock dragging torturously along your oversensitive walls. “ We’re the only ones on this floor.”

You choke out a moan in disbelief. You’re about to open your mouth to plead some more, when he brings his mouth close to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“Which means,” He whispers, “No one’s coming to save you, kitten.”

You vow to

Never.

Ever.

Tease him again.

────── ❀•°❀°•❀ ──────

You guys. When I write smut. It just flows to me so naturally. I never considered myself to be on the perverted side. I don't know if I should be happy or sad at my new hobby. Lol.

hope you enjoyed this :D

Likes and comments are life xx <3

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eeriesilkworm · 3 days ago

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There's a real possibility we get a Will Byers centric love triangle in ST5

We know the Duffers love a good love triangle.

So much so, they've given us one (or several) in every season of Stranger Things thus far—and I don’t think they’ll break that streak in Season 5.

One thing I’ve noticed is that while some love triangles stretch across multiple seasons (like Steve/Nancy/Jonathan), the writers also introduce at least one new triangle each season.

Here’s a quick breakdown:

S1: Steve / Nancy / Jonathan S2: Steve / Nancy / Jonathan + Joyce / Hopper / Bob + Lucas / Dustin / Max S3: Robin / Steve / Tammy + Joyce / Hopper / Alexei + Joyce / Hopper / Mr Clarke S4: Steve / Nancy / Jonathan + Mike / El / Will + Robin / Vickie / Vickie's ex-boyfriend S5: Steve / Nancy / Jonathan (likely resolved) + Mike / El / Will (will come to a head) + ???

Sometimes they’re played straight, but the writers also love to openly mock the love triangle trope, too—especially in Season 3:

For example, Hopper gets irrationally jealous over Joyce talking to Mr Clarke and even Alexei—prompting Joyce’s sarcastic line about how every man she talks to must be her boyfriend. And of course, there's Steve wrongly assuming Robin has a crush on him, then confessing to her, only to find out she actually liked Tammy Thompson.

Basically, there’s no one way the writers use this trope. They clearly enjoy it—but more importantly, they enjoy subverting it.

So, call me delusional but I think it's likely that we could be getting another Will Byers love triangle in Season 5:

He's the main character of the season and his arc will (partially), revolve around his "coming of age" and acceptance of his sexuality, after all.

Will has consistently been portrayed as someone who is considered attractive or desirable in-universe. In every season except Season 3, a girl shows interest in him despite his nerdiness and perceived queerness.

And now, it looks like the Duffer Brothers are visually rebranding him as a romantic lead:

His new hair and costume design feels both heroic and boyish. The flannel—once a staple of his wardrobe and a symbol of his innocence—is slowly being phased out, suggesting a gradual loss of that innocence. However, he’s still buttoned up. That tells me Will is stepping into his manhood (and by extension, his sexuality), but he's still holding something back. He's going to need to be pushed out of his comfort zone; both physically and emotionally.

Even narratively, there are established links which hint at a possible non-Mike love interest:

When we look back at Will’s comment about not falling in love, we often read it as foreshadowing his feelings for Mike—or hinting that he already is in love with him. But I also interpret it as something more: Will doesn’t believe he will ever inspire love (or romantic attraction). He sees himself as undesirable.

Think about the four original members of the Party. Yes, they’re all considered uncool nerds to some degree—yet three of them are affirmed through romantic connection: Lucas has Max. Dustin has Suzie. Mike has El. They each receive validation and the feeling of being wanted.

Will does not.

And yet, the writers have made a consistent effort to show us that Will is considered attractive—despite his belief that he isn’t, and despite the lack of romantic validation he receives. That creates a real disconnect. A kind of cognitive dissonance.

Having Will repeatedly receive attention from girls—only to reject them or appear disinterested—was an effective way to subtly hint at his queerness. But it’s happened so many times now, that there needs to be a payoff.

What is the long-term point of making the canonically gay kid, who already believes he’s undesirable, only receive interest from women?

Er, there isn’t one.

It makes sense, then, to give Will the opportunity to experience mutual same-sex attraction with someone who isn't Mike.

Because Will's arc about accepting his sexuality doesn't just have to culminate in the realization that Mike loves him too (as sweet as that is).

It should culminate with the knowledge that queerness is valid, that he is considered desirable and worthy of romantic interest, and that he isn't alone in experiencing queerness.

Additionally, as mentioned above, Will is already perceived as queer—he’s been bullied for it his entire life, despite never explicitly coming out. Hawkins is a small town where word travels fast. So if there is another young gay guy in town, chances are… they’ve already heard of “Zombie Boy” Will Byers.

He'd certainly be on their radar: he’s good-looking, he’s mysterious, and he’s still closeted, which means he’d likely be discreet.

And let’s not forget where Will was emotionally at the end of Season 4, especially regarding his feelings for Mike:

He’s starting from ground zero in Season 5. He has zero hope that Mike feels the same way, and he’s likely going to be making zero moves.

In fact, most Byler theorists agree—it makes sense that Mike will have to be the initiator in Season 5. Will is just too emotionally shut down to make the first move.

But… wait a minute.

If this season is supposed to be about Will coming into his own as a young gay man—about self-acceptance, confidence, and owning his identity—how does that make sense if Mike is the one initiating everything?!

Well… maybe Mike needs to make the first move when it comes to Byler. But that doesn’t mean Will has to stay passive the whole season.

It’s possible that Will could gain some much-needed confidence—maybe even a bit of romantic “practice”—by taking a more active role with someone else first.

Giving Will a (temporary) new love interest would also level-out the playing field between himself and Mike:

There's a real sense of karmic justice and ironic foreshadowing in Stranger Things.

Will's jealousy of Mike and El's relationship has been hinted at for two seasons now—and he even complained that Mike only called a couple times while El had a "book of letters" from him.

What’s interesting is that even after Mike takes accountability for their argument and they make up, that specific comment—about the phone calls and letters—is never addressed. It lingers.

That’s why I think we could see a similar conversation (or even a full-blown argument) between Mike and Will in Season 5. But this time, Will might be the one receiving phone calls or letters—from someone else.

And let’s not forget: it’s possible that the Byers are temporarily staying with the Wheelers in Season 5. If Will has a secret admirer, and he’s trying to keep it quiet, Mike is going to find out. (Excellent way to manufacture drama).

I also feel compelled to reiterate that the Duffers have shown time and time again: they can handle love triangles in many different ways.

They can play it for comedy. They can make it completely one-sided or delusional—like Mike projecting his own jealousy, much like Hopper did with Joyce in Season 3. A love triangle doesn’t have to be serious or long-lasting. It could span multiple episodes, or just one. It could involve a kiss—or zero physical contact at all.

And it doesn’t have to disrupt a Byler endgame—in fact, quite the opposite:

Seeing Will Byers receive romantic attention from another male character would serve as a reminder to the audience that Will is desirable and that he has options—this increases the stakes for Mike.

The GA will start wondering if this is really Will's endgame, and if he is truly ready to get over Mike. The GA, especially those who never shipped Byler before, may find themselves unexpectedly invested. They might even feel disappointed or sad at the thought of Will "moving on."

It also creates space for the writers to show us jealous Mike. Just as we've seen jealous, longing Will, a temporary love triangle allows us to explore Mike’s feelings through that same lens of romantic insecurity.

This brings the possibility of Byler to the forefront of the GA's subconscious. At the same time, it invites them to root for Mike, and therefore Byler.

#will byers #byler #st5 speculation #st5 theory #byler theory #stranger things

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saetiate · 3 days ago

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call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible) word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan.

“What are you doing here, Sae?”

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

#sae x reader #itoshi sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #sae x you #what else am i supposed to tag it i forgot #blue lock x reader #okay is that good?#fragments of memories #fragments of memories: fic #fragments: bllk #x reader #fragments: bllk: sae #forgot to put MY OWN TAGS LMAO #corae talk #cora selfship talk

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cbeargyu · 14 hours ago

Text

lettre pour toi

summary: a shy high school senior accidentally slips a love letter into the wrong locker, thinking it belongs to her crush park sunghoon — but instead, it ends up in the hands of lee heeseung, a notorious delinquent who takes the letter seriously and declares them a couple on the spot, starting an unexpected and chaotic love story.

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader

genre: high school au, romance, fluff, crack, slowburn, light angst.

warnings: delinquent!heeseung, possessive behavior, kissing, stolen first kiss, mild language, emotional tension, misunderstandings, power imbalance.

wc: 5k

love was in the air at mok-hae high school, quite literally, and maybe even overwhelmingly so. the long-awaited valentine’s day festival had finally returned after years of being nothing more than a forgotten tradition, and this year, it felt like the entire campus had bloomed with rose petals and heart-shaped confessions. students wandered the decorated halls hand-in-hand, lockers were covered in pastel-colored post-its with anonymous messages, and every classroom buzzed with excitement and hushed whispers about who had confessed to who. it was only halfway through the day, and already a third of the school had somehow ended up with an official partner, flowers in hand and bright smiles on their faces.

and you? well, you had made a promise to yourself that you wouldn’t let this day end like all the others — watching from the sidelines with a heart full of longing and a mouth too afraid to speak. no, this time would be different. this time you were going to confess. and not to just anyone — to him. park sunghoon.

he was a year older, part of the senior class, and although you’d barely spoken more than a few words to him since you met, he had quietly occupied the center of your world for longer than you cared to admit. tall, graceful, effortlessly charming with that soft black hair and soft eyes that somehow managed to look cold and warm at the same time, he was the kind of boy you only read about in shojo manga or saw staring out the windows in coming-of-age dramas.

girls liked him, boys respected him, and teachers always gave him that subtle look of admiration. but you? you worshipped him. silently, from afar. like a secret you folded and refolded in your chest so many times it had started to fray around the edges. he was everything you weren’t — confident, eloquent, easy to notice — while you were soft-spoken, painfully shy, the kind of girl who always chose the back corner seat and barely raised her hand in class. even your friends sometimes forgot you were in the room unless you were directly spoken to.

you remembered the exact moment your feelings for sunghoon began — it had been almost a year ago, a rainy monday afternoon when you had clumsily dropped your entire backpack just as the dismissal bell rang. your notebooks had scattered across the hallway, papers soaked in the puddles of muddy water students had tracked in, and no one had stopped. no one, except him. sunghoon had crouched down without a word, helped you gather everything with quiet precision, and gently handed you your favorite pen, the one you thought you'd lost, as if it were something precious.

he hadn’t smiled, not really, but he did meet your eyes and said, "be careful next time, yeah?" before disappearing into the crowd like some angel sent to rescue you for no reason at all. your heart hadn’t been the same since.

so now here you were, clutching the result of three sleepless nights — a love letter. a real, handwritten, hopelessly sincere love letter on soft pink paper, tucked inside a plain white envelope decorated with heart-shaped stamps you had spent an embarrassing amount of time aligning perfectly. it was all there, every single one of your feelings spelled out like an open wound, raw and trembling. how you’d admired him from afar, how much that single moment of kindness meant to you, how much you dreamed of him possibly — maybe — liking you back. you hadn’t dared to sign it with your full name, but you hoped he’d know. or maybe you hoped he wouldn’t. you didn’t know which would be worse.

"wait— a letter? you’re seriously going to give him a letter?" yoojung’s voice was almost a screech, her eyebrows practically disappearing into her hairline as she stared at you with a look of horror. she had nearly combusted when you showed her the envelope, her hands flailing like you had just told her you were about to perform open-heart surgery on yourself in front of the entire school. you felt your chest tighten and the tears sting the back of your eyes, your already-fragile courage crumbling under the weight of her reaction. it wasn’t even her fault — you knew this about yourself. you were sensitive. too sensitive. years of being teased, of being told you were too quiet, too weird, too invisible had turned your shyness into something permanent. you were the kind of person who apologized for existing too loudly. how could you ever hope someone like sunghoon would even remember your face?

"i can’t just say it to his face! i’d start stuttering and then probably start crying in front of him, and then i’d die, yoojung!" your voice cracked, cheeks burning in humiliation, hands tightening around the letter like it was both your salvation and your doom. you could already imagine it — your voice barely audible, his polite but confused expression, the silence stretching too long before he gave you that gentle, apologetic rejection that would haunt you for the rest of the school year. yoojung sighed, dramatically, tossing her head back like she was starring in her own soap opera, but you knew she didn’t mean it cruelly. she just didn’t understand. she was loud and brave and spoke without fear. you weren’t like that. never had been. and maybe never would be.

it had taken you everything — absolutely everything — to walk down the quiet corridor, envelope clutched tightly to your chest like it was a ticking bomb rather than a simple piece of paper filled with shaky handwriting and hearts drawn in red ink. locker number 151 sat at the very end of the hallway, beneath the slanted sunlight coming through the windows, looking strangely ordinary for something that belonged to the boy who had taken up residence in your dreams every single night.

you told yourself, again and again, that no one would be there to see you, that no one would notice or care, that it was just a letter and people left letters all the time, especially on valentine’s day. but your body refused to believe your thoughts — your hands trembled uncontrollably, your knees felt weak, and your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape. it was pathetic.

even now, in this empty hallway, with no one watching, the simple act of slipping a piece of paper through a locker vent made you feel like you were committing some kind of crime. you hesitated. once. twice. three times. until finally, with one last breath and eyes squeezed shut, you shoved it in through the thin metal slit and turned on your heel, running back toward your classroom like your life depended on it.

you had told your teacher you needed to use the bathroom, a lie that came too easily when your stomach was already twisted in knots. luckily, the hallway had been deserted, a rare miracle in such a busy school, and no one had seen you sneak out or rush back.

you reached the physics lab just as the bell rang, your breath caught in your throat, palms damp, the image of locker 151 burned behind your eyelids. the festival was over now — the booths were being taken down, students were returning to their regular classes, and reality was setting back in like a cold breeze after a dream. it was done. the letter had been delivered. whether sunghoon would read it or toss it without a second glance… well, that wasn’t something you could control anymore.

but the shaking didn’t stop. even as you sat back in your seat, trying to focus on the board, your fingers still twitched, your heart still raced. it was stupid, really. you hadn’t even spoken to him. you hadn’t done anything brave. and yet it had felt like tearing your own chest open and handing your soul to someone who probably wouldn’t even look at it. part of you wanted to cry — not because anything had gone wrong, but because even this, this tiny, invisible thing, had taken so much out of you. what kind of girl breaks down from something so small? what kind of girl can’t even confess properly?

you were still deep in those thoughts, staring blankly at your half-scribbled notes, when it happened.

