#yay i did a drabble

[lupeloto]

galladrabbles "to be with you"

@galladrabbles time with a prompt from @sweetbee78 : "to be with you" by mr. big !

the two lay glued to each other on the cordiform mattress despite the abundance of room on either side.

“what’s the one thing you wanna do in our first year married?” ian asks, both staring at the ceiling in comfortable silence.

mickey glances over with a warm smile, stealing a glimpse before reverting his gaze to the ceiling.

“hm. to be with you…guess that’s enough.”

“you guess, huh?” ian teases.

mickey breaks into a smile, his eyes crinkled at the sides. ian stares back in awe of the sight, his muscles officially jelly.

“it’ll do,” mickey leans closer. they melt into each other.

[hyruling]

buddie prompt finale eve here we go 45. feeling their temperature 🥺

Eddie’s hot.

Which, okay. That’s like saying Maddie is his sister, or Christopher is the best kid in the world, or Chim is an annoying brother in law. Objectively true, directly observable statements of fact.

But Eddie’s hot. Like, sweating all over Buck under two blankets hot. And normally, as a cold-natured person, Buck would be very into that. But he can feel sweat soaking through the two layers of Eddie’s t-shirt and Buck’s hoodie, pressed together as they are in the center of Buck’s bed. A new development in his life as Eddie’s roommate that he is handling very normally, by the way.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers in the quiet.

Eddie doesn’t stir. Buck reaches over him, trapped by Eddie’s head on his chest, and checks Eddie’s phone — three thirty-two in the morning. They have to be up for a shift in two and a half hours.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, nudging him with his shoulder, but he’s still dead to the world. He hates to wake him from such a deep slumber — he tries to gently roll him off instead but Eddie clings, the way he tends to do in his sleep. A fact Buck is intimately familiar with after a month of sharing a bed.

“Hey,” Buck murmurs, and switches tactics. He gently pushes Eddie’s sweaty hair off his forehead and mutters his name again. Briefly, he wonders if he forgot to turn the air down before bed, but he can hear it blowing above their heads along with the fan. Eddie is a white noise snob, insists on keeping the fan and air purifier both on all night. He claims it drowns out Buck’s snoring, usually with a teasing lilt in his voice that drives him crazy, but honestly, he has a point. Buck’s never slept better.

Eddie finally stirs after Buck strokes his hair for a minute, snuffling into Buck’s neck with his eyes still closed. “‘S matter?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little hot in here. I’m gonna go turn the air down.”

“No,” Eddie says, voice pitched in an uncharacteristic whine. He wraps a sweaty thigh around Buck’s, effectively trapping him even further. “‘M cold.”

“You’re cold?” Buck asks incredulously. “You’re sweating Eddie.”

Eddie just groans, mashing his face against Buck’s neck, and it’s then that he can feel how warm Eddie’s face is.

“Hey, c’mere.”

He’s still half asleep himself, can barely muster the energy needed to manhandle a sleepy and slightly combative Eddie, but he manages to maneuver him around enough to lay a hand on his forehead. It’s hot, fever hot, and Buck is abruptly wide awake.

“Eddie, hey. I think you have a fever.”

“‘Kay,” Eddie mumbles.

“No, hey, don’t go back to sleep. We need to get some Tylenol in you, and some water.”

“‘M fine, Buck, lemme sleep.”

“I will, I promise, you just—you gotta let me get some medicine in you, okay?”

“Ugh,” Eddie groans. “Fine.”

He releases his grip on Buck, who scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over the jeans he didn’t manage to get into the hamper earlier. He makes a pit stop in the kitchen for a bottle of water. In the bathroom, he grabs Tylenol and wets a washcloth, then returns to the bedroom to see Eddie curled into a ball under the comforter, shivering.

“Hey, sit up for me, okay?” Buck says. He perches on the sheets next to him and rubs his thumb over Eddie’s collarbone.

Eddie obeys with a little more gentle coaxing, eyes glazed and exhausted when he finally opens them. Buck gets him to swallow the Tylenol and presses the cool washcloth against his forehead. Eddie grunts appreciatively and downs nearly the rest of the water without Buck even nagging him.

“Throat hurts,” Eddie rasps, handing the bottle back. His shirt is soaked in sweat.

“Yeah, you’re sick bud. Think you caught that bug Jamison had last week.”

Eddie giggles for some reason, and says, “Bud. Bug. ‘S almost the same word.”

And Buck — normally, Buck would laugh with him. Would tease out more delirious ramblings, and secretly delight in how cute he is any time his inhibitions are lowered. But right now, after everything, all he can feel is a dull sort of panic climbing its way up his throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Buck says with an uneasy chuckle. “Hey, why don’t you—”

“You’re my bud,” Eddie continues, poking Buck in the chest. His eyes are half-lidded, glinted with mischief, and he grins crookedly at Buck. “My—my bud bug. My bed bug, ha.”

His heart gives a helpless little tug, made worse by Eddie dragging his finger down Buck’s chest and curling possessively in the pocket of his hoodie. “Okay, Eddie. You’re pretty out of it, I think maybe I need to take you to an urgent care.”

“Nooo, it’s just a fever,” Eddie protests, tugging at Buck’s hoodie. “I can sleep it off.”

“Eddie—”

“No. Our deductible is like. Stupid high, bug, I can’t afford it right now.”

Buck is momentarily comforted that he can think about his deductible while in this state, but that bug nags at him. Almost as much as it sends heat flooding into his cheeks.

“My name’s Buck, Eddie.”

“I know that, Evan,” Eddie snarks, and at the rate Eddie’s nickname and full-naming him, Buck’s gonna have to call an ambulance for himself. “I’m not that far gone. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Let me at least call Hen—”

“Don’t bother Hen,” Eddie insists. “It’s the middle of the night, and I’m a medic. I think I would know if I was dying.”

“It didn’t—”

Buck cuts himself off. He can’t lay this on Eddie tonight, when he’s half asleep and zonked from fever. But Eddie latches on like a tick, eyes suddenly sharp, and the hand tucked in Buck’s pocket wraps around his wrist instead.

“Didn’t what?”

“Nothing,” Buck says. “C’mon, lay back down.”

“Buck,” Eddie says firmly, shockingly so. “We aren’t doing that again. Talk to me.”

“In the morning,” Buck tries, but Eddie shakes his head, presses his fingers into Buck’s pulse point.

“Buck.”

Buck sighs, knows Eddie won’t get any rest until Buck explains himself.

“It’s just. Bobby, he didn’t—he didn’t die in a fire, or in a rescue, he—he got sick. And I know, I know it’s not the same thing, you’re not—but I just. I don’t know. It’s dragging up some—some shit, I guess. I can’t lose anyone else. Especially not—”

He snaps his mouth shut with a click, but it’s too late. He’s laid himself bare, and for a moment he desperately hopes Eddie won’t remember this in the morning.

Eddie stares at him, mouth set in a small frown. The hand on his wrist squeezes, a gentle and grounding pressure against his thundering heartbeat. Eddie must be able to feel it, but he just strokes his thumb softly over Buck’s hand and says, “You’re right, it’s not the same. I’m okay, Buck. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I know,” Buck says. I’m going to make sure of it this time, he doesn’t. “But you’re a notoriously bad patient, so you need to trust me.”

Eddie chuckles, then coughs, a rough sound that makes Eddie wince. “Says the guy who wanted to come back to work a week after literally dying.”

“It was two weeks.”

Eddie waves a hand. His eyes are drooping again, and he shivers a bit. “Semantics.”

“Okay, come on. Let’s change your shirt and get you back to sleep. I’ll call Hen in the morning, tell her we’re not coming in.”

Eddie grumbles a bit about Buck not needing to take time off just for him, but Buck can tell his heart’s not really in it. Buck tugs off his shirt and grabs the first clean one he finds, which happens to be one of his. Not that either of them are paying all that much attention to that kind of detail anymore, another facet of his new living situation that he refuses to look at directly. He gets Eddie into it and makes him finish the bottle of water before he all but collapses back onto the pillows.

Buck climbs back in on his side, pulls the comforter up over Eddie’s shoulders when he starts shaking again. Eddie shuffles close like he’s going to koala himself around Buck again, but hesitates at the last second.

“I can—sleep on the couch,” Eddie offers around a jaw-cracking yawn. “Don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Oh, yeah, actually, would you mind?” Buck teases, just to see the look of shock and betrayal that passes over Eddie’s face. He doesn’t disappoint — Buck laughs, and Eddie swears in Spanish under his breath.

“It’s rude to tease a sick person, you know,” he says, then tucks himself back against Buck’s side, head pillowed on his chest

Buck snorts and pulls Eddie closer. “It’s too late anyway. I’m sure I’ll be right behind you.”

Eddie hums, drawls, “I’ll take care of you. If you are.”

Buck closes his eyes, and pretends the warmth spreading through him is from Eddie’s overheated skin. “You always do.”

He checks Eddie’s forehead again, and Eddie mutters sleepily, “Y’know, lips are a better measure of body temperature than hands.”

Buck stills, heart in his throat. “That so?” he croaks.

Eddie nods, jaw digging in Buck’s clavicle. “More sens’tive. I’m a medic, I would know.”

“Guess you would,” Buck manages with a soft chuckle. He wishes he had brought another bottle of water to bed, throat suddenly parched.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Eddie mumbles with a shoulder nudge, hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

And Buck, unable to deny Eddie anything in the best of circumstances, twists his neck and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead. Eddie sighs, and Buck would swear he leans into it, gives Buck no choice but to let his mouth linger over the dry, overwarm skin. Eddie’s hair tickles his nose — he can smell their shampoo and a faint hint of sweat, and breathes him in while he can.

“Still sick,” Buck declares, lips brushing Eddie’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

He doesn’t respond, and Buck thinks maybe he’s finally drifted off. But just as he’s about to fall asleep himself, Eddie noses at Buck’s neck and murmurs, “Thanks, bug,” close to his ear.

