#x. 🕒

[voidxverse]

[moonsavior]

⋆｡°✩

She smiled and that transfigured me

And left me but a lout,

Maundering here, and maundering there,

Emptier of thought

Than the heavenly circuit of its stars

When the moon sails out.

⋆｡°✩•°

W. B. Yeats ー A MAN YOUNG AND OLD: I. FIRST LOVE

[zionanelequaso]

nobody cares about them but me and @storythesilly….nobody cares about them…

[rosyblooom]

could you please do lando and a stem girl who goes to uni but has a private life please

they don't know about us | ln4 smau

pairing: lando norris x private fem computer science major!reader a/n: this took me forever but hope u still like :) also, if you've got requests could u add if you want it to be smau or fic pls <3

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[ caption: Mind you, I just woke up... ]

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[ caption 1: 🕒✈️ ] [ caption 2: miami 👋 ]

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: shoutout to the inventor of coffee i owe u big time🙏 ] [ caption 2: uhm i was just going to rest my eyes for 2 minutes?? good morning i guess💀 ]

f1gossip

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f1gossip Y/N L/N, current girlfriend of Lando Norris, has been photographed arriving at the paddock for today's Miami GP.

Y/N's presence comes as a bit of a surprise, considering she was absent during practice and qualifying sessions, and rarely attends races. Speculation about a potential breakup has been rampant, but her appearance suggests that there might not be trouble in paradise after all... 👀

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username she always looks so classy and put-together, i'm obsessed <33

username no bc am i the only who has no problem with her only attending a few races a year? some ppl don't have time to jet off across the globe 24/7 like

username it's the fact that they literally travelled to miami together and she still didn't go to quali or practice😐 the other wags do it, why can't she?

username i just know lando had to beg her to come smh

username why are y'all so rude omg?? some ppl are introverts...

username when you're in the public eye, you don't get to be "introverted"🙃 username that's an insane take wtf?

username GUYS i think she's a uni student cause peep lando's story a few days ago🧐 that explains why she's never at gps

username so? i'm a senior and i went to the aus gp this year username okay... do you want a cookie ?

username if a wag is at all races she's fame-hungry, and if she doesn't she's unsupportive like make up y'all's minds pls 🙄

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: YOU DID IT!!! HE DID IT!!! MY BABY IS AN F1 WINNER OMFGGG🥹🥳👏 you deserved this so so much, i'm sooo proud of you ❤️❤️❤️ ]

[ tagged: landonorris ]

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landonorris

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landonorris Memories for life ❤️

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username aw the 5th pic🥹

username do you think number six is y/n??👀 username 100%

username 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

username LANDO NOW WINS IKTRRRRR‼️🤩

username ofc y/n couldn't even be bothered to comment... and the most unsupportive wag award goes to y/n l/n!! congrats hun x

username y'all are weird YOU DON'T KNOW THESE PPL!! username it's the 'be kind' in ur bio for me miss gurl 🤡

username best day ever 🤧

lewishamilton 👏👏👏

(liked by author)

riabish sooo happy!!!

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username not ria being more of a gf then y/n oop username thanks for being such a good friend to lando, we love you💖

username next goal: beome world champion 👀👀

username yessirrrr

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption 1: back to reality 💔 ] [ caption 2: jkjk it's not that bad, i don't cry nearly as much as i did in first year 🙂‍↕️☝️ ]

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harvard

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harvard Final projects, theses, dissertations, and more! Check out what these soon-to-be graduates explored in some of their last assignements on campus.

Y/N's thesis navigated the intricate relationship between privacy and secure multi-party computation, enhancing data analysis while safeguarding sensitive information.

2. Steve's environmental science project examined urban development's impact on local biodiversity, providing insights for sustainable urban planning.

3. Nya's dentistry research poster explored new methods to improve dental implant success, promising better patient outcomes and oral healthcare.

—

We are celebrating the extraordinary members of the Class of #Harvard24 🎓

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username 👏👏👏

username Awesome!

username Very good! Congrats to all these students!!💪

username wait am i tripping or is this y/n as in lando's gf y/n???😳 btw my biggest dream is to go to harvard in '26 !!!! 💕

username 😍😍

username streets are saying y/n goes to harvard so i had to come check and omg??😩

username no bc wag AND harvard girly?? just looked at myself and sighed fr... username now i feel bad for talking shit🫤

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[ caption 1: pulling an all-nighterrrr 😁 ] [ caption 2: nevermind, lando just made me promise to get some sleep :( ]

A few months later...

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[ caption 1: couldn't ask for better shoulders to cry on srsly 🙂‍↕️ WE DID IT MY LOVESSS 🎓❤️❤️ ] [ caption 2: this us? 😏 (corny, i know...) ]

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lando.jpg

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lando.jpg 🍾🎓❤️

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username a win for women iktr 😌

username wow i'm so happy for her omg 🫶🫶 (jealous too but mostly happy loolol)

username LMAO are we the same person?

carlossainz55 👏👏👏

username now she has no excuse anymore

username if lando's completely happy with it all, why the hell are u upset? 🤡

username 2024 really gave us lando's first ever win and now this?? we love to see it 😍

yourusername ❤️❤️

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username we love you y/n <333 username i hope you'll be able to attend more races from now on!! i love seeing you in the paddock 💕

username the way i still haven't fully processed the fact that harvard gave her a shoutout goddamn🤯

usernmae not you calling that a shoutout bye💀💀

username AAHHHH YAYY CONGRATS Y/N YOU'RE DOING AMAZING SWEETIE 🤍🤍🤍🤍

0:33 ───ㅇ───────── 2:40

[enhaheeseung]

SLEEP 🕒 - L. Heeseung

🕒Pairing: Heeseung X fem reader!

🕒Warnings: smut, mutual masturbation, cursing.

🕒Synopsis: it’s late, and you can’t sleep, but luckily, your best friend knows just the trick to help you out.

🕒Wc: 1,5k (Drabble)

-

Sighing to yourself, you set your phone down on the lamp stand after you noticed it was literally three in the morning.

You and your best friend had been watching movies talking and hanging out since ten and you hadn’t even noticed the time till now.

“You sleepy?” He turned to you just in time to catch you rubbing your strained eyes.

“Yes, it’s like three am, hee,” you groggily reply, turning on your left side facing away from him.

“Oh shit, you’re right. I’m sorry,” he chuckled. You could tell he was just as tired by how deep his voice had gotten.

“It's alright.” He set his phone aside as well and leaned up against the headboard.

“I guess I better get going.” On cue, he lets out a yawn.

“Are you crazy? It’s so late out you might as well just spend the night” you mumble out.

He rubbed his chin in thought; he was really tired, and driving probably wasn’t the best idea right now. “I didn’t bring anything for a sleepover.”

“Just wear whatever,” you respond, on the verge of passing out.

You feel a dip in the bed and hear him shuffling around. He takes off his pants and his flannel before he slips under the covers with you.

For most, it’d probably seem weird, a guy and a girl sleeping in the same bed, but the number of times you both knocked out together while studying during your high school and college days made this one of the most normal things between you two. “Goodnight, y/n. I might be gone before you wake up.”

“Just make sure to lock the door in the morning night, hee,” you whispered, turning off your lamp while he did the same after you.

You readjusted to get comfortable and pressed your cheek against your pillow, waiting for sleep to come over you.

Ten minutes passed, and sleep never came. You were tired, but for some reason, you just couldn’t fall asleep.

“Ugh,” you groaned and quickly cupped your mouth so you wouldn’t wake heeseung up with the racket.

Little did you know he was still wide awake.

“Y/n?” He asks, followed by a beat of silence. “You’re still up too?” He says with a hint of amusement in his tone. At least he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

“Yes,” you laid flat on your back, copying his resting position. “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m tired, but I just can’t seem to sleep,” you respond in the pitch-black bedroom.

“Same,” he sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

You both lay there in silence for a few minutes until he says something that completely catches you off guard.