"YAH!" the voice was loud, sharp, cutting through the ambient hallway noise like a blade. you barely registered it until another voice followed — harsher this time, irritated. "why the hell are you ignoring me? i’m talking to you!"

a loud thud echoed against the wall next to your head, and you flinched violently, your body freezing on instinct as you turned to find the source of the sound. there, towering just a few inches away, stood a boy you had never seen before. his hand was still pressed against the wall, palm flat where he had slammed it next to you, caging you in with his presence. his eyes were dark, unreadable, but piercing in a way that made your breath hitch. something about him was wrong, or maybe just too much — like staring into the sun for too long. he wasn’t smiling, not exactly, but there was a curve to his lips that felt amused, twisted, like he was already in on some joke you hadn’t been told yet.

“you’re y/n, right?” he asked, voice smooth but indifferent, almost bored as his gaze slowly traveled down the length of your body and back up to your face. you nodded before you could stop yourself, throat too tight to speak. your heart pounded again — not with nerves this time, but with something closer to fear.

he clicked his tongue, then reached into the pocket of his uniform jacket and pulled out something that made your stomach drop straight through the floor.

"‘i’ve liked you for so long… your eyes, your smile, the way you helped me that day… please, just once, give me a chance to be by your side. i promise i’ll make you happy…’” he read in a flat, mocking voice, and your blood ran cold. your letter. your letter. in his hands. being read aloud like a joke. your eyes widened in horror as you stared at the page — the pastel paper, the little doodles, the goddamn bunny stickers. this was supposed to be private. it wasn’t even his. how the hell had he gotten it?

“wh–what the—? give that back!” your voice cracked, raw and panicked, but when you lunged forward to grab the letter from his hands, he casually stepped back, raising it just out of reach like he was playing with a child. your hands fisted in frustration, tears welling up again, but this time they weren’t from shyness — they were from rage. humiliation. shame. he was laughing now, not loudly, but with a quiet scoff that made your skin crawl.

“so you did write it,” he muttered, stepping in close again, so close that his breath hit your cheek and you instinctively leaned back. “cute. kind of dumb, but cute.”

“i said give it back! that’s not yours!” you shoved at his chest with both hands, and he finally slipped the letter into his back pocket like it meant nothing, like your heart wasn’t bleeding inside that fold of paper.

“you’re so average it hurts,” he said, eyes still locked on yours with a strange intensity. “but sure, why not. i’ll go out with you.”

you blinked, stunned. “what—?”

he winked, shameless. “you heard me.”

then, without another word, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there, trembling, humiliated, confused, and still empty-handed. you didn’t even know his name. you didn’t even understand what had just happened.

you didn’t remember how you made it back to the classroom — just that one moment you were standing frozen in the hallway, the aftershock of humiliation still rattling through your bones, and the next you were pushing the door open with trembling hands, your head low, your throat tight, your eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill the second anyone looked at you. yoojung was the first to notice the state you were in. she turned to you with a lighthearted comment already forming on her lips, but the second she saw your face, the words died in her throat. instead, she stood up, eyebrows knitting with concern as she grabbed your wrist and tugged you toward the back of the classroom, where hyojung was hunched over her notes.

"what happened?" yoojung asked, voice sharp but careful, her grip tightening slightly around your sleeve as you sat down next to her with shaking knees, trying to breathe through the panic swelling in your chest. hyojung looked up too, alarmed, and you hated the way their eyes widened when they really saw you — the red around your eyes, the way you couldn’t quite meet their gaze, the way your hands fisted in your skirt like you were trying to stop them from flying to your face.

"he—he took it," you croaked, voice barely audible, and even though you tried to steady it, your lips quivered. "he has my letter. he read it out loud. he… he said he’d go out with me. but i— i didn’t even write it for him."

yoojung blinked, her mouth opening slightly. "wait— wait, slow down. who took your letter?"

"i don’t know his name," you confessed, swallowing hard, your voice trembling more with every word. "he just… he showed up. he slammed the wall and scared me half to death. he said my name like he already knew me, and then he pulled out the letter— my letter— and started reading it, right in front of me. and then he said... he said i was too normal, but he’d date me anyway. and then he walked away. like it was nothing. like—like i was nothing.”

your voice cracked again, and hyojung instinctively reached across the table to squeeze your wrist gently, her thumb rubbing a small circle on your skin. yoojung was already digging for tissues in her bag, pressing one into your hand as you tried to hide your face in your elbow.

"jesus…" yoojung muttered under her breath, her tone darkening with anger. "what the hell. describe him. did he say his name at all? maybe he’s from another class—"

you shook your head weakly. "no… i’ve never seen him before. he was tall. kind of broad-shouldered, but not huge. he had black hair, like… kind of messy. his eyes were really intense. he just stared at me, and it felt like i couldn’t move. like i was frozen. he had this— this smirk. like he was enjoying it."

the room felt too bright, the voices around you too loud. even though you were surrounded by people, all you could feel was that stupid, smug look on his face, the weight of his body so close to yours, the letter being read like a script in some cruel prank show. you wanted to disappear. vanish. melt through the floor. you hadn’t asked for this.

"wait a second," yoojung said suddenly, narrowing her eyes. "start from the beginning. where did you put the letter?"

"his locker. i— i snuck out during class and put it in locker 151. that’s sunghoon’s locker, right? i mean, i thought it was. i’ve been walking past it for months now…"

"locker 151…?" yoojung turned slowly to look at hyojung, who was now frowning deeply, tapping her chin as if trying to recall something.

"i’m in the 140s," hyojung said. "mine’s 148. and i think… if i’m not wrong, 151 doesn’t belong to park sunghoon. sunghoon’s locker is like… down the other wing, near the gym. the upperclassmen lockers are split by hallway."

your heart dropped. no. no, that couldn’t be right. you’d walked past that locker for weeks — you knew where sunghoon usually stopped, where he tied his shoelaces, where he sipped juice before practice. it had to be his.

"then whose locker is 151?" yoojung asked cautiously.

hyojung paused for a moment, then her expression darkened. "i’m not one hundred percent sure, but i think it belongs to lee heeseung. class 4. you’ve heard of him, right?"

you shook your head, mouth dry. "no… i don’t know any lee heeseung…"

they both looked at each other, their expressions shifting from confusion to dread in seconds.

"shit," yoojung whispered. "that guy. i’ve heard about him. he got suspended two weeks ago. got into a fight in the boys’ bathroom with one of the second-years. busted the other guy’s nose. i thought he dropped out or something. but he’s back?"

"yeah," hyojung added, voice low. "people say he’s… trouble. like, the kind you don’t want reading your love letters."

you stared down at your hands, your brain trying to piece together the horror of it all. it wasn’t even sunghoon’s locker. the letter had gone to the wrong person. and now heeseung thought you were in love with him. that the letter was for him.

you felt sick.

"you guys have to help me," you said suddenly, your voice shaking harder than before. "please— please help me. i don’t know what to do. i’m so scared. he’s going to think i’m serious. he’s going to mock me even more— and he won’t even give it back— and i didn’t mean to—"

"hey, hey— it’s okay," yoojung said quickly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you close as hyojung moved to your other side. "we’ll figure something out. maybe… maybe you can just talk to him. explain that it was a mistake. tell him the letter wasn’t meant for him."

"he didn’t even let me speak," you murmured into your sleeve. "he wouldn’t listen. he smirked. he said… he said i was ‘too normal’ but he’d go out with me anyway. like it was a joke. like i was some boring girl that didn’t matter."

they didn’t know what to say to that. they just sat with you in silence, the weight of it all sinking in. you didn’t know lee heeseung. but now, because of one stupid locker mix-up, he knew you.

you should’ve waited a little longer. maybe asked yoojung to walk out with you or just stayed inside until most of the school was empty, but you were too anxious to think straight, too desperate to be away from everyone and forget the burning humiliation that had stained your entire afternoon. you clutched your bag close to your chest and kept your head down, pretending you were invisible as you moved with the crowd of students heading toward the gates. it was almost working. almost. you were just a few steps from freedom when—

"hey."

his voice, low and unmistakable, cut right through the noise of the hallway, making your blood run cold. your body stiffened as you caught a glimpse of him leaning casually against the front gate, his hands in his pockets, his head tilted slightly like he’d been waiting specifically for you. your instinct screamed to run, to blend into the crowd and disappear, but the second you turned your head the other way and picked up your pace, you heard his footsteps—slow, heavy, deliberate—following behind.

you didn’t get far. his fingers hooked into the strap of your backpack, tugging you back without much effort, and you gasped, stumbling slightly as he pulled you to a stop. when you turned, he was right there, closer than you wanted, eyes sharp, brows knitted—not quite a glare, but certainly not a smile.

"what’s your deal?" he muttered, tilting his head. "first you write me a letter with all that cheesy, sappy crap, and now you’re acting like you don’t even know me?"

you opened your mouth to speak, to tell him—again—that it was a mistake, that the letter wasn’t meant for him, that you didn’t even know his name until today. but before the words could form, he cut you off.

"and just so you remember," he added, tapping the side of your head with two fingers in a way that made you flinch, "i already said yes. you confessed, i accepted, so we’re dating now. that’s how this stuff works, right?"

you blinked at him, completely at a loss. what. you felt the heat rise to your cheeks again, this time from a mix of panic and absolute disbelief. "w-we’re not dating! i didn’t— i mean, the letter wasn’t for—"

"yeah, yeah, excuses," he waved a hand dismissively, then started walking. you stood frozen for a second before realizing he wasn’t leaving—he was walking with you. "come on. i’ll walk you home."

"you don’t need to—" you began, trying to protest, but he suddenly reached out and grabbed your hand. your hand. like it was the most normal thing in the world. you immediately pulled back out of reflex.

he didn’t look surprised. only raised a brow and muttered, "fine. don’t hold my hand. we can do it the lame way." then, before you could react, he gripped your arm just above the elbow and started walking again, dragging you along like some stubborn little kid being pulled to detention.

"y-you don’t have to walk me— i don’t even live close—"

"shut up," he said flatly, not looking at you. "i asked you where your house is. you’re gonna show me or you want me to guess?"

your mouth opened and closed a few times, but ultimately you surrendered, muttering your address under your breath. he nodded, keeping his pace steady, still holding your arm as if afraid you’d try to bolt.

the walk wasn’t long, but it felt like an eternity. the whole time, your brain was running laps trying to figure out what he wanted from you. was he mocking you? playing some kind of joke? trying to get back at you for the letter? his grip wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly gentle either. still, he didn’t push or tease you as much as you expected, just walked quietly, sometimes glancing at you from the corner of his eye like he was thinking hard about something but refusing to say it out loud.

about halfway there, he suddenly stopped, causing you to stumble slightly. he released your arm and looked down at you with an unreadable expression.

"you don’t like being touched, huh?" he asked. there was no sarcasm in his voice, just a blunt observation.

you hesitated, then nodded. your skin was still tingling where his fingers had been, and not in a good way.

he let out a sigh and shoved his hands into his pockets. "fine. i’ll walk next to you. happy?"

you blinked, unsure how to respond, and he began walking again, this time matching your pace instead of pulling you along. the silence returned, but it wasn’t heavy like before. if anything, it felt like a strange kind of… effort. like he was trying to not be too rough. which, for someone like him, probably took energy.

just as you were starting to feel slightly more at ease, he dropped another bomb on you.

"i get that holding hands is too soon or whatever," he said casually, looking ahead with a blank face. "but you better get used to the idea. later on, we’ll be doing more than that."

you stopped dead in your tracks, heart leaping into your throat. "w-what?!"

he turned to you slowly, eyes glinting with that same smug expression from earlier. "you heard me."

"what do you mean 'more'?!" your voice cracked, and he stepped closer, bending slightly so his face was only inches from yours. the way he smiled this time was less mocking, more… mischievous. and it made your stomach twist into a thousand knots.

"who knows?" he whispered, then chuckled softly, like he was enjoying the way your brain was spiraling. "kissing, maybe. sleepovers. sneaking out. things couples do."

your face was now burning red, and you nearly tripped trying to take a step back. "i-i told you— the letter wasn’t even for—"

"yeah, yeah," he said again, walking ahead like he didn’t care about your explanation, like he’d already decided it didn’t matter. "too late now. you picked me, so you’re stuck."

you wanted to scream. cry. evaporate. but deep down, beneath the panic and confusion, something else stirred. it wasn’t attraction—at least not yet—but something dangerous. something you didn’t understand. lee heeseung wasn’t just a school delinquent. he was unpredictable. and you’d just become his new favorite game.

you were still trying to recover from the sheer chaos that was walking beside lee heeseung — heart racing, cheeks on fire, trying to process the absurdity of everything he’d said — when he suddenly reached out again, this time gently tugging on your sleeve. “where is it?” he asked, glancing at the rows of quiet houses as the late afternoon sun started to melt into soft pinks and golds. you swallowed nervously and pointed to the corner, your voice barely above a whisper as you mumbled, “just past that turn, the grey gate with the vines.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, as you reached the last stretch of the sidewalk, he suddenly grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks with a firm pull. you gasped in surprise, turning to look at him in confusion just as he took a step forward and used his grip to pull you toward him — so suddenly, so carelessly, that you lost your balance and stumbled right into his chest. before you could fall completely, strong arms wrapped around your waist and caught you easily, holding you steady like it was the most natural thing in the world. you barely had time to blink, your face only inches from his shirt, your breath caught in your throat.

