#but it wouldn’t let me post without a title

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #47

I would turn back time just to see you again

Imagine dis…

I just needed to clean my drafts and this one is a bit overdue. Also I think I saw a post similar to this one and I cant find them anymore so either way kudos to them cause their post inspired me to make one of my own.

…..

Danny Phantom, now Danyal al Ghul, had found himself hurled into the past. Panic clawed at him. He didn’t need to guess, he already knew something had happened to Clockwork, his mentor, his protector, the Ancient of Time himself. A disturbance in the Infinite Realms had yanked him forcibly back into his younger body, leaving only his soul intact and including the full weight of bearing the title the Ancient of Space.

And he had landed here.

In Nanda Parbat.

In the very place where his life had ended the first time.

But Danyal was not without resources. He had memories. He had the power. And most importantly, he had training. He understood he couldn't act suspicious not here, surrounded by League members who could smell weakness.

So he slipped into his former role.

He became the perfect illusion of young Danyal, the former him, the wide-eyed, devoted son who adored his mother and idolized his older twin, Damian.

Every smile, every soft word during the rare times where only he and Damian are together, every clumsy move was calculated, down to the tremble in his voice and the slight hesitations in his steps. His every expression was carefully crafted to mimic innocence.

As much innocence he was allowed within this halls.

Danyal was acting, and he was doing it so well that even Talia and Damian, the supposed two people who knew him best, never questioned him.

Not at first.

He trained in secret, pushing his ghostly powers to the edge while outwardly struggling with swordplay in which Damian mastered months ago. He let it show in his own body language on how confused he is during strategy meetings, deferential during training sessions. He laughed and cried. Anything to keep suspicion off his true nature.

He will avoid the Fentons at this time around at all costs. As much he adored Jazz and Dani he wouldn’t want to feel his own organs rearranging itself and beating outside of his own body for the second time.

But he will wait, wait for the fateful day where Ra would only need one heir. The day where Danyal Al Ghul could never grip his sword right as to follow the order to fight by the Demon Head.

The day Damian had killed him without so much as a second thought always vying for the rightful title as the heir.

But something went wrong.

A week into his second life, Danyal watched with growing horror as events began to diverge from the past he remembered. Talia and Damian that was once Ra’s al Ghul’s most loyal heirs, had killed Ra’s themselves. The man who had cast his shadow over their entire lives was gone, and now both mother and twin looked at Danyal with sharp, unsettling intensity.

Family dinners became mandatory, silent meetings took place behind locked doors, and Danyal could feel the weight of their stares lingering on him longer than ever before.

He clung to his mask of naivety, knowing any slip might reveal the powerful being hidden beneath the skin of a boy.

He almost convinced himself that he could handle it—that he could steer this altered fate back on course.

That deep down Damian still wanted to be the only one. The one true heir.

Until a horde of colorfully dressed vigilantes stormed Nanda Parbat’s gates.

As Danyal al Ghul, he had to respond.

Katana in hand, neutral expression plastered on his face, he sprinted toward the throne room. He braced himself for bloodshed, for the clash of steel.

Instead, he heard shouting.

Bursting through the doors, he found not assassins or invaders—but Gotham's vigilante elite: Nightwing, Batman, Red Hood, Red Robin. Only Robin was absent. They stood frozen, as pale as specters, staring at him.

At the boy with Damian's face—and crystal blue eyes.

….

Six Years in the Future:

The Batfamily had been losing a brutal war against Eclipso—the personification of God’s wrath, possessing Ra’s al Ghul’s body, corrupted by endless dips in the Lazarus Pit. Eclipso had shattered mountains, unleashed floods, brought devastation with the power of a fallen god.

Just as he delivered what should have been a killing blow to the broken Batfamily—

They woke up.

In the past.

Dick was back in Blüdhaven. Tim was Robin again. Jason was a newly minted Red Hood. Bruce was a broken man, still mourning Jason.

Memories intact, instincts sharper than ever, they knew where to go: Nanda Parbat.

They expected to find Ra’s. They expected to find Damian.

They did not expect Ra’s to already be dead, his ashes scattered to the wind.

They did not expect Talia to step from the shadows and confess she had killed him herself, striking before Eclipso could even thought of possessing the former Demon Head.

They did not expect Talia relinquish her own hold to Damian. Talia as though pushed him towards them.

And they certainly did not expect Damian go wide eyed in surprise and then anger and be so so insistent to stay here.

The argument between Talia and Damian was vicious, each screaming accusations and betrayals at the other—until a boy, a stranger, entered.

A boy who looked like Damian.

But whose eyes blazed bright, glacial blue.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Danyal al Ghul.

A son Bruce had never known. A brother Damian had killed in the first timeline. A secret Talia had buried deep within her heart.

To Damian, Danyal was the brother who had loved him without hesitation—whom he had destroyed in cold ambition.

To Talia, Danyal was her true heir—the one she had nurtured, protected, loved beyond measure.

To the family of vigilantes, Danyal was a son/ brother that they didn’t know about, and didn’t get to mourn about.

And now, faced with a second chance, neither Talia nor Damian would let the Batfamily take him away so easily.

Because no matter how much Bruce or his sons demanded— Talia would rather die than lose Danyal again.

And this time, Danyal wasn’t a helpless boy.

This time, he had secrets of his own.

…..

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PS: This is shorter than i thought it would be....

[hwallazia]

WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS – 최산

⋆ synopsis. you help san in a very special way with his outfit before he gets on stage.

pairing. idol bf! san & hairstylist fem! reader.

wc. 3,1k

warnings. soft dom! san & sub! reader, cussing, semi-public sex (they fuck in a men’s restroom tehee), unprotected sex (boo 👎), creampie, cowgirl position, implied handjob & blowjob (didn’t write that part explicitly), quickie?, begging, male masturbation, accidental erection, sannie is unable to cum with just his fist so he asks reader for help <3, dirty talk, praise, pet names (sannie, princess, jagi & more), in conclusion they’re DESPERATE.

nic’s notes ⋆ the wip has been posted 🙇‍♀️ four san fics in a row tho... YES SIR !! 🗣️ dw i’ll post a hongjoong one shot soon <3

the ambience was calm, the ac provided the room with cool air, the murmurs were a bit lower than usual so it was at the ideal volume and the members were naturally getting ready to go on stage, the screams of the excited and frenetic fans that non patiently waited in the stadium bleachers belied the calm atmosphere in the room.

as you were taking care of mingi’s hair and making it your job to make it look spectacular, you saw your boyfriend’s figure on the mirror. his reflection showed a bothered san, struggling with the zip of his shiny white pants. you redirected your eyes to mingi’s scalp, spraying small bits of glitter onto it.

“all done, princess” you chanted, meeting the man’s satisfied grin in the mirror; a smile unconsciously taking place on your face.

“it’s princess indeed.” he double checked his just-styled hair before rising from the chair, rotating his body towards you; back facing the mirror. “you seriously are an artist”

“wouldn’t be working in here if i didn’t have that title” you teased a little bit, stealing a charming laugh. you continued chatting with him for a couple more minutes, looking over his shoulder from time to time to see the cute pout formed on san’s pink lips. he let out a soft huff and made his way out of the room, your iris following his every movement.

“excuse me, mingi-ah. gotta finish up the work.” you explained before hearing an overshadowed humming of their song called “work”. chuckling, you tracked your boyfriend’s course.

you walked past a closed door, but you stepped backward when you noticed its threshold beaming a clear light. you hit your knuckles against the wooden door in a funny musical rhythm before hearing and seeing the handle of it twist open, revealing san’s figure; his makeup half messed up.

his annoyed features beamed up when he saw you, a hint of relief in his orbs. ”baby! so glad you’re here. come on.” he grabbed your hand not too gently but still without hurting you and pulled you to him, closing the door behind you quickly without giving it much of a thought that you were a woman inside a men’s restroom.

“s-sannie! what happened?” you analyzed his face for a moment, noticing smuddered powder of eyeshadow along the sides of his eyelids and his foundation slightly botched.

“uhm. kinda feels like this outfit doesn’t fit in the right places, if you know what i mean.” he spoke sheepishly, his muscly thighs uncomfortably restrained against the tight fabric of the pearly white pants.

your hands reached the sides of his pants. you tugged the piece of clothing twice with enough force to feel how snug it was.

you gasped lowly. “how did this happen?”

he sighed, rising and lowering his shoulders in surrender. “i don’t know how they keep messing up my measurements.”

you couldn’t help but ask the stupid question that had struck your thoughts the moment you saw him. “how did you even manage to get yourself inside those pants?”

he whined, sulking. “i don’t knowww, just get these off me.”

a soft blush heated your cheeks. “love, you gotta be on stage in less than thirty minutes, we can’t do—”

“not what i meant, filthy girl.” he deadpanned, the red on your face deepening. “not a bad idea though.”

a rush of embarrassment made your skin hot. you landed a sharp, yet light smack on the side of his shoulders. the emitted sound exaggerated how harshly you had hit him. “choi san! focus!”

“you’re the one who gave the idea!” he defended himself, arms closing around his chest.

you sighed before humming lowly, submerged in thought, your brain already trying to scheme a solution as san dedicated himself to pout cutely, huffing softly, clearly annoyed at the uncomfortable, leg-numbing fabric.

a click sounded inside your head. “i’ll go find and see if there’s another pair of those. if not, then i’ll get you something similar. just wait here.” you uttered as you stretched your opened palm in front of you.

he nodded. “okay, go,”

you gave him a little smile before vanishing from the tiny restroom. after hearing the door clicking shut, you sprung towards the dressing room, where wooyoung and seonghwa were conversing trivialities. yunho noticed you and your fast heartbeat the moment you spawned at the door.

his eyebrow quirked up for a bit. “what’s up? why were you running just now?”

you exhaled in an exasperated sigh. “i need to find inseol”

inseol was your friend and also the head of the dressing department, she designed and planned every single one of ateez’s stunning and mind-blowing outfits. “haven’t seen her.” yunho simply responded.

“me neither.” the two other men replied in unison, the low curse you huffed going unheard by them.

“why though? we’re all dressed up already.” wooyoung questioned.

“sannie’s having a problem with his pants. they’re way too tiny and therefore, tight.”

the thought alone of san dancing his soul out on that stage with senseless, numb feet makes your head spin in the worst way. you had to help your boyfriend somehow, and inseol not being in sight was complicating things.

“are you serious?” hongjoong stepped into the room, and you felt your blood run cold.

if there was something kim hongjoong hated, it was unforeseen events.

you managed to compose yourself the best you could. “yes but i’m already taking care of it!”

your words did almost nothing to calm hongjoong’s growing boiling stress. you closed your eyes for a tiny second, already accepting your fate and mentally preparing for hongjoong’s temper tantrum, but seonghwa’s wise and soothing voice intervened. “hongjoong, she said she’s already taking care of it. so let her do what she gotta do, we’re all under the same circumstances and pressure.”

hongjoong heaved a sharp sigh, frown relaxing, limbs letting go of the way-too-quickly accumulated tension. “you’re right. sorry, go ahead.”

you smiled sweetly in an attempt to reassure hongjoong. “it’s okay. i’ll figure this out — no need to worry.” you said as you eased your way out the door, but not before mouthing a genuine ‘thank you’ to seonghwa, who only nodded politely as he gave you a tiny grin.

as you walked towards the room where your sannie was, your mind anxiously scrambled for a quick solution, but with so many limited options, your stress only grew bigger. you mumbled under your breath some possible resolutions, yet nothing ingenious came to mind.

it wasn’t until you passed by this chair, overloaded with a black and seemingly heavy and full backpack with pieces of clothing on top. your eyes flickered toward the overused chair and you instantly started roaming through the mountain of fabric, wishing for a similar pair of white pants to come into sight.

in the distance, you could hear the voices of your coworkers murmuring about how much time was left until the concert started. 20 minutes was all you had.

then, a miracle happened. the low percentage of chances of you finding the exact cloth you needed elevated drastically to one hundred the moment the almost identical pearly white pants covered your opened palm.

you almost squealed when you found it, but you had to remain collected and professional. instead, you cleared your throat and headed towards the men’s restroom with hurried steps, where your poor sannie awaited for your savior-like presence.

you twisted the door handle once you were face to face with the men’s restroom symbol, opening and closing the door behind you quickly.

you expected him to be fighting against the tightness of his pants, huffing and groaning, full of stress.

“jagi,”

you definitely weren’t expecting him to be half naked on the floor, with a throbbing cock in hand as he panted breathlessly, the snug fabric of the pants still rubbing against his covered balls. his makeup was already fucked up because of the blanket of glistening sweat his face was covered in. his half-lidded eyes and shiny lips only invited you to sink into sin with him.

but you couldn’t. not when he had a stage to be on, a performance to give.

your eyes stayed widely open like plates as you blurted out. “sannie, what are you—”

“i tried getting out of these but it just kept rubbing against my dick every time i tried to move.” he blabbered, soft sobs hitching his breath. “i really didn’t mean it but ‘m so hard, jagi. i don’t know what to do and it just doesn’t go down.”

your mouth dried as you intently stared at his velvety tip, enveloped with his big hand, fully covered in precum, pulsating and aching under his fingers.

oh, your poor sannie.

so endlessly helpless and sensitive.

“help me, please.” he begged, his voice cracking, yet so fucking cute.

and of course you’d lend him a helping hand.

you cooed at him as you approached him, the slow steps of your low heels clicking against the wooden floor.

“oh, baby. so sensitive as always,” you caressed the side of his messed-up hair. you internally sighed since you had to redo your hard work.

but that thought faded in a blur, ’cause now you had more important things to do.

and that thing was sat obediently in front of you, waiting for your magical touch to send him into another dimension in less than ten minutes.

’cause that was all you had to get the deed done.

“‘m sorry, love, but—” he gulped before pleading. “can you suck it? please.”

naturally, your sweetheart of a boyfriend hardly ever lets you suck his cock, since he prefers pleasing you first, prioritizing your release before his.

desperate times call for desperate measures, though. so of course you knew he wouldn’t be asking you this if he had another alternative, another solution that didn’t mean resorting to such a filthy act, in such a short time, and in such a place.

“of course baby.”

five minutes.

only five minutes had passed until he was practically begging you to let him fuck you.

”please, jagi, it’s the only way it comes down” he used as an excuse. it was valid, though, the clenching walls of your pussy were the ultimate method to soften up san’s girthy length.

after a brief moment of considering it, your hand movement came to a stop, his reddened cockhead slapping against his uncovered abs, a sticky line of pre-cum dirtying his happy trail.

“we’re going that far, huh?” you teased, kissing his jaw as you positioned yourself on top of him. he tried to whine out an excuse, a reason why he wanted to fuck you with only a few minutes before his show, but you shushed him quickly, grabbing his girth by the base and aligning it towards your welcoming entrance. “we gotta be quick, though.”

he exhaled, taking in the view that unraveled in front of him. “i know.”

after giving him a warm smile, you sank down slowly, your body instinctively leaning slightly forward, your palms laying flat on his firm chest, using as the perfect support. you took him inch by inch, until your pussy lips grazed his balls. a satisfied sigh left your mouth, san’s head immediately rocking back as he grunted deeply, your warming insides always felt so heavenly divine.

the way you clamped down him forced him to lock gazes with you again, his low hiss cutting through the air. then, he realized that you weren’t actually moving, so he breathed in to ask, but you were faster, replying to his untold question. “fuck me, then.” you leaned closer, your faces just a few inches apart. “take what you need, sannie.”

san stared up at you with an intoxicated, loving gaze, a silent “thank you” dripping from his sparkling eyes. his hands landed on your hips, holding you steady before lifting them up, a few inches of him withdrawing from the cozy embrace of your cunt. whilst he held your body up, you purposely squeezed his cocktip and san cursed under his breath. he started with a slow pace, driving his hardness up against your pussy, filling you all the way up.

you arched your back when his tip stroked that divine spot in you, eyes almost rolling back to your skull. “s—sannie, oh my fuck!” you kept moaning and panting breathlessly on top of him, completely powerless.

he dove his head into your breasts, nuzzling his mouth in the middle of them. your bouncing tits rubbed against his cheeks with every jump, san’s blood rushing towards his face. his half-lidded eyes and curled-up feet were the only evidence needed to prove that he was actually enjoying this.