“I read that having an orgasm can help you fall asleep,” he says casually.

You giggle and push his shoulder, or at least you think it was his shoulder. It was so dark you really couldn’t see. “And where did you read that?”

“The internet, of course, says it has something to do with the release of oxytocin or some shit” he lets out an airy laugh putting his hands behind his head.

“Interesting,” you hum.

“It is, works like a charm for me,” he says through a yawn.

“TMI”

“Oh please, we’ve talked about so much shit that this is PG,” he scoffs.

“Yeah, but not you touching yourself.” You cringe as the words leave your mouth.

“I didn’t say anything like that. All I said was it works,” he shrugs even though you can’t see him.

“Whatever,” you say, too tired to argue with him.

It’s silent again, and the idea he mentioned sounds a lot more appealing than laying here all night without getting any sleep.

But you can’t necessarily try out this little theory of his with him in your room, so that idea was out the window.

“You still up?” He checks on you a minute later, and you hum in response. “I mean, I could give you one if you want,” he holds in his laugh, knowing that you’re about to chastise him.

“Lee heeseung, stop it this instant,” you tell him sternly.

“Okay, okay, just thought I’d ask. I’m your bestie, and besties look out for each other, right?” He continues to push your little buttons.

“Yeah, by giving a shoulder to cry on, not giving each other orgasms,” you huff out a breath.

A thought popped into your head: you weren’t getting any sleep anytime soon, and since he wanted to mess with you, two could play that game. “I mean, you could,” the words leave your mouth in a nonchalant manner.

He gasped, not expecting you to match his humor. Most times, you didn’t when it came to something sexual. “Knock it off. It’s weird when you joke about it,” he laughs.

“Who said I’m joking?” You taunt.

“Cause the y/n I know would never,” he says confidently, thinking he knows you like the back of his hand, and normally he does, but just not when you’re sleep-deprived.

“What about the y/n who’s in desperate need of sleep and will do anything just to catch a few hours before work in the morning?”

His ears are perked up now, the soft, sultry tone of your voice alerting him instantly. “You’re really not joking, are you?”

“Do I sound like I’m joking?” You shift closer to him, and he feels your body heat right away, making his heart beat faster in his chest.

“I-I y/n, if you’re joking, just tell me.” his voice shakes a little, the slightest hint of a whimper traveling close behind his words.

Calling it quits with talking, you find his hand in the dark and grip his wrist, guiding him right between your legs. “Hee, I’d never joke about this,” you gasped as his warm hand cups over your mound.

“Fuck” he whispers and props himself on his side, slowly gliding his hand between your legs. “You really are serious, huh?” His voice sounds even huskier than it did before as he confidently presses your clit over your sleep shorts.

“Yes, hee,” you whine, desperation dripping from your voice as you clench your thighs around his hand, keeping it firmly nestled against you.

“Shit, okay, turn over for me” You get back in your original position, your back now pressed against his chest, his crotch a few inches away from your backside. “Now close your eyes.” his hot breath tickles your ear.

You do as he says, too tired to even think twice about what you’re getting ready to engage in with your best friend.

His two middle fingers rub circles on your clit, working you up quicker than you could have ever imagined. You’re already leaking a bit of precum.

“Mmm,” you moan softly. His fingers felt so good, especially when he slipped them further down, teasing your entrance while his palm rubbed your clit.

Your hand caressed the one that was between your legs, tracing the veins along the back of his hand. “Does that feel good?” He swallowed thickly, his lower body pressing against you unintentionally.

“Yes, hee, so good” he humps your backside, his swollen cock being stimulated by the softness of your plush bottom.

“Yeah, so good,” he whispers in your ear. You feel so good you don’t even notice the way he ruts against you, the movement of his hips forcing your waist to roll against his palm more, bringing you even more satisfaction.

“I’m so close, hee, I’m gonna cum” you cry out, body shuddering as the warmth and pleasure builds in your lower region.

“Shhh, I know, I know,” he breathes out heavily, placing a soft kiss on your cheek and a few more rolls of his hips. You’re both coming undone together, panting exhaustedly.

He rubs you through it, whispering encouraging words in your ear like. “Yeah, feels so good, doesn’t it?” “Let it all out,” “Keep cumming” “That’s it.”

The pleasure goes on for so long that another orgasm follows after giving you the most intense pleasure you’ve ever experienced. “Hee,” you whimper his name, your body trembling against his as you shudder in the aftermath of cumming back to back.

He nuzzles against you, cuddling you and helping you ground yourself until you catch your breath.

He’s still struggling to calm himself with how hard he just came. He hasn’t cum that fast and that much in a while. “Was that good?” He asked timidly into your hair, releasing a deep breath.

“Mmm,” you moan in response, your eyelids finally feeling so heavy that you can barely open them.

But you couldn’t forget about heeseung, so you flipped over on your side, your forehead touching his. “What about you?” You slowly reach into his boxers, gripping the base of his length, feeling a good amount of wetness covering his shaft.

“Ahh, s-sensitive,” he moans shakily.

You retract your hand right away. “Did you-“ he cuts you off, nodding against your forehead, and you slowly pull your hand out of his underwear.

“I’m good,” he assures you. “Let’s sleep now yeah? We’ll clean up in the morning” his words sound slurred and you can barely even understand what he’s saying cause you’re so tired.

Apparently, whatever he read about orgasms was true cause you’ve never fallen asleep faster.

-

Thanks for reading likes comments and reblogs are always appreciated sorry for any typos or errors I hope you all have a good day/night♥️

[sleepy-fiction]

betty x timmy x gn!reader | 🛏🕒

object three(four?) way. - 3.1 K

tgs: pet play, power play, cunnilingus, anal fingering, p n v

an: yes... yes..

"Well, you ought to hurry and choose, dear. I have some business to attend to," Timothy's sharp, but the lust is in his voice is unwavering.

Betty hums seductively, "Pick me, I'm hungry, darlin'."

You've found yourself in the most peculiar yet arousing situation.

Your legs are spread wide, your right leg over Betty's shoulder, left leg over Timothy's as they stare at your sex with greedy eyes. You stare down at them, half taken aback by how they are both on their hands and knees on the plush bed. Betty's gorgeous tits kiss against the sheets, her hand stroking your thigh, seductive hazed over eyes glaring at you with watery juicy lips.

Timothy, on the other hand, paws and kitten licks your thigh, his raven tail curling and swaying with all the playfulness in the world. He wants to rush you, he wants you to pick him. With his saucer eyes, black little dew drops with flickers of yellow, pleading with you to pick him.

You reach down, grab the back of his head, and push him into your sex. "Purrfect," he mewls, using that obnoxious tongue of his to devour you like kittens to milk.

"Oh, c'mon, big boy," Betty purrs, leaning in close to his ears, which flicker when her lips touch the fur. "Save some for me." Her free hand drums down his back, forcing him to shiver.

You moan out, at how he skillfully sculpts you, his horny saucer eyes switching from your glaze to Betty's, feeling cornered between two beasts. Betty's breath is heavy as she bites her lip, "Can't wait any longer." Betty dives into you, flattening her tongue into a thick stripe. She licks you up in one fell swoop, your sex hot from arousal, and the heat of both their hungry mouths.

You moan out, but she doesn't stop, almost taking control over pleasuring your sex. She takes the grounds, leaving Timothy to lick up the rest. The room begins to fill with delicious, sloppy sounds. Her eyes were drowning in lust, and her pretty face flushed red, but in every move she was confident. The sight was sharp, watching her suck you as if you were a treat.

Timothy was slowly moaning out for every lick. He's greedy, but remaining docile. His wide eyes match his lowered ears, stress, and neediness. With every desire he wants to paw at his pants, have you alone. Yet here Betty is, interrupting the schedule.

But he'll allow it, after all, his darling was about to cum.

You brace yourself on thin air as your orgasm washes over you. Timothy watches with observant, blissful eyes. But he's barely able to before Betty's hand slides up the back of his head, fisting back locks between her fingers. His ears shot forward, "Ahhg! B-Betty."