“h-heeseung?” you started, your voice small, confused, your body stiff against his. “what are you—”

but you didn’t get to finish the question. he was already lifting your chin gently with one hand, his fingers warm against your cheek, and before your brain could catch up with what was happening, his lips were on yours.

your eyes widened, breath trapped in your chest as time seemed to slow down around you. his kiss wasn’t tentative or shy — it was confident, unhesitating, filled with a kind of raw emotion that made your legs tremble. his hands were firm, one cupping your face with surprising care and the other still resting against your lower back as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss slowly, as if he was tasting you like something rare. your heart was thudding so loudly you could feel it in your ears, and your fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform jacket, unsure whether to push him away or hold onto him tighter.

it was your first kiss. your very first kiss. and it had just been stolen by the most unpredictable boy in your entire school — the delinquent, the troublemaker, the one who scared half the campus and had probably never said anything sweet in his life. lee heeseung. of all people. and yet… it wasn’t harsh. it wasn’t cold. it was… dizzying. warm. overwhelming. and you hated that a part of you — a very quiet, hidden part — didn’t want it to stop.

when he finally pulled away, it wasn’t abrupt. he lingered close, your foreheads nearly touching, his breath mixing with yours in the tiny space between you. your lips were tingling, slightly swollen, and you lifted your hands to cover your mouth instinctively, your cheeks now painted with the deepest shade of red. your eyes were wide and glossy, still trying to process the heat, the softness, the unfamiliar ache in your chest.

heeseung looked pleased. no — he looked smug. he licked his bottom lip slowly, like he was savoring the taste, then murmured, “you taste sweet.”

you blinked rapidly, face aflame, your heart barely holding itself together inside your chest. “w-what—?!”

“mm, i wanna kiss you again,” he said bluntly, already leaning forward as if ready to do exactly that. you squeaked in panic, stepping back quickly and trying to escape, but he was faster, his arms wrapping around your waist again and pulling you close with one smooth motion that made your breath catch. “nah, don’t run,” he muttered against your temple, his tone lower now, almost affectionate, like he was getting used to having you near. “not when you look this cute after a kiss.”

you squirmed a little, still overwhelmed, but his arms were strong and warm around you, and somehow… you didn’t feel unsafe. flustered? yes. humiliated? probably. but not afraid. not when he held you like that — like you were his. like it was normal.

he dipped his head and kissed you again, this time slower, softer, like he wanted you to melt into it, and you nearly did. your hands hovered between your bodies before settling gently against his chest, not pushing away this time, just staying there, holding onto the reality that this was happening — this impossible, ridiculous moment was real.

and when he finally pulled away, his lips brushing yours as he whispered, “you better get used to this,” you couldn’t even bring yourself to argue. you just stared at him, breathless, stunned, and a little enchanted despite yourself.

he let you go at last, stepping back with a lazy stretch and a grin that could only be described as devilish. “see you tomorrow, girlfriend,” he said casually, already walking away like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down. you stood frozen on the sidewalk, one hand still over your mouth, heart racing as you watched him disappear down the street.

and just like that, without meaning to, without even realizing what you’d started — you found yourself at the center of a strange, twisted, confusing story. a story that began not with a confession, but with a letter meant for someone else. a story that shouldn’t have happened.

and yet, it did.

that was how your very first love — strange and chaotic and sweet in the worst possible way — began with lee heeseung.

and somehow, you had a feeling… this was only the beginning.

#enha #enhypen #heesung x reader #lee heesung x reader #heesung enhypen #heesung enha #enhypen heesung #lee heesung #heesung fluff #heesung fanfic #heesung romance #heesung x you #enhypen scenarios #desire unleash

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hinge · 28 days ago

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Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

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mechncheese · 3 days ago

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Do you have any tips for drawing transformers/simplifying transformer designs :0?? Your art retains their 3-dimensionality without sacrificing their posability and all this while using 'simple' looking shapes, it's genuinely very satisfying to look at

Thank you ! One of the biggest challenges for me when I first got into drawing transformers was trying to keep their movement from being too stiff while keeping their design robot-like so I'm glad that it reads as fluid to people !

I'm used to drawing organic characters, working with simpler designs, and emphasizing movement and flow so this was definitely new territory for me !

I'll talk about my simplification process below !

The easiest way to go about simplifying transformer designs is reducing them to their basic shapes and then building them back up. You can see it a lot in G1. Since G1 characters are designed to be animated (and also look like toys) they can't make their designs too complex so it makes a good starting point when breaking bots down.

The comic designs are a different story. Because it's a different medium, artists can go ham with details.

IDW Thundercracker has a lot going on ! You can see all his mechanics and joints, he looks a bit overwhelming to draw !

G1 Thundercracker is more blocky and simplified, definitely less intimidating to draw, he's mostly just cubes

When I simplify transformers, I break them down and then gradually add details. I think about it like carving out a statue, you have your block of marble and you carve out details until you're happy. You definitely do NOT need to draw every detail, I always leave out a bunch of detailed parts in favor of simplicity.

Let's simplify IDW Thundercracker, if you break him down into shapes, he is also just cubes. The red underneath is my initial sketch and the blue outline is just there to show the shapes.

It also helps to have an understanding of perspective and the way 3D shapes work.

I'd say this is the base for him ! He follows almost the same base as g1, we're keeping it blocky but I do take liberty to taper parts of the body like towards the knees and or along the arms to give my pose some fluidity. Then we shove on his details bit by bit

A lot of it is just picking and choosing design elements you like about a character and finding ways to make it fit onto the design. Thundercracker's IDW design has these cool ribs that go along his torso and I tried to include that while simplifying it.

Something I try to avoid is shoving as Many details as possible onto a design. It can make the design look cluttered and busy and that might be good if that's what you're going for but it's just not for me. I find that more details make it harder to pose my robots so I keep it minimal.

Applying color also gives you a good look at how much room your design has. Here's TC colored !

I could stop here and call him done but I think he looks a bit too spacious so I'm going to add some more details. Here's where I get a bit wild and kind of just do what I want. For me, the references are a base and as I get further along down the design I add seasoning to taste. More plating, different hues and colors, bits and baubles, and artistic flare. Here's where I wind up !

I'm happy with this ! I think Anymore detail and he would be a bit too cluttered (his wings are already reaching the Clutter Point for me)

As you draw more and more designs you'll develop an eye for what you like ! The world is your oyster and you can always go back and redesign/adjust !

#ask #transformers #my art #long post

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miyasmagnolias · 2 days ago

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𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𓂇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

miya atsumu x f!reader

you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. atsumu, on the other hand? he just wants to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

part eleven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: a tiny bit of lore, but i used to dance throughout college (and still do to this day), so this one was super fun to write. enjoy! ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

"So...what kind of dance does she do again?"

"Uh..." Atsumu blinked down at the bouquet of flowers like they might contain the answer to Suna's question. "Hip-hop, I think?"

Osamu locked his car and shot his twin brother a judgmental glare. "Haven't ya lived with her for, like, eight months now? Shouldn't ya know what type of dance she does?"

"How am I supposed to know?! It's not like she performs for me in the livin' room or anythin'!"

Osamu's face twisted in disgust. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya."

Atsumu's face turned beet red. "The fuck is that supposed to mean — ?!"

"To be fair," Aran interjected, ever the pacifist. "Modern dance can blend together a lot of styles — jazz, ballet, hip-hop. It's really not as cut and dry as people think it is."

"See?" Atsumu said, grateful to his team captain for coming to his defense. "It's not as cut and dry as ya think it is!"

Aran gave him a flat stare in return. "Still, I find it baffling that you didn't think to ask."

The four former Inarizaki boys began the long trek from their parallel parking spot to The Bloom Room — a seventies-inspired cocktail lounge nestled in-between campus and downtown. Your university dance troupe had partnered with the small business to host your annual spring showcase, the event doubling as a community-wide fundraiser for a handful of local nonprofits.

Invite the volleyball boys, too! you'd texted Atsumu a few weeks back, along with the link to buy tickets. We need as many people there as possible. The more drinks you buy, the more goes to charity!

Atsumu didn't exactly know who you meant by the 'volleyball boys' — Osamu and Suna didn't really count anymore, and Sakusa wouldn't be caught dead in a place like The Bloom Room. Aran, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise, the captain of the men's volleyball team happily agreeing to go when Atsumu brought it up to him after practice the other day.

"I'll do anything for a good cause," he'd said, though the fluorescent lights of the locker room did nothing to hide his amused expression. "Did you end up wooing her with your extensive knowledge of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I was not tryin' to 'woo' her — I was tryin' to help her with an essay!" Atsumu exclaimed, slamming his locker door shut. "There's a big difference."

"You stopped reading every other sentence just so you could ask me what it meant," Aran said dryly, recalling the two-hour flight back from their first away game. Off the court, he'd never seen Atsumu more concentrated. “If anything, you needed help.”

Atsumu shot his team captain an offended glare. "At least I finished the damn thing. It got good — ya know, once I got used to all the ol' timey English."

Aran folded his arms across his chest and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's clear you've got feelings for this girl. So in addition to reading her favorite books and kissing her on the cheek after games, why don't you just ask her out?"

The setter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind before — just that every time it did, it was accompanied by the worst possible outcomes he could think of. Him, finally working up the courage to ask you out. You, laughing in his face. Him, having to sleep in the room next to yours every day while he died of embarrassment. Just thinking about it made Atsumu want to yak.

It was much easier to flirt with you than to actually admit that he liked you, he'd realized. In fact, Atsumu kind of hoped you'd be the first to acknowledge it. He'd dropped more than enough hints for you to catch on.

But as your spring semester continued without so much as a peep, Atsumu realized he didn't have much time left. He needed to fess up to you before you graduated and went on to become a publishing mogul or a Pulitzer Prize winner — or whatever the hell English honors students went on to do after college.

The plan was simple: get you alone after the show, hand you the bouquet he'd spent nearly an hour picking out. Pop the question while somehow keeping his ego intact. Easy peasy.

At least, he thought it was.

"Oh, are you here for Y/N?" a girl with large hoop earrings and a handkerchief for a top said when Atsumu approached the check-in table. "You're her roommate, right? She's told us so much about you!"

"She didn't tell us you'd be bringing a whole team with you," another drawled, twirling a long braid around her perfectly manicured fingers as she sized up his friends. "Sheesh."

Despite himself, a stupid grin broke out on Atsumu's face. "She talks about me?"

The two girls exchanged humored looks from across the table.

"Let's just say she's gonna really love the flowers," the one with the braids replied with a smack of her gum.

"Wish my boyfriend bought me flowers," the one with the earrings chuckled, stamping the back of Atsumu's hand. "Enjoy the show!"

The Bloom Room was bathed in sultry purple lights as Atsumu and his group navigated the crowd of friends and family that had shown up for that evening's showcase. The high-top tables and stools had been cleared out to make room for a dance floor, with rows of folding chairs now lining the perimeter of the space.

"It's awfully intimate, ain't it?" Osamu observed as he sat next to Atsumu in the row closest to the dance floor.

"I'ma grab a drink," Suna quipped, already making a beeline for the bar. Meanwhile, their phones pinged in unison. It was from you.

Are you here yet?? you'd asked in the group chat you had created with all four of them. Did you get good seats?

Atsumu's fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

Yep, front row! Break at leg! Then, before he could stop himself, he added a pink heart emoji and hit send.

"Whoa," Aran said, blinking back at the text message not a moment later. "A heart? Things must be getting pretty serious."

"Shaddup," Atsumu tsked, folding his arms across his chest. At Osamu and Aran's bemused stares, he asked, "What? It ain't the red one! The red one is the serious one!"

"Dunno, man," Aran teased as Osamu stifled his laugh. "A heart's a heart."

Atsumu's confident expression faltered as he said, "W-Well, do ya think it's too much? Should I edit it?

"I think it's a little late for that," Osamu drawled just as their phones pinged again. They all looked down at their screens.

Great! you'd replied, hearting Atsumu's message. Can someone take a video of me pwease?

On it, Suna texted back. He returned a few minutes later with a tequila soda in-hand.

"Dude," he murmured as he sat back down. "What was up with that frilly pink heart? Keep that shit to yourselves."

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone! Take your seats, take your seats," the girl with the hoop earrings said into the microphone as the remainder of the crowd settled in with their drinks. "My name's Mina, and I'd like to personally welcome you to the Silk Club's third annual spring showcase!"

A wave of applause ricocheted through the venue.

"We've got an incredible lineup of talent here tonight representing several on-campus dance orgs, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show," she said. "As a reminder, all ticket and drink proceeds go towards our city's women's shelter and the center for LGBTQIA+ youth, so I encourage you to get as drunk as humanly possible! It's for a great cause!"

Laughter and applause rippled across the crowd. Beside Atsumu, Suna tipped his cup back until all that was left was ice.

"Now without further ado, I have the pleasure of introducing to you our opening act," Mina continued. "The Silk Club is a group of young women whose mission is to feel empowered and body confident in their dance. This is their third year hosting their annual spring showcase in support of the local nonprofit community, and they are incredibly excited to perform for you all tonight. I myself have been a part of this team for two years now, and I can confidently say there's no other group I'd rather shake ass with to raise money. So without further ado, give it up for Silk!"

The crowd whooped and hollered as several silhouetted figures emerged from the back room and assumed formation on the dance floor. Meanwhile, Atsumu's heart kicked up a notch as he scanned the shadows to find you. Beside him, Osamu frowned.

