#( wc: 346. )

[haeminlgc]

RANKING KING EP. 003: COFFEE ORDERS

"From last place to first, I'm Yoo Haemin and you're watching... Ranking King!" He clapped enthusiastically before waving to the camera with a smile on his face. "I can't believe this channel is still going and it's all thanks to you, my amazing and wonderful viewers. Every comment is much appreciated and welcomed and I hope to meeting you all through this channel for a long time." Haemin sent a couple of different heart signs to the invisible audience behind the screen confident that the post editing team would make something super cute out of it.

"As you can see before me I have several different coffee drink orders--all are actual orders that different staff members like drinking--that I will be ranking today. I'm a very simple coffee order guy, a latte or an iced americano are the norm for me. Some of these orders are quite, how shall we say, elaborate?" Haemin waved his hand at the various cups of coffee in front of him and raised an elegant eyebrow. "As usual, this is all according to my taste so please don't feel attacked if I rate one that you like poorly~!"

Carefully and methodically Haemin began to taste the different contents, taking a sip from the cup before commenting on the taste and shuffling the order around. Most of the time the review was positive and a second (and sometimes even third) sip was had but there were one or two that made him wrinkle his face in distaste, though he did his best to be diplomatic about the flavour in his description. Depending on how long he had taken in his taste testing he wondered if this would be a time lapse montage with a squeaky sped up chipmunk voice on top.

"And there you have it, folks! The final ranking is as shown. There were a few drinks that honestly surprised me with how delicious they were and may have to be added to my rotation. As always, I'll see you all next week. Bye bye, ta-ta, always yours, minmin~!"

[jueunbe]

✦ . ˚ — CHRISTMAS MARKET. aka, jueun musters up the courage to participate in the busking and sings a part of be my baby by darl!ng / mentions of hyunki!

when jueun first steps into the christmas market, she has absolutely no thought of participating in the busking. that activity just didn't seem like one for herself. did she enjoy watching others? sure. she thought they were talented, and she was more than willing to support her friends who wanted to participate, but it didn't sound like something for her.

however, hyunki's words echo in her head, and she wonders if she's missing out on trying out something new. standing in front of a crowd was never the problem. she was a pageant kid, after all. her whole childhood was being pretty in front of others and getting judged for that. but the only time she's ever sung was in the coin noraebang with friends or in her bedroom. it felt weird doing so, especially in a busking environment.

that's why she musters up the courage to step out and sing a song herself. truthfully, jueun's never actually sung in front of other people. she's done routines and spun batons, but singing was new to her. but it felt nice being in the center of a crowd, no matter how small it was at the moment.

she chooses the first song that comes to her mind in this festive spirit and decides to just go for it. she doesn't care about how well she does or about any of the notes, really. jueun's more interested in the fact that she decided to participate in the first place.

before she knows it, the first chorus is over, and she's about to start the second when she realizes she doesn't even know this song until the end. thus, she gestures toward one of the hosts that this is the end of her stage and hides her face as she rushes back into the crowd, next to her spot beside hyunki.

jueun thinks she could have done better if she was better prepared, but the fun of this was the spontaneity anyway, so she's not even upset. as for her next busking performance? she doubts it'll come anytime soon.

[cameronsbabydoll]

for scc can u wrote rafe being jealous over his kids? pls pls PLSSSSS 💕

scc!rafe being jealous over his kids <3

wc: 346 — a/n: rafe is sorta pathetic in this 😭

it starts small. quiet. harmless, even.

your youngest is teething and won’t sleep unless you’re holding him, so you’ve been curled into the rocking chair all night, humming lullabies and rubbing slow circles into his back, whispering things like, "mama’s right here, baby. i’ve got you."

and rafe sees it from the doorway.

that softness he’s always craved. the gentleness he thinks only he should get. the way your voice drops into something syrupy when you're comforting. something that belongs to him.

you don’t notice the way his jaw ticks. the way his hand clenches around the doorframe.

later, it’s your daughter who’s tugging you into her room, draping her little thrifted sweater over your shoulders and asking if you wanna watch clueless again. you’re laughing, braided hair over your shoulder, a glass of wine balanced in your hand as she asks what you wore when you were her age.

rafe’s eyes narrow from down the hall.

she’s got your smile. and suddenly, your attention.

he walks into the kitchen after that, slamming a drawer a little too hard. loud enough for you to hear. loud enough that he doesn’t have to say, remember me? i’m still here.

but it gets worse when your eldest comes home for a weekend and hugs you like he missed you more than anything in the world. kisses your forehead. carries your bags up the stairs and asks if you’ve been taking care of yourself.

and rafe sees red.

“what, i don’t get a hug?” he grumbles, standing stiff by the door. arms crossed. voice flat.

you give him a look, soft and amused. “you were on the phone when he walked in.”

he shrugs, jaw tight. “didn’t stop you from droppin’ everything for them.”

you blink. “they’re our kids.”

“yeah,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “mine too. you didn’t used to forget that.”

and that’s when it hits you.

it’s not that he’s mad at them. it’s not even that he wants you to stop.

he just doesn’t know how to share you.

even with the kids he gave you.

[afyrian]

the in-law's quilt w/ osamu | wc: 346 m.list

    "your mom made this for us, right?" you stare at the quilt sitting in the back of your shared closet, the sweet green pattern resting comfortably on the eyes.

  it's not typically your style, let alone osamu's. but with his mother coming to town, you felt it was time to bring it out of hiding. she always brought a warmth to your home, including bringing gifts that don't necessarily fit within the atmosphere. "yeah, for our first anniversary i think," osamu sits down on your bed, thinking back to her present showing up on your doorstep.

  "so, i should probably put it on the guest bed," you stare at it, letting the soothing feeling of the dull colors wash over you, "i wish we were quilt people."

  osamu raises an eyebrow, hands resting in his lap. his lips fall from a smile into a frown. standing back up, he walks over to you by your closet, wrapping his arms around you. "quilt people? what does that mean?" his head leans around yours, meeting your gaze.

  smiling at him, you shrug into his touch, "i don't know, just like people who have it together. who make their bed in the mornings and make hearty breakfasts that could be kept as leftovers. your parents make it seem so easy, i just wish we had that."

  "we do," osamu chuckles, trying to make it come across that it's not at you, "it's just in our own way, you know. like we may not have leftovers, but we do have amazingly portioned meals made by a famous cook. plus our bed isn't made, but who likes a made bed anyway? it's too much work to pull up the quilts just to feel itchy."

  you laugh with him, nodding your head with every sentence. his gaze softens as his hands grab ahold of yours, "let's just be blanket people, we have our favorite green one. the one that definitely needs some one on one time with us."

  "you're ridiculous," you shake your head, gaze returning to the quilt.

  "only for you."

gen. taglist (open): @eggyrocks @causenessus @applepi25 @softpia

[imsogonesposts]

Cold Night In

|| ao3 || an: i wrote this because its really cold here and i feel like steve would just always be warm no matter what😭 || steve masterlist!! || requests are open ||

summary: Cuddling with Steve on a cold night (wc: 346)

warnings: reader is described to get cold easily

“I don’t understand how you can get so cold so easily,” Steve mutters, an arm bringing you closer to him as the two of you lie on the couch, you wrapped in his hoodie, sweatpants, and a blanket, the two of you watching a movie. It was a wonder Steve hadn’t kissed you senseless yet with you wrapped up in all his clothes. 

“Well, that’s why we work so well,” you reply with a smile, leaning in closer to him, using him as your own personal heat source. “You’re always warm, and I’m always cold. You warm me up, and I cool you down.” 

“Oh, that makes sense,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the back of your head. “And here I thought we worked well together cause we love each other, or we’re meant to be or that other romantic stuff. No, just cause you’re cold and I’m warm,” he says into your hair, smiling at your soft laughter. 

“Well that too. But the warm and cold thing is a big reason,” you say as he hugs you tighter, bringing you closer to him as if he was trying to erase any distance between the two of you. 

“Do you want me to make you some hot chocolate?” He suddenly asks as he raises his your blanket to cover you even more. 

“Maybe later, I’m comfy here,” you reply, moving closer to him and burrowing yourself more into the blanket as if to emphasize your point. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the gesture. As much as he hates seeing you cold, a small part of him can’t help but love when you snuggle up to him when you’re freezing. He just loves being able to hold you till you’re warm again.  

“Fine by me, baby,” he replies, pressing another kiss to the back of your head and rubbing his hand over your arm, before returning his gaze to the movie that he was barely paying attention to in the first place. Though, not without a few glances your way every few minutes, of course. 

[saturnville]

truth or temptation | kelvin harrison jr.

pairing: kelvin harrison jr x black fem oc summary: a game of truth or dare turns sensual. warnings: 18+ steam. suggestive content. wc: 346 an: hope you enjoy! remember: likes are nice, but reblogs and comments are encouraged!

tags: @kirayuki22 @greedyjudge2 @notapradagurl7 @irishmanwhore @honeytoffee @theogbadbitch @jazziejax @kumkaniudaku

“Dare.” 

How bold of her to subject herself to unknown scrutiny and torture at the hands of someone who, in a drunken daze, sought amusement they may not have been granted in the absence of alcohol. She chose to believe her self-control was unmatched, but the night had other plans.

Truth or Dare was a game she watered down to high school antics. She did it as a child to provoke a sense of danger and rebellion. After experiencing a taste of what life had to offer, of what it served her on a silver platter with platinum flatware and a fluke of wine, it would seem ridiculous to participate in. However, she knew the effects of alcohol on the brain, and her decisions were often skewed when cheap bottles of wine and shot glasses of tequila danced together. 

It was then that the inhibitions she often kept locked in a well-constricted box had been freed like the contents of Pandora’s box, wild, unruly, and unconstrained—prepared to wreak havoc on its victims. She would gladly let it consume her. 

Her lips were on his moments later. She’d have to apologize for how her lipstick would smear against his full lips and the soft skin of his neck. It had been long since she’d been touched with urgency and desire. His heavy hands caressed her like she was his most prized possession, but his touches became rough when her heated center brushed against the growing tent in his pants. 