“oh princess.” he exhaled endearingly, utterly in love with your bouncing figure. “i love how you feel.” he uttered as he massaged your sides, ramming his cock to your convulsing pussy, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. “that’s the spot, isn’t it?”

his voice penetrated deeply inside your eardrums, your trembling core almost failing to keep its balance as you came closer and closer to the edge. “y-yeah, ‘m so close, so fucking close—ugh!”

your moans grew louder with each thrust, your hands holding onto his arms as they squeezed the heart muscle of his biceps. saying that you were a mess was an understatement, your white shirt had been discarded a while ago, a trail of sweat falling in between your breasts like rain; skirt hiked up to your marked hips. your mouth hung open in satisfaction, the sensation of being filled to the brim tipped you a bit.

“fuck— how much have we got left?” san groaned, hissing breathlessly.

“i—“ you stuttered as you raised your wrist up, staring at the clock that decorated it so elegantly.

5 minutes.

“we got five minutes, san. you gotta hurry.” you exhaled, looking desperate for your boyfriend’s release. he was the one who needed to be on that stage in less than ten minutes, after all. so you prioritized him thoughtfully.

”fuck, princess — you have to come.” his fingers reached down your sensitive clit and started rubbing circles on it. you squirmed on top of him as he kept thrusting his cock up your velvety walls.

you would’ve protested, claiming that it was actually him who had to come, if he hadn’t stimulated your bundle of nerves. your core twitched nonstop as your back arched beautifully. a string of incoherent pleas and san’s name spurted out of your mouth thoughtlessly.

in a warning manner, you clenched around him once or twice before coming undone all over his hardened dick, your body surrendered and crumbled down, your cheek colliding with his shoulder as you panted nonsense.

“that’s it, just like that, princess. you did so good.” he praised before grunting lowly. “so fucking good f’me.” he hammered your hips down his pelvic bone as he kept pistoning his hardness against your overstimulated, convulsing pussy. “gonna come inside you, fill you up reaaal good—yeah, y’ want it?” he growled, grasping your ass cheeks, definitely leaving his signature mark.

you blabbered a weak “yes”, too blissed out to even formulate coherent sentences. “‘course you want it, my dirty little princess.” san squeezed his eyes shut and moaned when he felt your walls clamp down on him for the nth time, this time bringing him closer to the abyss of pleasure though. “ugh— ‘m coming, ‘m coming, baby—“ he announced in a low, gravelly groan as he emptied his heavy load deep inside, filling you with his cum to the bone; eyes dilated.

he slowed his pace down before sitting completely still, your cunt still welcoming the white shoots of cum that his cock spurted out helplessly. you encircled his neck with your weakened arms for a moment, almost forgetting about the fact that your boyfriend had a concert to give. your body jolted as the reminder hit your head. “fuck, baby — you need to go now.”

and seemed like your boyfriend had forgotten about that little detail as well. “shit, you’re right.” he uttered before sliding his arms under your thighs and back, lifting you off him and placing you on the floor again as he rose up.

his head shook incessantly, searching for the whole reason why you were there. the word “pants” left his lips quietly, like a mantra. you stared up at him and helped him, pointing where the pair of pants was at. “behind that chair, sannie.”

he turned his head abruptly to where you had pointed at, the problematic pair of white pants coming in sight. he sighed before grabbing them and putting them on at the speed of light. you got up weakly and walked your way towards him.

san looked at you and immediately rushed to help you. “baby, stay still, you can barely walk.”

you locked gazes and you replied. “and just sit down on the floor of the men’s restroom?”

you quirked your eyebrow up and san shrugged a bit. “‘m just trying to help.” he sulked cutely and it made your heart swell with love.

you giggled as your fingers reached up to his messy hair. “i know you are, sannie, ‘m just kidding.” your fingers coiled around a lock of hair, curling it up. “now let me help you.” you repeated the action with the rest, finally perfecting his hairstyle with nothing more than your skillful fingers. meanwhile, san adjusted his pants and moved his legs around, doing silly movements to test the elasticity of the fabric, humming in approval when he felt nothing but comfortable.

you stepped back, taking in your work of art, nodding and sighing proudly. “perfect” you uttered.

”thank you, princess.” he leaned closer to peck your lips before his fingers brushed the door handle. “i’ll get going.”

”go kill that stage, pretty boy.” you encouraged, pride dripping off your tone.

san puffed his cheeks cutely, his eyes turning into pretty crescent moons. “yes, ma’am.”

and with that, he disappeared through the door, carefully clicking it shut. when the door closed, you crumbled down, shaky knees keeping your core shuddering. you stared down at your dripping pussy, gushing and coating the floor with san’s heavy cum. a strong blush heated your cheeks as you took in the view.

after a few minutes, the shakiness ceased and you were able to get up and clean the mess you and san had left on the tiles of the black marble floor. in the background, you could hear the sudden shouting of thousands of atinys combined with the faint sound of their song “halazia” reverberating throughout the whole arena, a sweet smile forming on your lips.

you remembered hongjoong’s angry demeanor when he overheard that san was having a problem with his outfit. so, you muttered under your breath, imaginatively responding to him. “told ya i’d take care of it.”

| masterlist

[starvales]

take me where my soul can run

s. ishigami x gn!reader

synopsis: short scenarios, in different point of views, of the kingdom of science questioning just who are you to senku.

content: dr stone spoilers, set before ryusui, sfw, fluff, smidge of angst, small skinship, childhood friends, ambiguous relationship, gender neutral reader, y/n is not used, improper use of school lab equipment.

a/n: if you can figure out what song the title is from the you get 10 billion points >:) in my mind for this fic, reader is sort of specialised in linguistics, i.e languages, theatre, poetry, basically a certified yap master 💀💀

word count: 2k

“I don’t have a sliver of doubt that you’re with Senku right now. After all, what are you two without each other, amiright?”

The Ishigami village goes oddly quiet, another companion before the stone world, perhaps? Senku had mentioned Taiju and Yuzuriha in passing quite a few times, but on the other hand, what made you so different that the founder had said your name specifically?

While the descendants ruminate in their own wonder and curiosity, there’s a heavy ache thumping against Senku’s chest, despite the laughter coming from his father.

Sorrow and grief line his veins, loneliness pumps his heart, and the burden of humanity rests upon his brittle shoulders.

(“To be drowning in loneliness despite being surrounded by others is quite the unfortunate fate, no?” You were sat atop a table, swinging your feet while watching Senku mix some chemicals that you’ve forgotten the names of. “I can’t imagine you being able to function without my ever so benevolent company.”)

As if that wasn’t enough, just to top all of it off, he has yet to find your petrified body.

Trust him when he says that he’s tried and tried, tirelessly in fact, in between the breaks he gave himself during the first months of post-petrification solitude and the rare moments away from the Ishigami village.

As lack of luck would have it, you were just nowhere to be found.

(Senku hands you a beaker, a quiet gesture to drink whatever’s in it, and you take a sip without hesitation. While onlookers that aren’t from the science club would assume he handed you an unknown concoction to drink, it’s just tea that he brewed with his equipment. You claim that he makes it best.)

With how much you occupy his mind, he can hear your voice going into a spiel about nothing but nonsense of the current situation that somehow turns poetic.

Byakuya says your name again with a chuckle. “Keep him on his toes, okay? Wouldn’t want a wild Senku roaming around the world without you!”

(“Heh, I would relish in the peace and quiet if it means i’m away from you.” He says while adding more sugar to your beaker with a lab spatula with careful precision and mixes it for you.)

Senku does not believe in wishing, but just this once, he hopes that when this war is over, that he’ll be able to let you listen to Byakuya’s last message and laugh at the old man with you again.

Just where are you hiding?

(You smile knowingly, as if you could read his mind. “To borrow a phrase from someone I know quite well, you would ten billion percent miss me.”)

“When we win this war, Taiju and I have a surprise to show you, Senku! A very belated Birthday present.”

Before the aforementioned scientist could protest, probably to say he doesn’t need or want a gift, Taiju cuts in.

“Senku! We found them!!”

There’s your name again, Gen thinks while he takes a side glance at Senku, whose grip on the microphone shifts into one with more attentiveness, more interest.

The atmosphere around Senku feels different, too.

Not suffocating or cold, but not necessarily warm, either. More odd, if anything. Relieved? Skeptical, curious. Anticipation?

Senku is stationary and silent. Definitely thinking.

“Taiju, it’s not a surprise anymore if we tell him what it is…”

“Ah, I just got so excited! Sorry, Senku! But i’m sure you’re excited to see them now, I bet you miss them a ton!!”

Ever since that record of Byakuya, Senku has been offhandedly mentioning you every so often in conversation. Even entertaining questions about you from the village, though only when he isn’t busy with, y’know, war prep against the Empire, and if they’ve caught him in a sharing mood.

It’s as if he finally deems it safe to reveal your existence to this new world; an environment and community that would not harm you.

Defensive. Cautious.

A relative?

Definitely not. Senku has mentioned being an only child and only having Byakuya.

A friend?

While it’s closer to the mark, it’s also not quite there at the same time.

Gen can see that Taiju and Yuzuriha mean a lot to Senku, but they don’t implore the same type of look or tone of voice that Senku presents when you’re mentioned.

You’re close to Senku, but seemingly much closer than just a long-time childhood companion.

Perhaps… a lover?

…

No, Senku isn’t one to indulge himself in customs as flimsy or as pitiful as love. The scientist even said so himself, multiple times: love is illogical, a waste of time, or plain simply, not even a millimetre interested in it.

Another thing about Senku is that he isn’t one to go back on his word unless it benefits his goals, and Gen can’t see any benefit from lying about love of all things.

“Oi, what’s got you looking so constipated, Mentalist?”

“Nothing in particular, Dearest Senku~”

Then that begs the question, just who are you?

“What does ‘muse’ mean when you use it to describe Senku? I’m not too sure what the word itself means either, but it sounds too intimate of a nickname for two people that claim not to be lovers.”

(A few from the Kingdom of Science had accompanied Senku, Yuzuriha, and Taiju in locating your statue, curious as to what you looked like. And just a few moments ago, they had found, dressed, and poured the revival fluid on you, standing back as the phenomenon of breaking out of the stone begins.

“Well, if it isn’t my dearest muse! How have you been faring these past few centuries?” There’s a twinkle in your eyes that nobody that didn’t know you has quite seen before, it’s almost enchanting, as if you were unconsciously beckoning people to pay attention to you.

Before anybody could hear their resident scientist’s response, Taiju and Yuzuriha unexpectedly pushes the group away from the reunion.

“Hey, what gives! I wanna hear what Senku has to say so I can make fun of him later!” Ginro doesn’t back down without a fight, but with Taiju’s sheer willpower, it was like watching a baby try to push down a brick wall.

“Ahaha, it’s best to leave those two alone for now.” Yuzuriha gently beckons Suika and Kohaku towards the camp. She looks back for a moment, but doesn’t stop walking. “They will come back with Senku to introduce themselves soon enough, trust me when I say they’ll make quite the entrance.”

The group may be far from the clearing from where you are with Senku, but with her eyesight, Kohaku can see an embrace of two people.

With your back turned towards her, she can see Senku’s grip on your clothing, holding tightly, trembling.

She decides to keep this to herself, for now.)

Kohaku is blunt in asking you the question that’s been itching her brain for a few weeks now.

You were revived only around a month ago, and have already contributed plenty to the Kingdom of Science, especially with the morale of the labourers: performing quick theatre skits, or maybe occasional performance acts with Gen to help manipulate encourage the workers to do their job faster.

Kohaku also decides that if Senku isn’t going to address whatever is between the two of you, she’ll surely get the answers out of you!

“Hm, the best way I can explain is to just look at him.”

She feels her brow twitch. Kohaku guesses that you’re a dead end too and groans into her hands.

You chuckle but do not look up from your work on the blueprints infront of you.

Kohaku glances at the scientist, not far from your personal work bench - he’s giggling to himself while tinkering with who knows what - and raises a brow, typical Senku behaviour at work there.

“What about him?” She asks, unimpressed.

“Isn’t he the most interesting thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?” From Kohaku’s angle, she notices a soft smile and an adoring glimmer in your irises.

Interesting is one word to put it, Kohaku thinks and doesn’t comment further.

But she also thinks she understands just the tiniest bit more than before; you and Senku are both those kinds of people that just know rather than say.

On the other hand, the child that adorns a watermelon head sat to the right of you, unknowing of the underlining meaning of your words, is oblivious and lost.

“But Senku’s just in his element at the moment, building new gadgets and inventions Suika has never ever seen before, so he looks like regular old Senku to me!“

“Exactly.”

You put your pencil down, roll up the finished blueprint, and hand it to Kohaku to give to Senku.

Seeing Suika’s eyes swirl in confusion through her lenses, you offer her a small apology and a head pat. She hands you another large sheet of paper for the next room plan.

Suika feels like there’s now even more questions than answers.

“Sorry, Suika. Despite my rather expansive vocabulary, and ability to wax on about nonsense for hours on end, I don’t think I could simplify the reason more than that.”

And it’s true, what you say.

Because then you would be forced to start off by telling her about the old world, dull and monotone, filled with unambitious nobodies that were afraid of originality and the trueness of their own character.

You would have to reveal to her the circumstances in which you first met the light that now guides you, the colour that paints your vision, and the muse to your art, Ishigami Senku.

Even after that, how do you begin explaining to a child, born into a world as primitive as this one, the complexities of something that’s been non-verbally established centuries ago, something that was instinctual rather than described.

She simply would not understand, no matter how prettily you dress your words.

Perhaps you’ll tell her when she’s grown older, a tale for another day, when she’s lived her own experiences rather than learning about yours.

For now, you will close the script that writes your story. Who doesn’t like a bit of mystery?

[ Extra - Opening Act ]

“Hmm, a unique but befitting opening line to introduce a new supporting character into a seemingly already ragtag cast…”

“Ragtag?!” Gen exclaims.

“Ragtag…” Ukyo sighs, exceedingly exasperated.

“Ragtag?” Suika questions, not hearing the word before.

Senku chuckles beside you and crosses his arms. “I suggest you let them finish, or else they’ll make it everyone else’s problem later if their flare of inspiration is cut short.”

You continue on as if you didn’t hear them, chin pinched between your thumb and the knuckle of your pointer finger.

“How about…”

You hum and mumble for a few more seconds before your eyes light up with mirth. Right hand to your heart, your left arm is outstretched to your front, palm up, a gesture similar to that as if you were reaching for something.