It’s almost worth the misery of the weeklong cold he catches, just for that.

—

prompts xo

[sugusearrings]

( ' glass children. ' )

violet wrists and then her ankles, silent pain. then he slowly saw their nightmares were his dreams. monster, how should I feel? creatures lie here, looking through the windows i will hear their voices. i'm a glass child, i am hannah's regrets.

— summary: with the star plasma vessel dead, satoru and suguru need you (fem!reader) to lead them to their next path. — genre: angst. heartbreak. — playing: monster by meg & dia — note(s): i'm a sucker for what ifs. i love what ifs. good and bad. i thought about this what if a lot. i wanted to write about this since halloween and didn't have time to post it. i just know suguru and satoru are better than me cause everyone would have gotten this smoke. that's all imma say. anyways, mentions of blood & death. probably some spelling errors here and there. — word count: 866

Those beautiful cerulean blue hues still sparkled as the light down on them.

But the spark of life was gone. They were dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. You never saw them like this before.

You could feel the anxiety swallowing you whole. If someone looked closely, they can see your legs trembling slightly. The two boys in front of you were having a brief conversation but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything over the loud sounds of your heart rate picking up at a rapid pace. You couldn’t even hear the round of applause the strangers that crowded around the white hair teenager who held the lifeless body like he did the first time meeting her.

They were clapping for Satoru. Fucking clapping.

You just stared at the crowd in disbelief. What kind of people would approve of this? What kind of people are happy over this? The death of a young girl.

A young girl you considered your friend.

Monsters...monsters... “Suguru...should we kill these guys? The way I am right now I doubt I’d feel anything.” His voice was hoarse. But what made your heart ache was hearing no emotion in his tone. It matched his stare. Dull. Lifeless. Emotionless. Your eyes went over to Suguru. His back was faced to Satoru but you saw his almond shaped eyes were as wide as they can be but soon he pulled himself back together. He always does. He has too. “No. There’s no point. It’ll be dissolved soon enough.” His voice mimic the tone Satoru set. He began to walk towards the door to get out of there. He was sick of the clapping and the smell of the dried blood that lingeried. He was sick of this. He was sick of this life. He was sick of death. He was sick of curses. “No point, huh? Does there really need to be any point to it?” Satoru asked or stated. You couldn’t really tell. You went to follow behind Suguru like a lost puppy but Satoru called out your name.

“Name...”

"Y-yes...Satoru?" your gentle voice trembled.

"What do you think we should do?" Satoru asked you. His eyes didn’t look at you. They just looked straight ahead into nothing. Suguru's eyes went over to you almost forgetting you were even there. Your eyes was puffy and red from crying. You were the emotional one out of the three. That's why Satoru would tease you about being weak. You were a crybaby. But Suguru didn't see an issue with it, he likes you like this. So did Satoru but he wouldn't openly admit it. You reminded him about those certain emotions he swore he couldn’t feel anymore. "Name...what should we do?" Suguru also asked willing to do anything you said. The self proclaimed brains of this trio couldn’t think straight or logically. So it was up to you.

The boys looked over at you for an answer. An answer you didn't have. This wasn't fair. These higher ups using you children. Not caring if you killed one another or died in front of each other. You loved your best friends. Especially Satoru and Suguru, willing to do anything to protect them. Even Riko. They were the only family you have. But would the higher ups mourn you? Would the higher ups sink into a dark hole of depression? Would the higher ups get revenge on you? Or would they replace you like a piece of livestock. They would probably replace you in a matter of days.

They probably would assign Satoru and Suguru a mission while your ashes are still warm.

Satoru and Suguru.

The thought of leaving them behind made you feel sick at the pit of your stomach. How would Satoru handle it? You knew Suguru would break in a matter of days. He bottles so much inside of him it would just burst out. Would they keep it together if you were to die? Or would they lose it themselves.

You know you would lose it if either of them or both of them were to die. Leaving you all alone. To defend yourself. To love yourself. You couldn’t imagine a world without them. The three of you were glued to each other, couldn’t really function without the other.

You could feel the anger replacing the fear and anxiety. On the inside your morals and humanity was being teared apart, stripped away from you the more you stared at Riko's lifeless body in Satoru's arms covered by a thin white cloth. "Name..." Suguru called out to you once more. There wasn’t much time to make a decision. "Kill them," you finally answered losing all emotions you had that day, "kill them all." That's all Satoru needed to hear. His lips formed a wicked grin as Suguru silently summoned the rainbow dragon. You stood watched the blood being splattered on the walls and floors. The screams made you smile like that day on the beach with your best friends.

That’s where your mind was. The day on the beach with Riko and Satoru laughing at the sea cucumber while you, Suguru, and Misato were on the beach towels just watching them with smile of your faces.

[wisteriagoesvroom]

dando & sedona by houndmouth?

sedona

also readable on ao3

p.s. clearly i lack reading comprehension 'cus i looked up dando & sedona and was like maybe it's a song title version difference on platforms. only to realise after writing 600 words of galex that you meant DANDO THE SHIP. my bad.

anyway, here are the 600 words of galex... hope that's ok sjaflkdj

-----------

“We should’ve turned left at the big rock.” Alex says, with the chipper attitude of a captain that has basically announced that their submarine is sinking. 

“That’s no great help, mate,” George says. “In case you’ve not noticed, this place is full of big rocks?”

George’s hands stay steady on the wheel, and they whip through yet more stunning countryside. They’d both thought a road trip to the Great Ocean Road was a good idea. Australia seemed like a quiet enough spot to go and enjoy some anonymity over the break. And they’d been equally surprised when the other said they would still go, even if their other friends didn’t. Alex figured they would be fine with each other for company. Besides, what were two professional drivers supposed to do in the off season? Play, (god forbid), golf? 

“Why did I even let you navigate,” George says.

“Well apparently you don’t trust my driving, so it’s either my navigation skills, or you complaining the whole time about my driving speed.”

“Speed limits are on normal roads for a reason.”

“Are you or are you not an F1 driver, Georgie?” Alex asks, giving his paper map a vigorous shake. The funny part about taking a quieter detour — the signal started to get spotty after a while, so they’ve now resorted to manual navigation. Other people might say this was the inauspicious start to a horror movie, but Alex is half Thai, so he’s got the added Wasian spiritual protection. Besides, he once drove for Helmut Marko. That guy was basically a Bond villain. If Alex could survive that, he can survive anything. 

“Left, in a couple of hundred meters,” Alex says. The radio’s patchy out here, and Alex can vaguely hear someone strumming a guitar, the chords floating in and out. He turns the radio dial down, then it’s just the wind whipping through the open roof of the car, the sunlight bathing them in pink and orange. 

“Question,” Alex says. “Would you rather fight a thousand tiny horses, or one Godzilla-sized horse.”

“What kind of question is that?” George replies, incredulous.

“Treat it like one of those situational awareness questions in an interview. If you ever had to do a job interview. Like a normal person. Doesn’t it occur to you that what we do isn’t, like, a real job?”

“Erm.”

“Just answer the question.” 

George pinches the bridge of his nose, right below where his sunglasses sit. Alex finds it funny that he does this long-suffering expression, when everyone knows that the real ordeal was George having to grow up in Norfolk.

“Do they have the same skill sets and abilities?” George asks.

“Well, yeah.” 

“Do they have any sort of debuff.”

“If you imagine they act differently in a skirmish but essentially have the same skillsets.”

“Hang on. Is there regulation for the welfare of these tiny and giant horses? Where would you even find a Godzilla-sized horse—”

“Now is NOT the time for lore building, thank you George.”

“Fine! I would pick one thousand tiny horses because I could pick them off like mosquitoes. Also I'm tall. So I could swing an arm and get rid of a bunch at a time. There. Now where do we turn?”

“Oh, literally here, mate.”

George swears under his breath. The car wheels screech, and Alex basically yelp-neighs like a giant T-Rex horse inside a convertible. Alex can’t make out exactly what George muttered, but it’s probably something incredibly Victorian, like oh bloody eggnog codswallop.

George shakes his head. Alex chuckles. At least the map, and his hair, is intact.  

“I don’t know why I put up with this,” George says. It’s not much different to the way he usually says it to Alex. He’s put up with Alex since they were both about twelve anyway, so Alex figures it’s kind of a long term sealed deal at this point.

“Because I keep you humble, Georgie.”

George doesn’t turn his head from the road, but Alex knows he’s probably rolling his eyes. 

Alex pushes the radio dial, and the speakers whirr to life again. Alex knows the song, and sings every word, deliberately off key. George tolerates it. 

They’ll miss three more turns before they make it to their destinations. George will complain the entire time: about the temperature, about the bugs on the car, about Alex’s navigation skills (that he somehow still trusts), Alex’s choice of accommodation (very questionable) and Alex’s aimless small talk (that he always answers anyway).

And they both enjoy the journey anyway.

[songsofreason]

between "He hasn't been in a library in so long and while Vergil would never say he missed them because devils do not miss anything at all, two tears silently track down his cheekbones and fall. He doesn't feel those either / DEVILS NEVER CRY." and "Most people look peaceful when they sleep--Cam has never looked peaceful a day in her life, Vergil thinks. She probably came into this world pissed off. He doesn't realize he's smiling to himself." i'm lowkey spitting today

[matrixsss]

King of hell

For @lucienweekofficial final day 7: AU Super excited to finally post this! I will be turning this into a fic at some later point hopefully, for now I hope you like it! View below or on AO3

Lucien looks down from his fiery throne at the kneeling blonde before him with a sinister smirk. Pure red fire is keeping the blondes' hands tied behind his back. Such a beautiful sight if he says so himself. Lucien doesn’t remember how he became the King of Hell, it happened such a long time ago. The job was boring most of the times. His name is on people's minds more than his creator. Not father, a father would not condemn him, but his creator did. He has to thank his creator, because for once he sent him a gift. A man so beautiful and pure. Lucien knows he will have much fun with the man.  