"Just gonna keep watching, little kitty," she asks him, licking her lips of your juices. Timothy's lips shine similarly in the mixture of spit and you.

He's shy, stuttering out, "N-No. Of course not. The next activity on my intercourse schedule--"

"Schedule? Maybe you need a little liberating from it, Timothy… Come out and play," she purrs out. She's irresistible; she takes up the space; it's hers. Before you know it, Timothy has fallen victim to it, limp in her hold, needy, greedy lips parting, eyes lidding to taste her tongue. They meet; their kiss is fierce, with Betty leading and Timothy following her every sway.

She parts the kiss, "Are you a bad kitty?"

"Y-Yes… I am a b-bad kitty," Timothy mewls, eyes shaded over. His hands grab at her shoulders, trying to pull her back to him. "I-im a bad kitty... s-so kiss me," he hushes. Their lips crash again, and you're there in shock. Your hands are traveling all over your body, pleasuring yourself in the right places, quiet moans as you watch the show.

Betty has one hand on his cheek, the other trailing down his back to his tiny waist. He shivers once, his tail whipping up then swimming a sultry sway. Then, he shivers again, except this time, his tail puffs, darting straight up. He yelps suddenly, "Oh Dear! My scheduling! Its ru--mmgg!" But he's cut off by himself, biting his lips as black eyes roll to the back of his head, "Nyaaa."

Betty pulls away, eyebrows pinching in concern. "Are you alright Timot--"

In an instant, he pounces on her with a catty smile, and they crash into the space next to you as you dart upright. Timmy grins as he rubs his face into Betty's breasts, purring out sweetly. "Timmy will show you both what a bad kitty is," he barks out. He is all toothy. And before anyone could laugh at his ridiculousness, Timmy stands on business.

He steals Betty's lips, interrupting the kiss with bites and nips. Sucking down on her tongue, while his paws undress her top. Her breasts bounce out, and he is no stranger to inviting his kitten licks downstairs to tease and play. Betty moans out, her sound rich and vital.

You creep up behind them, grabbing Timmy's tail, his ass brushing your crotch. He perks and arches back into you, finally breaking his barrage to look back at you with a sexy-over-the-shoulder glare. "Is master pleased with Timmy," he asks, perking his ass into you.

You grunt in disbelief.

"He's out of control," Betty moans, her voice drowning in light giggles.

"Nyaa," Timmy mewls in agreement.

You hook your hands around his dress paints, slipping them off him along with his boxers. His cute, tan ass greets you first above anything, and it's groped thoroughly. "Master," he whispers to you as he takes in Betty's lips.

You crack your hand on his cheek, watching his tail stiffen and sway. How he yelps and breaks his kiss. And with entitled eyes, he glares back at you. "Hey," he barks.

Betty giggles, rising free from beneath him, her hand petting his soft head. "I've got an idea," she hums.

🕙🛏

It's a pretty sight. Your fingers are deep in Timmy's ass, fingertips curving against his sweet spot, freehand stretched over to slowly stroke his leaky, horny cock. His little paws are on either side of Betty's thighs, his head pushed into Betty's pussy.

The sound of his strong, fervent slurps fills the room, only interrupted by his sharp mewls and Betty's tender groans. Her hands play in his hair, tickling his ears, her curves out in display, her voluminous breasts with large pink nipples are out wonderfully, covered in hickeys from Timmy's catfight.

"Timothy was such an obedient kitty," you strike his spot, giving his sensitive head a loving tandem squeeze.

Timmy wails, the sound muffled by her juicy, wet box. His tail curves longingly around your arm. You've been edging him, forcing him to push Betty to her high like a sex toy. His eyes are teary, ecstasy in every breath of his. He's a bad, evil kitty, he does what he wants.

And with teary eyes he stares up at Betty as he delivers on the best head, leaking more and more for every erotic expression that crosses her face. Her grip on his hair tightens, and his tail begins to quiver and shake. He's going to cum.

"Aah… Mmh, a-amazing," Betty arches forward, pushing her big clit into Timmy's flickering tongue. He made her clit swollen and fat, throbbing, the echos of his tongue still lingering on her nub.

Timmy's denied yet another orgasm, and with a wail, he pops off Betty's sweetness. "Nyou-no fair master. No fair," he commands. He pushes himself onto your fingers, his tail quivering. "Mmhm, Timmy like this," he moans, as he slowly fucks himself on your fingertips.

"Bad Timmy," you scold and hold his ass in place.

"Timmy will only pleasure Betty if Master pleases Timmy! Timmy has been good," he growls, baring his teeth.

"Cant-uh… tame this one, baby," Betty pants. Her face is sensual as she teases her nipples, abrupt, sharp twists as her clit throbs.

"Do we have a deal with Timmy," he smiles sharply.

You purr, "Mmh… I think I know a way we can all get what we want."

🛏🕙

Betty rides Timmy like a cowboy, and you wish you could see it. But the juicy, lustful sound of her wet pussy combined with her ragged, desperate moans was enough for you. Every thrust shook the bed, you could feel the weight shift behind you, as you sat over Timmy's face, your sex all in his mouth from this angle, your back turned to Betty.

His paws were on either side of your thighs, his gorgeous blown-out eyes fleeing from the stars and back. Avoiding the power that comes with sharing a glare with you.

Betty's hand was on your shoulders, using you as stability to fuck herself down on Timmy's wet cock. Her fat swollen clit was wonderfully teased with by her freehand, as the stench of fucking filled the bedroom.

"oouh-- f'yess m- mm- mff," Betty swallows thickly, her toes curled up, stars twinkling in her peripherals.

You were gonna blow. Not just from Timmy's wild mouth, but from Betty's lewdness, or maybe it was the way the bed shifted, pushing yourself deeper into Timmy, or was it the way his sexy, boba-pearl eyes glared at you, combined with his alert, prideful ears.

Timmy was gonna cum too. His cock was leaking and twitching inside Betty's warm, juicy folds. She was velvet and red hot, sucking him back in with an intense grip, and how her weight rested on him, combined with your sex ruffling him dead quiet, thighs tickling his face, your ass near to his neck and chest-- he couldn't stay alive for his own good.

And within seconds, he cries out on your sex, "nnyff!! nyyaaff," and shoots hot, sticky streams deep into Betty.

Betty's eyes roll back, her sinful pussy sucking him all up, as she lowered herself on him, teasing her clit, fucking it until she soon blew, "m' cummin' ooh-- f'yesss!" And in tandem, hearing her fuck her clit made you go haywire, as you spilled all over Timmy's poor mouth.

"Mmasterff-masterff," he groans.

You don't remember much, too tired from being too fucking horny. But you do remember the aftercare, and the tender, sweet cuddling. How Timmy curled up next to Betty, cutely tucking his tail in, resting his head on her shoulder, his paws stroking your cheek as you rested on the opposite side of her, your head resting on her pillowy breasts. Her warm hand was stroking your back, her laugh soft and faint as you faded into sleep.

You and Timmy left your Betty a dirty girl.

[fucked-up-stimboards]

✨waiting for package stimboard✨

🕒 🕒 🕒|🕒 X 🕒|🕒 🕒 🕒

[hana-no-seiiki]

This is generally such a stupid ask but I feel like it would be.. Chaotic? At the very least amusing

Anyways

Batfam x Nicole from Class of 09! Reader

Do what you want (etc make it romantic or platonic, doesn't matter)

Just the batfam (yandere ofc) dealing with a chick who loves to ruin lives for her amusement and sometimes for revenge

Istg she'll just bully them at any chance she gets

~ 🕒

I just binged watched Class of ‘09 and all its endings/choices for you non. I don’t think I can fully depict how brash wittiness of Nicole is but here I go! (I am so traumatized) Didn’t know that’s where “No I’m flirting with you flash me a tiddy bitch” came from no wonder Nicole sounded so familiar.

btw if people are interested in watching class of ‘09 just be warned it’s basically a VN version of Degrees of Lewdity but the mc is actually a minor (without the sex/r*pe mechanic though) and it depicts a lot of just… pedophilia, necrophilia, assault, su*c*de, school shootings, racism??, BE WARNED.