“After centuries confined within a prison of the mind, not a soul to keep them company bar their own, thou hast finally freed thyself! One’s solitude gnawed at thy skin and mystery shrouded thy thoughts. No more are the shackles that bind them yap yap yap yap…”

To Gen, all of your words blend together as he loses even more sense as to what kind of person you are. What he does know is that you’re exactly like Senku in a way, it’s endearing, almost.

“I see we’ve revived yet another eccentric…” Gen whispers to the archer next to him. Ukyo can only laugh sparingly.

When the mentalist turns back to you, you’re wrapping up your rather flamboyant display. “Onwards, the travesty we call life shall commence once again, so get excited!”

[imnotshua]

joke me something awful - jww

٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader ٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2002 and you ask wonwoo to take you home. later, he wonders why you haven't been doing this the whole time. ٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au ٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you. ٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships. not really a situationship tho, it’s very much mutual pining. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. wonwoo is down bad i'm so sorry friends, he is just!!!!!! occasional use of pet names (baby & angel from wonwoo. darling/sweetheart from others), no use of y/n or other variations, porn with plot mostly, ambiguous ending (sorry my beloveds). wonwoo could do with some more confidence ig. a bitter ex (oc) is mentioned and important for the plot! mentions of previous hook ups between wonwoo and reader. toxicity from the ex, but i don’t particularly think reader and wonu are! they just :(((((( feel free to correct me tho. ٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses, fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (it's 2002 college students were stupid then ok), dry humping lmao, cum eating, wonwoo on top, cum in pants, sloppy kinda, wet patches <3, soooo much hand holding, morning sex, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post! ٠࣪⭑ wc: 5.4k - complete ٠࣪⭑ a/n: i listened to fob's from under the cork tree on repeat for like 2 weeks straight and needed to do something with the feelings in my chest. this universe started in a different work that i'll post another time, this is the before. it is complete on its own, can be read without the others, but please note that future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boys I've Got A Dark Alley–. Please consider listening to Air - Yeji, it's the feeling this couple gives me. ٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for putting up with my screaming over wonwoo, thank u for reading this over and telling me it wasn't gross. to jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate u both so much. to everyone else, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

2002

Wonwoo didn’t apply for the fellowship program, despite all your insistence that if you got in he’d be sure to, that he’s smarter than you’ll ever be. At the time he said it felt like too much work, but later he realised he couldn’t take the fear of rejection. This would’ve just been another failed start. Deep down he wondered if he’d even deserve it.

The celebratory dinner for new scholars is supposedly an elitist, snobby, and frankly, horrid affair so naturally you’re going. If only to foster those connections you’re making for your future career. Wonwoo turns his nose up but he agrees to be your date nonetheless. You don’t have to beg, just ask the question and say he wouldn’t embarrass you like the man you’ve been dating for four months, and that fills him with some strange sense of achievement. 

Of course, once that guy hears you’re taking Wonwoo instead of him, he dumps you without ceremony. And now Wonwoo sits on your bed in a rented suit far too expensive for him to feel entirely comfortable in, watching your reflection choose which earrings to wear, and he wonders if you’re even bothered. He doesn’t know how to talk to you about this. Partners are off limits, usually, but since he had some involvement in the break up, in some roundabout way, he thinks maybe he should at least check. He wets his lips.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Since Hongseok?”

You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Fine,” you say. “I don’t think it was going anywhere. He wanted something more traditional. I started to get the impression he was setting up to cheat on me, actually.”

Wonwoo is unsurprised, sounds like you are too. “You’re better off without him,” he says, picking at bits of fluff from your blanket clinging to his trousers. It’s one his mother knitted for your sixteenth birthday. “You’ll meet someone new in no time.”

���Yeah, I don’t know,” you start. “I think I’ll stay single for a while.” 

Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows in surprise and you catch him in the mirror. With a laugh you say, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’ve been a serial dater since we moved to this city and you’re stopping now?” Wonwoo’s lips twist into a grin. Teasing is easier than edging too close to real. “Just when you’ve hit your prime?”

You scoff. “Rude. I’ll hit my prime in my thirties. Just watch.”

Wonwoo watches as you apply your usual lipstick and thinks about the time you didn’t wear any. You were just kids but it didn’t seem so long ago. You’re almost the same. Eighteen years of your starkly different lives intertwined and somehow still as close as you ever were. Still the sharpest person he’s ever known, still the sweetest if only in private. Still his parents' favourite person, still his. (His stomach twists). 

You’re giving yourself a final appraisal in the mirror before turning to Wonwoo and asking how you look. 

“Good,” he says, with a nod. Breathtaking, really. “Pretty.” 

“Thanks,” you say, smiling relieved, moving to sit next to him on the bed and linking his arm. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”

“Mm,” he agrees, following your gaze into the mirror, pinpricks creeping over his skin. You look like you’re together, he thinks, as he notices you’ve chosen earrings that go with his tie. Anyone could make that assumption. 

“You look sad, Wonwoo,” you say, quiet and soft. “Are you sad?”

“No,” he says, throat tight and feeling like his back is pressed against the wall. “What would I have to be sad about?” He lets you slip your hand into his, lets you lean your head on his shoulder for a moment, because this is how you make him feel better. Because you know that he can’t be pushed to talk about things he hardly understands. Barely a minute goes by before he sucks in a breath and says, “Shall I call us a taxi?” 

“Sure, number’s in the book next to the telephone,” you say. “Want a drink? I need one for this.”

“Water for me, someone’s got to get you home.”

“Aw, come on. Don’t make me drink alone.” You laugh when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. My reputation’s on the line.”

“One beer,” he offers. You pout and he can’t stop his smile.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It went like this:

Both of you had no less than three drinks before the taxi showed up.

Your peers kept thinking that he was your “elusive boyfriend” and upon correction that he was ‘just Wonwoo’ their eyes lit up and exclaimed “oh we’ve heard so much about you!” 

The way he blushed made you want to kiss him silly (you had another drink instead).

Drink five? Four? Everyone here is obliterated, no one notices you and Wonwoo readying to leave.

He looks so pretty like this, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, watching your lips as you talk.

The taxi you pre booked won’t be here for another ten minutes but the room was so stuffy (in both the literal and figurative sense) that as soon as you tell Wonwoo you need to get out of there, he’s nodding and pulling you out into the street. It’s so busy– of course, it’s OT week– that you struggle to find a spot where you won’t be bumped into for a while, eventually settling against the wall of the building opposite, in good view of the road. The noise around you is hectic, and you’re desperate for something less bothersome. Wonwoo looks drunk, looks fucked out. Cheeks flushed and lips parted. Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the brick and exposes the column of his throat. Pretty.

“Hey,” you say, slipping your arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Wonwoo hums. “Yeah, ‘course.” A pause– he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy but you like how it feels. “Anything for you.”

There’s a saccharine sweetness stirring in your stomach. You ask him to tell you the story of Baucis and Philemon again, press your body against his and hope he can still read you like he used to. It’s been years. Maybe he won’t want to.

“Why do you like that one so much?” he asks. You take in the smell of his soap. You know you shouldn’t want to go down this road again. “It’s hardly even a love story.”

“They’re the ultimate love story,” you insist, looking up at your friend to find him already watching you. “They’re precious to each other. I want that kind of love.”

It’s more than that. Baucis and Philemon have a timeless love. Their lightness oozes out of them, their love is both infectious and tender. So devoted they choose to die together. Never without the other even after they’re gone– turned to trees, and their branches and roots weave together so tightly that you can’t tell where either one of them starts and they stay like that, as relics of a lost ancient world. 

There is something ancient about Wonwoo, too. For as long as you can remember he has been older than his years, telling stories of places long buried, of deities forgotten about. You think maybe he was meant for then and not now, the cusp of the twenty-first century. He keeps echoes within him. Carries heavy stones to turn over in his hands and spend time memorising the marks. He is deliberate in the way he moves, no ill-perceived rush, and Wonwoo’s silence carries more weight than his words. 

So when his eyes flicker to your lips again, and he still doesn’t move, you know it’s on you. You know you’re going to have to be the one to shift the sands, change the direction of the tide. You’ve been lovers before. Neither of you have ever said never. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He’d been thinking about it all night but you were the one to press your lips against the corner of his mouth, eyes on his and holding the proximity. Are you thinking about it like he is? Is your heart thrumming in your chest like his? 

“I can feel you thinking.” 

“Uh huh.” His mouth goes dry. He can’t kiss you with a sandpaper tongue. 

You run a finger between two buttons on his shirt, eyes up, watching his reaction. “Can I stay at your place tonight? Hansol’s at his parents' house this weekend, right?” 

Wonwoo’s mind goes blank and he can feel the pink creep over his cheeks. “Did you squeeze your Pompompurin pyjamas in that little bag?”

Your lips twitch in an almost smile, lean in to ghost a kiss against his bottom lip. Wait to see if he pulls back– he doesn’t. His hands just slip down your back, touching the skin under the strap of your dress. Didn’t imagine when he helped you zip up earlier that he’d be the one invited to pull it off you. Has he hidden his desire so poorly? “Do you wanna fuck me in those pyjamas, Wonwoo?”

The street noise is drowned out when you kiss him properly, and it’s embarrassing the way he’s breathless, gripping at your waist and pulling your body closer. Humiliating that this is in full view of strangers, doesn’t want them to see how you lick into his mouth, doesn’t want them to hear your sharp gasp as his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He spins you on the spot, crowds you against the brick and blocks out the world with his shoulders. You pull on a button and slip your hand through the gap. The touch burns. Your kisses are suffocating, loves the way you smile into it, the way you make him chase your lips, run your fingers along the waistband of his trousers an– fuck– he’s gonna get hard in the middle of the street. 

Desperate, he pulls off you and whips his head around to look for the taxi, you’re already complaining. “Not here–,” he says, words rasped, catching in his throat. He can see the taxi rounding the corner, and in a beat he’s pushing off the wall and dragging you toward it by the hand. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

He doesn’t touch you in the taxi. Hopes you know it’s not because he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t want to lose himself. His fingers flex eager on the leather seats, wanting something he won’t take. As the driver fiddles with the radio, you lean over to lay your hand across his, to whisper in his ear, “do you still lick your fingers after you’ve made someone come on them?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but he can feel the way you watch him swallow– thick– and stare hard out the window at the passing lights. He never did that with anyone but you.

Now you’re paying for it. He’s more confident in the privacy of his bedroom, in the dark. Cages you in his bed, doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before smothering you with his body. Your mouth on his– wet, and eager, and bruising. His hands move to your face, in your hair, angling your head to give his lips access to the tender spot behind your ear. He’s got your dress bunched up around your waist. Takes up all the space between your legs, still too much fabric separating you. One of Wonwoo’s hands cast over the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. You melt into the touch, rolling your hips against him, he sighs into your skin. “Can feel how hard you are,” you gasp, hands pulling at his hair. Makes his skin electric. 

He moves faster, desperate, and you trap his body between your legs, angle your hips so his cock can rub against your clothed cunt just right. “Gonna ruin your trousers,” you whisper. Yeah yeah yeah, fuck it, he’ll pay for dry cleaning for once. The warmth, the wet, seeping through makes him insane. Needs it more than ever, needs you just like this, breath ragged and pupils blown. Needs you needing him so bad you can’t even get out of your clothes before you come. Needs you whining, needs you telling him how badly you want it. Won’t ask for anything, but you know what he likes. It’s always been easy with you. 

“Feels good,” you say. Wonwoo nods into your neck, the pressure building so fast it’s blinding. Hips thrusting rough, rutting like an animal against your clit, desperate for you to get off before he falls apart but he’s so cl–”Missed you so much, Wonwoo.”

“Ah, fu- fuck–” You’re sucking a mark into his neck and Wonwoo can’t stop. Comes hard, breath catching and his rhythm is all fucked up, so fucking embarrased that he couldn’t draw this out. You’re talking him through it– sounds like heaven whispering how good he is, how good this feels, how you love how he sounds when he forgets himself. Didn’t realise he was groaning. A mess of a person reflected in the cum staining through the fabric of this horribly expensive rental. 

Shit.

Needs to get out of this fucking suit. Needs to press his face into your cunt. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. Four years– you wasted four years with other people when you could’ve been doing this. Pushes away thoughts of you being someone else's not even a week ago. Some sick, possessive slice of him wants to reclaim you, mark you up and present you as his to the world. Wants to take the cum in his underwear and push it into your body. Look, see, she’s mine mine mine. Wonwoo’s chest aches.

Your clothes shed in silence. You lay him back against the pillows, kneeling next to him with spread legs, he loves when you let him see. You take one of his hands in yours and work circles into his palm as you pull two of his fingers into your mouth. Get them slick with spit, work your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He can hardly breathe watching you manoeuvre his hand down your body against your cunt, using him like a toy, until his remaining brain cells start to work and he takes over the movement. He’s half hard again already. 

“Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasps. Crooks his fingers and you whine. Wants to eat the sounds spilling from your lips. Needs to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t say something stupid. “Sit on my face?” he asks, obvious urgency in his voice. 

“N-no, like this first,” you say, almost like you’re begging. “Missed your hands so much.”

You look at him through hazy eyes as he works you quickly to the edge, pulling whimpers from your throat every time he plays with your clit. Feels you get impossibly wet when he slips his fingers in deep and moans unashamed along with you. You buck into his palm, head tipping forward to watch his soaked long fingers fucking into you agonisingly slow. Your breath stutters in your throat as he uses his other hand to tease your skin, trailing gently over the meat of your thigh, your ribs, cupping your breast and then dragging you over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Flicks his wet tongue over until it pebbles between his teeth, and you gasp. 

“M’close already,” you whisper. “Gonna come, Wonwoo.” He ruts his hard cock into the air, chasing heat that isn’t there. Fucking loser. You don’t even notice with the way he’s got your breaths coming in fragments. You come undone like lightning, cunt soaking and pulsing around his fingers, your body collapses on top of him, your forehead pressed into his chest. Wonwoo wants a taste but wants to work you through the aftershocks first. He teases slow circles over your clit until you fall apart with a sob, and have to drag his hand out from between your legs.

He waits until you sag to your side– catches sight of your cheeks, flushed and sweat sticking to your skin, your pupils blown out and breathing shallow, more beautiful than he’s ever seen you– before he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them. 

“You’re indecent,” you laugh in disbelief. He almost feels gross until you’re babbling about how hot he is. How he makes you insane. You laugh again when he rolls you onto your back and settles between your legs. It’s been so long he needs to do this right. Starts by pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, ghosts more over your centre, waits for the sound of your gentle sigh before laving a thick stripe over you. Knows just the way to make you molten. He laps at your core until you’re almost sobbing. You jolt whenever his nose slips over your clit, and you’re begging for him to stop the tease. He’ll never deny you what you want. His tongue flicks fast over your clit, his face wet with you now. His moans sound muffled against your cunt when his name falls from your lips in staccato breaths. 

Things have hardly changed. Four years and now, it’s just the fucking same. Your fingers still find purchase in his hair the same way. Mouths at your inner thighs to give your cunt a break. Shit, you’re so hot. You’re clenching around fucking nothing. Pulls the skin between his teeth and you’re writhing, trying to get his tongue back where you need it. Love when you get desperate like this. 

Your nails drag over the nape of his neck and he’s close to losing control– fucks his cock against the mattress and almost cries at the pressure. You grind against his face, Wonwoo knows you’re close. Blacks out as he eats you like he’s been starving, his face so slick with spit and you it drips down his chin to the sheets. Doesn’t dare stop to breathe as he feels your legs begin to shudder over his shoulders. He watches the way you look down at him, brows pinched pleasure, waits for your lips to fall apart with a broken sob before licking into you so deep. He can’t tell who comes first, can’t tell who the enormous wet patch on the mattress belongs to, doesn’t fucking care, just wants to keep you. 