“Please.” The blonde whimpers and Luciens’ smirk turns into a grin, excitement vibrates through his entire being. What fun it is to be the King of Hell.  

[daughterofhecata]

Something something "the first million words are practice"? (Though I'm pretty sure I've reached *that* milestone years ago considering the amount of notebooks I filled as a kid/teen.)

[magentakat]

Welp. I’m struggling with my writing currently (for a variety of reasons) but want to post at least a little something and get the brain juices flowing again—sooooooooo DCA promptober I do! (Likely won’t write for every prompt but I had fun with this one so I’ll likely do at least a few of ‘em. :])

These will be mostly from the various AUs/stories I am currently working on just to clarify (like this one!). Also not going to edit them really so weird wording and whatnot are to be expected. I’ll also be posting these all over on AO3 for those who prefer reading there instead.

That said, enjoy!

Day 1: Best Friend—580 words

“You seem malcontent…”

The night guard halts their patrol, visibly fighting to restrain themself from further reacting to the unsolicited comment or the giggling that follows it. Regaining their composure they resume their stroll, ignoring the gangly figure on their metaphorical tail. It’ll only get worse if they entertain the low-ball attempts at humor and teases.

“Hmm? No, you’re right, delivered that maladroitly,” the animatronic pretends to muse, his chin tapping audible to the figure below him, “maltreated that sentence.” He pauses, dramatically sniffing (as if he could even smell) in before announcing with a faux-disgusted air, “eugh, definitely malodorous.”

That finally elicits the reaction the mischievous robot has been digging for. “No, Moon.” They tilt their head back, staring above at the twin pinpricks of red light spinning in delight. “Rude. Stop being such a damn menace while I’m trying to work.”

“Aww,” He coos, overly saccharine, “you feeling maligned?”

His unwilling audience groans, flopping forward theatrically as they fight back the grin attempting to break free. “You are really stretching for ‘em tonight, are you that bored?”

“Maaaaaaaybe,” Moon draws out the word, chuckling audible beneath. The tortured guard draws upright as he touches down, landing lightly upon the floor next to them. “Only one more, I promise.”

They pretend to think on it, hemming and hawing despite both parties knowing what their answer will be. “Alright, I guess I’ll allow it—but after that no more, it’s getting old.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbles, taking their outstretched pinky in his much larger one, “so grumpy.” They watch as his face rotates once, then twice, pausing upside down before, with a click and a mischievous giggle, it slowly twists back into its typical orientation. “You ready?”

The guard nods, motioning the lunar-themed animatronic to come closer as they continue to maintain as straight of a face as they can. Moon obliges, hunching over so as to be closer to their level as he leans in conspiratorially. “…Mallard.”

“Pff—” The laughter they’d been holding back tumbles out, clutching at their stomach while the other watches in obvious glee. “Mallard? Mallard? Of all the ridiculous words you could have used you use a duck?”

They swear his permanent grin widens. “It worked,” he teases, lithe frame swaying with the force of his delight.

They answer with an eye roll, pretending to be annoyed, “I guess. Still don’t know why my name amuses you this much, but whatever.”

“Won’t tell me what it’s short for—have to try options until I find it.”

“It’s not mallard, as funny as that is,” they answer, turning away towards the center of the open atrium, “you’ll just have to keep trying—tomorrow.”

“Alright, little bat,” he concurs, oversized hand near-engulfing their head as he pats them patronizingly, ruffling their hair with a snicker as they attempt to push him away in protest. “Worse than Rumpelstiltskin,” the animatronic jokingly gripes as he ascends towards the ceiling, no doubt retreating back to the shadows before the lights catch him out again.

Mal’s smile remains even after he departs, happily humming as they resume their rounds in earnest. They wonder, not for the first time, if he’s already aware that there’s nothing else to their name—and then, how long he’ll continue the ruse after he finds out. Their friend isn’t the type to give up on a perfectly good bit, after all, even when he perhaps should. ‘Maltreated that sentence’ was absolutely too far of a stretch.

[chaosgoblinhours]

That's what he kept telling himself as he stood in the empty halls, the guilt growing heavier and heavier with every return. And yet he kept creeping back into this desolate place, the sins of his fellows painted in blackened scorches across cracked stone and tarnished stains along the steps. His boots rung a somber dirge with every step, mourning for all those he could not save.

The Temple was a tomb now, a silent grave to the atrocities of their past. The bodies of the Jedi were long gone, but their absence haunted this once hallowed ground more than any ghost could.

He couldn't have saved them in the end. Couldn't save the clone soldiers that killed them. In a single moment the whole of the galaxy flipped on its head and nothing was right anymore. A million questions spawned in that moment, dismay and confusion rattling deep into his very marrow as he'd watch good people turn on each other like rabid dogs. What could he have done different? Why had this happened? Why didn't anyone else in the galaxy seem to care?

Silence was his only answer.

[whosmariaaa]

— drabble of this !

college! sukuna had been having a rough day. first of all, you were sick, so he didn’t see you all day. second of all, he had a big game tonight, but you were still sick so you couldn’t come and cheer him on. he was unbelievably pissed.

as their coach scolded sukuna for playing too aggressive for the nth time, his friends started picking up on his behavior too.

“awww, is lil’ old sukuna missing his girl?” gojo grinned widely.

“shut the hell up, before the guy cracks your fucking skull open,” toji replied, passing the ball to another teammate. sukuna simply had his teeth clenched, really trying not to show how pissed off he was and snap at gojo again.

he stole the ball from said teammate, roughly shouldering him, which caused another scolding from the coach.

“what the hell is up your ass, man? just play the damn game without trying to assault your teammates for once,” coach yelled through the court.

sukuna was three seconds away from assaulting the coach too if he didn’t shut his ass up. “i’m winning the fucking game for you people. be grateful, dumbass,” he argued back.

despite succesfully throwing the ball in the hoop, scoring yet another point, a few seconds later sukuna was on the bench was shouting back at the coach. safe to say the man was now fuming. all he wanted to do is go to your dorm and have you in his arms. now he was stuck in this trashy ass place.

eventually sukuna was let off the bench again, and they of course won. yipee, yay, happy ending. now he could finally go to you. but then to make matters even worse, gojo and toji forced him to go to their usual frat parties, calling him boring for wanting to go home. sukuna almost knocked their teeth out. God forbid a man wants to see his girlfriend.

now, one too many drinks in, and maybe half a blunt, and sukuna was gone. this was probably the drunkest he’d ever been, and that says a lot.

joining into all the stupid drinking games, beating up several guys for looking at him wrong (toji had to push him off before he actually killed someone in front of everyone (gojo was filming everything in glee)), and pushing off girls that weren’t you.

“damn, i don’t ever think i’ve seen you this wasted,” toji commented as he dragged sukuna back to the couch where gojo was.

“fuck you talking about? i- i’m not feeling shit,” he stammered, plopping onto the couch, which made both toji and gojo raise an eyebrow.

“still missing y/n?” gojo teased. sukuna turned his head, giving gojo a death stare. “what the fuck do you think? all i wanted to do tonight is be with my girl, and you useless idiots dragged me into… this shit,” he replied, words slurring slightly.

then, a mischievous grin appeared on gojo’s face. he pulled out his phone, unbeknowst to sukuna and started filming.

“wow, you really love y/n, huh?” toji chuckled, catching on to gojo’s doing.

“of course i do. you guys have been taunting the fuck out of me ever since i laid eyes on her. can’t get her out of my damn mind either,” sukuna started, completely oblivious to the phone pressed up in his face.

“didn’t ever think i’d fall in love. especially not with her. she’s a bitch. but i love her. more than anything, i think,” he rambled, “she’s my beautiful girl. and i love her attitude. and i adore the fuck out of… just her.”

gojo snickered, slightly tilted his phone so toji could see his screen and send it to you. you, oblivious to everything happening with your boyfriend at the moment.

but as soon as you opened your messages, and saw some video of sukuna, cheeks a little flushed, onto the couch manspreading, with music and gojo’s giggles onto the background you knew enough.

and yes, your heart did do a few flips at his words. sukuna isn’t very verbal on his love, but he tries. so yes, this is definitely an ego booster, and maybe you fell in love a little more. but this man is drunk out of his mind without letting you know AND called you a bitch.

so, after bribing their location out of gojo, you immediately went to the dorm, in hoodie and sweatpants, still feeling a little ill. but surely it didn’t take too long to find your boyfriend.

he twas throwing a sucker punch to yet another innocent man who has probably done no wrong, cussing him out. he shoved the guy off, making him hit the wall. you sighed and walked over to sukuna, and grabbed his arm to catch his attention.

he looked over to you, eyes dazed and narrowed in disgust. “don’t fucking touch me, you nasty bitch. i’ve got a girl,” he sneered in distaste, roughly pushing you off. was he actually serious?

“it’s me, you shithead,” you snarled, giving a slap to his bicep for pushing you away. then, he really looked at you, and his eyes immediately seemed to soften.

“oh, it’s you,” sukuna mumbled, his head tilting as that stupid smirk of his appeared. he stumbled closer to you.

“yeah, it’s me! what the hell, man! what’d you call me a bitch twice for?” you snapped at him. but you didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his chest.

“mhmm, missed you, baby,” sukuna responded, pressing a kiss to your neck. you melted a little, but refused to show it. he was still wasted, and you were still angry at him.