“I want you,” she found the courage to whisper against the shell of his ear. 

His strong hand, gentle around her neck, pulled her away from his face. Low, dazed eyes bore into hers. His other hand dropped to the waistband of her little shorts, skilled fingers hooking through the belt loops to pull her as close as she could get, with their clothes acting as a boundary. His teeth caught his bottom lip as he looked at her in awe. With a nod and a low voice against her swollen lips, he urged, “So take me.”

[chososchalupa]

Hey how about Bsd men (such as Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Akutagawa, Atsushi and anyone of your choice) cooking for their s/o!reader? Love your writing btw!

thank you!! <3

cooking for you

includes - Dazai, Chuuya, Fyodor, Akutagawa, Atsushi

wc - 420, 239, 346, 339, 325

not proof read once again bc i am just too sleepy

Dazai -

You sniffled as you laid your head on Dazais lap, you had woken up with the worst cold and no matter how much medicine you took, it was not going away.

Dazai ran his fingers through your hair softly, “You feeling okay?”

You nodded, not wanting to speak due to your sore throat.

“You know, Mori used to make this special soup whenever he was ill. I could get the recipe from him and make it for you” Dazai smiled

You laughed softly, “I’m okay, ‘Samu. Thank you”

Dazai very rarely cooked and when he did, it didn’t come out the best and you did not want to upset your stomach even more.

You watched as Dazai pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Mori. “I have to go to the store to get the ingredients, will you be okay?”

You sighed, of course he would refuse to listen to your denial. “I’ll be okay. You can just get a can of soup. You don’t need to cook for me”

Dazai simply waved his hand, dismissing your words. “I’ll be right back!” he smiled, kissing your cheek.

You must have fallen asleep while Dazai was gone as you awoke to a blaring sound coming from the kitchen. The fire alarm. Of course.

You got up from the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket and walked towards the sound. You walked in to see a pot of soup on the stove, and your boyfriend fanning the smoke alarm.

“You’re awake! Perfect timing!” Dazai smiled, turning to face you once the alarm had subsided.

You nodded and sat at the table, watching as he poured you a bowl of the soup he had made.

“This will make you feel much better,” Dazai smiled, placing the bowl in front of you.

You thanked him as you looked into the bowl, it looked and smelled great but your expectations were still low.

Dazai sat next to you and watched as you moved your spoon of soup into your mouth, “What do you think?”

You swallowed and smiled up at him, “It’s really good. Thank you”

For once, you weren't lying about his cooking. It did taste good, way better than you were expecting. You finished the bowl and mumbled something about needing a nap causing Dazai to smile, lifting you up from your chair and carrying you to your shared bed.

You’re still not sure what Dazai put in his soup, but you woke up feeling much better thanks to him.

Chuuya -

You opened your eyes to the morning sun shining bright into your bedroom, you looked over and realized your boyfriend, Chuuya, wasn’t in bed with you as he normally is. 

‘Mori must have called’ you thought as you rolled out of bed. 

With Chuuya gone, you were in no rush to get ready. You picked out an outfit from your closet and went to the bathroom to finish your morning routine. 

As you exited the shower, you could smell pancakes in the air. Confused, you quickly got dressed and walked to the kitchen.

“About time you woke up!” Chuuya laughed as he turned away from the stove.

You glanced down at his body, he had on your apron and was covered in pancake mix. You giggled softly as you wrapped your arms around him, “I thought you had left this morning”

Chuuya returned the hug before turning back around to flip the pancakes he had on the stove. “Nope! Boss said i’m free for the weekend”

“About time” You responded, sitting at the bar in your kitchen as you watched your boyfriend continue making breakfast.

The two of you talked about Chuuyas upcoming mission until he was finally done cooking. He plated you both a full plate and came to sit down beside you.

“This is delicious, Chu” You smiled

“I’m glad you like it” He responded, kissing your cheek. Leaving the residue of maple syrup on your face.

Fyodor -

You sighed loudly as you walked into Fyodor's office.

“What is it, my love?” He asked, not taking his eyes off of his monitors.

“Are you going to be in here all day?” You asked, sitting on top of his desk.

Fyodor sighed and turned towards you, grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to it, “I’m sorry. This is very important. You understand, yes?”

You gave a fake smile and nodded, “Of course. I may ask Sigma if he’d like to go shopping”

Fyodor nodded and gave one last kiss to your hand before turning back to the screens in front of him, “Be safe”

You quickly left the office and sent a text to Sigma, letting him know that you’d be on your way soon.

“Can you believe he forgot our anniversary?!” You asked as Sigma got into the car beside you.

“I’m a bit surprised” He responded, “He is always going on how much you mean to him”

“He’s just always so caught up in work” 

“Maybe he is planning something for tonight?”

“Maybe” You sighed

By the time you and Sigma had finished shopping, it had been well past dinner. 

“Should we go out?” You asked

Sigma gave a sad smile, “I can’t tonight. I unfortunately have plans with Nikolai. Besides, Fyodor may have plans for the two of you” 

“If he ever stops staring at his monitors” you laughed

You had finally gotten home after dropping Sigma off, you walked through your front door expecting to have to drag Fyodor out of his office yourself but the sight in front of you had made you freeze. 

“Welcome home, my love!” Fyodor smiled, as he pulled a rack of lamb from the stove. “I made us dinner for tonight. I hope you are hungry”

You couldn’t help the wide smile that came onto your face

“I thought you forgot” you whispered, going to hug your boyfriend of five years.

“How could I forget such an important day?” He responded, “I am done working for today, let’s eat and celebrate our anniversary, yeah?”

Akutagawa -

“What are you doing for your birthday tonight? Are you and Ryu doing anything?” Gin asked as the two of you walked from the Port Mafia building to her and Akutagawa's shared apartment. 

“Nothing that I know of. He hasn't even said ‘Happy Birthday’ to me yet” You sighed

“Really? Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen him since I left this morning. I wonder if he’s feeling ill”

As you approached their apartment, you allowed Gin to enter first. You went to follow but was abruptly stopped when she turned around with her finger pressed to her lips, “Listen” she whispered

The two of you stood in the doorway as you heard two voices coming from the kitchen,

“Is that Chuuya?” You whispered, “There’s no way he got here before we did. He hadn’t even left his office when we left!”

Gin shrugged as the two of you listened 

“Akutagawa, please don’t make me go over there. Baking a cake should not be this difficult.”

“They’re on facetime” Gin giggled

“Baking a cake?” You whispered back

Gin nodded before Akutagawa spoke,

“They could get here any minute, Chuuya! What should I do?!”

“Put the cake in the fucking oven! I’m hanging up”

You heard Akutagawa sigh as the call ended, “I hope i’m not fucking this up”

“Fucking what up?” Gin asked, walking into the house with you following behind.

Akutagawa spun around, his face a beat red, “I am baking a cake”

“A cake? What flavor?” You asked

“It is vanilla with chocolate frosting”

“My favorite!” you smiled, walking over and kissing your boyfriend.

“I know,” He smiled, “I hope it’s good. I’ve never baked anything before”

“We heard,” Gin laughed, “We were outside the whole time you were on the phone with Chuuya”

You giggled as Akutagawa’s eyes widened, “Go” he replied, pointing towards Gin’s bedroom.

She laughed and waved at you before turning to her room

“It will be good, Aku. Thank you” You smiled up at him

“Of course, darling. Happy birthday”

Atsushi -

“Atsushi” you whined, laying your head on his desk.

The two of you had been stuck doing paperwork since this morning, hours had past and the only thing you’ve had to eat today was a donut that Ranpo had given you in exchange for doing his paperwork as well.

“We’re almost done,” Atsushi responded, continuing to type on his computer.

“You’d be done a lot faster if you stopped. talking.” Kunikida said, glaring at the two of you

You rolled your eyes before going back to your desk. Although, it was only another fifteen minutes before you were complaining again.

“You are almost as bad as Dazai,” Kunikida said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Atsushi stood from his desk, “I’m finished mine. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nodded as you laid your head back on your desk, this was going to take forever.

You ended up finishing two papers before your boyfriend came back, covered in sweat.

“Where did you go? Why do you look like you just ran five miles?” You asked, looking down at the bag in his hand.

“I did run five miles” He replied, lifting the bag in his hand up “I went to the store and got us food!”

You nearly jumped from your chair as Atsushi pulled two cup ramens from the bag, “This should be enough until you’re finished with yours and Ranpos papers. We can go out once we’re done!”

“You are the absolute best, Atsushi” you smiled, kissing him on the cheek as you took the food from his hand.

You went to leave the room, going to make your noodles until you heard Kunikida yell, “Get back to work!”

You went to yell back but Atsushi grabbing the food from your hand distracted you, “Go back. I’ll make it for us”

You smiled and nodded, heading back to your desk to finish up the never-ending pile of work that was waiting for you.

[calicoheartz]

Can you write a Caitlin Clark where she always tapes her ring finger before the game and people find videos from way back in high school of her doing this tradition, after a Iowa game she gets interviewed about the tradition, and everyone pays attention even her teammates bc she never told them the reason behind the tradition which was bc she married her high school sweetheart and knew ever since they got together she was gonna marry her

The Promise of Always ; Caitlin Clark ﹒⟢

summary : you and Caitlin being highschool sweethearts ♡

wc; 346

warnings : none , just fluff :)

my master list ㇀♡

a/n : im trying my best to finish up the rest of the reqs , there will be a lot more new content by the end of this weekend ❤️ enjoy ◡̈

Caitlin stood at the edge of the basketball court, her fingers deftly wrapping tape around her ring finger.

The star guard was always known for her pre-game routines. One such ritual, unnoticed by many, was the habit of taping her ring finger before every game. A tradition she had carried since her highschool years, with the reason behind it only being known to her, hidden beneath the layers of tape and unspoken memories.

But as Caitlin’s fame grew, so did the curiosity about this particular ritual. People began to notice the taped finger and wondered about its significance. However the point guard kept her reasons to herself, never sharing them even with her closest teammates.