He moves over you when you’re done, pressing chaste kisses to the corner of your mouth, to your cheeks, to your temple, before you’re giggling and pulling his body next to yours. 

“Shift over,” he says, tapping at your hip. “Don’t wanna sleep in the wet patch.”

“Did you come again?” you ask, moving to the side to give him space.

Wonwoo nods, cheeks instantly flushing with heat. But there’s no need for embarrassment because you’re sucking in a breath. Seriously, you say “You have no idea how much I like that.”

He doesn’t reply, just fits his body against yours and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets your words wash over him. Sleep comes for him quicker than he wants it, but not before he slides his hand into yours, not before telling you he missed you too. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mascara stains Wonwoo’s pillowcase but right now he doesn’t care. It’s still too early, still dark outside, but this room is hot, his breath is hot, your leg thrown over his waist is hot, and he’s considering just how monumental this is. It’s been almost four years since you touched him like this. In school it started with a ‘one kiss won’t ruin us’ and ended just before university with a ‘are we still friends?’ Way back then you both swore blind that you could just go back to your regular scheduled programming and nothing had to change. An agreement that those brief months you had (not quite) together in high school were just two best friends helping each other out. A mutual understanding that the love you share is completely and utterly platonic, and platonic friends can totally kiss/touch/fuck for a few months without it ruining something more special than sex. Except he didn’t really mean it. The trouble was that Wonwoo knew even then that he wanted something all consuming. Felt it with you. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.

Wonwoo is absolutely not spiralling. 

You’re still sound asleep (always are after nights like the last), and his arm is trapped. Back then he’d use this time to bask in you. With you wrapped up in him it was easy to feel like you were completely his. He used to feel like he could do anything to you, and you’d let him. You’d want it, even. Didn’t actually want to take you over but knowing that he could– the intensity of that scared him. Now that feeling doesn’t come, maybe because you’ve had the separation of time and different lovers, he doesn’t know really. He still doesn’t understand what happened before university. Doesn’t get why you stopped coming over when he was so close to unbottling the feelings in his chest. Just knows that the conversation took him by surprise even after a week of distance. Just knows how his chest ached even as he agreed that it’d be sensible to put it all to bed before leaving your sleepy town for the big city. Knows how his gut twisted sharp when you said that just because you were going together didn’t mean you should go together. Maybe he should’ve protested then, showed you how much he needed you. Impossibilities stretch out before him– if it went that way, last night wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t be tracing tiny figures of eight on the small of your back right now. If you’d been together then, young and stupid, would you have stood the test of time?

You stir, half roused, and Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, choosing to be grateful for the now. He pulls your waist closer, runs his hand under your thigh to gently adjust the weight. Your eyes are still closed but you make a soft sound of surprise. 

“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.” 

“I was dreaming,” you murmur. 

“What about?” 

Your smile is lazy against his skin. “Can’t tell you,” you say. “You’d run away.”

Wonwoo thinks hard about this. “I don’t run away,” he says, quiet and serious. 

You blink open soft eyes to look at him, and Wonwoo feels too much. “Your face is all frozen, Wonwoo,” you say, gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Kiss me. Wish me good morning.” Wonwoo’s voice comes out with more edge than he intends. Doesn’t sound like his own. Feels cheap, something sleazy. Feels tragically guilty about it until he sees the look on your face. Like you want to eat him.

Your gaze is dark when you lock eyes with him. Push up with your hands, straddling his hips, his cock against your rear. You take his hands, larger than yours, place them on your ribcage, push them down down down, making goosebumps pebble along in his wake, until he’s using his thumbs to spread you apart. A little wet already, leaves a slick mark on his skin. He sighs at the sight of it. Your breath comes harder when he plays with your clit. You lean over, say– “Good morning, Wonwoo.” Press a delicate kiss to his top lip. “You’re gonna come inside me this time, okay?”

Wonwoo isn’t religious, but he feels like angels made you for him. Tells you so, and you gasp against his mouth. The way you kiss him this time is anything but angelic. Wet. Messy. Sharp teeth leaving imprints on his lips. It hurts. Nice in a way it shouldn’t be. A relief– the way the hurt makes his mind stop. You roll your hips against him and he makes a desperate sort of noise. Keeps his eyes focused on his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your hands reach behind you to stroke his hardening cock and he arches into your touch. “Needy,” you chastise. Wonwoo nods. 

Doesn’t want it like this. Wants you under him, wants to fuck you slow. Tells you so, the words come anguished, almost– and you nod dumbly. You don’t drag out the build up. Lay on your back, open your legs for him, spread them wide and line his cock up with your wet heat so quick he doesn’t have time to overthink. He makes a strangled sound when he pushes inside. The slide is agonisingly slow. He’s being so careful, as if you’d crack like china - fragile beneath him. You clench around his cock, thick and scalding- God, it’s sweet torture. Wants more of it. 

You pull, desperate, at his waist, rolling your hips against him but he’s pulling out. This time he just slides the head in, hisses, teases, and back out. He does it again, and again, doesn’t know who this teasing is for. He’s licking into your mouth, pressing hungry kisses on your open lips, eating up all your noises, your whines, your soft moans. Things are still the same. He likes going so so deep into you, bottoming out and grinding his skin against your clit, likes when your moan comes muffled in his open wet mouth. It’s the same. Likes when your hands find purchase in the sheets, fist them in desperation, likes when you feel it’s not enough so you grab at his, intertwine your fingers and let him fuck you like this. Like you’re in love. It’s still the same.

“How do you feel, angel?” 

“Uh–” A pause to suck in a fractured breath.

“Tell me how you feel,” he says. Almost begging. Would be mortifying if he whispered that against anyone else’s cheek. Can feel the wetness there too. 

“Homesick,” you gasp. “I feel homesick.”

He fucks you harder then, driving into you so deep he could be part of you. Melt in, blend together, blur the lines, weave the fucking branches. You’re full of spells, he thinks. Made of magic. Doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud. Wet starshine eyes on his as you come apart, pussy pulsing around his cock, impossibly wet, telling him come with me baby, babbling nonsense about how you want it inside, how you need it so bad, how he makes you feel so good. 

Wonwoo really looks at you before he comes. Takes a moment to commit your face to memory. Any time could be the last and he needs this– needs you– to stay with him. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same. 

“Like that, Wonwoo” you’re saying, all breathy and high-pitched as he spills into you with a choked whine. “Like when you–” Cum slips out around his cock and he gathers it up on his fingers. Pushes them into your mouth to stop you talking. Can’t bear it. Can’t bear the way your pupils blow out and you lick the cum from his fingers. Can’t stand how his name sounds in your mouth, sweeter, more precious, because there’s something like love coating it. God, he wants to be yours. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Wonwoo likes your apartment better. Likes the way your sheets start to smell like him too. You’ve always carved out space for him but this time it’s deeper. Likes showering with you here, not to fuck, just to wash away the mess you make of each other. Likes holding you in his arms under the stream, running the lather across your skin, loving kisses pressed against your forehead. Lately he stays here more often than he goes home.

You haven’t said the words yet, neither has he. Doesn’t want to push too much too soon. 

It’s just after nine on Sunday morning, and you’re out of– well, pretty much everything. He offers to go but you insist he stays in bed, hair messed up, sheets pooling in his bare lap, glasses slipping down his nose while he rereads Kafka on the Shore. “Stay just like that,” you say it like a demand, but you’re smiling, pulling a scarf around your neck to run down the street to the shop, maybe stop at the deli for breakfast. “Back in a bit, don’t move an inch.”

A few minutes go by when the shrill of the telephone in the living room punctuates the silence. Wonwoo doesn’t get up to answer, it’d be improper, what if it was your mother? So he lets it ring through to answerphone, and when it clicks on it takes him a moment to recognise the voice calling your name. 

“Are you there? Pick up, darling, pick up.” Wonwoo knows Hongseok has been trying to get back together with you. You’d mentioned it a few weeks ago, how he’d sent flowers. You don’t even like roses.

“I saw you by the river yesterday,” he says. Wonwoo looks up, stares at the wall. You’d insisted on getting out of the apartment, pulled your bodies from soft sheets and into soft sweaters, and Wonwoo only complained a little bit. In truth he loved walking with you. That he can hold your hand in public and no one bats an eye. Loves that you can be his here, that you claim him too. “You’re with him now? How long, darling? Does he fuck you like I do? ” 

Wonwoo scoffs. Hongseok is just jealous. Wonwoo gets it. He does. Even if he’d never dream of saying it.

Hongseok’s voice turns nasty now. “Do you think he’ll stay this time? Does he know you’ve been in love with him this whole time? Everyone else knows. He won’t love you properly, you know. He’s just using you like last time, is he still keeping you a secret? You don’t deserve that, darling. You don’t deserve to be hidden–”

 Is that what you thought? That he hid you? Bile swirls in Wonwoo’s stomach. Does he do that? Did he hurt you?

“–he’s just gonna fuck you up again and you’re gonna be miserable. But he won’t let you be happy with anyone, will he? Selfish fucking prick, he’s so cruel to you. You don’t see it, do you? It’s pathetic how fucking dumb you are for him–”

Wonwoo didn’t think he was cruel. There is spit pooling in his mouth, his stomach churns. Is he cruel to you?

The line clicks off as Hongseok spits out every name under the sun, but Wonwoo doesn’t hear the rest as he retches into your bathroom sink. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Forty minutes later, you’re calling out to Wonwoo that you’re home as you kick off your shoes. “I got us bagels, do you want the salmon cream cheese or the egg and ba- oh! You’re up.”

Wonwoo sits on your sofa in soft sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. His skin and hair are damp from the shower. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “You okay?” you ask, tentatively. 

“Hmm,” he says. “Didn’t feel too good earlier.”

“Poor you,” you say. “Will breakfast make you feel better?”

“No, sorry,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. “I think I should head home. Don’t wanna give you a bug.”

You laugh softly, unpacking the groceries from the bags. “You spat in my mouth last night, if you’ve got something then I’ll have it in no time,” you say. “C’mon, stay. I’ll look after you. I’ll make soup.”

But Wonwoo is already standing, pulls a little money from his wallet and leaves it on the table. “What’s that for?”

“Breakfast,” he says. “Feel bad you bought all this and I need to go.”

You frown. “Stop being strange, I don’t care about the food, just get the next one.”

Wonwoo sighs. He’s annoyed, you realise. This is weird.

In the end you let him leave without drama, but not without a kiss to his cheek. He leans into it a little longer than usual. Closes his eyes as he hugs you goodbye. 

You eat breakfast alone. TV on, sound off, wondering what the fuck even happened before you notice the light of your answerphone flickering. 

New message, left 09:21: 

Hi Sweetheart! It’s your aunt’s birthday next week, just calling to remind you to send a card. Call me back, okay, love you, bye!

End of messages.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

sorry about the ending there :( if it helps, it does get better for them. thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you'd prefer to scream at me directly, feel free to send me a message <3 ily, goodnight!

[demie90s]

okay so juju and reader where juju is js down bad for this girl, if you look at her tiktok? reader. if she post on her story it has something to do with reader, she’s wiped asf for reader loving her in private and public. bonus if juju follows her around on the basketball court

Whipped Doesn’t Even Cover It

Juju x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

MASTERLIST | MORE

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:Everyone knows JuJu Watkins is that girl on the court—but off the court? She’s completely down bad for you.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ:Fluff, clingy obsession, public affection, basketball romance, social media vibes

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ:Mild language, intense thirsting, TikTok-level public displays of affection

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~

I swear, that girl is everywhere.

Every time I turn around, she’s there. Waiting. Watching. Hovering like she’s part of my shadow. Like she’s trying to learn how to move like me, breathe like me, be me. And she makes it look good. Never awkward, never needy—just present. Like I’m gravity and she’s stuck in orbit.

It started slow. I’d catch her glancing during drills, handing me my water bottle when I didn’t ask, offering to rebound for me like it was her life’s mission. Cute, right? Until I scrolled on TikTok one night and found a video of me walking down the tunnel set to slow R&B. Her caption? “She don’t even know I’d ruin my whole life for her.”

Five thousand likes in under an hour.

Then it was the reposts. Every selfie I posted, she shared it. Commented “my girl” like she had a title. One time I posted a gym pic and she tagged it with “this the reason my knees hurt.” I didn’t even respond—I just showed up to practice the next day wearing her hoodie like I was claiming her back. She didn’t say anything about it, but the way she smiled told me I’d just made her whole month.

And don’t let us play against each other in scrimmages. JuJu? She don’t guard me. She trails me. Like a heat-seeking missile. Even when the coaches yell at her to switch, she shrugs it off, eyes locked on me like, “Nah. I got this.” One time I said, “You know I’m not gonna go easy on you.” And she grinned and said, “You never do. That’s why I like it.”

Tell me how I’m supposed to keep a straight face after that?

Today in open gym, she didn’t even try to hide it. Wouldn’t stop staring. Every time I touched the ball, she perked up. When I hit a three, she clapped harder than the whole gym. I jogged past her once and caught her mouthing “goddamn” under her breath. Subtlety? Gone. She follows me around like I’ve got the answers to her soul. And honestly… I kinda do.

She waited for me after, too. I took my time in the locker room just to see if she’d stay. She did. Sat right outside, scrolling through her phone like it didn’t matter that it was already dark and cold as hell. I walked out, hair wet, hoodie half-zipped, and she stood up like she’d just seen a miracle.

“You hungry?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Always.”

She opened the door for me, real quiet. Like we were in a movie. Like I was something delicate. But there’s nothing soft about the way she looks at me. Not sweet. Not innocent. Hungry. Like she’s waiting for permission to love me harder.

And the crazy part?

I haven’t told her no. Not once.

It got worse—or better, depending how you look at it—when we all went out.

Just a few teammates, chill spot, some plates, some laughs. I didn’t even invite her directly. Somebody else mentioned it in the group chat and JuJu just… showed up. Like always. No questions, no hesitation. She pulled up in sweats, slides, and a fitted hat like she’d been ready all day.

I sat down at the table and before I could even take off my jacket, she was already pulling the chair out next to mine. Ordered for herself, then asked if I wanted anything before the waitress left. I didn’t even answer fast enough—she ordered my go-to without blinking. Girl knew my entire menu history like she studied it.

Then came the food. She barely touched her own plate before sliding a piece toward me with her fork. “Taste this. You’ll like it.” I did. Ate it right off her fork, too. No hesitation. No shame. Everyone saw. No one said anything—until my dumbass friend across the table raised a brow and went, “Y’all dating or what?”

I just rolled my eyes and kept chewing. JuJu? She grinned like she won a bet. Wiped the corner of my mouth with her thumb and said, “We just locked in.” And nobody argued.

She paid for my meal. Held the door open on the way out. Took my leftovers in her hand like it was her job. She even offered me her hoodie when the wind picked up, despite the fact that she was wearing a damn tank top underneath. I didn’t ask. She just shrugged and said, “Don’t want you getting cold.”

I let her.

I let her do all of it. Every sweet, extra, clingy, girlfriend-coded thing. Because truth is? I like it. I like the way she moves around me. I like the way she sees me. Like I’m something worth orbiting. Like I’m the only reason she even showed up.

And maybe… I am.