“yeah, yeah, c’mon, let’s go to my dorm,” you muttered, a little quieter. he didn’t fight back once, he even seemed a little too eager to go back.

you said goodbye to toji and gojo, who were both smoking sukuna’s left over blunt. sukuna just threw up his middle finger without looking at them, because he quite frankly couldn’t keep his eyes (nor hands) off you.

after forcing him to take a shower, brush his teeth and drink some water, that man was still drunk. he held you in his arms, your head on his chest. he kept staring at you as if you hung the moon.

“you’re so pretty, sweetheart, y’know that, hm?” sukuna hummed, as he raised your head to look at him.

“i mean, you’ve only told me sixteen times this hour, but thanks,” you reacted, but you couldn’t help but smile a little.

“so fucking smart too. i’d die for you. i’d kill for you too,” he added, looking at you with heart-eyes almost. honestly, you felt butterflies in your stomach at his words. you pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose.

“i’ve already killed for you, y’know that? that little bitch from the party. he’s fucking dead somewhere in a dumpster,” sukuna smiled.

well, then the butterflies kind of died, because his smile and tone seemed a little… too genuine.

but he was under the influence of alcohol, he was just babbling nonsense. sure, sukuna’s a tough guy, but he’s not a violent murderer. he’s your loving boyfriend… right?

but you just decided to shrug the weird feeling off and kissed him, and replied, “love you too, asshole.” and after that, sukuna fell asleep like a brick, soon followed by you, as the two of you laid on your dorm bed in peace that night.

──★˙🍓̟!! thank you sm for the request, you’re so sweet i literally love you to death omds😣💗 i do not know what to think of this part idk… but i do hope it’s readable! and thank you babe @yerimoon for giving me some motivation to write!! anyway, reader of course doesn’t know sukuna is secretly an evil little guy, but now shes lowk finding out😱😱 if you guys want more of this series lmk please!! thank you for reading!!! 💗💗

— taglist ! @imlikeacoffeeconnoisseur @stars4you777 @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @seizecherry @xlilycoco @v1x3n @go-go-gadget-autism @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @paradisestarfishh @13-09-01 @misticsilver @whosmarjj @seellove @aquariusscollection @satorushousewife @rwirxles @anonnieghost @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee-blog @iminloveweveryone @poopooindamouf @phisen @ryomku @erintaro @clp-84 @mastermasterlist1p1 @katsukiseyebrows @happy2delivur @jup1tersuccubus @nxcxllxsevens @realalpacorn @kxgumi @crankyarchives @itsjustisa @junitries @kodzukensworld @bnbaochauuu @tomsxslvt @flwerie @bwlol7 @szuuyl @grignardsreagent @yourangel04 🍓

[jungkoode]

5 SECONDS TO FREEDOM | prologue

˗ˏˋ debts unpaid ˎˊ˗

"In Tokyo's underground, there are only two currencies that matter—respect and reputation. When someone threatens to take both, you don't just race them. You destroy them."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 3.5k

content: street racing culture, debt collection, first meetings, midnight races, dangerous driving, Spanish endearments as provocation, the dynamics of Tokyo's underground scene, and your first defeat in nineteen months.

✧ author's note ✧

Soooo here we fucking go.

I've been obsessing over this story for months—I think we all know that lmaooo I think I posted the teaser like a couple months ago and I was devastated because it barely got 50 notes. But you know what, this was still in my head so I did write some drabbles—and I kind of shaped the prologue, which is what you’re gonna read below hahaha.

“But Kiki we just sent you 45 asks telling you to rest” AND I SAID SIKE??? No actually, I’m okay I promise! Usually writing different stories is what prevents me from burning out, because I get frustrated with the same storyline so it’s like… I write something else and my brain goes ‘yay thanks’. You know, ADHD—shiny new toy, mind dances to the music.

Anyways, so. I love this. I love this because as always I get to experiment with different personalities and psychological backgrounds and what I fucking love about these two is the masks they wear and how opposite they are. He’s cocky and arrogant, but in a different way FMU!jungkook is. She’s determined and ambitious, always pushing for more, but still very distinct from all my other Y/N’s because she’s handling different situations (you’ll see in later chapters).

And Hachiroku and Jaque aren't just racing personas—they're escapes. And what makes this delicious is that they're running from opposite lives. One from privilege, one from struggle. Both finding freedom in the same five seconds at the starting line.

And yes, the cars matter. They're not just vehicles; they're extensions of identity. The AE86 is legendary for a reason—not the most powerful, but perfectly balanced in the hands of someone who knows exactly what they're doing (sound familiar?). Meanwhile, the R34 Skyline is raw, unapologetic power held in check by someone who understands precisely when to unleash it.

AS ALWAYS—READ THE AUTHOR INTRO AND TW listed in the index post. This is a must before reading this story.

Fair warning: this isn't going to be a clean race. These characters are messy. They make decisions that will make you want to scream at them. They'll crash into each other's lives and leave debris everywhere, and the kind of attraction that feels like a guardrail giving way on a mountain pass.

But that's the point, isn't it? The most interesting stories happen in the dangerous curves.

So buckle up. We've got a long road ahead.

Ready? Light’s about to turn green.

Also. Notes for this one are pretty high, that’s intentional. Like I just wanted to post the prologue to have it out for a bit but I still need to work on the arcs and major plot points. So I don’t have the story fully shaped out for now, which is why I want this to rest and check for engagement and reactions. Seriously—don’t crash out, I know this one will take time and that’s absolutely my intention!

Edit: prologue takes place 6 months before the main storyline!

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Respect isn't given in Tokyo's underground—it's paid in cash or blood.

You roll the cherry lollipop against your teeth, counting seconds in your head like engine timing.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty-six hours since you left Kalo and his overpriced Supra in your rearview on the Hakone downhill, his taillights disappearing around the corner while you took the perfect line through the hairpin that everyone else brakes too hard for.

It's nighttime at Daikoku.

You cross one leg over the other, letting your heeled boot dangle casually off the edge of your AE86's hood. The mini skirt wasn't a random choice. Neither was showing up without your racing gear.

Because tonight isn't about driving—it's about collecting.

"Kalo's nowhere to be seen," Maya says, leaning against your car's hood, arms crossed. "Dipped hard."

You don't bother looking at her, just shift the lollipop to the other side of your mouth with your tongue. The neon from nearby signs reflects off the polished black and white paint of your 86.

"What?" Maya catches your expression. "I'm just saying. Word is he's been avoiding this spot since you embarrassed him."

"While still flashing cash at that club in Roppongi," you add, voice flat. "Buying drinks for anyone who'll listen to his bullshit version of what happened on the mountain."

You tug at one of the layered chains around your neck, watching the crowd that's gathered tonight.

The usual suspects are here—wannabes with more money than skill taking photos of each other's cars, veterans huddled around hoods talking suspension setups, scouts looking for the next race.

Everyone except the one person who should be here with your money.

"So what's the plan?" Maya nudges your shoulder. "Just gonna sit here looking pretty until he magically appears?"

You roll your eyes. "Since when do I just sit and wait for anything?"

"Fair point." She grins that wolfish grin of hers. "So?"

"So I track his ass down." You twist the lollipop stick between your fingers. "He owes me fifty thousand yen. But more than that, he owes me the respect of paying up and admitting I smoked him fair and square."

Maya snorts, exactly as you expected. "Called it. Knew you wouldn't let this slide."

"It's not about the money." You straighten up, adjusting your cropped leather jacket. "It's about the principle. You lose a race, you pay your debts. That's how this works. You don't just disappear like some amateur who can't handle defeat."

"Especially not when he talked all that shit beforehand," Maya adds, picking at her black nail polish. "What was it he said again? Something about how no girl could ever handle his—"

"'No girl could handle my power on the downhill,'" you quote dryly. "Right before I passed him on the outside of that corner everyone brakes for."

The memory brings a slight smile to your face.

The shock in his eyes when you appeared in his side mirror where no car should have been able to fit.

The desperate overcorrection that sent him nearly scraping the guardrail while you smoothly accelerated away.

"Exactly." Maya pushes off your hood. "So what's the first move? Hit his usual spots?"

You pull the lollipop from your mouth with a pop. "Already did. Club Seventh in Roppongi. The garage where his uncle works in Setagaya. That ramen shop he's always at in Shibuya."

"Stalker much?" Maya raises an eyebrow.

"Thorough," you correct her. "There's a difference."

A brief silence falls between you as you both watch a metallic blue GT-R roll into the lot, bass thumping hard enough to vibrate the pavement.

Not Kalo's crowd—these guys run with the Yokohama crew.

"Kenji might know," you say finally, referring to your mutual friend who somehow knows everyone's business in Tokyo's racing scene. "He mentioned Kalo's been hanging around some new spot in Meguro the past week."

Maya pulls out her phone. "Want me to text him now?"

"Already did." You tap your boot against the bumper of your car. "He's supposed to meet us here in—" you check the time on your wrist "—fifteen minutes ago."

"Typical." Maya rolls her eyes. "That guy couldn't be on time if his life depended on it."

You're about to respond when you spot a familiar face weaving through the crowd. Kenji, with his signature sunglasses despite it being well past midnight, making his way toward you.

You straighten up slightly, not wanting to appear too eager for information.

"Ladies," he greets with that irritating smirk of his, adjusting his sunglasses even though there's absolutely no need. "Looking dangerous tonight, Y/N. Someone's not here to race."

"Just tell me what you know about Kalo," you say, cutting through his bullshit.

Kenji leans against your car without asking—a liberty you allow only because he's useful.

"Direct as always. That's what I like about you."

"Kenji," you warn, patience already wearing thin.

"Fine, fine." He holds up his hands in surrender. "Your boy's been hanging at this new garage in Meguro. Place called Midnight Rush. Trying to get in with that crew that runs the Wangan on weekends."

You raise an eyebrow. "The twins' territory? That's desperate even for him."

"After what you did to his reputation?" Kenji shrugs. "Man's gotta find somewhere to start over."

Maya laughs. "Not how this works. You don't just reset when you lose."