The following content above ^ might be mentioned in this fic but in passing. MASSIVE DDDNE WARNING.

I don’t think I’m comfortable writing stepcest/incest in this blog so despite how perfect it’ll be to make Bruce your step father considering Nicole’s mom has divorced like a hundred times…maybe ask me in @yoru-no-seiiki and I’ll be down for it.

THIS IS ADMITTEDLY TIM + DAMIAN CENTRIC

“Do you even care? Do the results of your actions mean anything to you?”

“Yeah when they affect me, sure.”

You were a bitch. There was no denying that. But you were a pretty one. One many would grovel to be under.

You were used to this, ever since you reached a certain age people just looked at you different, acted in a way that… made you think they were boring, utter losers.

One of those losers was Tim’s friend.

Like all the stupid, horny men in your life, you hung out with him once and he spilled everything there was that you could share.

To the entire campus, the internet, even the news.

And because you were pretty, you got off scot-free. Those morons didn’t even check to see what you’ve been doing the past decade.

Except Tim. Timothy Drake. You only knew that his dad was super rich, and as much as it was tempting to sink your teeth into him and get a load of that daddy’s money, you knew better.

He apparently didn’t.

You see there was one thing every batfam member couldn’t resist. Well, two things. The first was saving people.

The second? Fixing them.

When Tim first approached you he was confused.

You were quite the popular figure in Uni. He heard the rumors. He fully expected to be cussed out to hell and back.

But you were… nice. Agreeable at most really. Brash was an understatement. But you were witty. Your comebacks were swift and deadly.

The more he studied stalked you the more he realized that the two of you were the same.

Two bright people stuck with dull idiots.

And Tim? Tim interested you enough for you to not to completely drop him after the first week. That and most of your bullying probably wouldn’t bode well towards the son of a billionaire.

He was smart, even more so than that nerd friend of his that you destroyed the life of. But more importantly he actually had some tact, and was surprisingly packed underneath all those baggy clothes.

Tim had to admit he was kind of forgetting his entire purpose of ‘fixing’ you.

Until you manipulated yet another guy into jumping off a school building for you. Thankfully he survived because Red Robin happened to be there to apprehend him but still!

And what’s worse, you met up with him afterwards talking about how that Red Robin ruined all your plans of crippling a r*pist.

Wait, a r*pist?

Tim looks through your past victims once more. Admitted he only did a surface level job of studying them in comparison to his PhD level knowledge on everything about you specifically.

And…you were right. Every guy you’ve harassed was being pushy with you in the first place, if not people with authority a decade older.

Fuck.

Well now he had no excuse. He had to make you his.

Meanwhile…

“Ugh, Damian. Can’t you tell your brother to like, fuck off or something? I can feel my social standing totally plummet every second he’s around. How do you handle being related to him?” You groaned. You weren’t fucking stupid. You knew Tim was stalking and drooling all over you lately. You hated it. He was ruining your chances with your new victims.

“Jeez [Y/N]. And here I thought you were like, into him.” Jessica, your actual crush and best friend, commented as she filed her nails.

You being the emotional stunted adult you were only replied with an (admittedly softer) “Eat a sandpaper cock and die bitch.”

Damian stared at you, the words die before they crawl out of his mouth. His hands clenched underneath the lunch tables.

Guess he had another thing to steal from his brother this time.

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Hope - L.JH

🕐 Who: Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x reader 🕑 What: Supernatural au. Angst. Vampire reader. Set in a vague time alluded to be some point in the far future. Suggestions of reincarnation. 🕒 Word count: 3.3k 🕓 Warnings: Reader is kind of losing her mind at the start, I won’t lie. Temporary character death. The death is portrayed but it is not gruesome and remember, it’s only temporary. Vampire typical stuff: blood, feeding, related injury. 🕔 Summary: “Time and suffering go hand in hand; you have an endless loop of both as your only company for so long that you can’t remember anything else, not even your own name.

Then two brothers break the cycle. One smells and tastes delicious and the other looks delicious, and perhaps, like someone you once knew.

If only you could remember.”

Masterlist

A/N- Thank you to my beabie @ourdawnishotterthanourday for reading through this and assuring me it isn’t utter shit 💗

It feels endless. A stretch reaching to infinity and then pressing further. You’re not sure how much longer you can do this.

There’s something just ahead, you know there is, but you can’t seem to reach it.

Sometimes, you wonder if you’ve even moved at all. Or have you really been stuck here unmoving while the world carries on around you with no idea that you’re suffering so?

A cruel eternity.

There’s that strange rasp again. It’s grown familiar to you, but you can’t tell what it is. Where it’s coming from.

In the pervasive darkness, you can’t tell up from down, left from right. You can’t even see your hand in front of your face. At least, you think you lift it in front of your face, you don’t know for certain.

You wonder how long you’ve been doing this. How long you’ve been living in the dark and when you will be allowed your freedom.

It’s torture, even if nothing is happening. You wonder if you’re being punished for a crime you can’t even remember committing. It feels that way.

You’re so tired.

It’s bone deep, even deeper perhaps. Soul deep.

Do you have a soul? Are they truly real or just a turn of phrase? You’re not sure, but you know that if you have a soul, it’s exhausted.

You think you sleep, or perhaps you just mentally shut down for a while. You’re not sure. You just know that sometimes you suddenly come back into a state of consciousness that could be waking, but it might not be.

If you do sleep, it’s not enough. Or maybe too much. There’s not much else to do here.

You’re so tired. You just want to sleep. Or maybe, wake up.

A touch, too harsh and too soft.

Is it real?

It feels real.

You don’t know what’s real anymore… yet… you feel.

And then it’s gone.

Something changes.

You’re not sure what it is, but something changes.

There’s a scratching, a skittering, at the edge of your consciousness, or perhaps at your side. You can’t tell.

At this point, everything is one, everything is nothing.

You wonder if it will cease, if you will.

You hope.

And yet you remain.

Time, you think, is immeasurable. Infinite and infinitesimal at once.

Everything and nothing.

Endless circles and singular stops.

Everything good and bad can be melded into one tiny moment, one blink of an eye, and then it’s over.

Or perhaps, it’s just starting again.

Once, you were a kind person, a caring person, a good person. At least, you like to think so; you hope you were. It’s been so long since you knew yourself that the edges of your memories have frayed and broken free of your conscious mind, lost to you perhaps forever.

Still, you hope, and you hope.

Yet, you can’t be certain.

Doubts creep in with sudden little flashes of something arising within your stomach, your mind, your mouth. Aching and burning. Red and warm.

It’s all so sudden, or perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps the urge has been rising and aching in your gums for a while, memories flitting at the edges of your mind, stomach yearning.

Only now can you register the need, the hunger.

Something smells delicious.

A little twitch. You’re not sure what part of you moves, but it does, awoken by the building scent.

And it’s only growing stronger.

Time, you find, moves slowly when you are being tempted, taunted, teased by something so mouthwatering it makes your body come alive little by little.

The stronger the scent grows, the more your senses flitter to life. You can feel something hard under you, see something bright against your closed eyes, hear something moving to your side, smell that scent grow thicker until it envelopes you completely.

There is something to be said for a creature’s base instincts: to fight, to survive, to feed. It’s remarkable just what a body can do when it needs to; how one can move without thought to protect, to prey.

Your body moves too rapidly for even your own tired yet racing mind to register, not until there is a delicious warmth slipping over your tongue, down your throat and igniting that desperate hunger within you.

There is frantic movement, yelling, yet it’s all muffled, not of any interest to you.

Your hands grasp to halt the writhing as you drink, and drink, and drink until not a drop more pumps into your mouth and you release the casing, feel it thump against your leg, the structure below you as it falls. It sounds heavy, firm, yet lifeless.