@draculara-vonvamp @non3ofurbusiness @kajspeaks

[dannyriccsystem]

hiii I LOVE YOUR SMAUS/TEXTS RAH THEYRE SO ADORABLE

Can I request a kimi antonelli x reader (potentially SMAU) where the reader and kimi are like childhood bsfs and classmates and he takes her to a f1 race for the first time (she's been to races before just not f1) if you don't want to do this it's OK 💖 take your time 🫶🏻🫶🏻

FORMULA ONE DRIVER X READER

Summary: You, Kimi’s childhood friend, attend a race for the first time, and it’s exhilarating!

Warnings: Altered timeline (Kimi gets a podium in Suzuka)

Featuring: Childhood best friend!Kimi Antonelli x reader

This is such a cute idea!! I hope it’s to your liking ☺️🫶

your.username

liked by kimi.antonelli and others

your.username A post dedicated to my best friend, because apparently he’s getting points 🤔 Good job Kims!

Tagged kimi.antonelli

—

friend1 - “apparently” 😂

♥︎ by author

your.username - Been to lots of F2 races, never even looked at F1 👀 I’m just happy to support a friend

> kimi.antonelli - I’m gonna pretend like you didn’t say that.

♥︎ by author

kimi.antonelli - When are you gonna come watch me race? You’d love it!

♥︎ by author

your.username - And are you gonna pay for my ticket? 😉

> kimi.antonelli - Mercedes will pay!

♥︎ by author

> mercedesamgf1 - Since when 🤔

♥︎ by author

username1 - Anyone else think they’d be cute together?

username2 - As friends? Totally!

username3 - Yeah, but Y/N is focused on school and he’s focused on racing! As they should be

> username1 - Who knows 👀

mom.username - Oh look at that little guy on the second slide ☺️ I remember when he was that small, and now he’s racing in F1 😬

♥︎ by author

your.username - Yeah and now he’s no longer cute 😛

> kimi.antonelli - Well MY mom says I’ve only gotten cuter

♥︎ by author

Y/N’S MESSAGES ☆

Extremely nervous for her flight, Y/N continuously opened and closed her text messages. Her eyes darted around the crowded airport, bustling with both locals and foreigners traveling to and from Italy. She could easily tell apart tourists from people who lived there, evident by how confident they seemed in their travels. Those who were lost were clearly newcomers, while the ones that wandered easily were obvious citizens.

Nothing from Kimi yet. He was probably busy with practice and such, but she still couldn’t help her anxiety. What if plans changed last minute? She’d be flying without WiFi, so if he tried to contact her mid flight, she wouldn’t see. What if something happened on the plane? What if she’s a bad luck charm?

She took a deep breath. Calm yourself, Y/N. She had seen many a race when he was still with Formula Two, so this should be no difference. Besides, it was supposed to be fun, so she was determined to have fun. She opened the ticket on her phone and allowed the attendant to scan it before boarding the plane. She seated herself next to an older woman, who would engage in light chatter throughout the lengthy travel.

With her phone now on airplane mode, she pocketed and leaned back, ready for a long flight.

your.username

liked by georgerussell63 and others

your.username Quick stop in Osaka before Suzuka… 🖤🩵 Let’s go @/mercedesamgf1!!

—

mercedesamgf1 - Running on fuel, tyres, and a new good luck charm!

♥︎ by author

your.username - Let’s hope!

username4 - Y/N IN SUZUKA, THIS IS NOT A DRILL EVERYONE

username5 - WE DIDN’T PRACTICE FOR THIS

kimi.antonelli - Y/N’s first F1 race!

♥︎ by author

georgerussell63 - Excited to meet the girl Kimi is always yapping about 🙄

♥︎ by author

your.username - He can’t help it! I’m unbearably cool

mom.username - Safe travels, topolina! Good luck little Kimsy ☺️

♥︎ by author

your.username - Thank you mamma 🥰

> kimi.antonelli - Grazie mille, signorina! (Many thanks, miss!)

♥︎ by author

username5 - Momma L/N has my heart

♥︎ by author

F1

liked by kimi.antonelli and others

F1 BREAKING NEWS! Three new records set by the aspiring Kimi Antonelli. He officially holds the title of the youngest driver to set fastest lap, youngest podium winner, and youngest F1 race leader. It all happened here in Suzuka!

tagged kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1

—

your.username - I’M SO PROUD OF MY BEST FRIEND!

♥︎ by author

username6 - Don’t EVEN. WE ALL SAW THAT KISS, GIRL.

username7 - ADDRESS THE KISS ‼️

> georgerussell63 - Yeah guys ADDRESS THE KISS

> your.username - GEORGE?

georgerussell63 - That’s my teammate, so by default I also have all these titles

kimi.antonelli - Wish I was the youngest winner, but P3 isn’t bad! 😂

♥︎ by author

username8 - Yeah, yeah. TALK ABOUT THE KISS

redbullracing - Not for long. Project Max 2.0 is coming 2026

♥︎ by author

mercedesamgf1 - Don’t even joke, lad

♥︎ by author

The race was nothing like anything Y/N had seen before. There was always the exhilaration that came with Formula Two, but it wasn’t on this level. The driving was so much more aggressive, the cars were so much faster, and the drama was a lot juicier. She watched everything with bated breath, her nervous gaze never leaving the track as she paced anxiously.

Everyone had greeted her with kindness, making her feel at home in the Mercedes garage. Even George Russell, a man whom she had been warned about, was surprisingly warm. It was a totally new experience, despite the fact a lot of faces were familiar.

Her closest friend didn’t win, but for a rookie, he made so many accomplishments. He was leading the race for an astonishing amount of time, breaking the record of youngest race leader. Ultimately, he landed at P3, putting him at the youngest podium winner as well. One more thing— Youngest driver to get the fastest lap, all in one place.

He hopped out of the car and lifted his helmet, taking the baclava off directly after. His messy curls stuck out in funny patterns, making her giggle as he ran towards her. His arms reached out over the barriers, a boyish grin on his devilishly handsome face. Y/N was expecting a bear hug, one that made all her joints crack and lifted her feet off the ground.

But no. Right as cameras clicked, paparazzi flooding him, his lips crashed against hers, and Y/N found herself melting against his warmth, despite the unwanted attention.

When he was pulled off and away to continue addressing the fans, she couldn’t help her dorky smile. Who cares if the entire world saw?

f1gossipofficial

18.1k likes

f1gossipofficial Breaking news! Kimi Antonelli is allegedly dating lifelong best friend, Y/N L/N, who he kissed after P3 in Suzuka! New Mercedes WAG?

tagged kimi.antonelli, your.username

—

kimi.antonelli - So disrespectful 🙄

♥︎ by author

your.username - “Oh man I missed a girl publicly and now everyone thinks we’re dating” no way!

♥︎ by author

> username9 - clocked

username10 - NO WAY

username11 - WHAT I DIDN’T SEE THE KISS?

username12 - CAN SOMEONE UPLOAD A CLIP?

> username9 - YEAH I HAVE IT ONE SEC

> username9 - JUST UPLOADED IT

username13 - I NEED TO SEE

georgerussell63 - 😂😂 Welcome to F1, Kimi

♥︎ by author

kimi.antonelli - I asked for the full experience and I am getting the full experience…

♥︎ by author

kimi.antonelli

liked by your.username and others

kimi.antonelli Got P3, broke three records, and got the girl!

tagged your.username

—

your.username - I love you ☺️🩵🖤

♥︎ by author

kimi.antonelli - I love you more ❤️‍🔥

georgerussell63 - Congrats, mate! Proud of you

♥︎ by author

georgerussell63 - FYI they forced me to take that first pic.

mercedesamgf1 - Happy to welcome a new lucky charm to the Mercedes fam!

♥︎ by author

Comments on this post have been limited.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

CAN U PLSSS DO A JEALOUS SIEUN FIC AND THE BOYS TEASING HIM ABOUT IT

Length: ~800 words POV: Third person Pairing: Park Si-eun x fem!Reader (uses "Y/N") Tone: Slow-burn tension, fluff, humor, jealousy, and a little smut at the end 💋 Setting: Canon-verse, post-season, the boys are all vibing

Title: Cold Shoulder, Warm Hands

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

It started with a laugh.

A stupid, high-pitched giggle that escaped Y/N's lips when Suho nudged her side with the end of a chopstick and made some dumb pun about fishcakes. Si-eun heard it from the kitchen, where he was refilling his water bottle. He wasn’t even part of the conversation. Wasn’t even looking at her.

But he heard the laugh. And he heard Suho's response: “Aw, that laugh is cute. You should do it more.”

Si-eun’s jaw twitched.

“Oi, lover boy,” Bumseok teased as he flopped onto the couch beside him later, elbow knocking his. “You’re glowering so hard I thought your soul left your body.”

Si-eun didn’t respond.

Suho was still talking to Y/N, way too close if you asked him. His hand lingered on the back of the chair she was sitting in, and she was smiling—no, laughing again—at whatever dumb story he was telling.

“Seriously,” Bumseok snorted. “You look like you're plotting Suho's murder.”

"I'm not jealous," Si-eun muttered.

"Never said that," Bumseok said innocently, and then leaned closer. “But if I did, you’d still be proving me right.”

It only got worse when Eunjang’s golden retriever, Ryu Seokdung, joined in.

“Y/N, wanna come with me to the convenience store? I need help picking chips.”

“She’s not your mom,” Si-eun muttered under his breath.

Ryu blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” Si-eun said stiffly, arms crossed.

Y/N blinked up from where she was squatting by the low table, rearranging snacks. “I don’t mind! Gimme a sec.”

Si-eun’s eyes narrowed.

Ryu grinned at him as he backed toward the door. “You coming too, Si-eun?”

Si-eun should’ve said no. He should’ve said he didn’t care. Instead, he stood without a word and followed them out like a silent bodyguard.

The teasing didn’t stop.

When they returned and Y/N offered Seokdung a bite of her snack first, Si-eun turned to stare blankly at the wall. When Suho sat beside her during the horror movie and she didn’t move, Si-eun stood up halfway through and pretended to go check his phone. When Bumseok caught him stealing a glance at her while she was curled up under a blanket, hair messy, face flushed from laughing too hard—

“Oh my god,” Bumseok whispered. “You’re so gone.”

“Shut. Up,” Si-eun hissed.

“You want her to sit on your lap, don’t you.”

“I will kill you.”

Si-eun wasn’t stupid. He knew she wasn’t flirting with them. Not really. Y/N was just nice. Too nice. She smiled easily, listened too well, and let her arm brush against Suho’s for too long without noticing.

But he noticed. Every single time.

The problem wasn’t her. The problem was him.

He had no claim. No right to feel possessive. Not unless she gave it to him. And she hadn’t. Not yet.

So he sat there and simmered. Silent. Cold. Jealous out of his goddamn mind.

It boiled over the night they all stayed late at the rooftop.

Everyone was tipsy on cheap beer and convenience store snacks. Y/N had her head on Suho’s shoulder, drowsy from laughing too hard. Ryu was sprawled beside them, already half asleep. Si-eun stood on the far end of the rooftop, hands in his pockets, staring at the skyline like it had offended him personally.

Bumseok sidled up beside him. “Bro. Come on.”

Si-eun ignored him.

“You know she only laughs like that with you,” Bumseok said. “The rest of us? We get the polite version.”

Si-eun’s jaw clenched. “She’s clearly not saving anything for me.”

“She doesn’t know she needs to.” Bumseok nudged him. “Make a move, man. Or else Suho’s gonna do it for you.”

That got his attention.

Si-eun turned sharply. “He wouldn’t.”

Bumseok just gave him a look. “He could.”

And that was enough.

Later, when everyone had left and Y/N lingered behind to help clean up, she found him still on the rooftop, alone.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t turn around. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You barely said a word all night.”

He finally glanced over, eyes unreadable. “Maybe I didn’t have anything worth saying.”

Y/N frowned. “Did I do something?”

Silence.

And then—

“You were hanging on Suho the whole night.”

She blinked. “...I was?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Are you mad about that?”

His mouth twitched. “I don’t get mad.”

“You get moody.”

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You’re jealous.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, Si-eun finally turned fully to face her, eyes dark. “I don’t like seeing other people touch what I want.”

Her breath caught. “What you want?”

He stepped closer, gaze intense. “You.”

The kiss was rough.

Not because he was angry—but because he’d been holding it back for weeks. His hands gripped her waist like he was afraid she’d vanish. Her fingers tangled in his shirt. When she gasped, he bit her bottom lip. When she whimpered, he deepened it.

When they broke apart, he didn’t move.

“Don’t let them touch you like that again,” he murmured against her mouth.

Y/N shivered. “Or what?”

“I’ll make sure they know who you belong to.”

They didn’t sleep that night.

She ended up pressed against his chest, her thighs trembling around his hips, his mouth buried against her throat as he groaned her name into the dark. And when she came, shaking under him, she whispered: “I’m yours.”

And that was all it took to undo him.

The next morning, Si-eun walked into the living room, looking half-wrecked but smug.

Y/N followed ten minutes later, limping slightly.

The boys didn’t miss a thing.

Suho: raises a brow “Sleep well?” Bumseok: snorts into his cereal Ryu: blinking “Why is Y/N walking funny?”

Y/N flushed bright red.

Si-eun didn’t say a word. Just leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and stared down Suho with the most smug, satisfied glare in the world.

Let them guess.

He didn’t need to say a thing. He had what he wanted.

And now they all knew.

[fangirlfuel]

His Favorite Person

___________________________________________

You were Oscar Piastri’s childhood sweetheart. It sounded simple on paper, but in reality, it was anything but. He’d known you since you both were seven, growing up on the same street in Melbourne. He was the boy with messy hair and a shy smile, and you were the girl who had no problem standing up for him when someone teased him for his quiet nature.

It wasn’t long before the two of you were inseparable. Wherever Oscar went, you weren’t far behind. He even credited you with convincing him to pursue karting when he’d doubted himself at thirteen.

Now, years later, he was one of McLaren’s golden boys, and you were still the center of his universe.

---

“So, Oscar, who’s your inspiration?”

The interviewer’s question was generic, the kind of thing every driver was asked at least a dozen times. Most people expected him to say someone like Ayrton Senna or Lewis Hamilton. But Oscar? He barely hesitated.

“Y/N, definitely,” he said, his face breaking into a soft smile at just the thought of you. “She’s been with me since the start. I wouldn’t be here without her.”

The interviewer blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “That’s sweet. Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” he began, his voice lighter than usual, “she’s the one who pushed me to go after this. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. And, uh, she keeps me sane when things get crazy.” He laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Also, she’s probably the most patient person in the world. I don’t know how she puts up with me sometimes.”

---

The fans ate it up, of course. Anytime Oscar mentioned you, which was often, the internet would light up with posts.

---

It wasn’t just in interviews, though. Oscar’s Instagram was basically a shrine to you. Every post, no matter how racing-focused, had at least a couple of pictures of you tucked in somewhere. Sometimes it was a candid shot of you laughing in the paddock, other times it was a picture of the two of you on holiday.

His captions? Equally lovesick.

Even McLaren’s media team couldn’t resist teasing him about it.

“Alright, Oscar, let’s get this promo video done. Try not to talk about Y/N for five minutes,” one of them joked during filming.

He grinned but didn’t deny it. When the video came out, fans weren’t even surprised to see a clip of you sneaking into the paddock to surprise him mid-season. Oscar’s face had lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and McLaren had (very cheekily) titled the segment, “Oscar’s Favorite Person Arrives.”