"Shake ass?" Osamu repeated under his breath. "Don't tell me — "

He was promptly cut off as the opening chords to Mariah Carey's "Obsessed" blared through the speakers, the spotlight flickering on to reveal you — in the tiniest black tube top and skirt — staring back at the audience with a sultry pout on your face.

Aran's eyes widened. Suna nearly choked on his ice. Osamu ran a hand over his face and glanced toward his brother, who — for all intents and purposes — looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Because you were hot. Nay — you were hot as fuck.

And everyone in that room knew it, too.

"I thought she did hip-hop!" Aran yelled over the music as you danced across the floor in your stiletto heels, your confidence radiating with every body roll, every hair flip.

"Dunno what kind of hip-hop you're watching, but this certainly isn't it," Suna shot back dryly, having already hit the record button on his phone.

Except Atsumu wasn't even listening. All that occupied his brain was you. Batting your eyelashes at the audience. Rocking the headscarf you'd styled into your long hair. Touching yourself in places that made Atsumu feel faint. You looked like the seventh member of Katseye, only prettier. How hadn't he known this about you?

"Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know..."

The crowd went completely ballistic as all the girls on your team planted their hands on the sticky floor and shook ass in perfect unison. Only then did Atsumu notice the phone in Suna's hands.

"Would ya not film my roommate's ass like that?" he stammered, doing a double-take.

Suna merely shrugged and said, "What? She asked me to."

Then, before Atsumu could argue further, you were sauntering up to him. Soft smile. Pouty lips. Eyes that could disarm him in an instant. You ran a delicate finger along the curve of his jaw, tilted his chin up to look at you. And winked.

For fuck's sake.

"I think you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body," Suna deadpanned, scrubbing through the video after you and your teammates had struck the final pose to the sounds of ear-splitting applause.

Osamu elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Ya alright in there, Tsumu?"

Atsumu just stared at the dance floor as you and your teammates took your bows. Brain empty. Face steadily draining of color. His grip tightened around the bouquet in his lap as he tried to careen himself back to earth.

Asking you out was going to be way harder than he thought.

Atsumu's heart rate more-or-less returned to normal after that, the rest of the show featuring a variety of modern dance crews, cultural clubs, and K-Pop cover groups. Nothing as outrageous as the opener, but perhaps that was for the best. Atsumu didn't need his nervous system compromised for a second time that night — especially with the question he was about to ask you after the show.

The Silk Club closed the showcase with a much tamer, less anxiety-inducing routine to "Rocket" by Doechii, the choreography maintaining your team's signature charm while showcasing your versatility of style. Atsumu cheered for you as you danced your heart out in the center of the room, your energy infectious as the music coursed through your every muscle. From your cheeky smile down to the soles of your sneakers, it was clear you loved being up there. The entire time, Atsumu couldn't stop grinning.

He was the first to give you a standing ovation by the end.

"Seems like Atsumu isn't the only one who can work a crowd," Aran drawled in amusement, standing up so he could clap for you properly. Beside him, Suna snapped about a million pictures.

Osamu merely hummed in agreement and said, "Pretty sure this is the first time he's been more enamored by someone other than himself."

As usual, Atsumu didn't hear a damn thing — just clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."

Several families and friend groups had since flooded the dance floor to reunite with their performers, Atsumu shouldering his way through with the bouquet clutched to his chest. Your friend Haru had found you first and was currently gushing to you about your performance, Atsumu maintaining his distance for several nerve-wracking seconds before your eyes eventually latched onto his. Your face broke out into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen, and by God. You were beautiful.

You said goodbye to Haru and made your way towards him. His arms found purchase around your waist as he lifted you several inches off the ground and squeezed you as hard as you could.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair. It smelled of your sweat and shampoo.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice warm and breathless. "What did you think of the show?"

"I..." Atsumu trailed off, the mental image of you throwing it back flashing across his mind. "I didn't know ya could move like that, that's for sure."

A chuckle rumbled out of you as he set you down. You adjusted the oversized jersey you had changed into for the finale and said, "Yeah. I'm a little embarrassed that you and your friends got a full view of my ass, but it's whatever."

"Well, for what it's worth, it looked good." Then, after realizing what the fuck he'd just said, "You. Y-You looked good, I meant. Shit."

You were full-on laughing at this point. "That's high praise, coming from the king of low sets himself."

The tips of his ears turned red as he finally remembered the bouquet in his hands.

"These are for ya," he said, watching your eyes soften as he gave them to you. You lifted your nose to the assortment of wildflowers like you did with all of your books. "Ya looked incredible up there, Y/N. Seriously."

"...thank you, Tsumu." A shy smile worked its way onto your features before you admitted, "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Ya bein' serious right now?" he asked, equal parts surprised and pleased with himself. You nodded. "Well, that's only cause ya haven't invited the right people before."

You rolled your eyes. "The right people being you?"

"Damn straight," he said, already reaching for you a second time. "Come 'ere."

He wrapped his arms around you in the middle of the crowded dance floor, his cheek resting against the crowd of your head. Relaxing into his embrace, you listened to his heartbeat through this shirt. Steady. Grounding. A little fast. But then again, so was yours.

You craned your neck to look him in the eye. He gazed down at you like you were the only other person in that entire room.

Pulse picking up speed, Atsumu slowly leaned in until he was a mere breath away from grazing your lips against his.

But before he could kiss you, someone was already calling your name.

"Y/N!" Mina hollered, the both of you jumping backwards like two guilt-ridden teenagers. She scanned the dense crowd from the front of the room like a mother who'd just lost her child at the zoo. "Y/N, where the hell are ya?! We're taking a group picture!"

Clearing his throat, Atsumu adjusted the collar of his jacket and tried to channel whatever nonchalance was left in his body. Beside him, you haphazardly tried to fix your hair. The two of you locked eyes once more and, gradually, started to laugh.

"Go," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your teammates. "Don't keep 'em waiting."

Mashing your lips together, you looked like you wanted to argue. But your teammates were already calling your name.

"Come out to eat with us afterwards?" you offered, a hopeful expression on your face. "I think a handful of us are going to that new Korean spot downtown. You can bring the boys, too."

Chuckling, Atsumu nodded. "Sure. We'll be there."

"...okay," you eventually managed. It did little to mask the dazed, if not mildly disappointed expression on your face. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

"Ya boys in the mood for Korean food?" Atsumu asked his friends when he found them lingering outside the restrooms.

"Why, what happened?" Osamu asked, shooting his brother a grin. "Yer plan fall through?"

"Yep," Atsumu quipped, throwing an arm around Osamu's shoulders. "I'm 'bout to drown my sorrows in an army stew."

"At least you gave her the bouquet," Aran offered, drying his damp hands on his jeans. "You only spent half the afternoon trying to pick it out."

"Seriously," Suna mumbled, eyes never leaving his phone. "You owe us dinner for the amount of moral support we're showing you right now."

The three of them debated how many dishes to order the entire car ride there. Meanwhile, Atsumu stared out the window, wondering when the hell he'd be able to get you alone.

"I never thought I'd see the day someone actually outdrank Mina," you giggled, fumbling with your keys to the apartment. "How much soju did Suna have?"

"I dunno, but he was scarily composed after all those domino shots," Atsumu murmured as you both entered through the front door and turned on all the lights. "Passed out like a light in the backseat, though."

Even though he'd barely managed to talk to you during dinner, it was surprisingly fun to see you relax for once. You were excited to introduce Atsumu and his friends to the people you had danced with for the past several months, grateful to see everyone get along so well in between spoonfuls of bubbling hot pot.

"It's nice to finally meet the best roommate she's ever had," Mina had teased, already four shots in. She flung a sweaty arm around your shoulders and said, "Her words, not mine!"

At that, Atsumu raised an eyebrow and grinned. "The best, huh?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he swore your face turned two shades redder at that.

Now, Atsumu watched from across the kitchenette as you meticulously trimmed the flowers he'd gotten for you, your fingers nimble as you arranged each one into a vase. The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you, along with the rhythmic snip of your scissors.

Without looking up, you said, "You're staring."

"Am I?" Atsumu drawled, a smile toying on his lips. "Was just admirin’ yer makeup. Is that what they call a full beat?"

You nearly choked on your laughter. "Where did you learn that from? TikTok?"

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "I have my sources."

Smiling, you said, "Well, would you be so kind as to grab my makeup remover from the bathroom? I've been dying to get this off."

Five minutes later, Atsumu poured himself a glass of water as you tried removing your eye makeup with a soaked cotton round, a dark streak of eyeliner now smudged halfway across your face.

"Did I get it?" you asked, blinking at Atsumu from where you sat atop the kitchen counter. Laughing, he put down his glass and began wiping it himself.

"I like when you look like this," he confessed, gently dragging the cotton round across your skin.

Frowning, you said, "Like a rabid raccoon?"

"No, ya twerp. Ya know what I mean."

You didn't say anything for a long while as he continued removing your makeup. You felt your face warm beneath his touch as he did so.

"Thank you for coming to the showcase tonight."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then, after a brief pause, "Ya know, as the best roommate you've ever had."

You groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Not a chance," Atsumu drawled. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and inspected your face from different angles beneath the warm kitchen lights. "There. Squeaky clean."

Neither of you moved as you realized just how close you'd gotten to each other. You, your knees grazing against his torso. Him, the warmth of his palms sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

"Atsumu..." you breathed, your voice merely a croak.

"...yeah?" he managed, brown eyes searching yours for something — anything — to indicate that you wanted him closer.

"...is there a reason you're always so nice to me?"

Lips parting, he said, "I think ya know why."

You closed the gap and kissed him not a moment later.

Now, Atsumu had imagined what it would be like to kiss you — had even dreamt about it, embarrassingly enough. But nothing, nothing compared to the way your lips worked against his now, each movement slow. Deliberate. Almost like you were asking a question.

You like me? you seemed to ask, fingers curling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Atsumu merely cupped the back of your head and deepened the kiss, the feeling of his tongue against yours extinguishing all doubt from your mind.

Yes, he thought, melting into you completely. Yes. I always have.

He braced his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, boxing you in. Your hands slid into his hair. A low moan escaped the back of his throat when you parted your legs for him and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

But before he let himself fall any further, he had one thing left to ask.

"Wait — wait," he stammered, pulling away from you suddenly. Lips swollen. Hair disheveled. Heart hammering in his chest.

At your confused expression, he asked, "Will ya go to dinner with me?"

Your chest rose and fell as a bemused expression crossed your features. "Are you asking me out right now?"

Atsumu gulped back and said, "I just...I wanna be sure I do this right."

Heart twinging at his words, your hands gently traveled down from his hair to cup both of his cheeks.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," you drawled, eyes gleaming in adoration as you beheld him. Your roommate. Your friend. Your best friend, if you were being totally honest. "I'd love to."

The stupid grin that broke out on his face had you pulling him in for another kiss.

a/n: thank you for the love on these past couple of chapters, y'all! i'm slowly but surely responding to messages and comments — but in the meantime, please know that i appreciate all of you for reading this sappy lil' fic of mine. it means the world to me.

(next chapter will cover atsumu and y/n's first date mwahaha. stay tuned.)

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

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tywrites · 1 day ago

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secrets that you keep (talking in your sleep) pt 2 | mateo manta

requests: “hello . please consider and part two to your Mateo fic . thank you very Much ❤️ . Idont know if i should format this as a request or suggestion— but if you take it the first way then Mateo submissive top maybe… Or just Very whiny and the Like.” + “Steamy make out sesh with Mateo PLEASE(maybe more if ur up to it🤭)"

word count: 2.1k

warnings: minors dni!! smut, riding, creampie

a/n: i had so many mateo reqs in my inbox after the last fic hehe, not complaining at all. hope you guys enjoy this filth <33 i also don't speak spanish so apologies if it's used entirely wrong ;-;

part 1

“Anyone ever tell you that you talk in your sleep?”

Mateo’s head was spinning and he had no idea where to put his hands. I mean, what exactly are you supposed to do when there’s a gorgeous human on top of you, looking like they’re ready to eat you for dinner?

After his teasing question, you’d wasted no time in straddling the man, seemingly determined to make him pay for the embarrassment you were feeling. With a leg either side of his lap, you locked your lips with his, kissing him like your life depended on it. Your hands found his, moving them up so they laid on your waist.

God, his lips were so soft – makes sense for a blanket, you thought.

Your hands soon found their way to his hair, tangling into the locks and pulling him even closer to you. You couldn’t help but notice the most adorable breathy sounds coming from Mateo with every tug of his hair, every movement of your tongue. You wanted to drown in him.

“Ay dios mío, corazón… ah, you’re perfect,” he panted out, a dark red coating his cheeks. You took this moment to catch your breath before attaching your lips to his neck, focusing on the sensitive spot right under his ear. He made the most delicious noises.

“Ayy… mmh, mi amor please- ah!” He let out a loud moan when his hips bucked up into your own, the hardness evident in his sweatpants.

Your hands were all over him, taking in every inch of his soft skin. You were ecstatic to finally be able to leave your mark on him, taking this time to make sure the others knew exactly who Mateo belonged to. Your lips trailed over his neck and chest, nipping and sucking at the skin to leave crimson marks behind. It was clear that Mateo was getting impatient – you could feel his hips desperately humping into your own, an almost humiliated expression on his face.

“Aw, my love… Are you that desperate for me?” you whispered sweetly into his ear, your hand trailing down to lay over his bulge teasingly. He whined, bucking up into your hand, attempting to get any kind of friction possible.

“Sí, sí… please don’t tease,”

You smirked. “Hmm? But I thought you wanted to know what my dream was about? You do wanna know… right?”

His mouth dropped agape slightly, his mind barely able to process your words. Fuck, he really did want to know. He needed to know what made you make those noises, why you were pleading his name so insistently… what he was doing to make you moan so sweetly.