Oh.

It’s all coming back to you now, at least, the parts that make sense in this moment.

The blood.

The bodies.

The hunger.

Red eyes and lips. Smears of crimson upon pale cheeks and chins. Pretty necks spilling vermillion onto white sheets. Exquisite.

An odd pressure in your chest draws you from your musings and you realise that you can still smell the delicious scent, not as strong, not as powerful, but any fresh blood smells utterly divine to an almost decimated vampire.

You grasp onto this new human, on your left whereas the previous was on your right, and for the first time in what may be a millennium, you open your eyes to see the face of the human who is about to become your meal.

Yet, you freeze, blood from your previous victim dripping off of your parted lips, as you meet the terrified, tear heavy gaze of the man you are grasping by his pale throat.

There’s something about this man in his strange, too stark white clothing that seems familiar to you. Something about the brown of his eyes. The black of his hair. The part of his oh so pretty, pink lips.

His fingers are scrambling at your grip, legs kicking where they dangle in the air, and you’re reminded of the weakness of humans.

Even though your fangs ache with the urge to bite and your stomach burns with hunger, something about this man is familiar.

You lower him to the ground.

As soon as your hand is away from his throat, the man crumples down with a thud and the smack of his bare palms onto tile flooring as he gasps and chokes on the air he so desperately tries to suck back into his screaming lungs.

While he’s trying to stabilise himself, you notice something in your lower peripheral vision, so you look down and take note of the item sticking out of your chest, realising that the wheezing man must’ve stabbed you before you reached for him.

Of course, you can’t leave it embedded in you, so you grasp the handle and pull it out to observe the serrated teeth of the blade. You’re not quite sure what kind of knife this is, what purpose it holds, but you don’t really care; it’s not silver and that’s all that matters.

Carelessly, you toss it aside. Curiously, it doesn’t immediately clatter to the tile flooring; it makes contact with something that makes a strange, muted thump of a sound before it clatters to the tile.

When you look down to the floor on your right, you understand, spotting the knife laid beside the body of the human you had fed from.

He truly was delicious, and you know you can probably get a little more from him if you work for it. You’re hungry enough that you’re willing too.

As soon as you’re off of the metal table you had been laid upon, the strangely familiar man makes a panicked sound, and suddenly, he’s stumbling forward to grab your dusty sleeve from the other side of the table to try and pull you back.

The strength of a human is nothing to a vampire, even one as starved as you, so you remain in place and give the man a considering look.

“Please,” he begs in a language you are somewhat familiar with, even if his dialect and accent is entirely new to you. “Please don’t defile my baby brother’s corpse,” his desperate words are thick and choked with tears, voice hoarse from the earlier constriction of your hand.

“He’s not dead,” you state matter-of-factly.

The man’s breath catches, and his eyes widen, posture straightens with hope in his wet, red rimmed eyes.

The colour suits him, you think.

“He’s-he’s alive?” He hiccups, fingers curling tighter against your sleeve.

“At the moment.”

“Please don’t kill him,” he pleads, reaching out with his empty hand to shakily grip your clothing with this hand too. “Please.”

“Okay,” you agree simply with a shrug, shocking the man into bug eyed silence.

“O-Okay?” He stammers, letting his hands fall from your sleeve. “J-just like that?”

“He’s going to die anyway; he hasn’t got enough blood left in his body to last much longer; but if you want to prolong his last moments, I can wait until he’s passed to take the rest. Only a minute or so, I imagine.”

The man is scrambling around the table to drop to his knees beside his brother’s motionless body before you’ve finished talking.

Though you don’t mind, you’ve always been someone of action rather than words anyway, you think.

So, you sit and cross your legs to rest your chin on your laced fingers, elbows on your knees. Willing to wait for the man to mourn his sibling and let you claim the last of his truly mouthwatering blood.

You wonder if this brother will taste as good; he certainly doesn’t smell it, even if he still does smell wonderful, but the other man had something extra special in his blood; something you wish you had savoured more, but your voracious appetite had truly won out.

Nevertheless, this man’s familiarity renders you unable to take your fangs to his neck. Perhaps, if you weren’t so hungry, you would manage to only take a mouthful or two; just enough to taste but not cause damage to the human, at least until you know why he is familiar.

Is it for good reason, or bad?

Does he remind you of friend or foe?

You have no idea, but you would like to find out.

The revelation that you want to remain around this man to learn who his pretty features remind you of, makes you realise that you need to win his favour to be allowed to do as much.

“I can prolong his life, if you want,” you declare, near the end of his brother’s life as the man sobs into a barely moving chest.

He looks up at you in alarm. “Then do it!”

“Let him go.”

Immediately, the man lays his brother down and moves back to give you space to do whatever it is you need to.

You’re not sure whether he truly knows what he’s agreed to or not, but you think that at this point, the man will be willing to accept his brother however he comes if it means not living without him.

Silently, he watches as you bite open your own wrist and press it to his brother’s parted lips.

Honestly, you aren’t positive that you have enough blood of your own right now for this to work, but you’re nothing if not an optimist.

At least, you think you might be; you still can’t remember who you are. But it will come with time.

You hope.

When you know you have no time left to force more of your blood from your closing veins and into the unconscious man’s mouth, you move your hand to the back of his neck and grasp until you hear the crack of a neck well broken.

The kneeling man screams as you lay his brother’s lifeless body down gently.

“What did you do?!” He shrieks, rapidly moving over to grip his brother and hold him tight as he sobs. “You said you’d save him!”

“I said I’d prolong his life, and I have. When he wakes, he’ll outlive you. Unless he fails as a vampire, of course.”

“You turned him into a fucking vampire?!” He bellows, looking at you in disbelief.

“Why did you think I fed him my blood?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know shit about vampires! I thought you were a myth until you woke up and drained my baby brother like a juice carton!”

“What did you think I was, a statue?”

“I thought it was some ancient preservation system society has forgotten!” He defends. “I was trying to study you, not get my brother killed!”

“Oh, are you a scientist? Doctor?�� You wonder intrigued.

“Not anymore,” he mumbles and turns his head back to his brother, a clear dismissal.

Yet, who are you if not a vampire with nothing to lose against a mere human?

“You fucked up, huh,” you muse. He glares at you. “That’s a yes. You have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to tell you shit, vampire.”

“I saved your brother, you owe me.”

“You’re the reason he needed saving, and I wouldn’t call snapping his fucking neck saving him!”

“You’ll sing a different song when he’s up and talking to you like nothing happened.”

His tune changes already, from anger to apprehension in the blink of his pretty brown eyes. “How long? How long until that happens?”

“Depends on him; if his spirit is willing to accept the change.”

“Oh, he will be,” he scoffs. “He’s the one who’s always believed in vampires and werewolves.”

“Werewolves? That’s a dumbass thing to believe in. Imagine; a man transforming into a hairy beast on the full moon!”

“Yet, a human who sucks blood and turns into bats is reasonable?”

“The bat thing is fake. I’m sure I know where it comes from, but I can’t remember right now. I’ll tell you the origin when I remember.”

The look he gives you is utterly bewildered. “Why are you saying that as if we will be around each other past when my brother wakes?”

“Unless you plan to deal with a newborn vampire and his intense thirst and bodily changes yourself as a human, who he will be able to accidentally break or drain until he’s learned to control his strength and hunger may I add, you need me.”

The man stares at you for a long moment as if waiting for you to tell him that this is a joke; that you truly plan to up and leave any second and he never has to be cursed with your presence again.

Yet, you just stare back and wait for the reality of his new life to set in.

When it does, he doesn’t even need to say anything, the heavy, defeated exhale and deflated posture speaks far louder than words.

“I hope you have a spare bed, pretty boy, because I refuse to sleep on the floor,” you announce.

“You sleep?” He looks at you astonished. “I thought vampires don’t sleep; that you don’t need to.”