---

You’d teased him about it countless times.

“Do you realize how obsessed you sound?” you asked one night, scrolling through the comments on his latest post.

“Obsessed?” he repeated, pretending to think it over. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“Oscar!”

“What?” He grinned, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. “You’re the best part of my life. Why wouldn’t I talk about you all the time?”

Your face burned, but you couldn’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it.”

---

If anyone had asked, Oscar would’ve said it was easy to love you.

After all, you were his constant, his best friend, his partner, his everything. Whether he was racing halfway across the world or just lounging at home, you were the one thing that grounded him.

And if the entire world knew it? Well, that was just a bonus.

----

[studioeisa]

so disconnected 📵 jeonghan x reader.

if jeonghan's 'boyfriend material' posts are on point, well— you can thank his girlfriend.

★ jeonghan x social media manager!reader. ★ word count: 2.6k ★ genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff!!!, txt's soobin is mentioned, down bad!jeonghan, jealous!jeonghan. some smau elements. not proofread; we go out swinging, baby. ★ footnotes: "kae if i wake up to a single shred of jeonghan on ur page..." ¡sorpresa, @diamonddaze01! no further notes, your honor.

🎧 now playing: disconnected by 5 seconds of summer — i admit i'm a bit of a fool for playing by the rules, but i've found my sweet escape when i'm alone with you.

Click.

Jeonghan hasn’t even looked up and yet he already knows what he’ll find when he does. Sure enough, when he shifts his weight onto his other foot and glances away from the TikTok he’d been watching— there you are. 

He wishes he could see your beautiful face. Alas, it’s obstructed by the sight that he’s grown used to associating with you. 

Your phone at eye-level; its camera, trained on him. 

“Yah.” His high-pitched bid to feign annoyance is a futile one. Everybody knows that Jeonghan could never be truly irked by you, no matter how masterfully you pushed his buttons sometimes. 

After clicking away for a couple more minutes, you finally lower your phone. 

There you are. 

Jeonghan swears he’s not a sap, not what those people call ‘simps’. But something about your smile always makes him a little weak in the knees, makes him want to be The Best Boyfriend In The World, bar none. 

He gestures for you to come closer. Once you’re within reach, Jeonghan is already wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in.

“Don’t do that,” you snipe as he brings you into his chest. “We’re in public!”

Jeonghan can’t hide the way his eyes roll. “I don’t care. This isn’t public. It’s the parking lot of your apartment building,” he says dryly. 

“Still public.” 

“Still don’t care.” 

You go to shove at Jeonghan’s chest. He responds by tightening his hold on you, a sound of protest rising from the back of his throat. 

“C’mon, just a minute.” He buries his face in the top of your head, breathing in the soothing scent of your shampoo. It makes something in his chest flutter. “I’ll let you go, just— give me a minute, sweetheart.” 

He can sense that your acquiescence is begrudging, but he takes it nonetheless. A win is a win, he thinks smugly as he takes the opportunity to hug you a little tighter. 

It’s been three months since you finally agreed to try dating Jeonghan, though you had insisted that it be kept on the down low. Something about decorum, discretion. Workplace violations? Jeonghan doesn’t really remember; he had been a little too excited at the prospect of finally being yours that he wouldn’t have minded any condition in the world. 

The past weeks have unironically been some of the best in Jeonghan’s life, though there were probably some things he could do without. 

“It’s my day off, you know,” he mumbles into your hair, “which means it should also be your day off.” 

You giggle, and the force of it has your shoulders slightly shaking against Jeonghan’s chest. 

This is how he knows he loves you: Your laughter always felt like a small victory. Even before, he’d crack jokes in staff meetings and his eyes would immediately go to gauge your reaction.  

He liked making you laugh. He liked being the reason behind your smiles. And, God, did he like you. 

“Let me think about it.” There’s a hint of teasing in your voice, followed by a little ‘hmmm’ of faux thoughtfulness. 

He’s about to bite back at you when he feels your hand at his hip, somewhat leaning into his embrace, and he instead channels his energy into holding back a dreamy sigh. You go on, “No, I don’t think so. Go pose by the wall for another picture.” 

Jeonghan leans back a bit, just enough so that you can see his furrowed eyebrows as he whines, “But I’m Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan!”

The title is a new one. Five days recent, in fact, and Jeonghan is hoping it will cut him some slack. 

“Okay, Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan,” you say without missing a beat. “Go pose by the wall.” 

Jeonghan peels himself away from you with a grumble. He knows he’s acting a bit like an overgrown child— stomping as he walks, pouting when he leans— but he trusts that you’ll find it endearing. 

You pull out your phone’s camera app. Jeonghan is ready to frown the entire way through, maybe sass you that you only told him to pose by the wall but you didn’t say how he should look. 

But then, instead of “One, two, three…”, you call out something else entirely. 

“I love you, Daesang winner Yoon Jeonghan!”

He can’t help it. 

He laughs, and you click away.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ Jesse McCartney - Beautiful Soul

jeonghaniyoo_n hang up the telephone and just be here with me Liked by pledis_boos, vernonline, and 1,932,049 others View all 2,109 comments

One pro of dating your social media manager, Jeonghan would argue, is all the ‘vacations’ that the two of you can go on. You’re there for every tour stop, every concert, and Jeonghan absolutely revels in the hour or two he can steal away with you. 

If only he could get you to stop working. 

He knows that you’re technically on the clock more often than not. Managing an idol’s social media presence was no small feat, and your entire shtick was about making Jeonghan look as desirable as possible on SNS. You’ve been doing a terrific job so far, if his steady rise in followers was anything to go by. 

Still. Jeonghan has been attempting to give you the cold shoulder for the past 15 minutes. Attempting, because you don’t even seem to notice that he’s gone quiet— too busy on your phone to pay him any heed. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. He doesn’t even have to glance at your screen; he knows you’re probably on Lightroom, fine tuning the press photos of him from earlier this morning. 

At the twenty-minute mark, Jeonghan finally huffs, “I’m ignoring you.” 

“Hm?” you say distractedly, and he resist the urge to chuck your phone into the nearby lake. 

“I said,” he repeats. “I’m ignoring you.” 

You glance up at him, unamused. “You are literally talking to me,” you note. 

“Well, I was ignoring you before that.” 

“Were you?” 

“Yes. You didn’t notice, so I thought I’d inform you.” 

The beleaguered sigh you let out is not a new thing. Jeonghan has been on the receiving end of your exasperation for as long as he’s known you. 

At least there’s a hint of guilt on your expression as you tuck away your phone. “Sorry,” you mumble. “Everybody’s posting follower ranking listicles since it’s the end of the year. I wanted to see where we were placing.” 

Jeonghan is supposed to be sulking, but that small word— we— has him fighting down a smile. It’s his account, his digital footprint, but you’re the mastermind. You’re the one behind the man, the myth, the legend. 

He’s down so bad for you that it’s not even funny anymore. 

“And?” he prods, his earlier chagrin smoothed out into something that sounds a lot more like resigned affection. “How’s it looking?” 

The frustration that takes over your expression makes Jeonghan want to coo. It’s nothing short of a miracle that he manages to hold himself back. 

“We still haven’t beat out Choi Soobin.” You frown like the other idol has personally wronged you by having a higher follower count. “His boyfriend material photos are too damn good.” 

“His what?”

You whip out your phone. Jeonghan watches with growing incredulity as you pull up Instagram, and he’s less than pleased that user page.soobin is already one of your more recently searched accounts. 

When you shove your phone underneath Jeonghan’s nose, he’s treated to the sight of Soobin’s feed. “Boyfriend material photos,” you double down, like having a visual might somehow explain things away. 

Jeonghan snatches your phone from you. “I heard you the first time,” he says irritably. “But what does it mean?” 

“It means that he looks like somebody’s boyfriend,” you shoot back. 

Oh, Jeonghan does not like that. 

He doesn’t care if it’s just a term for a type of photo. The thought of you perceiving anyone else as ‘boyfriend material’ makes a muscle in his jaw tick. 

“Do you think,” he says coolly, keeping his eyes trained on your screen, “he looks like ‘boyfriend material’?” 

“I mean, yeah—” 

You’ve barely gotten to the end of your sentence before Jeonghan is handing you back your phone. “Where are you going?” you call out as he marches a couple of paces away. 

He looks equal part determined and peeved when he turns to face you. You have your eyebrows arched upward, but he’s more focused on making sure his good side is angled towards you. 

“Get some photos of your actual boyfriend,” he grumbles.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ ZILD - Lia

jeonghaniyoo_n we put the world away Liked by xuminghao_o, min9yu_k, and 1,000,289 others View all 2,109 comments

The day you tell Jeonghan about your plans of resigning, his first thought is Well, that was good while it lasted.

His attempt at being unaffected is a shaky one. You can tell by the way he holds his paper cup just a little too tightly, the way he keeps smoothing out invisible wrinkles on his coat. His poorly concealed distress makes your expression soften, which is somehow worse.

He didn’t want a civil breakup. He’d much rather go out kicking and screaming than have something amicable.

And he most especially didn’t want to be broken up with in some random café in Tokyo. He has half a mind to ask why you couldn’t have waited until the two of you were back home. 

Jeonghan swallows hard, like it might somehow help him swallow the panic simmering in the pit of his stomach. 

“Good for you,” he finally manages to respond. “You’re overworked here, anyway.” 

“That’s not the reason why I’m leaving.” 

Jeonghan hates how calm you look. The two of you had watched— and judged— one too many dramas, and so he’d imagined a breakup with you would be something like that. A rain-soaked street, choice words that neither of you could take back. 

Not you stirring sugar into your coffee like this is not a relationship-defining conversation. 

When Jeonghan doesn’t respond, you continue. Your voice goes a touch softer, and he’s struck with the fear that you’re trying to let him down gently. 

“I’m resigning because of you, Hannie.” That nickname— the one that once felt like a Daesang in its own right, when you first bestowed it on him— now makes Jeonghan’s heart feel like lead. 

“Because of me,” he repeats. 

His mouth is dry. His hands are clammy. He’s thirty seconds away from getting on his knees and begging you to stay, the rest of the café’s patrons be damned. 

Your next words are spoken like an unshakable truth. “Because I love you.” 

You— 

The look on Jeonghan’s face must be priceless; you start to laugh, and the sound of it eases some of Jeonghan’s fraying nerves. 

“I love you, and I want to be with you. Properly.” Your lips purse for a moment. “Well, as properly as being with an idol will allow, anyway. At least I won’t have to worry about getting called in by HR if I’m working someplace else.” 

Workplace violations. Right. That had been a thing. 

All the emotions hit Jeonghan like a truck. Relief (that you’re not breaking up with him), then affection (that you’re willing to do this for him), then guilt (that you’re willing to do this for him). 

He reaches across the table to place his hand on top of yours. Your eyes instinctively glance around your surroundings, checking to see if anyone is looking your way. Jeonghan tugs at your hand and shakes his head. Focus on me, he’s wordlessly saying, and for once, you do. 

“I love you, too. More than you know,” he says. “But I don’t want you to throw away your career for me. Who’s to say you won’t resent me down the line because of it? I— I couldn’t live with myself, sweetheart.” 

You squeeze Jeonghan’s hand reassuringly. “I’m not throwing anything away. I’m just compromising.” 

“I don’t want you to have to compromise anything for me.” 

“Compromise is part of a grownup relationship, Hannie. It’s a good compromise.” 

He must not look convinced, because you take things a step further. Instead of just clasping his hand in yours, you move to intertwine your fingers. There’s some comfort in the familiar feeling of your fingers in between the spaces of his. 

“Nothing is being thrown away,” you repeat, your tone brooking no argument. “I will not hate you tomorrow because of this.” 

Here’s the thing: Jeonghan trusts you implicitly, and not only with his SNS passwords. He trusts your no-nonsense attitude, your unshakeable feelings, your typically sound judgement. 

He wants to trust you now. He wants to believe so, so badly that there is something on the other side for the two of you, and that something would be exactly what the two of you deserve. 

He tongues the inside of his cheek as he considers your words. When he speaks, his voice is a lot smaller than he intends. 

“What about the day after tomorrow?” 

The initial confusion that flits over your expression is replaced by that grin he adores. 

“I’ll still love you the day after tomorrow,” you promise. 

He presses, “And the week after that?” 

“The week after that, too.” 

“What about the month after?” 

“I’ll do you one better— the year after, too.” 

You’re laughing, laughing in the way that he’s always tried to make you laugh, and it’s all Jeonghan needs to trust that things are going to be okay.

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ Pritam, Mohit Chauhan, Irshad Kamil - Tum Se Hi

jeonghaniyoo_n my getaway, my favorite place Liked by ho5hi_kwon, everyone_woo, and 2,000,001 others View all 2,109 comments

Click. Click. Click. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What,” Jeonghan huffs, “A guy can’t take photos of his girlfriend?”

You throw a pillow in Jeonghan’s direction, though your terrible aim has it soaring right over his head. 

Ever since you left his company, Jeonghan has enjoyed an array of benefits that come with dating someone who is not your co-worker. The biggest of which happened to be all the time he’s now free to spend with you, most of which he’s happy to kill in his apartment. 

He’s still a little bit petulant about your new job, though, and he likes to voice it out as often as he can. 

“I bet Soobin has tons of photos of you,” he grumbles.

You pretend not to hear him. Jeonghan tries again. 

From the foot of the bed, Jeonghan begins to crawl over your legs. Your annoyed tsk goes ignored as he takes your laptop and sets it aside, dragging you away from your social media planning for page.soobin.

“He better not fall in love with you,” Jeonghan warns.

You let out a low hiss before swatting at your boyfriend, trying to get him off of you. He doesn’t budge, instead caging you in with his arms on either side of you. 

When he goes to kiss you, it bears none of the threatening front that he’s trying to put up. It’s a slow, sweet thing. A glimmer lighting up his cotton sheets. 

He only pulls away when he can no longer physically manage to keep kissing you. There’s the beginning of a grin on his face as his breaths come out in short pants, as his eyes stay closed. He’s savoring the moment, trying to remind himself how damn lucky he is even if the cost involves running his own SNS accounts henceforth. 

“I’ll give you your laptop back,” he murmurs, satisfied to have had an ounce of you.

But then you’re laughing, your fingers threading through his hair. You tug Jeonghan back down despite the fact that you’re just as breathless, and his lips curl into a full-on smile when they meet yours. 

He’d been happy with an ounce, yes, but who is he to complain when you give him the whole damn lot? 

jeonghaniyoo_n ♫ 5 Seconds of Summer - Disconnected

jeonghaniyoo_n Do not disturb. 📵 - YJH Liked by sound_of_coups, joshua_acoustic, and 3,392,034 others View all 30,109 comments

diamonddaze01 NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ylangelegy just fell to my knees 💔 happy for you, king yourusername :-)

[grimmsbride]

HABITS [ curly / reader ]

when it comes to picking coworkers, curly isn’t the most dependable. but.. the same could be said about keeping his feelings in check.

tags / ex - friends with benefits to lovers(?) | bittersweet | oral sex ( fem. receiving ) | slight praise kink | porn without plot | canon-divergence | chubby coded reader | curly isn’t 100% accurate & i am sorry this is my first time writing for him | curly is lowkey a liar but it’s okay | curly is big ( based off fanart mostly but also game ) | pet names | etc. if i forgot something please alert me.

notes / it has been like.. months since i last posted on tumblr. but i am slowly getting my spark back. this has also been cross posted on archive so if you see it there do not be alarmed. my writing is rusty, so please be nice with criticisms i’m quite sensitive 😭 but please do enjoy <3

“You look like shit.” You murmured softly, eyes carrying up the man’s form. You hadn’t expected anyone to be awake at this hour, let alone outside of their quarters. But whether to your dismay or pleasure someone had joined your little excursion, that someone being your beloved Captain; Curly.