“T-tell me,” he said quietly, sweaty strands of his hair falling into his eyes as he gazed at you.

“Say please,”

He groaned, his cock bouncing at your words. He never knew he’d be into this kind of thing. You on top of him, taking full control of the situation – entirely different than it had been just half an hour ago. The picture of you leaning over him, desire in your eyes… He would give you anything you asked of him.

“Please, amor… please tell me,”

You reached out to cup his cheek as you leaned into him, stopping inches away from his face. You looked directly in his eyes as you told him exactly what had made you so hot.

“It’s funny… we were actually in opposite positions to now,” you began, glancing down at your bodies on the sofa, your legs straddling his. “You were on top of me, saying the dirtiest things I could think of. I couldn’t move – not with my hands tied so tightly with your blanket. And god, you were being such a tease…”

He bit his lip, trying in vain to hold back a moan.

“You were telling me all of the things you wanted to do to me. I was begging for it so hard, so desperately, and you were being so mean,” you pouted, your hands moving to your shirt as you began to unbutton it. Slowly.

Mateo’s eyes locked onto your movements, unable to tear his vision away as inch by anticipated inch of your soft skin was revealed to him. He gulped down a mouthful of saliva, thanking the universe that he wasn’t literally drooling right now. The same couldn’t be said for his poor, neglected cock; a small stain now soaked through the front of his sweatpants.

“Mi vida, please…”

“Uh uh, I’m not finished yet,” you say, grinning devilishly. You only received a broken whine in response.

“When you finally touched me… God, I could have finished right there and then. You were amazing, ‘Teo. Made me feel so fucking good, so sexy-”

“You are,”

Your face flushed. You were finally on the last button. As you undid it, you looked Mateo in the eyes. You’d never seen his big brown eyes look so… needy. You finally pushed your shirt off, revealing your body to your boyfriend for the very first time. There’s a thought in the back of your head, a vague one – if it had been anyone but Mateo seeing you right now, you wouldn’t be feeling half as comfortable and safe.

But trusting Mateo came so easily to you.

“Fuck, corazón… such a beauty. How did I get so lucky?” His voice and face were so sincere, looking at you with genuine amazement in his eyes. His hands twitched, desperate to reach out and touch you. You finally decided to be nice, mostly due to how eager you were becoming yourself.

“Mateo?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Please touch me,”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His hands were on you in a second, roaming over your top half as he kissed you deeply. He was definitely becoming more confident now that he had an obvious place to put his hands. They slid smoothly over the expanse of your back, up to your hair as he pulled you against him, moaning needily into the kiss. You pushed down onto his lap, earning you a wrecked whine from Mateo.

You started to claw at his clothing, needing him to be wearing decidedly less right about now. He shrugged off his puffy duvet jacket, his lips still locked with your own the entire time. You were forced to part, however, for him to rip off his vest. His soft stomach was revealed to you, along with a visible path of white hairs leading down to the main event.

You were going to wreck this man.

Blanket.

You wasted no time in peeling off your bottoms, your hole aching for something, anything to fill it up. Mateo was fixated on your naked form, his eyes glazing over with desire.

“You’re still wearing far too many clothes…”

He chuckled at your eagerness, reaching down to untie the blanket around his waist. When he was finally able to liberate himself from his sweatpants, he let out a quiet groan of relief. His cock was throbbing and everything you were hoping for. Mateo was definitely thicker than he was long, but still a pretty sizeable length. He wrapped a hand around the base, giving it a few quick strokes, his face almost looking as flushed as the tip.

“I… I need you, mi vida…” he said softly, looking at you with sweet, hopeful eyes.

Fuck.

You crawled over to him, laying a hand on his chest and pushing him back to lay against the arm of the couch. “Don’t worry, my love,” you said, giving him a chaste kiss before taking a hold of his aching cock. “I’ll take care of you,”

He whined as you slowly stroked his length, paying special attention to the very tip, your thumb teasingly spreading the pre-cum over the head. His eyes closed, his mouth left agape as you continued your ministrations. He was gorgeous, some of his white locks stuck to his forehead from the heat of the situation, a rosy hue to his skin as he tried to hold back the sweet noises he was making.

You needed him inside you. Now.

You lifted your left hand to his mouth (your right still continuing to bring him the pleasure he so needed), presenting him with three fingers. He looked at you, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Open your mouth, love,”

His eyes widened when he realised what you meant. He obeyed quickly, his mouth falling open for you as you pressed your fingers inside. His tongue worked itself around them, getting them nice and wet for you. He was nothing if not thorough. What you didn’t expect, was the satisfied whine that left him as he sucked on your fingers.

Holy shit. It went straight to your head, your mind getting fuzzy as you watched him be so eager to listen, so eager to please. Once your fingers were suitably wet, you pulled them out of his mouth – Mateo seeming almost disappointed at the absence.

You moved your hand down to your hole, starting with one digit as you slowly began to prep yourself. As eager as you were, one look at Mateo’s thick cock told you that you needed to be stretched out before taking it.

“Ayy… fuck mi amor, are you touching yourself?”

You blushed, adding a second finger. “Need to… open myself up for you,”

He groaned, his head falling forward onto your shoulder as you continued to stroke his cock and touch your own hole. You added a third finger, spreading them wide as you fucked yourself, stretching yourself as best you could in this position. At a certain point you stopped. This would do.

You lifted yourself up so you were up on your knees, placing your hands on his shoulders as you hovered over his cock. Mateo’s hands quickly found your waist and he looked up at you like you’d hung the very stars in the sky. As you slowly lowered yourself down onto his length and felt that initial stretch, you couldn’t hold back the sharp inhale you took. Fuck, he was big.

“Ohh… you feel amazing. Fuckkkk, taking me so well,” he whined, his head falling back onto the sofa as you sank down onto him. “Perfect, so perfect, baby…”

You ignored the slight pain at the stretch, focusing on his sweet words whispered into your ear. Soon, he was completely bottomed out inside you, your thighs shaking from exertion. You couldn’t help but collapse against his chest for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as you tried to get used to the feeling of him inside you.

“Shh, I’ve got you amor… So sweet for me, always taking such good care of me,” he breathed out, placing soft kisses all over your face and neck. “Take your time,”

Once the dull ache had faded away, you braced your hands against his shoulders, looking directly in his eyes as you lifted yourself as far as you could off of his cock. He whined at the loss before letting out a loud groan as you dropped yourself back down onto him. You began to ride him, hard and fast, moaning as he hit that perfect spot inside of you. His hands gripped at your ass, pulling himself deeper into you as you rode him.

“Fuckkk, ‘Teo… Ah!”

“Te amo! Ayyy, mi vida, so good!”

“I love you too, mmh- fuck!”

His hips started to meet yours as he thrusted up, his head falling back and his eyes closing. Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck, holding on for dear life as he took over, driving into you with as much force as he could muster.

“I- I’m close…” you whimpered, clinging to him as you felt the knot in your stomach forming with each hard thrust.

“Me too, corazón. Fuck, where can I…” he trailed off, a desperate look on his face as his thrusts became sloppy.

“Inside, ‘Teo… please come inside me,”

He groaned at your words. You really were gonna be the death of him. He drove into you, determined to get you there first – he had always been a giver. It didn’t take long for you to come undone on his cock, your body convulsing as you let out a loud mewl, your eyes rolling back from the pleasure.

He thrusted once, twice, three times more before finally pulling your hips firmly down onto his own. He released inside you, his hot, thick come flooding your hole. He kept you there as he fully emptied himself inside, his head flopped forward into the crook of your neck. You held him, stroking your hand through his sweaty mop of hair.

There was a comfortable silence as you both came back to reality, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Mateo’s hands stroked over your back soothingly, taking a moment to catch his breath.

“So…

“So?”

He smiled teasingly at you. “Was it everything you dreamed of?”

You gave his shoulder a gentle slap as you both devolved into giggles, wrapped around each other comfortably in the living room. You could only hope and pray that the others had… vacated the room much earlier.

#mateo manta #mateo manta x reader #mateo manta smut #date everything #date everything x reader #date everything smut

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mixingandmelting · 2 days ago

Note

May I request smth like batboys + bruce reacting to their fem!reader gifting them these couple hoodies? 🥺🥺🥺

Bruce:

He smirks and raises an eyebrow. It was one thing to own couple-coded dresswear, but an actual couple’s outfit?

“’Somebody’s problem’?” A mix of amusement and affection underlies his voice as he pulls out the one that’s obviously meant for him and keeps it at arm’s length away.

“What? It’s true! Everyone can agree I’m not the problem ninety percent of the time.” He simply snorts, the teasing tilt and grin a dead give away that you were bluffing.

Eyeing you for a second, he goes back to taking in the sweatshirt. The softness of a mix of polyester and cotton with words sewn in the middle. It’s as if you’ve physically given a part of yourself, warm and soft that he can stay engulfed all day. And the very thought of it is enough to make his heart flutter faster.

It was enjoyable to say the least, when he wore it while staying in the Batcave the next day. While comforted at the thought that you’re with him, it was hilarious to see how everyone does a double-take at it and becomes the hot topic of the week.

Dick:

The second he sees them; he instantly falls in love and nearly squeals.

“What? No. What? Stop. You didn’t” He holds one of the sweatshirts next to his face, his lips stretching into a wide smile.

To think you’d get matching sweatshirts. Is this your way of claiming him? Or telling others, you’re his?

“Well, they were on sale and looked cute-“

“Cute?” His eyes wide, his lips in the shape of an “o” as if you personally offended him. “Just cute? These are more than cute.”

Then, clenching the sweatshirt in his hand, you yelp when he pulls you close and starts twirling you in the air.

“Dick! Put me down!”

“Not until you know this is one of the best things you could possibly give me.”

He was an absolute pain for the rest of the week, rotating between the two sweatshirts every other day (yes, both even if yours is a tight fit) and annoying everyone from making the sign for people to ask so he can brag about them nonstop while reminding you to wear whatever one he’s NOT wearing whenever the two of you head out.

Jason:

Oh? Oh. Oh-

It slowly dawns to him what exactly he got and, as soon as it clicks, his cheeks flush while the corner of lips curls up into a grin.

You’re cute. So cute. So damn adorable he might die all over again because of it. It’s obvious that they are, the signs clear as day with one in your size, the other in his.

So many thoughts pass through his mind: the fact that it’s a first for him, you wanting to keep you and him tied together, people within and outside of each other’s circles noticing the two of you are a couple. It’s giving him the butterflies, the good butterflies that makes him want to kick his feet.

“…Well? Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He gulps, trying to tame the excitement and happiness that threatens to bubble out and lose his composure. “Yeah, I really like it.”

“Like” was a big understatement. On top of getting to go around and show off he was yours; he had fun scaring off every person that tried to hit on you as the sweatshirt gave that needed extra push and paired well with his protective-boyfriend-glare.

Tim:

It’s his birthday. Christmas. Both.

Nonstop, his thumbs brush over the fabric of both sweatshirts.

“Where did you get them?” He asks, his eyes glued and unable to look away.

“Online. Couldn’t resist after seeing some of the couples on TikTok wearing them, you know?”

Oh, don’t worry, he knows. What he doesn’t is how you were able to pull this off behind his back, without him even noticing. He may be busy day and night, but he still keeps tabs on you (you know, him being a vigilante and all doesn’t make him the safest person to really date – er, that’s his excuse anyways).

Then there’s your indirect confession that you pretty much think about him as much he thinks about you, regardless where he and you are. And that’s-

“Tim? You okay? You look like you have a fever.”

The two of you argue over who’s the one that’s problematic. It’s him who ends up, begrudgingly, being “Somebody’s Problem” though he didn’t mind as much after cuddling with you for a whole day with a kiss stamped on his cheek.

Duke:

Only two words: Hell. Yes.

“And it’s for the two of us?” His eyes sparkling and continuously glancing between you and the gift you gave him.

“That is the idea.”

“Wherever, whenever?”

“If you want to…?”

“At school, on dates?”

“You do realize we go to school that requires a uniform-“You huff and raise your hands up at the look he gives you. “Yes, okay, sure. At school and on dates.”

He winces then turns sheepish, rubbing the back of his head apologetically. He didn’t mean to get this worked up, never having thought or needing a couple's merch. He was fine that he got to be with you. It’s once you give him the sweatshirt, he realizes why so many couples buy them or matching anything in general.

He insists that he wears the other only for you to somehow convince him to wear the sweatshirt with “Somebody”. It takes time to get used to, a bit bashful when his family, Bat and biological, and friends teases him though it was nice to hear from strangers you both made a perfect couple.

Damian:

“What’s this supposed to be?” Despite the heavy judgement in the (rhetorical) question, the corner of his lips continuously twitches.

Common fabric. None of the letters are the same size, and worse, in Comic Sans – they’re not cute; it’s tacky at best. Ugly is what he wants to say and he can if he really wants to. There’s only one problem that stops him: you. Two sweatshirts in similar shades including the thread forms the words, there’s no doubt they were meant to be worn as a pair by a certain pair of people.

Add that to him battling every single person to stay away from you twenty-four-seven, it does a lot of critical damage to him seeing you willingly got something to show you people you’re his.

Suddenly, he scowls, placing a hand over his heart that pounds hard against his chest.

“…Damian, do you not like it? I can always return it and get something el-“

“Who said that I didn’t like it?” He ignores your confusion, keeping the sweatshirts out of your reach out of worry you’d actually take it away from him.

He does give you an earful later after realizing which one was meant for him while putting it on with you, wearing it regardless.

#nightwing #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #red robin dc #red robin x reader #tim drake x reader #tim drkae #duke thomas #duke thomas x reader #dc signal #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #robinx reader #dc x reader

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oh-no-its-bird · 1 day ago

Text

Shikamaru accidentally becomes the second coming of Jiraiya via anonymously publishing BL novels with Sakura and Ino as his managers and editors

HEAR ME OUT. HEAR ME OUT.