After a particularly thrilling game against a fierce rival, where her skills once again shone brightly, a reporter finally mustered up the courage to ask her about the mysterious tradition.

Caitlin, surprised by the question, remained as composed as ever, paused for a moment to collect her thoughts. She then glanced at her teammates briefly, realizing she never truly explained the reason behind this tradition of hers.

Taking a deep breath, she slowly began to speak. Sharing the story of the time where she met and fell in love with her highschool sweetheart, claiming their bond had been strong from the start, and as they grew older they knew they had to make a promise to eachother. A promise of eternal love and commitment.

“We always knew we were meant to be together,” she explained, “So I started taping my ring as a reminder of the promise we made to eachother long ago. Especially since I cant wear my wedding ring while playing” she giggled.

As the interview spread across social media, videos from Cait’s highschool games resurfaced, showing her taping her finger, a simple but gesture that is so deeply personal yet so powerfully symbolic.

Not long after, pictures of your magical wedding day and quiet engagement were posted to the guards personal social media, no longer feeling the need to keep your whirlwind of a romance a secret.

her post 🥹❤️

liked by : paigebueckers , katemartin03 , and 256,000 others

caitlinclark22 happy anniversary to the person who completes me. My other half. I love you more than words can describe , thank you for giving me the strength and courage to continue with my dreams. I’ve adored you since I was 16, and I will continue to adore you until the end. I love you y/n ! 💍

-

sorry this was so short!! i tried not to stray too far from the prompt so lmk if u want more details! tysm for reading 😊

[djarinova]

faltering winds in the lavender fields

ft. din djarin

synopsis; Your mother and stepfather have ruled over the kingdom since you were only a child. The three of you have always lived in harmony. You perform your duties to the highest honour, you are a beloved princess and a strong decision maker.

You thought they trusted you... but recently your mother and stepfather have been whispering more, they have been keeping secrets from you and excluding you from meetings you would usually attend.

You know there have been whispers of tension brewing in the north... and you've noticed the unhappy faces that frequent your castle more and more. But do you really need a bodyguard 24 hours, 7 days a week?

You've gone all your life with only minimum security and now you're being chaperoned everywhere by a Mandalorian?

What could you possibly need protecting from whilst within the walls you've safely lived behind all your life?

content; slow burn, anthology series, bodyguard au, warnings will be added separately on each part; dividers by @/saradika-graphics

notes; this is my first series of any kind so rbs + comments would be extra appreciated so i know im not completely failing LOL >.< i plan to write at least 4 separate parts. they will all be labelled by the day they occur in universe, for a simple way to see how din + reader's relationship develops. thank you for reading!! 𔘓

[ wc ; tbc (my goal is above or around 10k total) ]

ᡣ𐭩 The Question - Day 1003

Din asks you the question that's been on his mind since the moment he told you his name. But are you finally ready to leave behind the city you've lived in all of your life? - wc; 1164

ᡣ𐭩 The Meeting - Day 1

You're ambushed by the presence of the Mandalorian at breakfast. Your mother insists you're in need of a bodyguard, even behind castle walls. She forbids you from leaving the grounds and refuses to answer any of your questions. What is going on? - wc; [?]

ᡣ𐭩 [unnamed part] - Day 346

You celebrate your 25th birthday with the Mandalorian at your side—your first birthday in which you're forced to stay at home instead of celebrating amongst your people in the city. But your bodyguard has a surprise up his sleeve that he hopes you'll enjoy just as much as your usual celebrations. - wc; [?]

ᡣ𐭩 The Proposal - Day 572

Your mother is keen to strengthen the hold your family has over the kingdom—the tension in the northern districts is rising to its breaking point. What better way to show strength and bring that familiar warmth back to the city than with a royal wedding. - wc; [?]

... more coming soon

[kissies4jiwon]

ཐི❤︎ཋྀ A VAMPIRES CURSE, 𓈒𓈒 vampire 희진 x fem reader

🧛‍♀️ jeon heejin was a vampire who saw humans as nothing but blood sacks, but you somehow where different. she saw potential in you and tries to control herself around you. ( ´ཀ` )

pairing. vampire!jeon heejin x f!r genre. ?fluff wc. 346 warnings. mentions of biting and i think nothing else ;-; authors notes. guys i did this rlly fast im sorry if its ass HEEJIN MY BAE I KNOW U DESERVE BETTER☹️ ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

you both decide to grab a late-night snack at a mcdonalds. heejin struggles to suppress her instincts when the waitress accidentally puts pickles on your burger. even though SHE CLEARLY stated that you hated pickles, heejin is barely managing to keep herself from pouncing on the cashiers desk. instead opting for a more reasonable response, staring at the poor worker until you step up and just take the pickles off your burger.

cooking together : heejin invites you to help her cook dinner, cookies to be exact. they were the safest option since basically every fancy dish for some reason has garlic, but when you accidentally cut your finger somehow, she freezes, her eyes glinting with a mix of concern and shamefully she feels something else, she runs away and excuses herself. you practically were about to get your finger licked off and infected if she hadn’t ran away.

going to a park on a sunny day could be one of the worst decisions you both made. you were so busy making heejin sun proof and that the picnic and scenry would be perfect that you completely forgot the food at home. “heejin do you have the food this isnt funny..” heejin lays out a picnic blanket and looks at you confused “what are you saying you literally brought the basket with food” realizing you either had to run to get food for you both or just cancel the date heejin speaks up “you know i don’t actually need that food theres better food right infront of m—” “GET OUT.”

[sciroccoorion35]

Lockwood POV

I've seen some discussion about whether you could write the L&Co books from Lockwood's pov and how difficult that would be with his book characterisation, but I think I've got it!

The Very Secret Diary of A.J. Lockwood

The Screaming Staircase from Lockwood's POV Rating: T WC: 543

Day 1: Well, it’s official! George and I have started our own agency right out of 35 Portland Row. Lockwood and Co. at your service. The paperwork was a chore, but we’ve done it. Now to begin building our reputation. I have plans for attracting a high paying clientele with interest in the kind of personalised, bespoke care only a small, independent agency can provide.

Day 16: Inspector Barnes himself came by today to inspect our headquarters. He also gave me some warnings about the way we took out the ghost over on Bagley Walk, but we got it to the furnaces in the end, so I don’t see that it’s any big deal. Looking forward to showing this Barnes what we can accomplish without the need for adult supervision.

Day 72: George left his ghost jar in the bath again. Seriously considering writing up an official company policy that covers this. Or possibly just a renter’s agreement.

Day 117: Hired a new assistant. His name's Robin. I think he's gonna be great. Wow, this is really starting to feel like a proper agency!

Day 123: Robin ran off a roof in a blind panic. Not a great start tbh. I will need to do a much better job checking the next assistant's fortitude. Maybe George can help me come up with something...

Day 175: New hire Miss Lucy Carlyle! I really think we've got a good one this time. She's asked me to call her Lucy and it feels weird somehow with her for some reason. But I'll be damned if I'm going to call George 'Mr. Cubbins' so I will have to get used to it.

Day 346: Lucy has burned down a house. Granted, the Type 2 inside really whipped it up into a conflagration, and yes, I did forget to bring the chains, but still, there’s no denying it was her Greek fire that was the initial spark explosion.

Day 349: 60,000 pounds!?!? Bloody Barnes. He’s doing this on purpose. He wants us out of business and out of his hair. I’ve put on a brave face in front of George and Lucy but I don’t know how we can possibly get through this. 

Day 351: I have a plan. It’s a little risky, and I need to do as much preparation and snooping as I can manage to squeeze in, but if handled carefully, I think I can save the agency and even put us ahead of where we were before. If not, well, this might just be my last entry as A.J. Lockwood, head of Lockwood and Co.

Day 365: What a year it’s been! I forgot to update after the Combe Carey affair, but it was spectacular! I’ve got a bunch of press clippings I’ll stick in here for posterity, but the important thing is that the agency is right where it should be. Between me, George and especially Lucy, I really feel like there’s no case we can’t take on. Things are truly looking up!

Day 365, part 2: Lucy has just told me the most extraordinary thing. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t write it down just yet. Wouldn’t want anyone to think…anyways, please disregard. Looking forward to a fruitful year 2!

[mrschristensen]

Kinktober Day 23 (10/23): Marking starring Scott Barringer

Kinktober Masterlist

WARNINGS: spice/smut? (READ AT YOUR OWN RISK), female s/o, dom Scott/sub s/o, marking, making out but not actual sex, s/o's reason for being at Horizon isn't stated, pet names (baby), lmk if I missed any!

synopsis: It's been a wild ride secretly dating at Horizon; however, it doesn't mean that Scott is trying super hard to keep it that way.

-> note: I'm sorry it's so short!

WC: 346 words

If a word was needed to describe how it's been secretly dating at Mount Horizon, it would be exhilarating. The best thing to ever happen, but also the scariest. Constantly trying not to get caught is definitely not the greatest thing in the world.

"Scotty, stop," she breathed out, giggling a bit, using that nickname that pissed him off so much in an attempt to get his attention. They were in the Cliffhangers' dorms, but it was pretty much right out in the open (on purpose obviously, since that's how the counselors wanted it to be). If anyone walked in... they would be facing at least a month on restriction, and Peter doing everything in his power to keep them separated.

He ignored her, continuing his assault on her neck, kissing and sucking and nibbling on the soft flesh. She huffed, and put her hands on his chest to create some distance. "Come on, Scott. You know the rules."

"Since when did we give a shit 'bout the rules?" he questions, leaning in again to kiss under her jaw. "I love you, and if they got a problem with that, they can fuck themselves for all I care."

But she wouldn't give up, continuing to try to reason with him. He eventually gave in, thinking he heard someone coming in, and they both rushed to the bathroom together. He locked their lips in a rough, passionate kiss, and they made out for at least a solid ten minutes.

"Need to make you mine," he growled, biting down on her neck a bit harder than usual, causing her to gasp and leaving a nice bite mark indented with the shape of his teeth.

He smirked at the sight, reveling in his work. "I think it suits you, baby. So pretty."