Who looked to be teetering between the land of the dead and living. Bags lined those pretty eyes, a little red— surely from strain. When was the last time he got enough sleep? Was a thought that quickly passed your mind. Regardless you decided against asking, seeing as you were positive he wouldn’t have an answer for you anyway.

The Captain— Curly, allowed the corner of his mouth to lift; a humorous sigh escaping him. “Do I? Hadn’t noticed..”

“And here I thought Mr. Handsome prided himself on his vanity and dignity.”

The man shook his head at your usual flirty remarks, glancing about your own form. He took in the makeshift wrap of blankets you held around your pajama-clad body, noticing your feet covered in slippers. Not the proper attire obviously, but reprimanding you just didn’t seem worth it at the moment.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

You shrugged, eyes shifting away to glance at a wall. “More like didn’t want to. With so much work to be done I rarely get any time to my thoughts.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“For you.. maybe. I quite enjoy my mind.”

You smiled at the soft chuckle that escaped him, taking the moment to move just a bit closer. Again, your eyes landed upon those dreaded bags; hand rising slowly to his face. You watched as his eyes focused quite quickly, clearly puzzled by your sudden attention. Regardless he didn’t move, instead allowing your palm to press against his cheek— your thumb then moving to trace a bag.

“I’m serious though. It looks like you haven’t gotten sleep in days. Is something wrong?”

A flicker.. just a slight glint, drifted through his gaze. An emotion you couldn’t quite place but didn’t like regardless. You stood silently, watching as his hand rose before your own. Gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist, dragging your hand down his cheek — the abrasion of his facial hair tickling your palm — before pulling it away from him.

“It’s nothing for you to worry about [Name].”

Curly spoke, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. But you knew him. All, too, well. The man could hold water but there were times it spilled over just a little. Even if he didn’t explicitly say it, you knew his concern was something big— something that definitely affected you.

“Captain stuff, huh?” You said slowly, hand pulling away from his own in a dejected fashion. You couldn’t help but feel that way, eyes drifting away almost stubbornly.

“I thought our relationship was above such titles.”

“[Name]—“

You shook your head, Curly clamming up in response. Times like these were exactly why you regretted taking the man up on his offer. The promise of lines not being crossed was a discussion made in the same breath, yet here you were; questioning why exactly your past relations meant little to his decision to be secretive.

But it was just relations.. right? Just sex, a way to blow off steam. People that sleep together with no love shouldn’t act like this anyway.

Your eyes finally lifted from its stubborn gaze on the wall and back to the blonde before you, attempting to seem unfazed by the intense stare he was delivering you.

You forced a smile. “I’m just messing with you, Captain. Lighten up a bit.”

Curly continued to stare before coming close, a single footstep that pressed against the metal beneath the two of you. You nearly forgot how large the male was; broad and tall, staring down at you with those bag lined.. beautiful eyes. He reached over, fingers ghosting the back of your hand for a moment before grabbing it.

This caused you to shiver, eyes widening slowly as you watched the man bring it back to its previous place; right at his cheek. He used his own appendage to assure you cupped his face.

“I know you well enough to know when you’re joking or not, [Name].” Curly spoke lowly, eyes flickering between multiple spots on your face. “Right now.. I don’t want to worry you. It’s something I’ll figure out, but I will let you know soon.. I promise.”

That’s what you hated most about Curly. Even if you were clearly worried about him, he just loved to spin it so he could worry about you. All while easing such worries with the prettiest words. a master of the tongue. In more ways than one.

The flush of warmth that broached your cheeks was hard to ignore, eyes fluttering to the ground as his gaze grew intense. You allowed your thumb to trace his skin, teeth grazing the inside of your cheek. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let such thoughts or feelings resurface. Strictly professional was your own personal mantra.

Yet here you were, holding the cheek of the man you’ve been pining for— desperately wanting to touch more.

And that you did.

Against better judgement, head clear of thinking— you pressed forward, allowing your lips to brush against his own. You felt his breath stutter, body growing still at your bold action. This allowed your eyes to rise, batting thick eyelashes at the man as you spoke:

“Then.. until then, why don’t I take your mind off of it?”

You solidified your words in a single kiss, free hand clutching your blanket that threatened to slip. You felt the hand on your own slowly fall, clearly from shock. You couldn’t blame him. This was going against everything the two of you decided on. Everything the two of you have built since being onboard of this ship.

Even so, you didn’t mind destroying it— nor did your beloved captain.

Large hands slid under your blanket, finding the small of your back. With a pull you were flush against his form, the kiss deepening. Soft lips collided in a gentle battle, that slowly became fierce as time passed. Feelings buried deep began to bubble over, creating that haze that left you breathless. You could only moan as his tongue slid across your lips, effectively parting them. There, Curly took his time to claim your mouth as his once again, coating each and every inch with his saliva.

Your hand slid from his cheek to a large shoulder, gripping him so tightly as your knees began to buckle. Any longer and you were sure you would topple over right then and there.

Desperate for air Curly reluctantly pulled away, staring at that little string that connected the two of you. Heavy breaths escaped you, causing the want developing deep in his stomach to just burn even more. His eyes lifted away from you for a moment, an inner turmoil playing behind his eyes.

He was the Captain. He didn’t have time to play hooky and hook up with an old fling. Curly had duties.. responsibilities and expectations. And yet, as his flicked back to your form; so wanton and palpable— any thought of being the revered Captain of Tulpar escaped quite quickly.

Leaving behind Curly. A man who couldn’t quite help his desires. And a man who wasn’t the best at picking his coworkers.

“Come here.” Curly spoke softly, tugging you close before leaning; slipping his hands under your legs and lifting you easily.

The butterflies in your stomach tumbled and tumbled, threatening to spill from your mouth the moment he stepped towards his room. Effortlessly, as if your body meant completely nothing. Oh how you loved whenever he showed off his strength.

The door slid open routinely, revealing the simple quarters. A bed, desk, and dresser— surely filled with underwear and extra uniforms. The air was cool, perfect yet you couldn’t help but shiver the moment the man laid you across his sheets. A breath caught in your throat as he climbed over you, a hulking mass covering your line of vision only allowing you to see him.

Curly’s hands pressed against the mattress beneath you, leaning down to steal your lips once again. His light beard brushed against your skin, a feeling that caused you to chuckle, a feeling you missed.. feeling. Your hands rose, collecting his face into your palms as you deepened the kiss. Soft smacks of passion passed throughout the room as lips tangled in a secret conversation.

A hand rose from the mattress, treading down your plump form to find the edge of your shirt. His fingers, ever so gentle, slid under the fabric to spread across the span of your warm stomach. You sighed into his mouth, reeling into his touch as it grew higher and higher— soon skimming the bottom of your breasts.

“Curly..don’t tease.” You pulled back to speak, eyes focused on his features. You couldn’t help the pulse between your thighs the moment an impish smile crossed his features.

“I’m not, just.. remembering.”

With his soft murmur Curly was lifting your shirt off your body, placing it somewhere on the bed. Lowering, his breath fanned across your warm skin, gentle kisses pressing against your neck.

You hissed, eyes pinching closed, as your hands lowered to grasp his arms. Your lips parted as a large hand soon covered one of your breasts, gently squeezing whilst his thumb brushed against your hardening nipple.

As much as you wished to beg for more you knew better than to do so. Curly wasn’t a person that rushed when it came to these things. He enjoyed taking his time, building your pleasure bit by bit so when the main event happened you were completely lost in ecstasy. And as annoying as it was to admit, you couldn’t help but love his attention to detail.

The kisses lowered to the valley of your chest, tongue gliding across the hot skin, sliding to your untouched nipple. The man mumbled against your flesh, licking and sucking; delivering such sweet attention you couldn’t help the bated breaths beginning to form.

Should you be worried? The others weren’t close but weren’t far. And you highly doubt any of them would want to be waken by your less than professional “activities”.

Unfortunately, as Curly’s other hand traveled low concern for their sleep slowly drifted away.

You whimpered softly as his hand breached your pants and panties, fingers gliding across your slick slit for a moment before using two to spread you gently. Fuck.. was the simple sigh that escaped you as his middle finger easily found your swelling bud, rubbing it into slow circles.

“Fu..fuck Curly, I’m supposed to be taking your mind off work.”

Curly lifted from your breast, nipple red and slick from his constant attention. “Oh don’t worry, you are.” The man confirmed, allowing a finger to slide lower— pressing against your entrance. With ease it was slipping in, velvety walls swallowing the thick digit greedily.

“Now all I can think about is you, your body, your reactions.. how much I missed when you’d…—“ As another finger of his slid in, the Captain curled them ever so slightly, watching intently as your lips parted wider, a breathy moan escaping your throat.

“— did that.”

His lips curled, clearly delighted. Would it be cocky to admit he loved the way you didn’t change? How he still remembered every single button to press? It was if.. you were made perfectly, just for him.

That, or Curly ruined you for every other man.

The man released your breast for a moment to tug your bottoms down, allowing him to watch his fingers appear and disappear into your wet snatch. Soft plaps escaped from between your pretty thighs, arousal trickling down his appendages and surely to your taint.

His mouth couldn’t help but water, and without thinking the man was lowering closer. Curly’s lips parted above your cunt, breath fanning across the wet heat for a moment before covering your sweet little bud. His free hand quickly came to rest on your lower stomach, only to then decide to hold you down with his forearm.

There; unable to move, his lips sucked your swollen clit, beard brushing across you so deliciously.

A swear dropped from your lips, hands flying to your mouth to cover more sounds that threatened to spill. Your legs fluttered, a warmth brewing deep in your tummy— one you haven’t felt in months. Sure, when you could you rubbed one out — unfortunately without your beloved vibrator that hadn’t made it on Tulpar with you — but this was different. A feeling you couldn’t quite replicate with your own fingers or imagination.

His fingers were just so much longer, bigger; filling and stretching you perfectly. Pushing against your warm walls, curling to press against spots you couldn’t achieve. And even as your clit began to sting at the sensitivity, the pleasure was far more overwhelming.

Tears sprung at your eyes and through a glossy gaze you were taking Curly in. His own eyes were closed, heated breaths and groans fanning against your cunt as he devoured you effortlessly. Such a fucking messy eater. And you loved it.

As the pleasure brewed, forming into a band bound to snap you allowed a hand to lower to his hair, fluffy blonde locks sliding through the gaps of your fingers as you clung to him. Your legs shook, body arching off the bed as your other hand held your mouth so harshly you were sure there were scratches on your cheek.

“Fuck..!” Slammed against your palm in a muffled cry, body clenching as you came undone. You heard an all too familiar groan of pure delight as Curly gently lapped you up, withdrawing his fingers but refusing to remove his arm.

Whimpers of overstimulation did nothing to him, the man continuing to clean you up until he was satisfied. And when he finally was, he rose, the bottom half of his face coated with your mess.

Your hand lowered from your mouth, soft pants escaping. “I hate you.”

“Do you?” Curly was quick to answer, moving his arm to instead grasp your thighs. He lifted you a bit, pulling your bottom closer to him. Once you nodded the man chuckled, thumbs gliding across the marks that were painted across your hips.

“I don’t believe that. Not one bit.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, but was left silently searching for snarky banter as you watched the captain’s hands move towards his slacks. There, his thumbs caught the waist band of his bottoms, tugging them down to reveal that sharp v-line and much more. Curly was a large man, everywhere. His length was thick, a round tip— bulging red with an angry vein traveling down his pale shaft.

You wondered if a pillow would be better than your hands at this point.

“Thought you were gonna say something..”

Curly teased, pulling his bottoms down the rest of the way and tossing them with your pile of clothes. He could only chuckle as you shook your head, crawling over your form to hover a breath’s away from you.

“Good.”

The man was smart to capture your lips as the moment you felt his length prod and push, you couldn’t help the little cry escaping you— perfectly muffled by his own mouth.

The stretch burned, burned so damn good you could have came again just from that. Curly was a gentleman of course, pushing in slowly, allowing you to grow accustomed to his size after so many months.

About halfway you were pulling away from his lips, head pressed against the pillow beneath you as sharp pants escaped you. Curly’s hand brushed your hip whilst the other cradled your face.

“That’s good.. breathe, you can take it all— can’t you?” His voice was sweet, soothing as his hips continued to push— plunging deep inside of you.

Your eyes were struggling to stay open, pretty groans falling from your tongue, easing into a sigh the moment you felt his hips stop; now fully seated within you. The feeling was mildly uncomfortable, even with his loving preparation, but you could make do.

You have before.

Curly leaned down, pressing his lips to your face, peppering them across his skin. Your forehead, under your eye, your nose, lips, and chin— everywhere he could reach. Attempting to soothe you even more.

Your hands rose gliding under his shirt to instead press against his broad, muscular back. Your finger tips traced little shapes across his skin, soon curling to allow your nails to scrape the moment he moved his hips.

Curly began to pull them back slowly, allowing only the tip inside before pushing forward. A single motion that caused the both of you to shudder, pleasure quickly brewing once more.

Soon enough with little restraint, Curly started a gentle pace. Back and forth, a hand on your waist whilst the other kept him upright. His length pressed into you deeply, pushing against a spongy spot that caused stars to invade your vision.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth lax as whimpers of passion escaped you sharply. Your nails dug and dragged into his back, an ache forming in your hips as his simple thrust became drills.

Curly couldn’t help himself at this point. He’s been holding back for far too long. Every interaction, every playful banter, every secret exchange of the eyes— played within in his mind. The man was smart enough to acknowledge how stupid he was. Playing with yours and his feelings, pretending your past didn’t matter; that coworkers were a status that you could achieve.

But no. He was fooling himself. There’s no way in hell, especially after this, was the man going to be able to go back to just being coworkers.

“Curly.. fuck, fuck— they’re gonna hear—!” You cried, legs shaky and wrapped tight around his waist. In the midst of his haze had suddenly increased his speed, ferocity; placing nearly his entire weight behind each thrust. Your eyes were rolling back at this point, nearly lost to the pleasure if it wasn’t for the sudden banging of the bed against the wall.

That fear of being discovered nearly killed your high.

Fortunately, Curly heeded your concerns, his hand lifting from the bed to instead grip the metal railing. You nearly gushed on the spot, watching his eyebrows pressed close, focusing so intently on your pleasure. His grip on your hip nearly mirrored the bed, refusing to release you. Every thrust you took, pushing you deep into the mattress as your breath threatened to leave.

“Mi..missed you.. I missed you so much.” Curly huffed, pants escaping his open mouth as his thrusts never faltered. The wet sounds of skin on skin filled the room, a steady rhythm to accompany his thrusts.

You tugged him closer by his back, shoving your face into his neck with your mouth directly against his ear. You wished to reply, expressing you felt the same exact way— even more. But of course you were left to only moan and gasp, his name coming out in struggled cries that only stirred him up even more.

Moments of your intense passion continued until your peaks grew closer, the two of you struggling even harder to keep your voices level. Maybe you two truly didn’t give a damn who heard.