"Exactly." You shift your weight, boot heels clicking against the pavement. "So he's there tonight?"

"Should be. They're prepping for some big run tomorrow. Word is there's serious money changing hands. He's trying to buy his way in."

The conversation halts as the distinctive growl of an approaching engine cuts through the night.

Not just any engine—something with a tune you've never heard before.

Sharp. Aggressive. Perfectly balanced.

Heads turn as a midnight purple Skyline R34 GT-R glides into the parking area, before coming to a stop under the harsh parking lot lights.

"Who the hell is that?" Maya straightens up, suddenly alert.

Kenji's expression shifts from boredom to interest in an instant—a rare change for him. "New player. Goes by Jaque."

You study the car, assessing rather than admiring.

Aftermarket body kit, but tasteful. Custom wheels. The stance is aggressive but functional.

Whoever built this wasn't just throwing money at it—they knew exactly what they were doing.

"Jaque?" you repeat, keeping your voice neutral despite your curiosity. "What kind of name is that?"

"Latino guy. Showed up about a month ago." Kenji lowers his voice, shifting into the gossip mode he lives for. "Been cleaning up. Undefeated so far."

Your eyebrow rises slightly at that.

Undefeated is a bold claim in this scene.

"Never heard of him," Maya says, voicing what you're thinking.

"That's because he's been running mostly on the Wangan line. Outrunning cops, taking stupid risks. The kind of shit that gets you noticed fast." Kenji's eyes remain fixed on the car. "Word is he beat Hayato's record on the C1 loop last week."

That gets your attention, though you're careful not to show it.

Hayato's record has stood for three years.

This guy has broken it in a month.

Who the fuck is this?

Your question is answered when the driver's door opens, and the crowd's murmur intensifies. A figure emerges, oozing the confidence of someone who knows they belong anywhere they choose to be.

Not tall, but with a presence that fills the space around him. Dark hair, sharp jawline, and a smirk that suggests he's already three steps ahead of everyone else.

"He drives like he's got nothing to lose," Kenji adds, a note of genuine respect in his voice that you rarely hear. "Like he doesn't care if he crashes or dies. It's... I don’t know man. Something else."

You watch as the driver—Jaque, apparently—leans back against his Skyline, surveying the crowd like he's taking inventory.

His gaze sweeps across the parking lot, until it lands on your group.

Or more specifically, on you.

He gives you a small nod, as if acknowledging territory.

"Looks like you've got an admirer," Maya mutters, nudging your ribs.

You shrug, unimpressed. "Looks like another ego with a nice car."

But you don't look away, and neither does he. It's a standoff of sorts, neither willing to be the first to break eye contact.

You've played this game before with countless racers who thought they were hot shit.

You've never been the first to look away.

"Don't dismiss him so quickly," Kenji warns, surprising you. "I've seen him drive. I’m dead serious, it’s not normal."

"Nobody's unbeatable," you say, finally breaking the staring contest to look back at Kenji.

Just because you had to look back at Kenji.

"Maybe." Kenji shifts uncomfortably. "But this guy... he doesn't race like a normal person. It's like he's got some kind of death wish, but with the skill to back it up."

You scoff, though something about Kenji's tone—the genuine concern beneath his usual bullshit—gives you pause.

"Death wish or not, a car's a car, and physics is physics. There are rules to this game that nobody breaks."

Maya's watching you with that knowing look she gets when she can tell someone's gotten under your skin, even just a little.

"You want to find out, don't you?"

"I want to find Kalo and get my money," you correct her, though your eyes drift back to the Skyline against your will. "That's why we're here."

You scoff at Maya's knowing smirk, about to tell her to shut it when fragments of conversation float over from where the newcomer stands. One word cuts through the ambient noise of engines and chatter.

Kalo.

Your head snaps toward the source.

The Skyline guy—Jaque—leans against his car, talking to a small circle of racers. His hands move expressively as he speaks, gold bracelet catching the neon light.

"Kenji." You cut him off mid-sentence. "Who exactly is this guy talking to?"

Kenji follows your gaze. "Nobody important. Some Yokohama kids trying to get noticed." He adjusts those stupid sunglasses. "Why?"

"He just mentioned Kalo."

Maya straightens beside you. "You sure?"

No mistaking it. Not when you've been hunting that name for two weeks.

"Excuse me," you say, already moving.

Maya sighs behind you. "Here she goes again."

You don't look back. Your boots click purposefully across the pavement, moving slowly. Not rushing—you never rush. But determined.

Three guys surrounding Jaque glance up as you approach, their expressions shifting from interest to wariness. They know who you are.

He doesn't turn immediately. Keeps talking, voice carrying a rhythm unlike anything you've heard in Tokyo. An accent that doesn't belong here.

Only when you're close enough to count the stitches on his leather jacket does he acknowledge your presence.

And even then, it's just a partial turn. Forty-five degrees. Neck cradling slightly to look at you sideways.

Performative, if anything. Like he knew you were coming before you did.

You cross your arms, weight shifting to one hip. His mouth twitches upward at the corner, eyes traveling from your face down to your boots and back up again.

Not subtle about it at all.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this sight?" Velvet slides from his lips.

One eyebrow quirks upward, the slightest movement. His Japanese is fluent but different—consonants softened, vowels stretched in places they shouldn't be.

You narrow your eyes. "You mentioned Kalo. What do you know about him? What's your relationship?"

He studies you for two full seconds. Not answering. Just looking. Like he's trying to read something written in small print.

Then he chuckles, using two fingers to move a thin strand of dark hair that's fallen across his view. The movement is unnecessary. Theatrical. Done for effect.

"Why so serious, princesa?"

It’s Spanish, the last word. You know that much, know from the way the word rolls off his tongue, deliberate, inserted where it doesn't belong. Like he’s testing boundaries, hoping for a reaction.

"I asked you a question." You keep your voice unimpressed.

"And I asked you one too."

He turns to face you fully now, leaning back against his car with the casualness of someone who's never been afraid of anything.

"But since you came all this way... Kalo. The Supra guy, right? The one who races like he learned driving from a video game?"

The description is so accurate you almost smile.

Almost.

"I hear he owes someone money," he continues, watching your reaction carefully. "Someone who smoked him on the mountain course two weeks back. Embarrassed him so badly he's been hiding like a scared rabbit."

His three companions take subtle steps backward, no longer interested in being part of this conversation.

Smart.

Maya appears beside you, silent backup. Though her presence changes nothing in his demeanor.

"And how would you know about that?" you ask.

He shrugs one shoulder.

"People talk. I listen." His accent thickens when he adds, "Es lo que hago." (It’s what I do)

"Is that right?" You don't react to the Spanish. "Interesting that someone who just showed up knows so much about other people's business."

"I'm observant."

His eyes lock with yours.

"For example, I observe that you're not here to race tonight. That outfit? Those heels?" He clicks his tongue. "You're here to collect. To make a point."

Something cold slides down your spine. Not fear—you don't do fear. Something else.

Being read so easily isn't a sensation you're familiar with.

"What's your name again?" You ask it like you've already forgotten, though you haven't.

"Jaque." He says it with a slight emphasis on the second syllable. "And you're Y/N. The 86 driver who hasn't lost a mountain race in what, two years?"

"Nineteen months," Maya corrects automatically.

You shoot her a look.

Jaque's smile widens. "Nineteen months. Impressive."

"If you're done wasting my time," you say, turning slightly, "I have a debt to collect."

"From a guy who isn't here."

He pushes off his car, closing the distance between you by half a step. Not enough to be threatening. Just enough to make his presence unavoidable.

"And won't be. Not tonight," he adds.

"And you know that how?"

"Because I passed him on the expressway heading in the opposite direction. About twenty minutes ago." He taps his wrist where a watch would be. "Running scared, looked like."

You clench your jaw. If he's telling the truth, you've wasted your night. Another dead end in your hunt for the coward who owes you.

"So you just happened to recognize a stranger's car?" Maya asks, skepticism heavy in her voice.

"A white Supra with that terrible aftermarket body kit and the Rising Sun decal on the hood?" He makes a dismissive gesture. "Hard to miss. Hard to forget, unfortunately."

That description matches Kalo's car exactly; and the sick feeling in your stomach tells you he's not lying, as much as you'd like him to be.

"Well," you say, voice cooling by several degrees, "thanks for the information."

You turn to leave, disgusted at having your time wasted. First by Kalo's absence, now by this newcomer who clearly just wanted to get your attention. Another night, another waste.

"I'll pay you double what he owes you."

The words stop you mid-step.

You turn back slowly, measuring every movement.

"Excuse me?"

Jaque's expression hasn't changed, but something in his eyes has.

They’re gleaning.

"Fifty thousand yen, right? I'll make it a hundred." He says casually, like offering to buy a coffee. "If you beat me."

Maya makes a small sound beside you, something between a scoff and a laugh.

"And why would I race someone I don't know for money I don't need?"

You almost laugh. As if this is about the money. You were born into more yen than he’s ever seen—this is about respect. About principle. About owning your loss when someone beats you clean. No excuses. No saving face. Just bow your head and pay what you owe.

But he’s not done.

"Because you're curious." He says it like it's obvious. "Because you've been the best for nineteen months and you're bored. Because you want to know if I'm as good as they say."

"As good as who says?" You roll your eyes. "I've never heard of you before tonight."

"Then I must be doing something right." His smile shifts, becomes syrupy. "But if money doesn't motivate you, how about this—I win, I get to run with your crew. Race in your territory."

You can't help it—you laugh. Short and dismissive.

"That's not how this works. You don't just buy your way in." Your eyes flick to his car. "No matter how pretty your GT-R is."

"I'm not buying," he corrects, that accent slipping into his Japanese again. "I'm earning. Difference."

You narrow your eyes.

Maya leans close to your ear. "You're not seriously considering this?"