He then leaned in again, and kept marking up her neck with hickeys and bite marks.

"Scott, they'll find out-"

"Good," he interrupts, moving down to her collarbone and starting there, moving her shirt out of the way. "They need to know who you fucking belong to."

[urauntiefaye]

Anton's 'sweet' reaction when his girl shows herself in front of him while saying 'I'm cute in this dress, right?' (the dress : https://pin.it/2zAjHdFFz ). His girl showed it off before going on stage.

(You are part of the IVE group, you are spoiled and very childish in front of Anton.)

Anton with a Childish S/O drabble 🌸

WC: 346 

TW: Childish y/n? Don't know if that's a warning, fluff, mostly fluff, one kiss, not proofread

A/N: I didn't really mention the other members as I don’t know much about IVE please forgive me, I hope you like even though it was kind of rushed.

Being in IVE you were always portrayed as the chic black cat member, always being more serious and quiet than the others. People often thought that you hated cute concepts because of this, but in reality you actually loved them. 

After getting your hair and makeup done you would excuse yourself from your dressing room. No one asked where you’re going as they already knew as it was pretty much a ritual at this point. Giggling to yourself as you made your way out, approaching the door with a sign saying “Riize” in big bold letters. Reaching up and knocking you would be met with the boys manager, giving you a warm smile he let you in. Your eyes would instantly fall on your boyfriend who was wearing a black tshirt and sweats. “Tonie!” you yelled cheerfully, running up to him and hugging him. Anton laughed at the sudden hug attack as he wrapped his arms around you. Asking how you were doing, responding to him quickly as your main priority was to show off your outfit. Turning a full 360 asking if you looked cute in the dress. 

Antons eyes crinkled up as he smiled softly, pulling you in by the waist to give you a kiss mumbling against your lips “you look beautiful baby”.

Now as I stated before you held that chic serious persona on stage and in front of the fans. But behind closed doors especially with Anton it was like you were a completely different person. Always acting childish with him, others having judged you but Anton didn’t mind. He loved your childish nature, you acting this way towards him meant you felt comfortable and trusted him. You loving it as being with him in a way helped heal your inner child, being able to do things you were never able to do. It also just gave you a break from keeping up the fake personality you were forced to by the company. And Anton loved you nonetheless, always having to contain himself from cute aggression when it came to you. 

[thnksfrthquinn]

Pretend to Ignite – Johnny Storm (modern AU) x Reader - One Shot 

Summary: After a messy breakup with your ex, Patrick, the last thing you expect is for Johnny Storm — cocky, infuriatingly charming, and your best friend’s younger brother — to offer his help. You’ve always clashed, but when your lives keep overlapping (and your mail keeps ending up in each other’s hands), a plan is born: fake date Johnny to make Patrick jealous. But somewhere between brunch showdowns, sleepovers, and stolen glances, the line between pretend and real starts to blur. And the boy who used to set your nerves on fire might just be the one to heal everything your ex broke.

WC: 8.5k

Warnings: Swearing / Mild Language / Emotional Manipulation by Ex / Mild Confrontation / Verbal Conflict / Light Angst / Some Heated Arguments (Resolved) / Intimacy (non-explicit, emotional-heavy) / Modern AU /Fake Dating /(Not-Quite) Enemies to Lovers /Mutual Pining /Slow Burn / Soft!Johnny Storm / Protective!Johnny

There’s a letter wedged under your door when you get home—again. The chunky black print reads Storm, and you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes as you crouch to scoop it up. 

“Third time this week,” you mutter to yourself, peeling off your jacket as you step into your apartment. “And it’s only Wednesday.” 

You toss your keys into the bowl by the door and glance out your window. Across the street, the third-floor loft opposite yours glows with warm light. Of course it does. Johnny Storm keeps the place lit like it’s always golden hour—even if it’s 10 p.m. and raining. 

Your phone buzzes. 

Sue Storm: He still hasn’t sorted his mailbox out? 

You: He thinks it’s the mailman’s fault. I think it’s his entire personality. 

You laugh softly at your own message and grab the letter, tucking it under your arm. No doubt it’s another magazine he probably forgot he subscribed to. Last week, it was GQ and a bill for $346. This week, it’s something thicker. Government-looking. 

You should probably be annoyed. But deep down, there’s a rhythm to this by now. A strange, familiar beat to your odd friendship with Johnny Storm—your best friend’s reckless younger brother who, up until a month ago, you were sure would never outgrow his frat-boy energy. Now? 

Now he glows. Literally. 

The elevator in your building is still broken (as usual), so you hike up the stairs of the building across the street, rain still dampening your hair. You buzz his door twice. 

It swings open a second later. 

Johnny stands there shirtless, towel slung low around his waist, steam wafting behind him like he’s walking out of a damn romance novel. His hair curls damply over his forehead, and a cocky smile curls on his lips the moment he sees you. 

“Oh hey, neighbor,” he drawls, voice all gravel and warmth. “Come to return more love letters?” 

You hold the envelope up and push past him, brushing water off your coat. 

“No, just your government correspondence. Possibly something about setting things on fire in a public park,” you tease. “Or, I don’t know—your glowing fingertips.” 

He lifts his hand and flexes his fingers. The tips do flicker faintly orange before fading. You’ve gotten used to it. Or you’re pretending you have. 

Johnny sighs dramatically. “What can I say? I’m a public menace. But a charming one.” 

“You’re lucky your sister loves you,” you say, tossing the envelope on his kitchen counter and turning to leave. 

“Wait—” he calls after you, and there’s something quieter in his tone this time. “You doing anything Friday night?” 

You pause, hand hovering over the doorknob. “Why?” 

“Because if I end up getting sued by the city,” he says, that grin returning like clockwork, “I might need moral support. Or bail money. Or... someone to bring snacks.” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

“God, you’re exhausting,” you say over your shoulder, stepping back out into the hallway. 

“Don’t pretend you’re not charmed,” Johnny calls after you, and you swear you can hear the smile in his voice as the door clicks shut. 

You're halfway down the stairs before you let your smile fully break. You’re not supposed to think about him like this. He’s Johnny — Sue’s little brother, the human personification of a golden retriever with a lighter and no supervision. You’ve known him since college breaks when he’d crash Sue’s apartment and drink all the milk. He used to be this loud, annoyingly attractive kid with no filter and even less accountability. 

And now? He’s still loud. Still annoyingly attractive. But there’s something under the surface now, like his fire has finally found shape. You’d never say it aloud, but post-accident Johnny is... different. Quieter, sometimes. Restless in ways he tries to joke through. 

You tell yourself the only reason you’re thinking about him at all is because you’re bored and not dating anyone. That’s all. That, and maybe the way he looked at you tonight lingered a second too long. 

You try not to think about it. About the weight in his gaze, like he saw something in you no one else had noticed yet. You’d laughed it off, shrugged the whole night off, like always. That’s what you do with Johnny Storm. You tease, he pushes, you roll your eyes, he smirks — it’s been the same pattern for years. 

But tonight something feels… different. 

Back in your apartment, you toss your coat over the back of a chair and collapse onto your couch, rubbing at your eyes. The TV flickers with a half-muted cooking show you’re not watching. Rain ticks gently against the windowpanes. It’s late, but you’re wired. 

And that’s when your phone buzzes. 

Again. 

You don’t have to look to know who it is. You’ve memorized the pattern by now: two texts spaced thirty seconds apart, always when he’s bored, drunk, or just lonely enough to remember you were once someone he held onto a little too tight. 

EX: Hey… You up? 

Then: 

 EX: Thought about you today. Wish things had gone different. 

You stare at the screen. 

Wish things had gone different? 

Yeah. You wish that too — specifically, that you’d seen through his charming lies sooner. That you hadn’t wasted two years trying to become smaller, quieter, easier to love. That you hadn’t let him convince you that you were lucky to be chosen, instead of someone who deserves more. 

You type something. Delete it. Throw your phone across the couch with a groan and flop back dramatically. 

Ten seconds later, you sit back up and grab it again. 

Because if he keeps texting you like this, he’s not going to stop. Not unless he thinks you’ve moved on. And what better way to shut him down than with a distraction that would make him lose his mind? 

A distraction with an annoyingly beautiful face and a flirty streak ten miles long. 

You bite your lip. 

You shouldn't. 

You definitely shouldn't. 

So obviously, you do. 

You type quickly: 

You: Hey. You around? Can I come back over for a sec? 

The reply comes thirty seconds later: 

Johnny Storm: Miss me already? Door’s open, babe. 

You roll your eyes — of course he’d say something like that — and grab your hoodie. 

Johnny’s apartment is exactly the same as you left it ten minutes ago: warm, a little cluttered. He’s sprawled on the couch in grey sweats and a threadbare college hoodie, hair flopping boyishly over his forehead. 

He looks up with a lazy grin. “Round two? That was fast.” 

You don’t sit down. You pace instead, hands in your hoodie sleeves, energy buzzing beneath your skin. 

He watches you, a little more serious now. “Hey. What’s going on?” 

You stop. Face him. The words come out faster than you plan. 

“My ex won’t stop texting me.” 

His brow lifts. “The finance guy with the receding hairline?” 

You blink. “How do you—” 

Johnny shrugs. “Sue talks.” 

Fair. You sigh and sit on the edge of the armrest, staring at your knees. 

“He keeps texting me. Saying he misses me. That he regrets how things ended. That we should grab coffee. I think… I think he just wants to feel like he could still have me if he wanted to.” 

Johnny’s jaw tenses. “And do you?” 

You look up sharply. “Do I what?” 

“Want him to have you.” 

Your breath catches, just a little. “No. God, no.” 

There’s a pause. 

“So what do you need?” he asks, gentler now. 

You twist your hands in your sleeves. “I need him to back off. To think I’ve moved on. That I’m with someone who’s the opposite of him. Who’d never make me feel small.” 

You look up. 

And Johnny’s watching you the way he did earlier — like you’re more than just the girl across the hall. Like he’s listening in a way nobody else does. 

Then, you say it. 

“I need you to fake date me.” 

He blinks. 