“Every being needs to sleep, idiot, it’s how bodies and minds regulate.”

“Oh… and not in coffins?”

“Why the fuck would I sleep in a coffin? I’m not dead anymore.”

“It’s just one of the myths; that vampires sleep in coffins. I don’t know why it exists, but he probably does.” He motions vaguely to his still motionless brother. “Don’t you even have a rough idea of when he’ll wake?”

“I imagine it might take some hours; I’m not in the best condition, I have limited blood myself, so I couldn’t give as much as it really takes.”

Worry twists his delicate features as they return to focus on you again. “Does-does that mean it might not work?”

“A drop of vampire blood in a human’s system has been sufficient in reanimating a human upon death many times. It’s just more gruelling.”

“In what way?”

“He could wake in pain; could live in pain.”

“It can be fixed though, right?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, which admittedly, is very limited right now. Perhaps I know of someone who fixed the pain, but my memory isn’t fully functional yet. Give it time.”

“I can’t believe I’m about to have a fucking vampire as a roommate,” he grunts, more to himself than the room at large, but obviously, you hear him clearly. Though, you decide to not respond.

You let him have his complaint and sit silently in wait.

Hours pass; you are finally aware of the passage of time now that you can the numbers of a ticking clock staring at you from the floor where the man, the ex-scientist or doctor, had set it.

“Is this really the most advanced clock you have?” You ask, repeating your dumbstruck question for perhaps the nth time too many as the man snaps with a frustrated sound and looks at you with a glare. “Okay, I get it, you’re sensitive about how far humanity has fallen since my time.”

“There have been many wars; much technology and knowledge has been lost through various means. Humanity hasn’t fallen.”

“That remains to be seen, pretty boy.”

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that!” He snaps.

“It’s fitting, you are rather pretty, you know?”

He glares, and glares, as if his cheeks aren’t blooming beautifully for a reason other than ire.

He likes the compliment; he knows it and you know it, but it’s clear his pride will not let him accept it right now. Or maybe, it’s not just pride, maybe it’s something more. Or something less.

You really don’t know how the pretty man works; what makes him tick and what makes him fall to pieces, but you’re intrigued to find out.

The faint sound of a fresh heartbeat meets your sensitive hearing before there is any other sign of life, though the man looks at his brother before you do, not because he knows he is returning to him, but because he has barely looked away in the past four hours.

Despite being sat pretty much staring at the pretty ex-scientist, or doctor, for the past four hours, you still haven’t the faintest idea why he strikes something within you. You’ve remembered other things, important and not, yet nothing of anyone who looks even remotely similar to this man.

He is a puzzle you’d certainly like to solve and admire the final picture, before perhaps finding out the ways to take him apart piece by piece. He truly is beautiful.

“Pretty boy,” you call, making him glare at you, again. You think that you might like the fire in his eyes too much to ever stop. “If you want me to call you something else, you need to give me your name. I’ve already told you mine; in polite lands, you should’ve given your own in return.”

His jaw tightens for a moment, annoyance flickering in the tense of his strong jaw before he relaxes it, so that he can open his mouth and answer. “Jihoon.”

“No family name?”

“No.”

“Times truly have changed,”  you murmur and look at his brother. “Well, Jihoon, I think you should move back because it sounds like your darling brother will wake any moment and I can’t guarantee that his instincts won’t make him react the same way to you as I did him.”

Thankfully, Jihoon heeds your warning and moves back from his brother far enough that it will give you ample time to restrain the newborn vampire should his newfound hunger rise and cause him to attack his big brother.

As the vampire takes his first purposeful breath and flutters open his freshly red eyes, you wonder what kind of life you are going to live now; if it will be anything like the one you last lived. If it will be like any of the lives you once lived in your endless years.

You hope not.

Yet, looking over at Jihoon’s sparkling eyes and joyous smile as he watches his little brother come back to life, your stiff heart flutters with a longing borne of familiarity, an ache for something you can’t yet remember the root of.

And you hope.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @tusswrites, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle

[arctic-blade]

사남 on X: "🕒🍊✨️ https://t.co/eohWQe50vO" / X

[blondechariot]

Hi! Could you write a wonwoo fic with a female reader in an university nonidol au? I would love it if it would be a slow burn where both leads are really shy. Up to you how much fluff, angst or smut there is. Just a uni girl struggling with socialisation and finding friends asking to break free from reality 🫠 THANK YOU 💜💜💜💜

~Quiet Hours~ (NonIdol!Wonwoo)

pairing: reader x Wonwoo

warning: none really, very shy reader and awkward Wonwoo

disclaimer: not my pic

i hope you like it!💋

🕓 4:07 PM — Tuesday, October 8

It’s always the same corner.

Back left of the third floor library, under the squeaky ceiling fan that never quite spins all the way. You’ve unofficially claimed this seat as yours since the first week of classes. It’s quiet. Hidden. Safe. The perfect place for someone like you—someone who isn’t good with... people.

That’s when he starts showing up.

🕠 5:30 PM

You don’t notice him at first, not really. Just a tall silhouette across the aisle with noise-canceling headphones and a perfectly organized desk setup. He types fast. Drinks black coffee. Always wears black or dark gray. And he never looks up. You name him Library Boy in your head, because you don’t know his name. You’re too shy to ask. Even though you’ve shared the same space every Tuesday and Thursday for three weeks now.

Today, he glances up. For half a second.

And your whole chest tightens.

🕖 7:01 PM

You’re stuffing your laptop into your bag when you hear it. A low voice, slightly hoarse from disuse. Like it doesn’t get much practice.

“Are you working on something for Lit 204?”

You freeze. Literally freeze, like someone hit pause on your existence. Then, very slowly, you turn.

He’s looking at you now—Library Boy. Close up, he’s... well, dangerous for someone with a weak heart. Dark-framed glasses. Clean, sharp jawline. Softly messy black hair that he keeps pushing back without realizing.

“Sorry,” he adds, “I just saw the Hemingway book. We’re reading that too.”

You blink. Then nod too fast. “Y-Yeah. Um. Fitzgerald next week.”

“Right. Professor Langford assigns way too much.” He gives a quiet smile. It’s barely there, but it makes you forget your own name.

“I’m Wonwoo.”

You clutch your bag tighter and try not to faint. “Y/N.”

You think you might have imagined the way his mouth twitches into something warmer.

🕚 11:12 AM — Friday, October 11

You find a note tucked inside your Hemingway book.

“If you want a better seat, there’s one near the window on the second floor. Less drafty. But I get it if you’re loyal to your corner. - Wonwoo”

You re-read it six times. Then you place it gently between pages 147 and 148, like a pressed flower.

🕕 6:03 PM — Thursday, October 17

You both sit in silence. Not awkward. Not tense. Just... quiet.

Once in a while, he pushes his glasses up and glances at you.

Once in a while, you pretend you don’t notice.

He doesn’t talk. Neither do you. But he slides a small coffee toward you when yours runs out. No words.

And your fingers tremble just a little when they brush his.

🕒 3:36 PM — Tuesday, October 22

“You always wear that hoodie.” Wonwoo says it like an observation, not a tease.

You tug the sleeves instinctively. “It’s... it’s comfy.”

“Looks warm.”

Pause. Then— “It suits you.”

You don’t remember how to breathe.

🕗 8:42 PM — Tuesday, October 29

You knew the weather was iffy. It said “20% chance of rain.” You took that gamble. You lost.

The downpour starts just as you step out of the library.

No warning.

Just cold, needle-like raindrops smacking your face and soaking through your hoodie within seconds. You squeak—a literal squeak—and turn to run back inside, but someone is already holding the door open behind you.

Wonwoo.

Of course it’s him.

He’s got one hand on the door and the other holding a black umbrella—not open yet. His hair is damp. His glasses fog slightly from the sudden cold.

“Hey,” he says calmly, like this isn’t a movie moment, like you’re not seconds away from dissolving into puddle form.

You mumble, “I... didn’t bring a jacket.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I figured. Come on.”