You should walk away. This guy is nobody. A newcomer with a nice car and too much confidence. The racing scene sees them every month. They come, they crash, they disappear.

But.

Something about the way he stands there, utterly certain of himself, gets under your skin.

Like he already knows your answer before you do.

And maybe it's the wasted night. Maybe it's two weeks of hunting Kalo with nothing to show for it. Maybe it's just the need to put someone in their place.

"One race," you hear yourself say.

Maya's head whips toward you in surprise.

"One race," you continue, "and when I win, you pay double what Kalo owes me, and you don't bother me again."

"And when I win," he counters, not missing a beat, "I race with your crew. Simple."

"If," you correct.

"When." He doesn't back down.

One calculated step closer brings his scent into focus. Leather, naturally, but beneath it something that doesn't compute. A scent that belongs to ryokan inns and meditation halls, not this arrogant foreigner.

Hinoki.

"You're awfully confident for someone who knows nothing about me or how I drive."

"And you're awfully defensive for someone who's supposedly unbeatable." His voice drops lower, meant for your ears only. "What are you afraid of, princesa?"

The Spanish word again. A barb. Challenging.

"Afraid?" You match his tone. "I'm trying to save you the embarrassment. And the money."

He laughs, so genuine that it catches you off guard. "So it's settled then. You and me. Tonight."

From the corner of your eye, you see Kenji approaching, drawn by the developing scene. Others are watching too.

Word travels fast in this world.

"Fine." You extend your hand, a formality in this world of verbal contracts. "My terms. My course."

He takes your hand. His grip is firm but not aggressive. Just right. His palm warm against yours.

"Your course," he agrees. "But I pick when."

You raise an eyebrow. "When, then?"

His smile widens, showing teeth. "Now."

Death has a rhythm.

Tonight, it sounds like Daddy Yankee.

The mountain is yours—every curve, every shadow, every inch of guardrail. You've memorized each crack in the asphalt like the lines on your palm.

Yet as you sit at the starting line, engine purring, the midnight purple Skyline beside you blasts "Gasolina" loud enough to vibrate your windows.

He's not even looking at the road.

Jaque's got hand on the wheel, the other tapping the window frame in rhythm.

Kenji stands between the cars, arms raised.

You grip your steering wheel tighter.

Focus. Calculate. This is your mountain. Your rules.

"Ready!" Kenji shouts.

You check your gauges, settle into position, drop your breath rate. Your 86 is an extension of your body.

"Set!"

Jaque turns to you—actually turns his head away from the road—and winks.

Winks.

What the fuck is his problem?

Your jaw clenches so hard you hear teeth grinding.

"GO!"

You snap into the first gear immediately, launching forward as your tires bite into asphalt. Perfect traction. Perfect release. Your 86 shoots ahead exactly as calculated, exactly as it always does.

The Skyline stays even.

First corner approaches—tight right-hander with a nasty camber that catches amateurs by surprise. You brake at the perfect moment, downshift, feel the weight transfer as you clip the apex.

Textbook. Flawless. The corner you've taken hundreds of times.

The Skyline mirrors you exactly, staying in your blind spot. The bass from his music is still thumping through the night air.

Second corner. Third. Fourth. Each attack perfect, each line immaculate. And still, he's there. Not gaining, not falling behind. Just... present. Like a shadow you can't shake.

"What the hell is this guy playing at?" You mutter, taking the next hairpin with a controlled aggression that should give you an advantage.

Should.

Doesn't.

The Skyline follows, its midnight paint swallowing the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Through the next three corners, it continues—you lead, he follows, neither gaining ground.

Until the straightaway.

The road opens up, and you floor it. The 86 responds instantly, pushing you back into your seat. This is where your lighter weight should shine.

But the Skyline surges forward, twin-turbo engine unleashing a growl that slices the night.

He passes you.

Not aggressively. Not dangerously.

Just... efficiently.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

For the first time in nineteen months, you're staring at someone else's taillights.

"No fucking way."

You push harder, finding speed you rarely tap into. The gap closes slightly on the approach to the next corner—a sharp left with a cliff drop on the outside.

No guardrail. No room for error.

Normal people brake early here.

Jaque, as it turns out, is not normal people.

You don't brake until the last possible microsecond, throwing the 86 into the corner. The tires scream, traction at its absolute limit. You can feel them searching for grip, dancing on the edge of adhesion.

You exit the corner a car length behind him.

"Come on!" You slam the gearshift, pushing for more.

The next section is technical—five corners in quick succession. Your territory.

It's where precision matters more than power.

You close the gap. Corner by corner, inch by inch. Three more and you're on his bumper. Close enough to see his fingers still tapping against the frame slightly to the rhythm.

The next hairpin is your chance. The inside line is risky—there's barely enough room—but it's your mountain.

You know exactly how much space you need.

You dive for the gap.

For one beautiful moment, you're alongside him. Equal. Your front bumper inches past his door.

Then he does something impossible.

Instead of defending the line—instead of doing what any rational driver would do—Jaque throws his car into a drift so aggressive it sends the back end swinging wide, nearly touching the guardrail.

The move creates an arc that cuts you off, forces you to brake or crash.

You brake.

The maneuver costs him speed, should give you another chance to pass on exit.

But before you can capitalize, he's already accelerating out of the drift, the Skyline's all-wheel drive finding traction where none should exist.

"What the actual—"

The move was insane. Suicidal. The kind of thing that ends with twisted metal and sirens.

And he pulled it off like he was parallel parking.

For the final stretch—three corners and the last straightaway—you throw caution aside. Push beyond limits you usually respect. The 86 responds, giving everything it has.

It's not enough.

The Skyline crosses the finish line two car lengths ahead. You slam your palm against the steering wheel.

The taste of defeat is metallic in your mouth, foreign and despised.

You bring the 86 to a hard stop, tires protesting at the sudden deceleration.

The music still pounds from his car. That same goddamn song.

You throw open your door, adrenaline and anger propelling you forward. The cool mountain air hits your flushed face as you storm toward his car.

Because that last move? It wasn't just reckless—it was deadly. The kind of stunt that gets people killed on these mountains.

Words build in your throat. Sharp words. Words about respect for the mountain and death wishes and arrogance.

His door swings open as you approach. The music blasts louder without the barrier of glass and metal. He slides out with that same casual grace you saw when he called you princesa, when he winked before accelerating.

And something stops the words in your throat.

He shakes his head slightly, dark hair falling across his eyes before he pushes it back with one smooth motion. His other hand remains on the Skyline's roof, some golden ring catching the moonlight.

When he turns to face you, there's no triumph in his expression. No arrogance.

Just... satisfaction.

Like he's found something he's been looking for.

His eyes meet yours across the short distance. That smile appears again—not the cocky smirk from earlier, but something more genuine. Lips curved just slightly at the corners.

"Thanks for the adrenaline rush, mami," he says, voice carrying over the pounding beat of Daddy Yankee.

You've never hated Spanish music more in your life.

goal: 500 notes

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw @jkrailme @graydolan12

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© jungkoode 2025 | banner/div credit: @dailynnt no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[iqxatlantic]

" so do i look . . . like him ? "

ft. itoshi rin . itoshi sae . gn! reader . implied afab! reader . ooc! rin (?) . ooc! sae (?) . idk what tgis is . AGED UP! characters . established relationships . ex! sae . sibling rivalry . ur hot ong . ass plot . i cant do ts . smut ig . drabble . idk this is messy . unreliable narrator .

cw: somewhat dub/non-con

wc: 0.3k

synopsis : after breaking up with the prodigy, sae itoshi you realized that you've longed his brother a little bit more... problem was rin itoshi resembled his older brother waaay too much. the way the night went confirmed that, yeah. despite their rivalry they're quite similar.

one thing you've noticed after you broke up with sae was that... you liked his younger brother a lot more... the both of you were the same age, etc. etc.

your biggest problem was that, rin resembled so much of sae you began questioning if you were dating rin because he was rin or if he resembled sae :c

the gaze, actions, the way they talked. you went crazy. shit wasn't adding up anymore. you felt almost a sense of guilt. you genuinely prayed at night that you loved rin because he was rin. it felt wrong.

was it all false? was it just you trying to cover up what you've lost from sae? you were baffled, showered in thoughts that would constantly feel disgraceful and disloyal. you felt depicted as an unfaithful person.

dating their brother to get over them? or to receive some attention or love your former partner never gave you? lowkey, can't blame you.

so, that night when rin invited you over — you were a little (ahem, quite) confused when he tied a blindfold, covering your eyes (idk how it works t-t)

a calloused, big n warm hand led you to the bedroom, those same hands pushing you onto the soft cushion. hey, those hands feel familiar..

and then, you felt someone tugging at your pants. the moment you opened your mouth to let out a cry, it was quickly switched to a moan as you felt a tongue prodding at your entrance.

"sa- no.. rin.?" you'd mutter out. rin wasn't stupid, he knew you were tryna moan out sae's name instead LMFAO. and you weren't wrong — it was in fact sae lapping away at your hole :3

that night, the two brothers made sure you'd never get over them. their teamwork is crazy when they try.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

a/n: hi.. i fear this was a really half-assed drabble but stay with me.. lowkeyu this wouldve been better as angst but i genuinely couldn't produce enough ideas so i just BAYUM did this yay i sometimes forget i genuinely have responsibilities and i'm no longer allowed to dilly dally all over the place... i swaer ill redeem myself soon let me slide pretties.. </3 oh ya, why am i always so overstimmed.. ;-; also why is it always the eng teachers who r so so fine...

[cyberrmusee]

the biggest and BEST munch! | jjk. Ver PART TWO |

second and final part of my head canons on who eats coochie and who does it BEST. as always if you like it, yay! if not.. erm? okay 😭 anyways enjoyyyy!