You rush to explain. “Just for a bit. Just to scare him off. I’ll post a picture or two, maybe let it slip to mutuals. You don’t have to do anything real. You’re already flirty enough, and Sue knows you well enough that it won’t seem totally fake. It’ll be easy. We’ll fake it until he gets bored and disappears.” 

Johnny leans back against the couch, expression unreadable. 

“Fake date you.” 

“Exactly.” 

A beat. 

“You want me to pretend I’m crazy about you,” he says slowly, “when I’ve been doing that for years.” 

Your heart flips. 

He doesn’t take it back, you bury what he just said deep and continue. 

He just stares at you with a challenge in his eyes — like he’s daring you to admit you knew all along. 

You scoff, mostly to keep yourself from melting. “You’re ridiculous.” 

He smirks. “So you’ve mentioned.” 

“This wouldn’t be anything serious,” you add, holding your ground. “You’d just play the part.” 

“Oh, I can play the part,” he says, voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flutter. “The question is: can you?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “You think I can’t handle it?” 

“I think I’ve been under your skin for years and you’re only just realizing it.” 

Your mouth opens. Shuts. You hate that he’s right. You hate it more that he knows he’s right. 

He stands up, steps toward you until there’s barely a breath of space between you. And then he grins — cocky and golden, the Johnny you’ve always known. 

“Well?” he says. “Do we shake on it? Kiss on it? Blood pact?” 

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway. 

Johnny steps back a little, giving you space like he knows you need to steady yourself. The teasing fades just enough for the room to settle again. He drags a hand through his hair and exhales, then gestures toward the couch. 

“Alright. Operation: Make Your Ex Jealous,” he says. “Let’s plan this.” 

You flop down onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” 

“Hey, you came to me.” 

“You’re the only person I know who can convincingly look like someone I’d rebound with.” 

“Was that a compliment or a cry for help?” 

You smirk. “Little of both.” 

He snorts, but opens his phone and pulls up Instagram. “Okay, what’s his deal? What gets under his skin?” 

“Patrick?” You lean your head back. “He’s the kind of guy who needs to feel like he ‘won.’ Like he moved on first. And he’s always compared himself to people like you.” 

Johnny blinks. “People like me?” 

“Loud. Charismatic. Always the center of attention without trying.” 

He looks over at you. “And?” 

“And… reckless. A little chaotic. Exactly the kind of guy he’d assume I couldn’t handle.” 

Johnny raises an eyebrow. “So we want him to think you can handle me.” 

“Exactly.” 

He nods, tapping on his phone. “So what’s the move? Subtle posts? A soft launch? Or do we go full PDA in front of mutuals and burn his fragile ego to the ground?” 

You smile despite yourself. “I’m thinking something in between. We don’t want it to look staged. Just believable enough that he knows he doesn’t stand a chance anymore.” 

“Okay.” Johnny shifts toward you, more serious now. “What’s he still watching? Instagram stories? Your grid?” 

“Probably both. He’s still got me muted, but I know he checks from his alt account.” 

Johnny whistles. “That’s healthy.” 

“Welcome to dating in the 2020s.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, then: “What if we post something casual tomorrow? Not you and me looking together, but like… you’re here, I’m in the background, there’s something unspoken.” 

You glance at him, impressed. “You’ve done this before.” 

He smirks. “I’ve been someone’s fake boyfriend before.” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Seriously?” 

“Long story. She was trying to get her landlord to fix the heating. I played the overprotective husband. We got free rent for two months.” 

You shake your head with a half-smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.” 

“I’m very persuasive,” he says solemnly. “Anyway, we can start with something low-key. Maybe brunch tomorrow?” 

You pause. “With Sue?” 

He shrugs. “Why not? If she sees us acting couple-y, it’ll get around. She’s basically a walking group chat.” 

You chew on your lip, thinking. “I could post a story. Just a picture of a coffee mug and, like, your hand or something.” 

“Or my hoodie on you.” 

You glance at him. 

He’s not being flirty. Not now. He’s just… planning. Efficient. Helpful. 

Which is somehow worse. 

Because if he’s not flirting, then why is your heart doing this weird fluttering thing? 

You push the thought away. 

“Alright,” you say. “Brunch. A story. Something just vague enough to stir the pot.” 

Johnny nods, tapping notes into his phone. “We should probably hang out for a bit beforehand. You need to be comfortable with me touching you.” 

You give him a flat look. 

“I mean casual touching,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “Like—arm around the shoulder, hand on your back. Not, like… that.” 

You try not to laugh. “God, this is going to be a disaster.” 

“Nah,” he says, standing and stretching with a loud yawn. “We’ll crush it. Tomorrow, 11 a.m.? I’ll text Sue and tell her we’re coming.” 

“You’re scarily good at this.” 

“I contain multitudes.” 

You glance at your phone. Another text from Patrick — “Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime.” 

You lock the screen. 

Johnny sees the shift in your face. “You alright?” 

You nod. “I will be.” 

He tilts his head. “You’re not doing this just to get back at him, are you?” 

You pause. 

“No,” you admit. “It’s not about getting him back. I just want to stop feeling like I’m still in orbit around him.” 

Johnny’s voice is soft. “Then we’ll pull you out of it.” 

You meet his eyes. There’s no smirk this time. No teasing. 

Just quiet certainty. 

You feel your chest tighten. Not in a bad way. 

And that’s when he grins again, suddenly back to normal. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to be someone’s romantic weapon of mass destruction.” 

You’ve read the last text from Patrick three times now, and each time it makes your stomach twist a little tighter. 

Still thinking about you. We should catch up sometime. 

You hate how casually cruel it is. Like he’s checking the weather. Like your time together wasn’t a storm he made you walk through barefoot. 

You toss your phone face down on your bed and look at yourself in the mirror. 

This isn’t about him. Not anymore. 

This is about you taking control of the narrative. 

And maybe, just maybe, about what happens when you let someone like Johnny Storm step into the picture — someone who was never supposed to matter this much. 

You grab a sweater — soft, slouchy, off-the-shoulder. Something that could be read as effortless… or intimate. You pull your hair back, simple but styled. Natural makeup. Glossy lips. 

You pause. 

Then, almost impulsively, you grab the hoodie Johnny gave you last time he crashed on your couch after a night out. It still smells faintly like him — smoke and citrus and something warm. You tug it on over your sweater. Oversized. Familiar. Disarmingly convincing. 

You look at yourself one more time. 

It’s not armor. But it’s something close. 

Johnny’s door opens before you even knock. 

He leans in the doorway, brushing crumbs off his T-shirt. “You’re early.” 

You step in. “You’re still eating crackers in your doorway. We all have our coping mechanisms.” 

He shuts the door behind you, grinning. “Yours is dressing like you just woke up in my bed?” 

You give him a look. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s strategic.” 

He eyes the hoodie, then you, then the hoodie again. “Well. I have to say. You wear me well.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Right. Sorry. Focused.” 

You take a breath and scan the space — still as chaotic and lived-in as always, but it feels less like a frat boy’s den now, more like a space someone is genuinely trying to settle in. You notice a book half-read on the kitchen counter. A candle burning on the windowsill. Little things. Unexpected things. 

He tosses you a cereal bar. “Fuel up. Sue’s expecting us in, like, twenty.” 

You catch it mid-air. “You told her we were coming?” 

He shrugs. “Told her I had ‘company.’ She filled in the blanks.” 

You blink. “What blanks?” 

He raises a brow. “You, wearing my hoodie. Me, looking smug. The rest writes itself.” 

You groan and sit on the arm of the couch. “This better work.” 

Johnny plops down beside you, unusually quiet for a beat. 

“You nervous?” 

You shrug. “A little. I know it’s not real, but part of me still feels like I’m walking into enemy territory.” 

He watches you for a moment. “Just remember why we’re doing this. It’s not for him.” 

You glance at him. “I know.” 

“We go in, we act close. Like we’ve been seeing each other quietly. I’ll laugh at your jokes, you can pretend you think I’m charming—” 

“I always pretend that.” 

“See? You’re a natural.” 

You both smile, but there’s a current under it — something unspoken, like you’re both hovering on the edge of a line neither of you fully expected to walk. 

You stand, brushing off your jeans. “Let’s go cause some chaos.” 

He grabs his keys and follows you out, pausing as you both reach the front steps. 

Then, casually, he slips his hand into yours. 

You freeze. 

He doesn’t look at you — just keeps walking, hand warm, grip relaxed, like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the first time. Like it won’t be the last. 

And somehow, that’s what makes it so much worse. 

Or maybe better. 

You haven’t decided yet. 

You and Johnny walk hand-in-hand down the street, a soft breeze tugging at your hair and the hem of his hoodie on your frame. You try to focus on the plan: act comfortable, stay close, subtle touches, believable glances. Just enough to be convincing. 

But the problem is—it’s already too easy. 

Johnny doesn’t act like someone pretending. His thumb rubs absent circles into the back of your hand as you walk. He holds doors open without smirking. He doesn’t tease or flirt—not like he normally does. He just walks beside you, quiet and warm and steady. Like this isn’t a game. 

And maybe that’s what’s throwing you. 

Sue’s already waiting when you arrive. You spot her at the corner table of the café, hair pulled up, sunglasses perched on her head like she’s starring in a low-budget detective drama. She stands when she sees you, her face lighting up—then flickering in a very specific way when her eyes land on your joined hands. 

“Oh,” she says, voice full of restrained curiosity. “You two came together.” 

Johnny grins. “Yeah. We’ve been spending some time together... for a while now” 

You’re shocked by how normal he sounds. Confident. Settled. 

Sue turns to you, mouth twitching. “Did he bribe you? Or lose a bet?” 

You let out a soft laugh, letting go of Johnny’s hand as you slide into your seat. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

Johnny takes the seat next to you, not across from you. Bold. Strategic. Perfectly calculated. 

Sue raises one brow behind her iced coffee but doesn’t press. Not yet. She’s too good at the long game. 

“So,” she says slowly. “Anything new?” 

You feel Johnny’s knee brush yours under the table. Just enough pressure to say I've got you. 