Ok so, Shikamaru's grandfather passes away (aka my oc Shikasada, for those in the know) and among his things is a very old diary dating back to Konoha's founding. Shikamaru opens it to fund uhh. Many things. Many things he could have gone without knowing. Mostly revolving around his grandpa's apparent years long slow burn affair w some Hatake boy.

Shikamaru, sort of horrified but in too deep to back out now, resolves to at least finish the diary-- and despite himself, besides some of the more painful to read sections, there really is a lot of really interesting information in the diary.

Which brings Shikamaru to being unable to set down the diary, and bringing it to the academy with him in the morning.

(Quick note, lets set this like two or three months before graduation, so Shikamaru is like, ~13 I think)

SO, SHIKAMARU IS IN CLASS AND READING HIS GRANDFATHERS DIARY IN THE BACK OF THE CLASS (his first mistake, tbh) And he doesnt notice as Ino and Sakura appear behind him and Ino starts reading over his shoulder. And Ino, proud fujo, after a minute of reading goes really loudly,

"is that YAOI???"

And now Shikamaru essentially has two options. Both of them a uniquely kind of terrible. Does he,

a) admit this is his grandfathers very gay, very sappy, very depressing, kind of steamy diary about how he cheated on his fiance with a Hatake boy and even briefly debated running away from his wedding to be with him instead (but ultimately didnt)

or, b) let his classmates think hes a fan of doomed yaoi romance novels.

He decides that option b at least doesnt invoke a possible scandle for his clan (which his mom would kill him for) and says its a book.

Sakura immediately points out the fact that its hand written.

On pure reflex, Shikamaru blurts, "I wrote it."

(Instant regret.)

So anyways Ino and Sakura (mostly Ino) bully Shikamaru into letting them read 'his' book. And they come back to him with it going "omg, this is amazing! It's just as good-- maybe even better than most of the things on the market right now!!!"

And Shikamaru is like, "great can I have it back please."

And they're like "Shikamaru, you cant just let this kind of masterpiece rot in your closet!!!! This is incredible!!!! Heart wrenching!!! Hair raising!!! Super dramatic and filled with tension and drama and history and 𝓇𝑜𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 !"

And Shikamaru, again, is like, "Great. Can I have it back please."

"Shikamaru, you don't understand. You have a gift."

"Can I please have it back now."

So. One thing leads to another and after much peer pressure (and maybe some light threats of blackmail because Ino and Sakura have totally realized that Shikamaru didn't actually write the diary, and it instead belonged to his grandfather. (Mostly because Ino had actually met the man before, and obviously recognized his name)) Shikamaru has now gained:

a) two very eager 13 year old publishing managers / editors

b) the contact information of Sakura's cousin, who coincidentally works at one of the biggest publishing houses in Fire counry.

c) somehow, some way, the obligation to edit and publish his grandfathers diary as a bl romance novel.

Shikamaru hates his fucking life.

SO. THEY PUBLISH IT AFTER SOME EDITING AND CHANGING OF CLAN NAMES AND ITS A WILD SUCCESS. SHIKAMARU IS KIND OF MAD AT HOW MUCH OF A WILD SUCCES IT IS.

(Though, laying in his bed of money that now rivals his father's personal funds as the Nara clan head, he can't bring himself to be... as mad as he might have otherwise been.)

(Sakura and Ino, also with their giant piles of money, are also very satisfied.)

But the satisfaction doesnt last for long bc soon the girls are scheming to get Shikamaru to write something new for them to publish.

"But I didn't write the diary to begin with!" Shikamaru argues.

"What does it matter?" Ino insists. "You still edited it, and it was your grandfather who wrote it! Some of the talent has to be there!"

(depressingly enough for Shikamaru, some of the talent does seem to be there.)

And thus begins Shikamaru's life of becoming a famous romance author with his (blackmailers) managers Ino and Sakura <3

(In the pure lands, Shikamaru's grandfather is screaming into a pillow as his Hatake boy in question laughs his ass off and insists this is exactly what he deserves after keeping them a secret for so long. Really, Shika, you should be proud for having such a resourceful grandson.)

So anyways, this brings me to the fact that Sakura's first ever encounter with her new sensei, Kakashi, would have gone WILDLY different on her end. Because she saw the original diary. She, unlike the general public, didn't get the edited version of the story with changed clan names.

So when her teacher walks into the room and introduces himself, her very first thought is omg like the yaoi.

And her first act is to start giggling maniacally in the corner of the room like a little freak. In Sakura we stan

Kakashi meanwhile has no fucking clue what kind of drugs that little girl is on, but finds that he probably doesn't want to know.

WHICH ALSO BRINGS ME TO THE FACT THAT LIKE. Theres something profoundly funny about known icha-icha lover Kakashi reading this novel and becoming a huge fan-- absolutey 100% unaware that it's about HIS direct cousin, only two generations back.

Shikamaru put way more effort into disguising the Nara clan's involvement in the book-- both because he cares more about the Nara and because he kinda uhh... was under the impression that the Hatake were all dead, like, for real. In the book, the Nara's clan name is changed, the character names are changed, their sacred animal is changed to a rabbit and their traditions are all altered-- but the Hatake clan just becomes the Hasake clan and is largely left alone bc Shikamaru is 13 and can't really be bothered to go the extra mile.

(Editing so much is such a bother, Ino. You just dont get it)

So like, Shikamaru has no idea who Kakashi is, he only learns he exists when Sakura fucking bodyslams into him and Ino screaming about how HER NEW TEACHER IS RELATED TO THAT GUY YOUR GRANDPA HAD NASTY GAY SEX WITH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"THE ONE LIKE IN THE DIARY ONE???" Ino screams

"IS THERE ANOTHER GUY WHO HAD NASTY GAY SEX WITH SHIKAMARU'S GRANDPA WHO I'M SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT??!?!?" Sakura screams back

Shikamaru just screams into his pillow. The girls both ignore him.

Meanwhile, Kakashi knows SHIT about his clan and recognizes nothing in the novel. Which is a special kind of tragic because as he reads it, he's being given more information than he's ever been given about his clan. And even specific stories and in depth recorded conversations about his grandmother-- and even occasional mentions of his own father as a baby, and he just... has no idea.

Man is literally reading about his ancestors, getting stories of his family only a single generation before him, going: "Wow something about this clan just speaks to me. Probably the dogs."

Literally getting his fathers childhood stories. Not a single clue.

Hes going on a mission going "Hmm, what would Haruka Hasake from hit bl series XXX do" like that isnt secretly his fucking GRANDMA

Meanwhile, all three of the kids are acting SO shady around him. Ino and Shikamaru specifically are so fucking suspicious bc they are largely successful in avoiding him like the plague-- so when they do interact, it's an Event(tm) for them, while Sakura is forced to learn to be normal near him via exposure.

Tho not even the sage himself can save Sakura from the day Kakashi pulls out THE book during training instead of his usual icha-icha. Sakura fucks up her aim on a body flicker and flies straight into a tree, giving herself a concussion. Rip!!

Anyways yeah. Let Shikamaru discover his grandfathers old, scandal filled diary and be blackmailed by Ino and Sakura into publishing it-- setting him on his journey of becoming the next big thing in naruto romance publishing. It'd be funny as hell.

Special thanks to @imsosleepyofyourbull and @halsaph for talking to me about this on discord, this is so fucking stupid and I had so much fun with it

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paulyenvol6 · 3 days ago

Text

Delicate

Based on this amazing request (Thank you so much, I had a blast writing this :)). Just wanted to let you know that I haven't watched Materialists yet so I'm sorry if I wasn't able to capture Harry's character so well, but I tried my best! Anyways, enjoy <3

Contains: fluff, sweetness overload, brief mentions of anxiety and panic, little bit of crying but nothing heavy, mentions of alcohol, kissing, suggestive tension

Wordcount: 7,796

Masterlist

You nibbled at your thumb and instantly cursed yourself as you dropped your hand.

You weren't supposed to be so nervous. And you certainly weren't supposed to fall back into your old habits and bite your nails out of nervousness. This was just a date after all, a nice dinner at a beautiful restaurant to see how the two of you would be going along.

On one hand you didn't want to go into this with too many expectations. But when you thought about Harry, his gentle smile and soft brown eyes you couldn't help it. You couldn't help but feel your heart clench and as much as it could be caused by sheer anxiety, part of you knew that after your first meeting at the wedding last week, you sort of had a little… crush? Who could blame you, really? He was a dream. A perfect, surreal dream that was almost too good to be real.

"Hi!"

You twirled around, clumsy hands reaching for the wall of the building next to the restaurant to ground yourself and prevent yourself from stumbling.

"H-Hi, Harry," you smiled, your heartrate shooting up, but the curl of your lips genuine. Then your gaze dropped to what he was holding in his left hand and this time your heartbeat didn't fasten, but on the contrary, it stopped for a brief moment. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand, with shades of purple and violet catching your eyes as you took in the various tulips, asters, petunias, and clematis.

"Oh," you made and involutarily squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassement. This was the worst reply you could think of. No 'thank you' or 'wow', just a stupid 'oh'.

"It's very good to see you," Harry said, smirking as he handed you the bouquet of flowers. "For you. You mentioned that purple is your favorite color, so I thought…"

He left the sentence unfinished, but your eyes were on the bright purple anyway. The muscles around your mouth were twitching and tingling, an untamable chaos thrumming in your stomach as you took the bouquet with trembling hands and then looked up to him again.

Say something. Thank you. Anything.

"Thank you so much," you eventually said, a little too late, but still reasonable.

"You're welcome," he answered, invitingly raising his eyebrows."I can carry the bouquet while we go inside. It might be a bit unwieldy. Besides, you've got your purse."

You blinked a few times and all you were able to think about was how dumb and slow you must look to him. It took you an extra 10 seconds to process each of his words, and then you responded with as few words as possible.

"Yeah, that'd be great. And really, thank you. I love the color purple and the flowers are so pretty." You were content with yourself now, softly exhaling as Harry glanced at your profile while offering you his arm.

"I'm glad. There were two bouquets I liked and had to choose between and I wasn't really sure which one to take, but I was in a rush because I obviously didn't want to make you wait and so I was forced to make a decision. Sorry for being a little late by the way."

You chuckled, turning toward him while taking his arm.

"You were not late. I was a bit too early."

Harry pushed the door open, but you were too absentminded to observe your surroundings such as the waiter standing by the door, the dimly lit interior of the italian restaurante, the bar and the flower bouquets by the entrance that didn't quite match the color of your flowers, but didn't look any less pretty. You were so taken by Harry, he was like a black hole sucking in all your attention and making you hyperaware of every single detail of him – the things you had already noticed the day you had met him as well as the new ones. The little scar on his hairline, the few grey strands highlighting his thick black hair and of course his indistinct smile. The way it seemed to reach his eyes at once, making them shimmer and radiate warmth and comfort, which you found remarkable considering the fact that you had only just met him.

Harry exchanged a few words with the waiter, but you couldn't hear them. Not just because you were daydreaming about the man next to you, but also because of the loud noises in the restaurant. For a moment you feared that the muffled mumuring and loud laughter might impose a struggle for your conversation, but it turned out the waiter was leading you to a table slightly away from the others. The distant piano music was still in your ear, but a lot more subtle now and so was the mumbling from the other guests.

Harry, the polite gentleman that he was, pulled back the chair, waited until you had sat down and then adjusted it while you smiled over your shoulder.

"Thank you. Your manners really are remarkable. I almost feel bad because I wasn't taught all of this."

He grinned while taking his seat across the table.

"Don't. I like things to be a little romantic. Or, you know… I like a retro vibe at times. But I don't demand or - or god forbid expect the same from the people around me."

You nodded and ran your eyes over the cutlery spread out in front of you, swallowing at the sight of four spoons, four knives, and four forks. This was an expensive establishment and although you weren't surprised by Harry taking you somewhere fancy, you still felt a little lost.

"It's so beautiful in here. I love the tapestries and the paintings. Do you come here often?"

"Not really. I like to save this place for special occasions."

God he was a flirt and the wink of his left eye didn't exactly improve the situation. You were his special occasion and despite acknowledging his words for a polite gesture, you found that it wouldn't have been necessary to answer that way. Maybe…, just maybe he actually saw potential for this, just like you did.

"But do you have any recommendations?" you wanted to know, hoping that the slight flushness on your face would be swallowed by the bad lightning.

"They have good pasta. I had the mushroom pasta once and I liked it," Harry answered with such a welcoming smile that you felt like your awkwardness didn't matter at all. He was encouraging you, giving you signs that none of this was odd or uncomfortable with subtle gestures such as his flashing eyes or his soft tone when he was adressing you.

"Maybe I'm gonna try that one then," you said more to yourself and dropped your eyes to the menu. The prices next to the selections of food were making your eyes widen, but you had a strong feeling, Harry hadn't accidentally chosen this place. At least you didn't want to order the most expensive meal on the menu, so you actually decided to go with the mushroom pasta.

"How was your day?" Harry asked once the waiter had taken your orders (Pasta Arrabiata for your date) and leaned over the table, elbows resting on the surface.

"Oh whatever," you wryly grinned, swinging your head to the side as you made yourself comfortable on the cushion.

"What does that mean?" he asked, wrinkling his forehead.

"Work was a little stressful. And I got into a fight with my sister. But you know… I was just thinking of our dinner tonight and that kept me going."

Harry returned the smile, his hand toying with the salt shaker, but his eyes on you.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Yes. If you really wanna know… My sister's getting married soon and I wanna be supportive and patient and you know, be calm even when she freaks out, but today I don't know…" You sighed, wiping over your eyes. "I was stressed because of work and then we met for lunch and I immediatly saw how nervous and restless she was and so we were both kind of strained and had a fight. Over something stupid, it doesn't even really matter. But now I feel bad because I feel like I have to be a better sister and I'm unsupportive because this is such a special time for her and I wasn't there for her today."