PART ONE

Toji Fushiguro- 9/10 THE SLOPPY EATER

One thing about Toji, was he LOVEDDDDD to make fuckin mess. He loved when a mess was made in general. He loved the way your pretty little pussy slobbered on his wide dick as he put you through the mattress. the way you gagged and spat on it when you nearly sucked his skin off giving him head, but GOD, nothing compared to the most beautiful mess of all when he was eating you out to his hearts content.

drabbles of spit flowing over your flowered lips, sticky sticky sticky arousal of your pretty cunt oozing out of you as he sucked your clit like his favorite lollipop. he loved the way it got so filthy, he loved the mess, the way your pretty juices clung to his lips and chin, drip drip dripping! down to splat! on the sheets in a lil puddle beneath him.

it was favorite sight, oh especially after he’d filled you to the brim with his thick, hot seed. he’d suck in every drop of his and your combined fluids he could get in his greedy maw and-

TUAH!

right back on your pretty pussy. he was filthy, disgusting even, but you were worse, moaning at the way he spat on your cunt before he licked and swallowed it all, dipping his tongue in your hole, curling it to pull out more of you and his essence and spitting it on you clit before suckling it right off again until you came for him for the nth time. “fuckin slutty pussy ma, lettin’ me make a mess outta it” he murmured as he dived in your aching core on repeat until spots of white clouded your vision.

Ryomen Sukuna- 8/10 THE ROUGH RIDERRRR

The king of curses wasn’t big on eating you out, not that he didn’t mind it no, he just preferred that look on your face when he was feeding your cunt both his massive vein ridden shafts. that was his favorite thing ever.

but when he DID decide to satiate your filthy carnal desires, he did it his way. he wanted to see you squirm, gasp, writhe in pain and pleasure. it was the only way it would be to his satisfaction.

he’d have you hovering over his lower torso, two of his four massive arms holding your hips with ease, the remaining two, rested behind his head, his stomach mouth gaping and that fat fucking tongue would plap! out, so large and dripping with saliva, running down his torso to his v-line and that pale pink happy trail.

pushing your hips down so your bare pussy meets the flat surface of his tongue protruding from the mouth in his torso “work for it, brat. move those fuckin hips” he’d growl out as he’d forcefully rut you back and forth along his tongue. he could taste you in his main mouth, how sweet you were and— maybe he liked this more than he’d led on.

the way you rutted your hips on instinct, chasing your high like a bitch in heat— your throbbing bundle of nerves brushing back and forth and back and forth against his taste buds. you thought you were seeing stars.

but oh. oh. the way your pretty lil cunt wept into his mouth, slobbering, trying to drown the king, in his own words “damn brat, trying tuh drown me with y’er cunt huh? s’called mutiny slut, disrespectin me this way .” and he’d yank you off only to shove every deliciously painful inch of the wet muscle right into your little hole, stretching you so wide on it, that you were sure your vision had blotches of black dots in it.

“fuckin ride it, pathetic woman. til i say stop.” it was a rough command as he pushed your hips down til his tongue touched your cervix and flicked right there, the nastiest smirk creeping onto his face as he watched you writhe snd whimper, god, he was so mean, but you loved it. it was punishment and reward all at the same time, no wonder he didn’t do this too often.

Hiromi Higurama- 10/10 THE NOSE KNOWSSS

Hiromi was a simple man, but he loved the complexities of his lady, especially when it came to sex, mainly oral. He loved the way you’d buck your hips up while his tongue ran along the inner workings of your velvet walls. Trying to get his nose the rub more firmly at your clit, though you’d never out right tell him that’s what you liked.

He loved to use his nose on you thiugh, he’d read you like a book in no time and figured out that’s what made you cum the hardest, and the quickest. he found it a little amusing, but then again you always did have a thing for his nose. it was the first compliment you ever gave him. telling him how pretty you thought his nose was. how well it fit his face.

but never did you imagine your sweet sweet husband to say “ride my nose” huh? you looked at him like he was nuts as you sat naked on his lap “romi i don’t think-” he smiled cheekily “c’mon sweet girl, let me show you what i mean.” grabbing you as he laid back, and crushing your full weight down on to his face as he tongue teased your entrance with the pink muscle, his hands pushing your hips forward to— oh.. that’s what he meant.

the way his nose rubbed at your clit while he fucked his tongue in and out in and out in and out—, sent a shiver up your spine, you followed his movements and rocked your hips, desperate to feel his nose stimulating your aching bud, while your sweet sap coated his tongue.

this.. this is what he wanted, what he loved, the complexities of his woman, riding his nose, and getting off on it, sounding so pretty for him as your eyes rolled back, rutting your hips faster as he muffled from your cunt “you wanted this mmf— for a while hm sweet girl?”.

Shiu Kong- 8/10 THE GENTLEMAN

Shiu has always been into some shady shit, things he’d never tell you about, he led a rather.. unsafe life. but when he was around his lady? oh you can bet your ass that shit went right out the window.

no way in hell was he acting anything LESS than the best gentleman the worlds ever seen in front of you. only the best for the only woman that loved him and fucked him, harder than anyone else ever could.

he couldn’t help but be soft and gentlemanly around you, opening doors for you, pushing and pulling your seats out at restaurants, making sure you had the proper orgasms to put you to a deep sleep, so he could go out and handle business.

whattt? he was a gentleman, but he was still into some shady shit, so yeah he’d give you orgasms like fucking nyquil to put you out for the night.

he always gave you the type of orgasms that washed over you like a warm blanket or a nice warm towel. something that made you want to curl up like a baby bear and drift off into a deep peaceful sleep.

your legs would be locked around his head, while his arms held your lower half up closer to his face and he languidly licked at your sensitive nub, tongue swirling and flicking so so slow, drawing out your pleasure. talking you through each slurp and lick and kiss he gave your pretty little flower. “like that baby girl?” SLUUURRRP “s’it feeling good hm?” FLICK! “c’mon beautiful, let me hear those pretty noises” MWAH

letting it build and build. upppp and up up up, til you were sighing out the most pretty sounds for him while your body tensed, and his tongue got that pristine coating of you that he just loved and not even five minutes later were you out like a light, softy breaths heard from the pillow while he cleaned you up, kissed you goodnight and slipped out of the house. after all he was a very busy man.

a/n: i see my future ( w/ higurama) AND IT IS BRIGHTTTTT.

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Christmas memories ~ Tom Riddle x wife!reader (Drabble)

Requested: No

Pairing: Tom Riddle x wife!reader

Summary: As you watch your child open her Christmas gifts, Tom reveals a memory from years ago.

Word count: 652

Warnings: mentions of a lonely childhood; English is not my first language

A/N: Haven't posted in a while, hope those who celebrate it had/are having a wonderful Christmas full of love and warmth! Sending lot of love and a big hug to those who are alone, or feel lonely despite being being wiith other people. I love you guys <3 To those who don't celebrate, hope y'all are doing well too! Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: : @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan @blocked-zombieartist

“Mummy, this is the biggest one!”

“It is, darling. Go ahead.”

You took a sip of your hot chocolate as you watched your five years-old daughter excitedly open her last gift - which was the biggest one under the Christmas tree - in your living room, which soon revealed to be an enchanted doll’s house. Your daughter let out a loud gasp, which made you smile, and as you turned to look at your husband, who was standing against a wall, you could see that, despite trying to hide it, he was smiling too. 

“This is the one I wanted!” your daughter exclaimed happily, looking at you both with a great, adorable smile.

“Santa just knows everything, doesn’t he!” 

You heard your husband chuckle. You put your cup on the table and got up from the couch. 

“Alright, sweetheart, let’s put all your new toys in your room, shall we?”

You grabbed your wand, agitated it, and a second later, all the toys your daughter unwrapped minutes ago started levitating in the air before going upstairs in her room.

“Can I go play with them, please?” your daughter asks.

“Sure thing, darling.”

“Yay!”

Your daughter ran upstairs, and you shook your head with fondness. 

“I’m glad she liked everything,” you turned to your husband.

“Well, ‘Santa’ just happened to always be on point when it comes to gifts.”

You smiled, but suddenly anxiety came into your body.

“But did you like yours?” you asked.

It was always tricky to get gifts for Tom, because he would say he didn’t “need” anything, and the only thing he liked was books - which he bought himself all year. But this year, you decided to take risks and offer him not only books, but also clothes - black or grey, obviously -, some material to take care of his wand, some expensive quills, and a black ring. As he opened every one of them, he commented on the quality of the gift or its appearance, and made sure to kiss you as he said “Thank you, darling.”. But despite being with Tom for several years and knowing him for even more, his feelings were sometimes still  a mystery to you. 

His gaze softened, and he approached you, taking your hand in his. 

“Of course, love. I know I’m not easy to give gifts to, but trust that I appreciate the thought, and I know and appreciate the effort you made to make sure I liked them.” He hesitated before continuing, “Actually, as our child opened her gifts, it made me remember the gift you gave me on Christmas during our first year.” 

 You raised your eyebrow in disbelief, and suddenly the image of a much smaller and younger version of Tom and you during your first year at Hogwarts came to you. You remembered the nervousness you had felt while giving him your gift, his confusion as he took it and opened it, and his unsure, quiet, yet somehow sincere “Thank you.”. You two didn’t know it back then, but it was the beginning of something that would only grow. 

“You remember it?” you asked. 

“Of course.” His dark eyes changed, revealing a deeper feeling, and he looked at the ground for a second. “I still have it, and still cherish it.” 

You smiled, “It wasn’t much, just something made by an eleven year old to a friend she cared about.”

“It was the first gift someone ever got me.”

You felt your heart break, just like every time you were reminded of Tom’s lonely, loveless childhood - and all the Christmas he had spent in that orphanage without warmth, love, and people who cared about him. 

“And it won’t be the last,” you smiled teasingly.

“I sure hope so.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, putting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his own arms around your shoulders.