You reach for your menu. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

Sue hums like she doesn’t believe you for a second. “Interesting.” 

The conversation drifts into casual territory—her work, something about Reed’s latest meltdown over disappearing lab equipment, gossip from a friend’s baby shower—but every so often, her eyes flick to Johnny, to you, to the hoodie you’re still wearing. 

And then the door jingles. 

Your stomach drops the second you hear the voice. 

“Hey—do they do oat milk here?” 

You don’t need to look. You know it. The cadence. The lazy tone. The half-laugh like he’s asking the barista for a favor he doesn’t deserve. 

Patrick. 

You freeze. Your blood goes cold. 

Johnny must sense it because his posture shifts subtly beside you. One of his hands drifts under the table, finding your thigh and resting there gently. Grounding you. Quietly protective. 

You don’t dare turn around. You stare straight ahead at your untouched mimosa and try not to breathe like your past just walked in and sat down five feet away. 

But Patrick sees you before you can hide. 

“Well,” he says, and your name sounds smug on his tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

You force your gaze up. 

Patrick stands there, iced coffee in hand, an uncomfortable grin tugging at his mouth. His hair is longer than it was. He’s wearing that beige button-down you once told him he looked good in. He looks exactly like the version of himself you finally outgrew. 

You blink slowly. “Brunch,” you say. “It’s a Friday tradition.” 

Patrick’s eyes flick to Johnny. 

Then to the way Johnny’s sitting—leaned into you, his hand still resting on your leg beneath the table. 

Then, very obviously, to the hoodie you’re wearing. 

His jaw tics. 

“Oh,” Patrick says, masking surprise with condescension. “Didn’t know you two were… a thing.” 

“And here I was thinking you’d be laying low after everything,” Patrick says smoothly. “Guess not.” 

Johnny doesn’t give you a chance to respond. 

“She’s been doing great,” Johnny says, a bit too brightly. “We both have.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows rise. “We?” 

“Yeah,” Johnny says, stretching one arm across the back of your chair, clearly staking ground. “You remember me. The hot one.” 

You bite your lip to keep from smiling, but Patrick's face hardens. 

“Right,” Patrick says. “The reckless one with the… fire thing.” 

Johnny grins. “Still more reliable than a guy who ghosted her for three days before deciding he ‘wasn’t sure about the relationship.’” 

Patrick’s smile tightens, looking down at you “Didn’t realize you were keeping score.” 

“She wasn’t,” Johnny snaps “But you made it really easy.” 

The table goes quiet for a beat, tension thick as steam from the espresso machine. 

Sue raises an eyebrow, clearly ready to throw hands or hot coffee — whichever lands first. 

Patrick’s eyes flick down to your hand, to the rings you’re wearing — specifically the one you’d hastily shoved on this morning to look “emotionally thriving.” 

“I see you’ve moved on,” he says, voice now brittle. “Pretty fast, don’t you think?” 

“Actually,” Johnny interjects smoothly, “we’ve been together a while.” 

You glance at him, startled. 

Patrick frowns. “Seriously?” 

“She didn’t want to rub it in your face,” Johnny says with a shrug. “But since you’re here, I guess it’s not rubbing anymore.” 

Sue snorts into her mimosa. 

Patrick folds his arms. “And this isn’t just some—what, rebound?” 

You straighten in your seat, voice cold now. “No, Patrick. You were the rebound. You just stuck around too long.” 

He stares at you, jaw flexing. 

“She’s happy now,” Johnny says, calm and final. “You don’t get to poke holes in that just because you’re miserable.” 

Patrick’s face twists with something unreadable. He glances at Sue like she might rescue him, but she raises both brows and sips her drink. 

“I didn’t come here to cause a scene,” he mutters. 

“Then maybe go before you do,” you say, blinking away the heat behind your eyes. 

Patrick opens his mouth like he’s going to say something — a dig, a plea, something slimy — but he must think better of it. Instead, he just huffs out a bitter laugh and turns away, walking out of the café with his hands jammed in his pockets. 

You feel your throat tighten, but you nod. You lean in slightly. Let the world think whatever it wants. And then he walks off to the patio like he didn’t just detonate a mine in your chest. 

The silence that follows is thick. 

Johnny turns to you gently. “You okay?” 

You blink fast. You don’t want to cry—not here, not now. “I’m fine.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just slides his hand from your leg to your hand, gripping it quietly, giving you space to feel whatever you need to. 

Sue sips her coffee and sighs. “So. That’s what this is about.” 

You look at her sharply. 

She shrugs. “I’m not mad. Just mildly annoyed that I wasn’t looped in sooner.” 

You open your mouth to explain—but she waves you off. 

“No, no, don’t explain now. I’m letting it slide because A: he sucks, and B: I haven’t seen Johnny this calm since the incident that shall not be named involving the rooftop and the flaming barbecue tongs.” 

Johnny chokes on his water. 

You laugh, relieved, tension finally breaking. 

“Thanks, Sue.” 

“Anytime,” she says, standing to flag the waitress. “Now let’s get pancakes. And next time you do something wild like fake dating, maybe don’t pick someone with better cheekbones than you. It’s distracting.” 

You roll your eyes. 

But when you glance at Johnny, he’s watching you with something careful in his eyes. 

Not playful. Not smug. 

Just there. 

And you think: maybe this stopped being fake the second he reached for your hand. 

The city outside is soft with the kind of quiet that only comes after a long day. Streetlights flicker through Johnny’s apartment windows, casting gold against the dark wood floors and messy scatter of takeout boxes. There’s a half-drunk bottle of wine on the coffee table. A folded blanket on the arm of the couch. Music playing low from his speaker—jazz again, but slower this time, softer, as if it knows you both need the space to breathe. 

You’re curled into one corner of the couch, Johnny sprawled in the other. Neither of you has really spoken since you got back from brunch. The plan had gone off perfectly. Sue had side-eyed her way through the entire meal, and Patrick had absolutely taken the bait. But somehow, instead of the rush of satisfaction you expected, all you feel is… heavy. 

Tired. 

Johnny made hot chocolate, you sip it quietly. It’s a little too sweet. You don’t mind. 

Johnny clears his throat beside you. “You ever think maybe we overdid it?” 

You glance over at him. “What do you mean?” 

“The way we were acting. At brunch.” 

You shrug. ���I thought we were subtle.” 

“You were subtle.” He looks over at you with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I was incredible.” 

That earns him a small laugh. He smiles at the sound, then sinks deeper into the cushions. 

But the silence doesn’t stay easy. It stretches again. Something unsaid hangs in the space between you. 

You look at him sideways. 

“Johnny,” you murmur. 

“Yeah?” 

“You’re really... different lately.” 

He shifts a little, resting his elbow on the back of the couch, eyes flicking toward the ceiling. 

“Since the cosmic storm, you mean?” 

You nod, watching him carefully. 

He looks down, rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter now. “It changes things. Not just the fire part. I feel like I’m always on, y’know? Even when I’m off. People expect me to be this larger-than-life thing, and when I’m not, it’s like... disappointing.” 

You blink, taken off guard by the honesty. The vulnerability of it. You’ve seen Johnny flirt, joke, deflect — but not this. 

“You don’t have to be ‘on’ around me,” you say, voice softer now. “You never did.” 

Johnny lets out a low laugh. Not his usual golden-boy laugh, but something more hollow. 

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he mutters. 

Your brows knit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

He pushes himself up, suddenly restless. Tosses the last bite of pizza into the box a little too forcefully and paces to the far side of the room, hands in his hair like he’s trying to shake something loose. 

“You never liked me,” he says, not looking at you. “Don’t think I didn’t notice. Every time I came around Sue, you’d roll your eyes or sigh like I was just this burden you had to put up with. The annoying little brother. The screw-up. The joke.” 

You feel something sharp twist in your chest. “Johnny…” 

He waves a hand. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to backpedal. I get it. You’re smart, and serious, and have your shit together. And I was the loud one who flirted with anything that moved and barely made it through school. You didn’t see me until I started glowing.” 

You stand, slowly, your mug still warm in your hand. “That’s not true.” 

He finally turns to look at you, eyes a little too bright. 

“Oh, come on. You practically made it your mission to remind me how immature I was every time I so much as breathed too loud around you.” 

“Because you were immature!” you snap, voice rising without your permission. “You lit things on fire for fun and you slept through your sister’s birthday brunch!” 

“I didn’t sleep through it. I was hungover. That’s very different.” 

“Not to Sue!” 

The room falls into silence again, this time jagged and hot. The kind that makes your skin feel too tight. 

You press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “God, why do you always do this?” 

“Do what?” 

“Push me until I say something I don’t mean.” 

He squares his shoulders. “What if you do mean it?” 

“I don’t.” 

“You sure about that?” 

You step toward him, closer than you should be, and feel the heat rolling off him. Not his mutation—him. 

“You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re infuriating.” 

“Good.” 

“Great.” 

You’re both breathing hard now. Staring each other down. Too close. The space between you sparks. 

Then, softer—wounded: 

“You always look at me like I’m a mess you can’t fix.” 

The words hit deeper than they should. 

“I don’t want to fix you,” you say, your voice cracking a little. “I just… I wanted to stop caring when you didn’t.” 

Johnny flinches. “You think I didn’t care?” 

“You flirted with everything that moved and turned everything into a joke,” you shoot back, eyes burning. “And I thought—if I stayed away, if I just kept it together, I could stop thinking about you.” 

He’s quiet for a long moment. His voice, when it comes, is rougher. Lower. 

“And did it work?” 

You shake your head. “No. Obviously not.” 

The silence thickens. The whole apartment feels like it’s holding its breath. 

He takes one careful step toward you. “You know… I never flirted with you.” 

You scoff. “Yeah. I noticed.” 

“Wanna know why?” 

You swallow. “I’m sure you’ll tell me.” 

He stops in front of you, eyes searching yours. “Because with you… if I flirted and it didn’t work—I don’t think I’d recover from it.” 

You blink, startled. Your breath catches. 