Harry nodded in understanding, biting down on his lip as he watched you.

"I'm sorry. But your feelings are valid too. You felt stressed and overloaded and that means you deserve someone to be there for you too."

You carefully glanced up to him, feeling so relieved and touched by his words, but regretful over the fact that it had taken less than 5 minutes for you to complain and pour your heart out to him. What must he think of you? That you were an emotionally unstable drama queen who wasn't capable of having normal small talk? You sighed, forcing your lips to curl into a smile.

"Thank you. And… I'm sorry, I don't wanna bother you with my problems now while we are in such a nice place. How was your day?"

Harry lowly chuckled, chewing on his bottom lip and was just about to say something when the waiter came to bring your beverages. A bottle of Sangiovese and two glasses that he placed in front of the two of you. After he had poured you an appropriate amount of the deep red liquid, Harry looked at you again.

"Now I forgot what I wanted to say… Oh yeah I know: don't apologise, okay? I'm glad you feel comfortable talking to me about stuff like this and I'm happy to listen. And you're not bothering me with it. If it makes you feel better, I'm all ears for you. Okay?"

You laughed, your finger tracing the base of the wine glass and a telling pink creeping up on your cheeks.

How could someone be that nice?

Your face was glowing, your heart pounding in your chest as you gave him a nod.

"Good," he answered, leaning back in his chair and raising his glass along with you.

"To good conversation then," he grinned and your glasses gently clinked together, producing a soft, tinkling sound.

"Damn small talk," you joined and then took a careful sip from the wine.

"Oh it's good," you said once you had removed the glass from your lips and put it back down on the table.

"It is. And I thought it would go well with both of your pastas." Harry did the same thing as you, lowering the glass and then tilting his head.

"Oh and you asked about my day… Not that stressful fortunately. But I did have a weird encounter with a cat on my way to work."

"With a cat?" you giggled.

"Yeah. She wouldn't stop following me until I was about to step into the office building. I don't know what it was, but I guess I should feel flattered."

You smirked and rested your chin on your palm, watching Harry with a sparkle in your eyes.

"You should've adopted her. Maybe you just met your soulmate."

"I do hope that my soulmate is not a cat," he scoffed. "And maybe I need to keep myself available for now. Not jump into a new relationship while I'm getting to know someone as lovely as you."

You almost shuddered at his words, a warm shiver rushing down your spine in the most comforting way.

"You're right about that. And I mean I couldn't possibly compete with a cat like that. Especially when she's so loyal to you."

Harry winked, taking another sip from his wine.

"I don't think you have to worry about that. Not being able to compete with a cat, I mean."

The two of you laughed and only now did you realise how comfortable and at ease you were. There was no trace left of the initial nervousness and you could only once again silently thank Harry for his endearing and calm nature.

Soon the food came and a little later the two of you were deeply invested in a hot-headed discussion about literature. You found out about his love for modernism and that his favorite author was Kafka and long after your plates were empty and all that was left of the wine were a few stains at the edge of the glasses, your conversation drifted to music. Harry turned out to be a big fan of 70s and 80s music and you were more than happy to have found an equally passionate counterpart when it came to your favourite bands and musicians. And then, noticing your yawns that grew more regular over time, Harry cleared his throat, dimples visible as he raised his eyebrows.

"Are you tired?" he asked, his voice so soft and husky that you felt goosebumps rise on your arms.

"Yes, a little. I think it would be good to get home soon, I have to be at work early tomorrow," you admitted, apologetically pursing your lips.

"Of course. How did you get here, do you want me to drive you home?" he asked, but already scanned the restaurant for a waiter.

"No, no, that's alright. I took the subway."

He stopped in the motion, his gaze lingering on your eyes and a frown visible on his brow.

"I'm not gonna let you take the subway so late. I'm afraid I have to insist."

You were doubtful, but couldn't deny the bubbly coil in your stomach area. He was sweet and affectionate and unfortunately you were the kind of person to fall for stuff like that.

"But it's not really on your way, is it?" you whispered nonetheless because you really didn't want him to waste his time and be the reason for it.

"Y/n," he said, carefully, almost shyly, placing his hand on top of yours, which made the corners of your mouth lift.

"I want to drive you home. It's about 15 minutes. Otherwise you would have to take the train and not only wouldn't it be safe, but this is much faster. Please let me."

What were you to say against this? You found you had no choice but to approve, but thanked him a million times in the next few minutes until Harry once again stated that you were doing him a favor by letting him drive you.

"I wouldn't be able to have a peaceful drive home if I was worried about your safety."

Then you stayed silent about the topic and found yourself in his passenger seat five minutes later. His expensive passenger seat, as it might be worth mentioning. The leather felt cool against your naked thigh and although Harry had told you that he drove the black mercedes for almost 4 years now, it still smelled new and fresh. Of warm vinyl, something clean and money.

Harry had held you the door open and now walked around the car to take his seat on the other side.

"Ready to go?" he asked once the two of you had fastened your belts and glanced at your profile with a mischievous smile.

"Always," you replied and then the bright lights around you, the distanced red of some traffic lights, the logo of a cinema across the street and the lights behind the restaurant winows began dancing before your eyes as Harry started the drive to your apartment.

"I had a really good time tonight," he said after a few seconds, his eyes on the street, but his pupils flickering like he had to fight the urge not to look at you to watch you for your reaction.

"So did I. I would love to do it again," you answered, but then furrowed your brow. "But I can't have you invite me to such an expensive restaurant again, Harry. Although this was probably the best pasta I've ever had."

"Then why not? I like making you happy and I don't mind. But if you really want to do something else, I know a nice bar just down the street. We could meet there and grab something to drink later this week. Maybe it would also be better to do something earlier so you won't be tired for work the next day."

You had to bite your lip, partly because you loved the way he cared about you, remembering all the little signs and things you had said earlier, but also because the prospect of going out with him again this week made you fear for the sound that might escape your throat.

"I would love that. Just tell me when and where," you grinned and excitedly intertwined your fingers.

"Perfect. What do you think about Thursday? I get off work at 6, so maybe 7?"

You could only nod with a stupid smile glued to your lips, but Harry couldn't see it anyways.

"So we're making plans before you have even dropped me off… I'd say that's a good sign, right?"

His teeth scraped his lower lip, a brief glimpse in your direction the only answer you received.

You tapped on your phone screen, your breath coming out in sharp hitches.

6:57.

You would make it, you were sure. The bar was just around the corner and you still had 3 minutes, so you just had to hurry up a little. But you didn't want to be soaked with sweat when you arrived.

What was more important? Being on time or your face not glistening with sweat?

Fuck it, you thought and slowed down. One or two minutes too late wasn't a big deal. Last time you had waited for Harry for 5 minutes, but to be fair, you had been 10 minutes early. You briefly closed your eyes, shaking your head to clear your mind and forcing your racing breath to calm down. Everything would be fine and overthinking it would only make you more nervous.

You were heading around the corner now, blinking a few times at the sun-drowned street and raising your hand to protect your eyes from the soft, golden rays. You looked at your phone again. 5:59 and no text from Harry.

A part of you, a strange, anxious and insecure part of you feared to get a massage cancelling the date from him, but at the same time the rational part of you knew that he wouldn't do that. It was him after all.

Him, who you hadn't been able to stop thinking about for the past two days. Him, who had been haunting your mind like a ghost howling around a scary, decayed lodge and him, who was now standing in front of the bar a few feet away from you.

You waved, but instantly felt awkward doing it so you lowered your hand. Harry had noticed you though and turned toward you, the smile on his face visible even from the distance.

"Hey!" he said once you were in reach and determindely took a step toward you, pulling you in for a gentle hug, which you welcomed with an inaudible happy sigh. He was so warm, so soft and big. His hands were on your back, sprawled out on the small of your back and stroking up and down your clothed skin.

"Very good to see you. You look beautiful" he said against your hair.

It took you much too long to answer him, your senses overstimulated and cloudy from the smell of his aftershave in your nose, but when you eventually did, Harry had already withdrawn, leaving you disappointed that the body contact had ended so soon.

"Thank you, so do you. And I'm happy to see you too. How have you been doing? Any more weird encounters with cats?"

"Oh way too many," Harry answered, chuckling softly and putting his hands in his front pockets.

He looked absolutely gorgeous tonight, wearing a black turtelneck, a jacket and plain, grey tousers that fitted him suspiciously well. So well that you were almost sure they were tailored to his body.

"But no, she luckily left me alone. You get aaaaall my attention tonight, I swear. Should we go in? Then you gotta tell me about the concert. I'm just happy to see you and the band wasn't so taken by you that they took you on tour with them."

Harry placed a hand on the small of your back, gently guiding you to the door and you immediately felt your heartrate picking up as the warmth of his palm spread in your body. You just hoped that it wouldn't be too hot inside because you were already struggling here, the air somehow stuffy although a cool breeze was blowing through the city.

Soft piano music was lingering in the air as Harry opened the door, taking a step aside, so you could enter the bar. You were welcomed by indistinct mumbling combined with the tinkling jazz notes the woman by the piano produced with her elegant slender hands dancing over the keyboard.

"Over there?" you said over your shoulder, your hand gesturing to a table in the corner of the bar, and approached it once Harry had given you a nod.

The butterflies were awakened at the sight of him taking off his jacket and putting it over his chair. Tonight you noticed a ring on his pinky finger, a green emerald if your eyes weren't mistaken by the dim light.

"And?" Harry said loudly to overcast the noises from a larger group of people gathered by the counter.

"What?" you asked, frowning in confusion.

"Tell me about the concert."

"Oh right. It was amazing. Absolutely amazing. My friend and I were at the venue at like… I think like 3pm and I'm eternally grateful to her for calling in sick for the afternoon just so we could be there early. I don't think my legs are every gonna recover from standing so long, but it was amazing. And it was worth it, we were second row."

You wore a broad smile, your eyes sparkling as you told about the perfect night that had happened the day before and reached for your phone in your back pocket.

"You wanna see a picture?"

"Sure," Harry said, leaning over the table to watch the photos on your phone.

"Oh wow. You really had a great view. And – oh I see... the bass you told me about."

"Yes," you grinned proudly, turning your phone so you could take another look at the instrument of your dreams.

"It sounded soooo good, you wouldn't be able to imagine it. And to take a look at it from up close? It was more than I could pray for. And of course the band… They were magical. One of the best concerts I've ever been to, and the crowd, the vibes… I'm already missing it."

Harry watched your screen for a few more seconds before leaning back in his chair again, wrinkles around his eyes as he tapped with his fingers over the wooden surface of the table.

"I'm really glad you had a good time and everything turned out so well. Do you know how many people were there?"

"Mhmm I'm really bad at estimating stuff like that, but maybe… I don't know, like 4000 people? It wasn't a large show, but not super small either."

With trembling hands you put the phone back into your pocket. Not only because just thinking about the show from last night made you all excited and pumped with adrenaline again, but also because you almost lost it at the way Harry seemed genuinely interested in what you had been doing and were telling him right now. You felt appreciated and seen. Like this man sincerely wanted to know about you and what was going on in your life and you could honestly say that no man had ever made you feel like that.

"But what about you? Anything special that happened the last days?"

Harry thoughtfully pursed his lips, scratching his temple and crossing his legs under the table.

"I met with my brother, which was nice. But apart from that just a lot of work. Which is fine, I don't wanna complain, but I almost feel bad that this is all I can report from the last two days."

"No, don't. I don't go to a concert every week. This was special for me too."

Harry smiled at you, taking in your face and the softness around your eyes. His knee briefly brushed against your leg, making your heart skip a beat and you wondered how you would ever be able to initiate any kind of physical contact if you reacted to the briefest touch of his knee like that.

"Good. I don't wanna lie to you, I'm not the biggest party person. I like going out like this or have dinner at a restaurant or go to the movies, but my favorite nights are nights in."

"I get that. I love a solid night on the couch with a good movie and takeout food."

At this point, you were interrupted by a waiter taking your orders which consisted of two beers, but once he was gone, Harry picked up the conversation right where it had stopped.

"Noted," he smirked and you would have giggled like a teenage girl, hadn't you swallowed the sound in the last second.

"Did I mention that I have pets, by the way?" you tried to avert from your childish reaction, planting your elbows on the table.

"No, you haven't. What pets?"

"You can guess. I give you three options, but it's a bit unusual."

Harry narrowed his eyes, but nodded.

"Okay. I'm all ears."

"A: Two sand boas, B: axolotls or C: an ant colony."

You triumphantly glanced at him, watching as you could hear it rattle behind his scalp and challengingly lifting your eyebrows once Harry opened his mouth.

"I'm going for… Okay let me explain my thought process: It's not the axolotl. I don't know why, there is no explanation, but I just don't see you with one."

"Do you know me that well already, Harry Castillo?" you hissed through small eyes, but Harry just laughed it off and pointed at you.

"No, no, no. Don't you play mind tricks with me. I mean it could be the axolotl. But I don't think so for some reason. In my head you wouldn't really like them. And then… I think a sand boa is a bit more conventional, right? I think I'm saying A. Just because… I honestly really don't know why, but I pick A."

You hesitated for a moment, savouring the curious and prying look from your opposite before you slowly folded your hands in front of you.

"It's C. The ant colony."

Harry's face dropped, a fist bumping on the table as his face drew with exasperation.

"Damn it. But honestly… I'd call it a win. I said that it's not the axolotl and I was right. I just know you."

"Harry, you said A. And it was C. I wouldn't call that a win."

The two of you broke into laughter, your body vibrating until Harry chewed on his bottom lip.

"So an ant colony… That's cool. How did you come up with it?"

Before you could answer, your beers were brought to the table, your warm, sweaty hands instantly reaching for the cold glass. When the waiter was gone, you cleared your throat.