You blink. “What?”

“I’ll walk you.” He lifts the umbrella between you. “You live in the dorms, right?”

Your mouth opens and closes like a confused goldfish. He takes your silence as a yes.

“I’m parked by the west lot. It’s on the way.”

You’re already moving before your brain catches up.

🕘 9:04 PM — West Path, Behind the Language Building

The rain sounds soft on the umbrella fabric—almost rhythmic. You’re walking too close to him, but you don’t know where else to go. He’s tall, so you’re partially under his arm, and your hands are shoved deep into your hoodie pockets, trying not to focus on the fact that you can feel the warmth of his side through his coat.

Neither of you speak for a long time.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You don’t like talking much, huh?”

You nearly trip.

“I—no—I mean, I do. I just... I’m not very good at it.”

He lets out a quiet breath. It’s not a laugh, but it’s close.

“You’re better than most people I know.”

You look up at him, surprised. He’s staring forward, raindrops flicking off his glasses, expression unreadable.

You swallow. “You don’t talk much either.”

“That’s true.” A pause. “But I like sitting near you. It’s not... noisy.”

You nearly choke on your own heartbeat.

🕤 9:17 PM — Dorm Entrance

He stops when you reach the side entrance of your building.

“You made it,” he says softly, half-smile curling on his lips. “Still dry?”

You look down. Your jeans are soaked. Your hoodie is a lost cause. You nod anyway.

“Thanks for the umbrella,” you murmur, shivering slightly.

He glances at you, and then—

“Here.” He peels off his jacket—his actual jacket, warm and heavy and lined with that fleece material that smells like laundry and maybe coffee.

You blink up at him. “I’m—I'm fine—”

“You’re shaking.”

You don’t argue again.

He settles it on your shoulders with the most careful touch, like you’ll flinch if he moves too fast. (You might.)

It covers your hands.

“Bring it back next week?”

You nod so fast you almost fall over.

He smiles again—just a flicker of it this time—and walks back into the rain, umbrella still up, leaving you standing on the steps like someone dropped a blanket of thunder over your head.

You pull the jacket closer.

It’s way too big.

And you’ve never felt safer.

🕓 4:52 PM — Thursday, November 7

You’ve been thinking about his jacket for days.

It’s still folded neatly at the end of your bed. You tried washing it but stopped halfway, worried it wouldn’t smell the same afterward. It still does—fresh, warm, faintly like peppermint and old paper.

And now you’re standing in the library entrance with your fingers curled tight around the sleeves, heart thudding loud enough to echo.

You spot him instantly.

Same desk. Same headphones around his neck. Same dark hoodie. He’s flipping through a battered copy of The Bell Jar. His brow furrows every so often like he’s in deep disagreement with Sylvia Plath.

You could leave the jacket on his desk and run.

You could.

But you walk toward him instead.

🕔 5:06 PM

You don’t sit in your usual seat across the aisle. You sit next to him.

His head turns slowly, a little surprised—but not in a bad way. There’s something soft in his eyes when he sees the jacket in your arms.

“Hey,” he says. Simple.

You nod and offer the folded jacket. “Thanks again... for that night. I didn’t get sick, so... mission accomplished.”

“You sure?” “You looked like a drowned squirrel.”

Your mouth drops open.

And then, to both of your shock, you laugh.

It’s a small sound. Shaky. But real.

“That’s cruel,” you whisper, covering your smile with your hand.

“It’s a little true.”

You look away before he sees the pink blooming in your cheeks.

🕠 5:44 PM

You both end up reading separately, but this time, your legs are crossed under the same table. His elbow is close. Closer than usual.

You notice something this time: He always turns the page with the same rhythm—tap, pause, flip. His handwriting is narrow and slanted. He chews the inside of his cheek when he’s deep in thought.

And he keeps looking over at you when he thinks you won’t notice.

So you say it. Quiet, but clear:

“I’m not always this quiet. I just... don’t know how to talk to people I like yet.”

He freezes mid-note.

Looks at you like you just broke the sound barrier.

“You like me, huh?”

Your whole body lights up like faulty Christmas lights. “I—uh—I meant—I like being around—”

“No,” he cuts in gently. “That’s... that’s good to know.”

You look up.

He’s smiling again. No flicker this time. Just soft and steady.

And then—

“Do you want to meet for coffee sometime?” “Not just library hours?”

It’s so unexpected you almost forget how breathing works.

But then you nod.

And this time, you’re the one who smiles first.

🕘 9:13 AM — Saturday, November 9

You’ve never been more aware of your outfit in your life.

It’s casual. You swear it’s casual. Just jeans, a simple knit sweater, and your hair pulled back the way you usually do when studying. But for some reason, it feels like every thread of fabric is holding its breath with you.

You arrive three minutes early. Not on purpose, of course. You just… like being punctual. Definitely not because you couldn’t sleep and ended up getting ready way too soon.

The café is small, tucked between a laundromat and a florist, with foggy windows and the faint smell of cinnamon drifting through the air. There’s a table by the window. He’s already there.

Wonwoo wears black again, but softer this time — a hoodie and a grey beanie pulled slightly down over his forehead. He looks up when you enter, and there’s that smile again — the one that’s only for you.

“You came,” he says like he was still half-expecting you wouldn’t.

You nod, heart jittering. “I almost didn’t. My nerves filed for early retirement.”

“Mine got stuck in traffic,” he replies dryly, and it makes you laugh.

You slide into the seat across from him.

🕤 9:38 AM

You sip your drink slowly. He likes americanos. You went for chai because it smells like safety.

The conversation starts clumsy, like shoes on the wrong feet.

But you both find rhythm again — just like the library. You talk about books. Classes. Favorite types of weather.

He surprises you by admitting he writes poetry sometimes. You surprise him by blurting out that you used to have a plant named Moby (as in Moby Dick) that you accidentally killed via overwatering.

He actually laughs. Like, full smile, head-tilted laugh.

You think you could listen to that sound for the rest of your life.

🕙 10:01 AM

You both watch the rain start outside the window.

Wonwoo leans forward on his elbows. “Do you come here often?”

You shake your head. “Never.”

“Then why here?”

You hesitate. Then, quietly: “Because you said you liked the window seat last week.”

His eyebrows lift slightly.

“You remembered that?”

You nod. “I remember… most things you say.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. Then:

“Me too.”

🕥 10:31 AM

You’re walking side by side now, both of you heading nowhere in particular. It’s still drizzling, but neither of you care.

And then it happens.

A split second. A breath of courage.

You reach out and hook your pinky with his. Not his whole hand. Just the smallest touch. Barely there.

He stiffens for half a second—like he wasn’t expecting it—but then?

He curls his pinky around yours.

Neither of you say a word.

But your heart says plenty.

🕑 2:17 PM — Sunday, November 17

It’s the first time he’s been in your room.

You spent the entire morning cleaning it even though it’s always tidy. You lit a candle. Then panicked and blew it out because it felt too much. Now your hands smell like vanilla smoke and your brain hasn’t stopped buzzing since he texted “On my way :)” forty minutes ago.

Wonwoo sits cross-legged on your floor, laptop on his thighs, back against your bed. You’re on the other side, curled in your desk chair, trying to look like you’re reading—but you haven’t absorbed a single word in the last fifteen minutes.

You can see the veins on his forearms from here.

The way his sleeves are pushed up. The way his eyes narrow a little when he’s thinking. The way his hair falls over his temple and you want so badly to brush it back but your hands are glued to your highlighter like it’s a lifeline.

You’re not concentrating.

You’re surviving.

“This project’s gonna kill me,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles.

You hum in agreement, then nearly fall out of your chair when he looks at you suddenly.

“You okay?”

You nod—too fast, too small. “Just… tired.”

Not a lie. Just not the truth either.

🕝 2:32 PM

He stretches with a groan and shifts, leaning back on one hand, the other adjusting his glasses.

“Why are dorm floors so damn uncomfortable?”