He steps forward again, closer now. Close enough that you feel the warmth of him, humming beneath his skin like it’s aching to be released. 

“You think I wasn’t paying attention,” he says. “But I was. I saw the way you covered your mouth when you laughed. How you always looked out for Sue, even when she didn’t ask. How you only let your guard down when you thought no one was watching.” 

Your voice is barely above a whisper. “You were watching?” 

He nods. “I was always watching.” 

Your hands tremble a little, still holding your mug. You set it down on the table beside you, slowly. 

You don’t know what to do. Or say. Or how to react.  Because this?  This doesn’t feel like a joke.  This doesn’t feel like Johnny being Johnny.  This feels like the moment the mask finally cracked — and something real slipped through. 

Your heart beats faster. 

He’s still standing in front of you, close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him in waves, and not just because he literally runs at a higher temperature now. This is something else. Something almost magnetic. 

Your voice is soft. Uncertain. 

“Was that… were you… are you saying you—” 

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for years and finally let a little too much of it out. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I didn’t mean to say all that. Not like that.” 

You blink at him. “But you meant it.” 

He meets your eyes then. Really meets them. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, I did.” 

You suddenly feel like the floor under you is less stable. Like you’ve been walking a tightrope and didn’t realize how high up you were until you looked down. 

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

Fake-dating Johnny was supposed to make your ex jealous. It was supposed to be harmless. Controlled. 

But nothing about this feels controlled now. 

And you’re not sure if you’re terrified of falling… or if you’ve already started. 

You step back, instinctively, needing space to think. To breathe. His eyes flicker with something—hurt?—but he doesn’t move. 

“I just… I didn’t know you saw me like that,” you say. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to,” he replies. “You always seemed like you had me figured out. The flirty guy. The walking disaster. I didn’t think you’d ever take me seriously.” 

You swallow hard. “I didn’t think you took anything seriously.” 

He gives a sad little smile. “That was the point.” 

Silence again. This time, not angry. Just full. Weighty. 

You sit down slowly, perching on the edge of the couch, fingers twisting in the hem of your sleeve. 

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admit. 

Johnny nods, standing awkwardly in the center of the room like he doesn’t know where to put himself. “You don’t have to do anything. I just… couldn’t not say it anymore.” 

He’s retreating now — pulling back, retreating into defense mechanisms and half-shrugs. Back into Johnny Storm, Human Torch, golden boy with a grin and a punchline. 

But you’ve seen too much now to unsee it. 

You’ve seen the fire and the fear. The way he looked at you when Patrick showed up. The way he stepped in like it was instinct. Like it wasn’t pretend. Like it had never been pretend. 

You speak again, barely above a whisper. “You really never flirted with me.” 

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “You were the only one I was actually scared to.” 

The confession hangs there between you, suspended and bright like an ember in the dark. 

He turns then, heading toward the kitchen, probably to bury himself in something — cleaning, distraction, anything to defuse the moment. 

You watch him go. 

And you realize something, in the quiet that follows: this wasn’t a mistake. Not from him. And maybe not from you either. 

Because deep down, even now, with everything spinning out from under you…  You don’t want to stop him. 

You just don’t know how to start. 

So instead, you ask the only thing that feels safe: 

“Do you want to sit down?” 

Johnny pauses mid-step. Turns back, surprised. “What?” 

You pat the cushion next to you — not teasing. Just open. 

“Just for a bit,” you say. “We don’t have to figure it out right now.” 

He hesitates. Then slowly — carefully — he walks back across the room and sits beside you, not too close this time. Like he’s giving you space to breathe. 

But you feel the gravity of him again, even from here. 

This time, he doesn’t say anything clever. 

This time, neither of you does. 

You just sit in the quiet, in the soft flicker of lamplight and low jazz, and let the moment settle between you. Unfinished. Unspoken. Real. 

You’re not sure how long you sit like that—side by side on the couch, the hush of the apartment pressing in around you. The lamp glows soft in the corner. The last of the hot chocolate sits cold on the table. The air still feels like it crackles, but neither of you speaks. 

It should be awkward.  But somehow, it isn’t. 

Johnny’s arm rests along the back of the couch, fingers inches from your shoulder. He’s staring at the window, jaw relaxed for once, like letting the truth out earlier let him breathe properly for the first time in a while. 

You glance sideways at him. “You ever do this before?” 

He blinks. “What? Fake date someone to mess with their ex?” 

You smile faintly. “No. I mean… let someone see you like that.” 

He doesn’t answer immediately. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. 

“Not really. I guess I thought… if people didn’t see the real me, they couldn’t reject it.” 

You nod, looking down at your hands. “I get that.” 

He turns to you. “Yeah?” 

You let out a slow breath. “I think that’s why I kept you at a distance. Not just because you were annoying—” 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. 

“—but because it was easier to box you in as the guy who didn’t take anything seriously. It made it safer to… not feel anything.” 

His gaze softens. “But you did.” 

You glance at him, cheeks heating. “Apparently.” 

Johnny smiles. A small one. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just real. 

“I didn’t know what to expect when we started this,” he says. “I figured we’d mess with Patrick’s head a little, have some laughs. I didn’t think it’d—” He stops himself. 

“Didn’t think it’d what?” you ask. 

He runs a hand through his hair. “Didn’t think it’d make me feel like this.” 

You blink. “Like what?” 

He hesitates, then says it: “Like maybe it stopped being fake around the time you put my hoodie on.” 

You don’t answer. You don’t know how to. But your heart’s doing somersaults in your chest. 

He looks down at his hands. “I’m not good at this. The honest thing. It’s not really in my wheelhouse.” 

“You’re doing okay,” you say gently. 

“Yeah?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

The silence stretches again, but it’s warmer now. Like a pause between verses, not a goodbye. 

Breaking the silence, not quite looking at him, “Can I ask you something?” 

He turns his head slightly. “Yeah?” 

You hesitate, then go for it. “Can I… stay here tonight?” 

He blinks. “Here?” 

You nod quickly. “I just… I don’t really want to go home right now. I know it’s stupid. It’s just—Patrick’s been texting again, and the thought of being in that apartment alone just… it feels wrong tonight.” 

You can hear your own voice start to falter. You hate it. 

“I can crash on the couch if you want,” you add quickly. “Or I’ll take the floor. I don’t care. I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Johnny’s quiet for a second. Then he shakes his head. 

“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” he says softly. “You can have the bed.” 

You frown. “Johnny—” 

“I’ll take the couch.” He flashes a small smile. “It’s seen worse.” 

You feel your shoulders relax a little, the pressure in your chest easing. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. 

He stands, grabbing a spare pillow and blanket from a nearby basket. You watch him work in silence, folding and fluffing with a surprising tenderness for someone who once set a toaster on fire just to see if he could. 

You follow him down the short hallway toward the bedroom. He pauses at the doorway, flicks the switch on, then glances at you. 

“It’s not much,” he says. “There’s laundry on the chair and I think the sheets smell like my cologne.” 

“That’s fine.” 

He nods, then lingers a second too long like he’s about to say something more—but doesn’t. Instead, he just hands you the pillow. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah.” 

You step into the room, but turn at the last second. 

“Hey,” you say, stopping him in the doorway. 

He meets your eyes. 

“I meant what I said earlier too. About seeing you differently now.” 

He doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you, really looks. Like he’s trying to burn the moment into memory. 

Then, softly: “Okay.” 

You close the door behind you, heart thudding too fast. The room smells like him — warmth and spice and something a little sweet, something undeniably Johnny. You pull the blanket around you and lie back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. 

The truth of it presses gently against your ribs: you feel safer here than you have in a long time. 

You don’t know if this is the start of something, or the moment something finally cracked open. 

But when you close your eyes, you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you in the doorway.  And how, just maybe, he’s been waiting for you to stay all along. 

The room is dark now. 

You’re curled up under Johnny’s blanket, one arm tucked beneath your pillow, your back facing the door. The sheets are warm, soft, slightly tangled from where you’ve shifted, but sleep won’t come. Your mind is too full—of brunch, of Patrick, of everything Johnny said before and after. 

Of the look in his eyes when he offered you his bed like it was nothing, like it was everything. 

Your heart thuds in your chest, slow and uneven. You shift, let out a soft breath, and close your eyes even though you’re wide awake. 

Then you hear it—footsteps just beyond the door. Light ones. 

The door creaks open slowly. You don’t move. 

“Hey,” Johnny whispers, his voice low and careful. “You okay?” 

You don’t answer. Not because you can’t—but because you don’t know how. So you pretend. 

Still. Quiet. Breathing steady. 

A pause. 

Then, the door eases shut again, soft as a secret. 

You expect him to go back to the couch. Instead, there’s a faint rustle, and then his voice, muffled and low. 

It takes you a second to realize he’s on the phone. 

“Sue?”  A beat.  “No, sorry. I know it’s late.”  Another pause. Then a sigh. “Yeah. She’s here. She’s in my bed.” 

Your eyes snap open, though your body stays perfectly still. 

“I didn’t plan for this,” he says, and he sounds exhausted. Not physically—emotionally. Like someone who’s been carrying something too heavy for too long. “I was just helping her with the Patrick thing. Fake-dating. You know.” 

There’s a silence, and you can almost hear Sue’s voice on the other end. Soft but pointed. The way she always gets when she’s seeing right through him. 

“No, I didn’t do anything,” Johnny says, a little sharper. “She asked to stay. I gave her my bed.” 

Another pause. A faint, self-deprecating laugh. 

“Yeah, I know. That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.” 

Your breath catches. You don’t move. 

“I thought I could just ride it out, y’know? Be the guy she needed for the week, help her get under Patrick’s skin, maybe annoy her a little.”  A quiet laugh, soft and fond. “Classic me, right?” 

You hear him shift his weight. A creak from the couch. 

“But she’s not just Sue’s best friend anymore. She’s... her. She’s this sharp, stubborn, infuriating person who makes me want to be better. Even when she’s calling me out, she makes me feel—seen.” 

Something twists deep in your chest. 