"That's actually a very good question. My family and I had a big garden growing up with lots of insects obviously. My mother loves gardening and she always specifically planted plants that are bee and butterfly friendly. My sisters and I always used to play in the garden and I don't know, maybe it's just some childhood thing, but a couple of years ago I was thinking about having a little pet in my apartment and I knew that my place would be much too small for a dog or cat so I thought why not something smaller."

"And you went for the very small ones," Harry chuckled, wrapping a hand around his glass.

"I did, yeah. But I love them. They are easy to keep, they aren't a lot of work but I still like looking at them. They might not be as cute as a dog, but in my apartment that would be animal cruelty. I wouldn't have enough time for a dog anyway."

"I get that. I love dogs too, but I would only get one if I lived in the countryside. Ants are nice though. They don't make loud noises or take up much space. Although… I haven't asked how big the terrarium is."

He watched you with acted suspicion, eliciting a scoff from you.

"Don't worry, it's not that large. There are around 400 of them. I keep them in a terrarium on a shelf in my bedroom."

You raised your glass and winked.

"What're we drinking to today?" you asked. "Please not ants."

Harry sniggered, lifting his glass as well and twisting his lips.

"Then… maybe to us?"

"Cheers," you replied, softly clinging your beer against his, your eyes locked and everything around you suddenly very unimportant.

An hour and a half later, the noises in the bar grew louder. The group by the bar was now severely drunk, producing a volume of laughter fitting their level of intoxication.

"Would you like to go?" Harry fought against the chattering, leaning over the table to get closer to your ear. "It's so loud in here and I'm afraid we're gonna lose our voices."

You gave him a short nod, looking around for a waiter, but Harry sensed what you were about to do before you could act.

"Let me, okay?" he said and put a large hand on top of yours.

"But Harry, come on, I – "

"I invited you, haven't I?" he smiled, but there was something genuinely pleadingful in his eyes that made you let out a soft laughter.

"Damn it," you made, but sank back in the chair while Harry made eye contact with a waiter.

"I'm feeling genuinely bad, Harry. You can't just invite me all of the time, I feel… I just feel bad."

"Please don't. How many times do I have to tell you? You make me happy by letting me pay the bill. And once again: I invited you and asked you on a date. So it only makes sense that I pay."

With determined and deliberate hands he grabbed the bill the waiter had left there and took out his briefcase. Fortunately, you had only been in a bar after all so the check wouldn't be too high.

Soon he was done, had left a generous tip and rose to his feet while you did the same. Leaving the bar, you felt his warm hand on your back again and this time, walking through a dense crowd, you were even more grateful for it. The cold air outside hit you like a sharp smack in the face, the air knocked out of your lungs. Goosebumps instantly spread on your naked arms and legs like a disease and Harry certainly didn't have to be a genius to notice the signs of your coldness.

"Take that," he said at once, taking off his jacket and putting it around your shoulders.

"Oh my god, thank you. But tell me if you're freezing," you replied, immediately feeling a comforting warmth travelling from your stomach through your body and to every last fingertip, but you couldn't be certain that the change was caused by the jacket and not just the mere gesture.

"No problem. I'm all good."

He turned toward you with his body, your gaze catching at his broad chest and you silently cursed yourself for being so obvious.

"I had an amazing night. Thank you," you said instead to distract him from your telling stare.

"So did I. I… Actually I wanted to know if you would like to come over to my apartment for a bit. We could have a drink and have a chat in a more quiet place if you want to. If not that's fine of course. I can also just drop you off at your place."

Your heartbeat was thundering up your throat, both excitement and the fear of saying something wrong making your head dizzy.

"No, I would love that. I would love to go to your place. Thank you."

And so it happened. Harry opened the passenger door for you, waited until you were inside, closed it and then walked around the car just like he had done two nights ago. Within the blink of an eye, he sat next to you, hands on the steering wheel, but his gaze lingering on your eyes.

"You really look pretty tonight. Not that it's an exception though."

"Thank you, Harry. Thank you for everything, you are… you are the sweetest."

You didn't know where that unfamiliar boldness was coming from, but it seemed to have the desired effect. Harry gave you a wide grin and then started the car while you were getting comfortable in the passenger seat.

"You say 'thank you' too often. It's cute, you know, but you don't have to."

"Maybe I just want to be cute."

Jesus Christ, was that the alcohol speaking out of you?

You hadn't had much to drink, not more than a single glass, but you felt so… light and courgeous. You had nothing to lose and Harry had given you more than one signal during your two dates. He definitely was interested and so were you, so what were you waiting for?

"I can promise you, you don't need that to be cute. I'm more than satisfied with what I got."

His voice was low and a little raspy and frankly, it drove you insane. This was so much better than in the bar where the two of you had to scream just so you could hear one another.

"Alright then. That's all I've wanted in the first place."

With one last mischievous dart in your direction Harry activated the indicators and drove out of the parking space heading west where his apartment was located. It wasn't more than a ten minute drive and time passed so quick that you were almost surprised when Harry slowed down, looked over his shoulder and parked the car right by a very fancy looking apartment building. During the drive, the car had been filled with chatter and laughter, a flirty kind of tension still heavy in the air at all times, but now that Harry had parked the car, unbuckled the seatbelt and opened the driver's door, most of the playfulness was gone and something hot and intense was lingering around the two of you like a cloud.

A quiet 'Wow' escaped your mouth at the sight of the expensive cars parked by the building and you most certainly didn't have to be very smart to figure out what kind of neighbourhood you were visiting right now. Harry had seen your look of sheer baffle, but didn't comment it, instead unlocking the door and holding it open for you.

"Welcome, my lady."

You quietly giggled, curiously stepped inside and found yourself in front of a door with the name 'Castillo' next to the doorbell plate a minute after the two of you had walked up a few stairs.

Everything here screamed luxury, the warm walnut wood that coated the walls, radiating a soft and effortless warmth without being too obnoxious, a thick carpet floor that swallowed the sound of your heels on the ground with each step and this very specific scent in the air. It was nothing radical, nothing aggressive or stark. Just a faint, soft hint of cedar. Or was it pine? You didn't know, all you knew was that it reminded you of something woody, something that made a warm and coiling feeling of comfort gush from your heart.

"There… we go," Harry murmured as he opened the door to his apartment and once again, a sound of amasement catched in your throat.

The last thing you wanted was to make the impression that you were reducing him to his money and you most certainly didn't. It was him, his character and gentle nature that had swept you off your feet and you were sure that nothing would change that, no matter how often he would insist on paying the bill or how many times you would step into this impressive apartment of his. It was Harry you were here for. It was him you wanted to see across the table while having dinner and it was him you wanted to be led through the apartment by. And you still wanted all of these things even if the two of you were eating at a McDonalds and Harry was leading you through a rancid barn.

Nonetheless, the beauty and elegance of his apartment could not be denied. The marble floor, the spacious hallway that was stretching to a door that looked like it led to the living area and the few paintings decorating the walls were marvelous and you told Harry so.

"It's lovely, Harry."

He turned around, giving you a smile that looked almost shy and then stopped in his motion.

"You're lovely."

Your heart stopped and it wasn't just because of his words. It was his eyes that looked even more puppy-like in the subdued light of his apartment. And god he looked beautiful in his black turtleneck shirt, showing off his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

Slowly, he approached you, his eyes on you at all times and with each step he took, your legs seemed to become weaker. By the time he had reached you, you felt like you were about to faint, your head spinning and your hands playing with the hem of your skirt.

"Can I kiss you?" Harry murmured when all that was separating you from him was a few cubic centimeters of hot, steamy air.

"Yes," you breathed and then your lips finally connected and all of this tension and pressure that had accumulated over the past few hours (past few days actually) was finally released.

His lips were soft and careful at first, like he was still trying to savour the moment and not go all in immediately. Like he wanted to slowly explore you, not rush things, but enjoy every new inch of tender skin one by one. Take his time with you. He gently took your bottom lip between his, sucking and covering it with small kisses and all it took was a minute of his sweet treatment for you to start sighing.

In the meantime, Harry's hands were on your waist, palming you through your dress while yours were combing through the babyhair in his neck, twisting single strands around your fingers.

And yet, when his hands wandered down your side, touching your bare skin right where your dress ended, you stiffened up. Not because you didn't like his hands on your body and not because you had changed your mind about Harry. But his intentions were clear, his mouth hungry and demanding against yours and somehow you didn't feel ready yet. It was just… you couldn't even describe it in your head, but this thing between Harry and you was special. Beautiful and delicate, new and unfamiliar, but something that you wanted to savour to the very last drop. And not that you felt appalled by him – you had actually been drooling over him like an animal all night – but it was in that moment that you realised what you wanted was to wait. You didn't know for how long, maybe you would like to sleep with him on your next date, but you knew tonight was too fast for you. Therefore you felt yourself tense up and Harry seemed to notice it as well.

"Are you alright?" he asked against your lips, hands on your legs coming to a stop and his face withdrawing just a little bit.

"Yes. But… can we wait a little? I don't know, just… I don't feel ready for that step yet."

His expression softened and you felt a wave of relief crash upon you. You had feared, almost expected to find his first red flag because honestly, how could a man be that perfect, but he once again turned out to be understanding and caring.

"Of course," he whispered, his voice so low and gentle, your legs started to tremble. "You don't need to explain yourself. We can wait for as long as you want to."

He stepped away from you, one corner of his mouth lifting while he gestured to a door across the hallway.

"I'm sorry. I was really rude overrunning you like this, I just… I couldn't help myself."

"No, no. I enjoyed the kiss, I really did. And I – I feel drawn to you. I thought I made that obvious. I don't know, I guess I just wanna explore things slowly. Wait until it feels right and maybe tonight would just be a little too rushed for me. But that doesn't mean I'm not interested, really."

You didn't know why, but suddenly tears were swimming in your eyes. Maybe it was overload or the fear of pushing him away. What if you were sending the wrong signals and Harry wouldn't ask you on another date because he thought you had lost interest? That couldn't be further from the truth and the anxiety of having just rammed a deep gorge between the two of you made you panic, eyes big and wet with frustration about yourself. Why couldn't you just kiss him back, proceed and spend the night with him? Why couldn't you just feel ready and kiss him with the same passion and a clear head? Why had there been those doubtful thoughts swirling in your head?

"Hey," Harry suddenly made, reaching for your hand and squeezing it gently like he was afraid to hurt you.

"It's okay… It's all good, there's no need to panic," he hushed you, but you just shook your head.

"Come. Let's get you inside."

Harry slowly, yet determindely guided you into his living room and then to the couch. The cushions creaked when the two of you sank down, his worried gaze on the wetness gushing from the corners of your eyes at once.

"Listen to me okay? We're all good, aren't we? There's absolutely no reason to feel bad. Please, I don't ever want you to feel bad for not wanting something. This is important, okay? I'm so happy you told me about your boundaries and you should be really proud of yourself. You think either of us would've had a good time if we did something that you're uncomfortable with?"

His words had a good effect on you, the lump in your throat slowly dissolving and yet you weren't quite ready to accept his affectionate words yet.

"But – But I don't know why. I mean, I don't know why I wanna wait, because… because I like how things are going right now, but in that moment… I don't know, I just felt that I wasn't ready for it. Maybe… I don't know, maybe I just need a little more time. If you're willing to give me that time."

Your round eyes shyly glanced at him and you had to swallow as Harry briefly sighed before taking your hands into his.

"Oh y/n… You think that's the only reason I'm going out with you? You think that's all I'm after? I'll give you as much time as you need, hell, I don't care how much time you need, I'm doing this because I'm interested in you. I, shit, I don't want this to be too much for a third date, but I really like you. I… I can feel that there's something between us and if you're willing to go on another date with me I'd love to figure out what it is."

You exhaled again and it felt amazing. Fresh air was entering your lungs, your chest heaving heavily with the newly found freedom.

"Yes. Of course I want that. I'm really sorry for this whole drama, jesus… I didn't plan on crying, but I guess some things you just don't see coming."

"Don't apologise for that…," he murmured, briefly brushing with his thumb over your knuckles.

"But actually I'm rather concerned about the picture you have of me. I don't want you to think of me as this kind of guy who only dates for the one thing. I mean, yes, I couldn't really hold back tonight because I was just… in awe of how beautiful you look, but as I said, that's not why I asked you on this date. I want you to know that, okay? I asked you because I think you're smart and funny and interesting and I just feel comfortable around you."

You swallowed hard, but this time because his words moved you in a way that was making your throat dry.

"Thank you, Harry," you whispered, slightly moving closer to him. "I don't think of you that way. I guess I was just panicking because I thought that you might feel like I'm pushing you away. Which is the opposite of what I want. I felt like I wasn't giving enough and like I was risking it all by telling you that it was going too quickly for me. Because I thought maybe it's not going fast enough for you. But I feel comfortable around you too and I wanna get to know you better. I wanna know all about you and – and just see where this is going. Because I'm optimistic about this."

You smiled and Harry returned the most sincere and gentle smile you had ever seen. It was the kind of smile that you wished you were the first person in his life to receive.

"Is that okay?" he then said, draping an arm around your shoulders and caressing your skin.

"Yes," you replied and even slightly crouched against him until your head was resting on his shoulder.

"Good. Do you wanna drink something, by the way? Sorry, I'm a really bad host today."

You chuckled, eyes closed and your face gleaming with sheer satisfaction and peace with the moment.

"It's alright. I'm good. I would just like to stay like that for a while," you grinned, unaware of Harry's admiring gaze on your profile and perhaps it was for the better, he thought.

He didn't want to deter you with these feelings he had about you.

They were fragile and new, yet to be figured out, but already so intense that he couldn't believe this was basically your second date.

"Okay," he purred, his lips still curled into a grin long after the word had left his mouth.

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