“You could sit on the bed,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Silence.

He looks at you. Slow blink. Like he’s making sure he heard you right.

You panic.

“I mean—only if you want! It’s not a big deal. You’d have more space, and—”

“You sure?”

You nod. Pretend to go back to reading. Your heart is not pretending. It’s slamming against your ribs like a prisoner with a spoon.

He stands, crosses the space in two slow steps, and sits next to you.

Not far.

Not touching.

But close enough that you feel the warmth of his thigh near yours through two layers of fabric.

🕞 2:46 PM

You don’t know how to act normal anymore.

You’ve read the same sentence six times. You’re hyper-aware of everything: your breath, your posture, the fact that your sweater is slightly askew and your bra strap might be peeking out and oh god what if he notices and—

“You’re really quiet today,” he says softly.

You glance at him. He’s not teasing. He looks... thoughtful.

“I’m just... distracted,” you admit, voice small.

“Anything I can help with?”

Yes. But not in a way either of us is ready for.

You give a tiny smile and shake your head. “It’s fine.”

He watches you a moment longer. Then:

“You know you don’t have to say ‘I’m fine’ all the time, right?”

That one hits harder than you expect.

You swallow. “I know.”

Another silence. Not awkward.

Just heavy.

🕒 3:02 PM

His shoulder brushes yours when he shifts slightly.

It’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

You stiffen, then force yourself to stay still. You want to lean into it. You want to tilt your head and rest it there. You want—

But you don’t.

Because you’re still shy. Still afraid. And he’s still Wonwoo.

Perfect, patient, unreadable Wonwoo.

You grip your pen tighter.

And then, softly—so softly—you whisper:

“Do you ever feel like something’s... just about to happen?”

He looks at you slowly. And for the first time today, something flickers in his gaze.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low.

🕓 4:03 PM — Sunday, November 17

The room is silent.

Not the kind of silence filled with studying or shy small talk.

This silence is alive. Breathing. Trembling between you both like an unspoken question that neither of you dares to ask.

You’re still sitting side by side on your bed.

Wonwoo hasn’t moved away since his shoulder brushed yours. In fact, now your knees are almost touching. Almost. And you can feel it — the way his body is angled ever so slightly toward you, the way his hand rests near yours, palm open on the blanket like it’s waiting.

Your heart is a storm.

You should say something. You should breathe. You should—

“Y/N,” he says quietly. So quietly.

You glance at him, and this time... he’s already looking at you.

His gaze doesn’t waver. And it’s not unreadable this time. It’s warm. Intense. Like he’s finally letting you see something he’s been holding back for weeks.

“I keep thinking about what you said earlier. About something about to happen.”

You nod, throat dry. “Me too.”

There’s a pause. Then—he shifts closer. Just slightly. His knee brushes yours now. His hand, still open on the bed, inches toward yours until your pinkies are touching again.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t push.

But his voice drops lower, softer.

“I want to try something. But only if you’re okay with it.”

You know exactly what he means.

And you want it too.

You can’t speak, so you nod.

He leans in—slowly—eyes flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes.

You feel everything.

The heat.

The closeness.

The possibility.

Your heart stutters.

And then—

📱 BUZZZZZZZ

The sound shatters the moment like glass on tile.

Wonwoo curses under his breath—barely audible—but pulls back just enough to fumble for his phone.

“Sorry,” he mutters, glancing at the screen. “It’s my roommate.”

He answers.

“Yeah?” A pause. Then: “Dude. Seriously?” Another pause. A sigh. “Fine. I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up slowly.

“He locked himself out. Again.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You nod, trying to keep your face neutral.

“That’s okay.”

But it’s not really. Not completely. Because you were so close.

He stands, reluctantly. Grabs his bag. Looks at you again—hesitating.

“I… I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.”

You shake your head fast. “You didn’t. It’s okay. Really.”

He looks down at you—eyes searching, unsure—then does something unexpected.

He leans forward and presses his forehead gently to yours. Just for a second. No kiss. No promises. Just warmth.

“I’ll call you later?”

You nod. Whisper, “Okay.”

And then he’s gone.

The room feels colder without him. But your fingers are still tingling from where his touched yours.

🕓 4:08 PM — Monday, November 18

The library feels... different today.

Not louder. Not busier. Just charged, like the air is made of static and someone’s holding their breath waiting for lightning to strike.

You’re in your usual seat. So ist er.

But neither of you has spoken yet.

You tap your pen against your notes, eyes locked on a page you haven’t actually read. Your mind keeps flickering back to yesterday—his voice, his nearness, the almost. And then that forehead touch. Like he wanted to say more but didn’t have the time.

Now he’s here. Right next to you again.

And it’s so much worse.

Because you know what his mouth almost tasted like.

And now you can’t stop wondering.

Wonwoo keeps shifting in his seat. His pen hasn’t moved in minutes. Once in a while, you catch him looking at you—but when you glance over, he looks away again. Fast. Too fast.

Neither of you knows how to start again.

🕠 5:02 PM

You close your book and mumble, “I’m gonna grab something else. Be right back.”

He stands, too. “I’ll come.”

You both move toward the back shelves in awkward silence, feet padding softly against the old carpet, surrounded by towering books and too many unspoken thoughts.

Your fingers trail along the spines. “It’s up there,” you say, pointing to the top shelf.

He follows your gaze. “One sec.”

He steps in front of you, reaching high above—his body stretching, hoodie riding up slightly at the back. His arm grazes yours. Then his chest.

Then—

He shifts, leaning just slightly over you to steady himself as he grabs the book.

His scent is close. So close.

You look up—

And there it is.

His jaw. The curve of his throat. The slight parting of his lips as he breathes.

You don’t think. You can’t think.

You just do.

You lift your face—

And press the lightest kiss to the edge of his jaw.

The second it happens, your brain catches up.

Your whole body seizes.

“Oh my god—” You pull back instantly, eyes wide in horror, your voice shaking. “I— I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I— I didn’t mean to—”

You step back, heart racing, heat flooding your face. You can’t even look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat again, softer. “That was stupid—”

But he doesn’t say anything.

Not at first.

He just sets the book down gently on the nearby shelf.

And then turns to face you.

And in one fluid, sure motion—

he steps forward, grabs your waist, and pulls you to him.

And kisses you.

Not gently. Not questioningly.

Like he’s been waiting.

His hands grip you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. His lips find yours like they already know the shape. There’s nothing hesitant about it—just warmth and need and finally.

You don’t move at first—frozen in disbelief.

But then your hands find his hoodie. And your body leans in. And you kiss him back.

And it feels like every unfinished sentence has finally been said.

🕠 5:09 PM

He pulls away just slightly. His forehead rests against yours again. Just like yesterday.

Only this time, you’re both smiling.

“So,” he whispers, breath still uneven. “That happened.”

You nod, stunned.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” you say softly. “It was... impulse.”

He lets out a short laugh.

“Good impulse.”

Then he kisses you again—quieter this time. Slower.

And nothing about it feels accidental anymore.

[parakavka]

ロケット花火の魔術師 on X: "オヤツの時間のずーと前からオヤツ缶の下で陣取る柴娘🐶まだ午後３時ではないよ🕒 https://t.co/8RbcrukhCm" / X

[amazingeurus]

So, uh, hehe. What do you think it’s Sanji’s and Zoro’s ‘position’ to have sex? 😇

sanzo, SANZO!!!!!💥💥💥 sanji x zoro, top sanji bottom zoro, 香索，黄绿, 💛💚，🟡🟢，🦊🐯，🕒⚔️

[yumenosakiacademy]

🕒 Enstars x Link Click 🎞️

[she-karev]

[rotten-apple-stims]

Mikaeli Hitting Metal Board with related stims

( requested by anon; stims unspecified )

(⚙️) (🔨) (⚙️)

(☎️) x (☎️)

(🕒) (🔨) (🕒)

Proship / Comship / RPF Do Not Interact Please ! Divider(s) by @honeyluvsw !