“She’s asleep in my bed right now and I’m out here like an idiot, hoping she’s dreaming about me. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

Sue must be saying something, but you can’t hear it. Johnny chuckles, a low and tired sound. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I’m screwed.” 

There’s a long pause. Then quieter, rougher: 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything. It’s just the plan to her. Still part of the act.” 

Your fingers curl into the sheets. 

“I just didn’t expect it to get real for me so fast,” he admits. 

Silence. The call must end, or maybe he just stops talking. You hear the soft thunk of his phone being set down, then nothing but the distant hum of the city beyond the windows. 

He doesn’t come back to check on you again. 

And you don’t sleep. 

You lie there, eyes wide open in the dark, heartbeat loud in your ears, body still and aching with everything you’ve just heard. 

He thinks you’re still pretending.  He thinks he’s alone in this.  And you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. 

The city is still asleep when you quietly swing your legs off Johnny’s bed and press your feet to the cool floorboards. Your phone screen says it’s just past 5 a.m. — the sky outside still that pre-dawn grey-blue, when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. 

You move slowly, cautiously, the way you used to sneak out of sleepovers as a kid. Except this time, you’re not trying to avoid someone’s mom. 

You’re trying to avoid him. 

The blanket falls from your shoulders as you stand. You fold it without thinking, neat and careful, your fingers fidgeting like they need something to do. Something normal. Like folding a blanket will distract you from the storm swirling in your chest. 

You don’t know what you’re doing. Why you’re leaving. You just… can’t stay. 

You can still hear his voice in your head — that soft, cracked confession to Sue on the couch. 

“She’ll go back to her place tomorrow. Probably won’t think this meant anything.” 

Your heart twists, hard. 

You want to scream at how wrong he is. You want to go out there, grab him by the face, and tell him it meant everything.  But you don’t.  Because now you’re scared too. 

Scared that this whole thing — this spiral from fake to real — wasn’t fair. To him. To you. That maybe you pulled him into something he didn’t ask for, not really. That maybe you were just selfish, desperate for comfort in the fallout of Patrick, and Johnny had been caught in the crossfire. 

And yet… he hadn’t run. He’d stayed. 

That’s what makes it worse. 

You push the door open slowly and step into the dim living room. Johnny’s curled up on the couch, blanket tangled around his legs, one arm tucked beneath his head. His mouth is parted just slightly. His brow is smooth. He looks peaceful. Soft, even. 

You want to kiss him.  God, you want to kiss him. 

Instead, you move carefully across the room, aiming for the door. 

You make it halfway. 

Then— 

The floor creaks. 

You freeze. 

“…Your leaving?” 

You close your eyes. Damn it. 

You turn slowly to find Johnny sitting up on the couch, rubbing sleep from his face, his hair a wild mess and his voice rough from sleep. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” you say quietly. 

“You didn’t,” he lies, blinking at you. “You were really gonna sneak out?” 

“I wasn’t sneaking,” you mutter. 

He stands up, blanket slipping off him, arms crossed over his chest. “Then what was that? You’ve got your shoes in your hand like you're about to crawl out the window.” 

You fold your arms too, suddenly defensive. “I was just trying to avoid a scene.” 

“Well, congrats,” he says flatly. “Nailed it.” 

You exhale, frustrated. “I didn’t want to make this worse, Johnny.” 

“Worse?” he repeats, stepping forward. “You think this is worse? Leaving without a word? After everything yesterday — after everything I said—” 

“I heard what you said.” 

He freezes. “You heard me?” 

“On the phone. With Sue.” 

His mouth opens and closes again. He looks like you just punched him in the chest. “So what — you heard me say I liked you and decided that was your cue to bolt?” 

“It’s not that simple—” 

“Yes, it is!” His voice rises. “It is that simple. I told Sue I was falling for you, and instead of talking to me about it, you tried to disappear.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do!” you snap, throwing your hands up. “I panicked, okay? I wasn’t supposed to feel any of this either!” 

Johnny’s eyes burn into you. “Then why are you acting like this is some huge mistake?” 

“Because it wasn’t supposed to get this far!” you shout back. “This was meant to be a joke. A plan. A stupid fake relationship to make Patrick jealous and now—” Your voice cracks. “Now I feel like I used you.” 

His expression softens for a fraction of a second, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders. 

“You didn’t use me,” he says. 

“You’re sure about that?” 

“Yes.” He steps forward again. “You didn’t use me. I volunteered. I wanted to help. I wanted to be around you. I didn’t care what excuse we used.” 

You shake your head, eyes burning. “It wasn’t fair to you.” 

“What’s not fair,” Johnny growls, “is that you got scared and decided I couldn’t handle how you felt.” 

You blink. “That’s not—” 

“You assumed,” he cuts in. “You assumed this meant more to me than it did to you. Like I’m the idiot who caught feelings while you stayed detached. But you’re not detached. You’re terrified.” 

You stare at him, stunned. “Screw you.” 

“Isn’t that easier?” he shoots back. “Being mad at me so you don’t have to admit this is real?” 

“I’m not mad because I’m scared, I’m mad because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says, stepping even closer, his voice low and sharp. “I’m talking about the way you looked at me at brunch. I’m talking about the way you didn’t move when I touched your hand. I’m talking about the fact that you stayed.” 

You’re breathing hard now, chest rising and falling. 

“I stayed,” you say, quieter but no less furious, “because for the first time in weeks, I felt safe.” 

Johnny flinches. 

“And now?” he asks, softer now. 

“Now I feel like I’m in too deep.” 

He swallows. “Good.” 

You frown. “What?” 

He steps into your space, gaze intense. “Good. Because same. I’ve been in deep since you called me that night, crying about Patrick. Since I saw you in my hoodie. Since you kissed me on the cheek and made it feel like my entire brain short-circuited.” 

You’re shaking. Maybe from adrenaline. Maybe from everything you’ve kept inside finally cracking open. 

“You’re such an idiot,” you murmur. 

“And you’re a pain in the ass,” he fires back, voice low. 

You stare at each other for a moment, breath tangled, hearts pounding, barely a breath between you. 

And then— 

It happens. 

You grab his shirt. He cups your jaw. And your mouths crash together like a wave finally breaking. 

It’s messy. Desperate. Like neither of you knows how to go slow now that the wall is down. His hands slide into your hair, your fingers curl into his chest. The kiss is heat and frustration and hope and finally, all wrapped into one. 

You pull back just enough to breathe. 

“I’m not going to leave..” you whisper, lips brushing his. 

His eyes search yours. “Good.” 

He kisses you again, slower this time. Sweeter. And it feels like something settling into place. 

When he finally rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, the tension is gone. Replaced with something terrifying and brand new. 

Honesty. 

Realness. 

You’re in his arms now, and for once, you’re not pretending. 

[akutasoda]

Hiya! Can I pretty please request Jouno (+any other BSD man if you want to add any) with an s/o who's kind of a neatfreak/really values cleanliness and organization?

organise my heart!

synopsis - how are they with a 'neatfreak' lover

includes - kunikida, jouno, ayatsuji

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight teasing, wc - 346

doppo kunikida ★↷

↪ absolutely two peas in a pod. although he still would be slightly more organised and such due to his ideals but you definitely rival him.

↪but then again, you probably value your cleanliness and such more than him as his ideals are more of a plan, a schedule.

↪ however he cannot deny that he does love you being neatly as organised as he is. especially because neither of you even have to worry about losing anything or wondering if the others busy.

↪ let's be honest you'd both probably have a shared calendar. and your shared residence would be absolutely spotless.

saigiku jouno ★↷

↪ he's really on and off. he is very organised with his day and such but when it comes to organising anything else or keeping up cleanliness, for obvious reasons it's pretty much impossible.

↪ while he does manage somehow, its not immaculate or up to your standards in anyway. so probably one of the first things you did seeing the state of his residence was give it a massive tidy up.

↪he actually pretty much loved how organised and tidy you were. it gave him some sort of constant reliance that he could now know where everything was because you probably gave everything a designated spot.

↪ it's also a pretty good habit in his opinion. being neat and keeping things clean is definitely a good way to go. but he would tease you.

yukito ayatsuji ★↷

↪ he's very organised for some things. case in point, his doll collection. that rivals your own organisation and cleanliness but when it comes to other things he's not that bothered.

↪but he did appreciate how clean and organised you were. definitely a better habit to have as it does come with benefits and while he may tease you about being that way, you knew he didn't really mean it.

↪he would also happily let you tidy up his stuff. it sort of motivated him to care as much for keeping it tidy as he did for his dolls.

[system-to-the-madness]

Jujutsu Kaisen - Masterlist

Fushiguro Megumi x Reader

Blessed: Part One (angst) - Part Two (fluff)

fem!Reader - angst to fluff, hurt/comfort - What happened after Gojo defeated Sukuna?

Taiyaki and Bike Rides

fluff - wc: 4 481 - after a long day, Megumi takes you home on the back of his bicycle

Scars Like Cobwebs on Your Face

fluff - wc: 2 246 - the first time Megumi notices the scars on your face

Cherry Blossom Interventions

angst to fluff - wc: 3 271 - Megumi has drawn back from everyday life completely, so you intervene

Gojō Satoru x Reader

Setting The Record Straight

hurt/comfort - wc: 1 923 - after Shinjuku, you are in desperate need of comfort

I Had to Tell You That I Love You

nonSorcerer!Reader - hurt/comfort - wc: 8 078 - Satoru broke up with you the day before Christmas and returns a day later with an impossible sounding story

Itadori Yūji x Reader

A Promise Kept

hurt, barely comfort, angst - wc: 3 951 - After Shibuya, you try to comfort Yūji

Cherry Blossom Fireworks

Fluff - wc: 1 346 - Yūji and you attend a festival together

Inumaki Toge x Reader

お米 Okome

hurt/comfort, fluff - wc: 4 532 - Inumaki hates that he can’t use his voice to express his feelings towards you

Cherry Blossom Rests

fluff - wc: 1 223 - After a mission, Toge and you rest under a tree

Okkotsu Yūta x Reader

Cherry Blossom Confessions

Fluff - wc: 1 423 - Yūta spills a well-kept secret