“You’ll never be alone, you know that?”

“I know.”

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[sickwhispers]

eeeee!! yay!! ^♡^ can I ask for finn x reader and/or sprout x reader hcs?? I don't wanna overload u so I'll keep it at those!!! tysm ^_^ -incredibly desperate annon from earlier

Oh my gosh you are such a cutie (/p) don't worry about overloading me, I'm at your service!

WRITE ME LETTERS (hot freaks)

Credits to xx675ehf on tumblr for the finn picture

Pairing: Finn x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: he doesn't understand personal space all that much, but he means well

Type: headcanons + drabble

"Whale, whale, whale... look what we have here!" Would be the first thing you hear before he comes barreling towards you at a hundred miles per hour. His body colliding with yours from behind as he brings you in for a tight squeeze

He was never one to really announce his presence, preffering to instead tackle you with affection after a quick fish pun

They never seemed to end when it comes to you

Or, really, they never seemed to end in general

But, if you indulge him just the slightest, it's easy for him to get carried away

He's almost like a dog, in a way

He'd follow you everywhere

To each machine, to each hiding spot, right by your side the second you make your way into the elevator

Every break is spent with him practically glued to your hip, his hands holding onto you in anyway they can

Whether it be by holding your hands, clinging onto your arm, tugging at any article of clothing he could reach rapidly to bring your attention back onto him

He's a Hyper one, and he isn't scared to prove it

He's even been trying to come up with new and improved fish puns

Something that'll impress you

He's self aware, he knows not everyone's a fan of his fish puns

But, even if he was able to score just a tiny giggle from you, he'd be over the moon

"Oh, c'mon! Don't act so koi with me, i dont bite!" His arms wrap around you just a bit tighter, head pressed up right against your side as an proud grin spread across his face.

You had sat on the floor of the elevator, giving yourself a few seconds of peace before having to go back to being tormented once more by the threats lurking around practically every corner. But, of course, there was rarely any moment of peace with finn on your team. He meant well, you knew he did, and he definitely wasn't the malicious type. He just... never seemed to realize when the right time for affection was. And right now, with your chest heaving up and down from a chase you had just endured, you weren't exactly begging for psychical touch.

But at the same time, you couldn't help but find it endearing. Your arm slowly lifted up, shaky from the adrenaline you had just experienced only a few moments ago, before wrapping around him, bringing him just a bit closer. This had caused him to let out an ecstatic gasp in return.

"Yknow, Finn... you're really-" you take a pause, avoiding eye contact with him. Although, despite you doing everything you can not to let your gaze fall right back onto him, you could still feel the way his eyes bored into you. You almost didn't want to say it. Your mouth opening and closing a few times as you tried to muster up the courage. "krilling me with the puns..."

There was a pause. Not one long enough to be considered worrisome, but it had definitely been a decent amount of time before you finally craned your head in his direction. And, once your gaze finally landed on him, the first thing that greeted you were his eyes staring right back into yours. They had widened significantly, and along with that his lips parted slightly. For a second you wondered if it was his body that was shaking or the movement the elevator made as it climbed up to the next floor.

"That..." He began to speak, taking another pause. You soon realized it was his body that was shaking, not the elevator. And, as he took a deep breath, signifying that he was ready to finish his sentence, his smile seemed to stretch farther then you've ever seen. "Was fin-tastic!"

It's safe to say that he'd enjoy it if you ever decided to reply to his puns with some of your own

Nothing would make him happier then hearing a fish pun slip from your mouth, whether it be intentional or a complete accident from all the times you've heard him say them

PERSONAL BODY GUARD

Pairing: Sprout x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warning: none!

Type: headcanons + drabble

Overprotective

That single definition was a word you heard thrown every round every now and then when it came to sprout

And, not once was it ever used as a lie

Because he was, in fact, overprotective

A gentle tug of the wrist in an attempt to drag you away from running head on into a twisted, a two hour lecture afterwards about how much danger you could've been in had he not saved you in time

His presence constantly looming over you each floor, never too far away.

It was a natural instict at this point

No matter how far away you were on a floor, the second one thing goes wrong, he's right by your side

Sometimes he could be a little too much

Not that he cares about your complaints when he's grabbing you by the cheeks, twisting your head in every single direction as he inspects you for any sort of wound

"Do you know how risky that was!? You could've lost a heart!" Despite the almost desperate tone behind his movements, turning your head from side to side, his touch was always gentle. He had taken a good blow to the back, his scarf barely holding onto his form as it threatened to slip at any second. You hadn't lost a heart, thankfully, but he sure did.

He kept you huddled behind a few boxes, legs trembling beneath the both of you as you tried to regain your stamina from the chase you had only managed to survive from. His grip was tight, and once he had made sure you hadn't gotten hurt during your little stunt, he slowly let his hands slip from your face.

"Are... you okay?" You tried to reach out, your arms stretching out to check him for any injuries just like he had done for you. And yet, they didn't have to move an inch before sprout's body seemed to slump against you. His head resting against your shoulder as his arms stayed hanging lazily by his sides. He almost didn't want to move, finding too much pleasure in having you pressed up against him.

A sigh slipped past his mouth, the sound drawn out as he hesitated for a second before speaking. "Me? Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. Well- I'll be fine. But, let's just stay here for a second, okay..?"

You couldn't remember the last time he had ever admitted to not being okay during a run

Typically, he'd brush off your concern with a dismissive wave of his hand

As long as you were fine, he was fine

It didn't take too long before he was reassuring you, smiling as he always did while he stuck a bandaid over a wound too serious for just a simple bandaid.

He always kept the better stuff for you

Did he ever want to admit he put you before himself almost all of the time?

No.

He didn't want you to worry

He's the one who should be worrying about you, not the other way around

He's a bit of a hopeless romantic, it doesn't take much before he's head over heels in love after a simple smile you threw his way

It's always better to be focused and prepared, especially when the people he loves are constantly being hunted down by corrupted versions of his friends

He doesn't like it when the others point out how distracted he gets everytime he spots you from far away, his body freezing up on the spot as his eyes lock onto the way you pick up protein bar off the floor

For a second he wonders if your admiring his picture on the wrapper

But surely that's wishful thinking...

[linoxpudding]

Midnight Wish- Hwang Hyunjin

summary: you surprise your best friend at midnight for his birthday

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, friendship dynamic

word count: 631 words

a/n: a little drabble for our prince, happy birthday to my precious jinnie baby 💜

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*images collected from pinterest*

~°~

Hyunjin sighed, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His apartment felt too quiet tonight. His birthday should have felt special, but his members were scattered across different countries for promotions, and while they had sent messages and promised to call, it wasn’t the same as having them here. He knew they had no choice, but that didn’t stop the empty ache in his chest.

Just as he was about to roll over and bury himself under his blankets, his door swung open.

Changbin strolled in first, holding up his phone, his face illuminated by the screen. “Alright, he’s here!” he announced.

Hyunjin furrowed his brows. “What—”

Before he could finish, you suddenly burst in behind Changbin, nearly tripping over yourself, holding a small cake in one hand and a party whistle in the other.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JINNIE!” you yelled, blowing the whistle right in his face.

Hyunjin recoiled, blinking rapidly. “What the—?!”

“Shhh, just go with it,” Changbin smirked, flipping his phone screen to reveal a video call. On it, the rest of the members were grinning from their respective hotel rooms.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HYUNE!” they all shouted in unison.

Hyunjin blinked, staring at the screen, then at you, then back at the screen. “Wait, what’s happening?”

Felix laughed. “Surprise! We know you were bummed we couldn’t be there, so we made a plan.”

“Y/N’s plan, to be exact,” Seungmin added with a smirk.

Hyunjin turned to you, you were very focused on adjusting the candle on the cake. His heart started beating faster. “You did all this?”

You shrugged, nudging his knee with your own as you sat beside him. “Well, yeah. You looked all sad earlier, and I hate that. So, midnight celebration it is!”

Hyunjin exhaled, shaking his head with a soft chuckle. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re officially one year older! Now hurry up, make a wish before the candle melts into my masterpiece,” you urged, wiggling in excitement.

Rolling his eyes but smiling, he clasped his hands together, closed his eyes, and took a moment before blowing out the candle.

You clapped. “Yay! Happy birthday, bestie!”

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re more excited than I am.”

“Of course! It’s your special day,” you said, handing him a fork. “So… what did you wish for?”

Hyunjin smirked, picking up a bite of cake. “I can’t tell you. If I do, it won’t come true.”

“Oh, come on,” you pouted, nudging him. “I'm your best friend– your bestest friend, you can whisper it in my ear.”

He chuckled, nudging you back. “Tempting, but no.”

You playfully squinted at him, then shrugged. “Fine, fine, keep your secrets.”

Hyunjin just smiled, looking at you fondly. 

“I bet it’s something dumb like ‘I wish I had more sleep’ or ‘I wish I was even more handsome,’” Minho teased.

Jisung snorted. “That second one sounds right.”

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. But when his gaze fell back on you—still holding his cake, still looking at him like he was the most important person in the world—he felt something shift in his chest.

It wasn’t just the surprise or the cake—it was the way you cared for him, the way you sneaked into his apartment at midnight just to make him smile, the effortless way you lit up his worst days, and the way you sat beside him now, completely unaware that you were his whole world.

His fingers brushed against yours, and for a second, he thought about saying it out loud—about finally telling you what he had been holding onto for so long, what he had wished for as he blew out the candles.

But instead, he just smiled to himself, his heart full, as the wish echoed in his mind:

You in my life, forever, is my wish.

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

Taglist:

@kaiyaba @lov3rachan @pixie-felix @ellemir2404 @willowhanji @skzimagines @wavetohannie @jamroses @vietjeb @kayleefriedchicken @kokinu09 @nightmarenyxx @my-neurodivergent-world