“Curly!—“ His lips were colliding with yours in moments, sealing the deal as you came undone for the second time that night. You gushed around him, coating his dick with your thick essence— trickling to his sheets.

The man, releasing a final groan right into your mouth, pushing deep; releasing inside of you. Filling you to the brim.

The captain’s hips slowly settled, yet his lips continued to cover your own; moving slowly and lovingly. Curly released the bed frame to instead cup your face, cool fingers an ease to your hot skin.

Soon enough the two of you pulled away, a soft groan escaping you as the man slowly slid out of you. You tried to ignore the rather unpleasant feeling of his release slowly trickling out of you, instead focusing on the man above you— who was currently smiling.

Your swollen lips flattened into a pout, hands rising from his back to instead rising to his face.

“Don’t smile at me, Captain.”

Curly chuckled, hands sliding under you to lift whilst he sat up. Pulling you onto his lap, the man cradled your waist, thumbs brushing across your skin.

“It’s habit at this point, my love.”

You couldn’t help your own smile, arms wrapping around his neck, leaning to give him a small peck.

“Mhm..” You only hummed, eyes closing in a blissful manner as his forehead pressed against your own.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to support. You know that, right?”

“I know, [Name]. I know.”

[berryz-writes]

Nightmare

azriel x reader

summary: The roles have switched. Now it's Azriel broken and tired needing your comfort after a nightmare

Note: Guyss ik ik the title is basic but i wanted to post it and i've been staring at this for like 10 minutes because i can't think of one 😭 anyways enjoy <33

I had woken in the early hours, the kind of wakefulness that comes suddenly and without reason. My throat burned for water and no matter how many times I flipped my pillow or shifted beneath the sheets, sleep simply wouldn’t come. So I had slipped out, barefoot and quiet, letting the gentle hum of magic guide me down the hall to the kitchen.

I drank, cool water soothing my throat, the glass trembling slightly in my hand from the residual grogginess but as I made my way back toward my room the air shifted.

It started as a feeling. The faintest drop in temperature. A weight pressing down on the space between my shoulders, not painful, but insistent.

And then I saw them.

A slow, thick tendril of shadows spilled out from beneath a door -Azriel's door - curling like smoke over the cold marble floor. They moved with purpose, toward me it seemed.

They seemed distressed, brushing up my ankles more shadows joining a trail of them going to a crack in his door. My pulse spiked, but not from fear. From knowing.

Azriel.

I crossed the hall, the cool stone soothing against my feet, and stopped in front of the heavy oak door. The shadows recoiled slightly, drawing back as if giving me space, encouraging me to enter. I raised my hand and knocked softly.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Silence.

Only the sound of strained breathing carried faintly through the wood- sharp, uneven, like someone struggling to breathe without waking themselves. My brows pulled together, heart sinking. The shadows didn’t move now simply hovered near the door, waiting. As if pleading.

“Az?” I said, voice low. I turned the handle. It gave way with a soft click.

Darkness swallowed the room. No candles, no fire. Only moonlight spilled across the far wall casting pale light in narrow ribbons through the windows. And there, tangled in the sheets of his bed was Azriel.

Even in sleep he looked tense- dangerously so.

His wings were half-unfurled, his body was twisted in the sheets, muscles rigid beneath sweat-dampened skin and his brow was drawn so tightly it looked painful. The smooth caramel of his skin was filled with strain, his breath coming in short almost gasping bursts. Shadows clung to his face like a second skin, obscuring parts of it revealing just enough to see the silver trail of tears carving their way down his cheeks.

Something shattered in me at the sight.

He never cried. Not when he bled, not when he was broken. But he was crying now and utterly silent about it.

I stepped closer, heart in my throat and gently placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Azriel” I whispered.

His eyes flew open.

And everything happened at once.

In a blur of movement the shadows exploded outward and I was slammed down into the mattress, the cold bite of steel at my throat before I could even blink.

The blade shimmered with blue siphon-light, the edge so sharp I felt it hum against my skin. I froze. My breath hitched. His body hovered above mine, tense as a coiled spring. His hand gripped the hilt of his dagger with terrifying precision every muscle locked in place.

His eyes- hazel ringed in gold- burned into mine. Wide. Ferocious. Haunted.

For one long second we just stared at each other, my heart slamming against my ribs. The moonlight struck his features fully now: the angular lines of his cheekbones, the scarred curve of his jaw, his lips parted slightly, drawing shallow, panicked breaths. His hair, dark and tousled fell across his forehead in damp waves.

“Azriel” I said softly, carefully. “It’s me.”

The blade didn’t move.

But his eyes did- searching, flickering with recognition.

Then…something cracked.

His grip loosened. The dagger slipped from his hand and landed with a dull thud on the mattress beside us. His breath hitched sharply and he scrambled back, horror etched into every line of his face.

“I-” His voice broke. “Fuck- I didn’t know- it was instinct- I thought...”

“It’s okay” I breathed, sitting up slowly.

He backed into the far side of the bed dragging both hands through his hair. His wings trembled slightly before folding in tight against his back, like they too were ashamed of the outburst.

“I thought it was real” he whispered, barely audible. “I was still there.”

My chest ached. “What did you dream about?”

He shook his head once, jaw clenched, eyes unfocused. “I can’t- ” His voice caught. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does” I said, gently, crawling across the bed toward him.

He looked at me finally. His eyes were rimmed with red, still wet with the aftermath of whatever storm had ripped through him in his sleep. A warrior broken open.

“You didn’t call for anyone” I murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. “But your shadows did”

His eyes widened slightly. “They…brought you?”

I nodded.

He exhaled shakily, some part of him unravelling.

He didn't wipe the tears.

He didn’t even blink them away.

They trailed silently down the strong lines of his face. Azriel sat motionless on the edge of the bed, hunched slightly forward, eyes locked on the far wall with the expression of someone looking through it.

Not at it.

And gods, his face…

His mouth was slack, lips parted as he breathed- barely. His jaw, normally clenched so tightly it looked carved from stone, now hung loose with something I could only call defeat. His eyes, usually sharp enough to peel lies from truth were distant. Dead.

And still, the tears kept falling.

Not sobbing. Not gasping. Just…falling.

I couldn’t take it. Not one more second.

I moved closer, slowly, gently, like approaching a man on the edge of a crumbling ledge. Because he was. His broad back rose and fell unevenly, wings trembling with the effort of keeping still. His head bowed slightly forward now, shoulders caved in like the weight of it all had finally broken through that impossible armour.

“Az” I whispered, kneeling before him on the bed “Look at me.”

He didn’t.

But when I reached up, when I cupped the side of his face in my hand- he flinched.

Not from fear. From shame.

His eyes squeezed shut, his whole body tensing like he was bracing for a blow. My thumb brushed beneath his eye, catching a fresh tear.

That single act undid him.

A sound escaped him- guttural, broken, like something being torn from the deepest part of his chest. His body folded inward like the strength holding him up had simply vanished. And then he was collapsing into me.

Into my arms.

He clutched me with such raw desperation it stole the breath from my lungs. His arms wrapped tight around my waist, his face burying in the crook of my neck as his body shuddered. Trembled and fell apart.

And he cried.

Not the silent tears I’d found him with but deep, aching sobs. The kind that only came from wounds so old, so buried, that they bled in silence until the dam finally broke. His entire frame shook, wings pulled in tight, shadows flickering helplessly around him like they didn’t know how to comfort him anymore.

I held him tighter. Pressed my lips to his temple. Let him break without judgment, without fear.

And then through the broken gasps he started to speak.

“They locked me in that cell when I was eight.”

His voice was hollow. Shaky.

“I screamed for three days. My brothers told me if I made a sound, they’d break my wings. So I screamed into my hands until my voice disappeared.”

My breath hitched, but I said nothing. Just kept my fingers threaded through his hair grounding him.

He pulled in a sharp breath and exhaled like it hurt.

“I started…seeing things in the dark. Hearing voices that weren’t mine. The walls felt like they were closing in. Sometimes I still feel them now.”

I kept my hand at the back of his neck, thumb stroking softly. Up and down. A soothing rhythm.

His voice cracked further. “The worst part wasn’t the silence. It was the hope. Every time I heard a footstep above, I thought it might be my mother." His voice broke off again. “She never came”

I shut my eyes, just for a moment, as grief twisted in my chest.

“And now” he rasped, shaking his head “even when I sleep- I go back there. That fucking cellar. I can’t stop it. I smell the mould on the walls. I taste blood in my mouth. And all I can think is that I deserved it. That somehow it made me stronger. Made me who I am today”

My hands stilled.

He laughed once- bitter and hollow. “What kind of person thanks the people who broke them?”

I tilted his face gently forcing him to meet my eyes. “You survived them” I whispered. “You're so strong....the man you are now is because of yourself.”

He stared at me, blinking slowly, as if the words didn’t compute.

“You didn’t deserve any of that, Azriel. Not then. Not now.”

He shook his head, but his grip on me only tightened, fingers digging into my waist.

“I’m not- ” His throat worked around the words. “I’m not good at this. Letting people see me like this.”

I smiled faintly, brushing away another tear from his cheek. “You don’t have to be good at it”

His breath caught. And for a moment, his eyes searched mine like he wasn’t sure how this was real.

“I don’t know how to let people love me” he whispered.

I leaned forward, pressing my forehead to his. “Then let me start.”

He closed his eyes. A fresh tear slid down, catching the moonlight. But this time, he let me wipe it away.

And he didn’t look at the wall again.

**the next morning**

The morning sunlight bathed the room completely.

It filtered in through the windows in long, golden threads, brushing over the stone walls and scattering across the bed in delicate beams. The warmth crept over my skin slowly, and I blinked awake, not quite remembering where I was- until I felt the weight.

Azriel.

His arm was draped over my waist, heavy and secure. His head rested against my shoulder, his dark hair spilling across my collarbone. One of his wings was curled around us like a blanket, shielding us from the world. His breathing was steady now. Peaceful.

I hadn’t seen him look this peaceful before. Not once.

He still held onto me in sleep, fingers curled loosely at my hip like his body hadn’t caught up to the fact that the danger was gone.

I shifted carefully, not to leave but to see him fully.

He looked younger in the daylight. Softer. His scars caught the sunlight and turned to gold against his skin. His tears from the night before had dried, but I could still see the faint streaks they’d left behind. And gods, it broke me all over again.

Because even now- even resting in safety- he looked like someone who expected to be alone.

I reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his face, fingertips ghosting along the curve of his temple. He didn’t stir but his brow twitched faintly. I wondered how long it had been since someone touched him without needing something in return.

Azriel didn’t ask for things. He endured.

He gave and gave and bled for the ones he loved and yet he never asked for anything in return. Not comfort. Not kindness. Certainly not this.

But last night…last night he’d let me see the pieces he buried so deep I wasn’t sure he remembered they were still there. He had broken in my arms and still clung to me like I was something worth holding onto.

He stirred slightly and I felt the moment his body tensed, his mind waking faster than the rest of him.

His hand tightened reflexively at my side before he blinked his eyes open.

Those beautiful hazel eyes found mine.

And for one heartbeat he looked like he might panic. Like he remembered everything and was about to retreat behind those stone walls again.

So I whispered, soft as a secret “You’re okay.”

Azriel didn’t move. His lips parted like he wanted to speak but no sound came. Instead his eyes searched mine- as if trying to figure out why I was still there. Why I hadn’t run.

Why I hadn’t seen the worst of him and walked away.

“I’m still here” I said, reading the question he didn’t ask. My hand came up again brushing his cheek with my knuckles. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice, when it came was hoarse.

“I thought maybe…I dreamed it.”

“You didn’t.” I smiled gently. “You opened up. And I listened”

His gaze flicked away, shame creeping in around the edges.

But I touched his jaw, guiding his face back to mine. “Don’t do that” I whispered. “Don’t hide from me now.”

He nodded once, slowly. Like he didn’t know how to believe me but wanted to try. Pressing a soft kiss to my head we laid there in silence his wing still wrapped around us.

Azriel shifted closer again, hesitating, then pressed his forehead lightly to mine.

“I don't know how to do it without you” he said softly.

“You don’t have to” I murmured. “I'll always be here. I promise”

And then he closed his eyes, content to lie here with me for all eternity.

note: UHHHH idk if i did this idea justice guys. As you can tell I've recently learnt how to properly use effect in sentences. (look at me using them commas and dashes EXCESSIVELY😋) anyway i totally am not writing this note because i'm CRINGING at my old fics

[cult-of-husbandos]

yami ai [yandere] - Hot Yandere Singles Near You

synopsis: you click on a random pop-up ad and are visited by weird smiling man in suit.

genre: pure crack (like fr), fluff, tbh there's not really a plot

word count: 4.4k

warnings: implied stalking

Isn’t insomnia just the worst? Like, seriously? What’s the point of being a human being with antiquated thoughts and impressive cognitive and motor skills when your brain fights you on the most basic stuff. For example, like sleeping!!

You must’ve refreshed YouTube and Twitter over a thousand times. Over 8 billion people in the world and there’s no new content anywhere? You groaned and jumped back over onto Twitter, silently praying and pleading for something new to show up on your feed. Maybe a wacky billionaire got eaten by a mob of homeless people or maybe a news article about a Floridian doing something gross and outrageous and virtually impossible.

But nope. Nothing.

Not a single thing piqued your interest. You groaned again and looked at the time on your dimly lit phone. It was past 2 a.m. and you were bored out of your mind. You then lazily clicked on Google and sighed.

‘Maybe someone posted a new fanfic over something…’ you hoped. And even if there wasn’t a new fic uploaded you’ll just read the old ones you favorited. Perhaps reading something might put you to sleep.

As you were scrolling through your favorite ship tags, you were startled by a pop up ad covering up 90% of the screen and flashing emojis.

“Ugh… seriously?” you groaned. “They should make ad-blockers on phones for this shit.” You squinted at the bright lettering emanating from your phone even though it was at the lowest brightness setting.

⚠️(99+) Hot Yandere Singles NEAR YOU⚠️

Yandere’s…? Singles? Near me?

The pop-up ad had flashing peach, cherry, and eggplant emojis with a water splash emoji at the end to signify… well, you’re not sure what it was trying to signify. On the sides of the ad, it showed pictures of very gorgeous men and women, all striking suggestive poses. Underneath the title was a small summary that read. ‘These lonely desperate yanderes wanna meet you! They’ll most likely find you anyway, but wouldn’t you rather be the honey to a bee instead of a fly? Try it NOW for FREE!! No hookups! No catfishes! No sign ups!’ Then below that were a few empty boxes to fill out requiring your personal information.

"..."

Was this a porn ad?!

No way at 2:45 in the freaking morning did you just get a porn pop-up ad while googling mafia au fanfiction. This has to be some kind of joke. Maybe it was prank and someone was just fucking with you. And how and why would there be 99+ yanderes in your area?! You couldn’t be surrounded by that many psychos. Could you? Whatever the case may be, it was now past 2 a.m. and as the rule of life states ‘Nothing good happens after 2 a.m.’. You don’t know if it was the lack of sleep or just reckless curiosity, but you gave your shoulders a shrug and mumbled a ‘fuck it’ as you put in your information. Your name, number, gender, age, preferred sex, email, and mailing address. As you clicked submit and continued scrolling, you gave very little thought about how this would go down.

On one hand, the ad turns out to be real and you get a partner out of this. Or

You get quartered, stalked, doxxed, and murdered like the dumbass you are for putting your personal info into a sketchy porno-like pop-up on Google.

Or, it turns out to be a prank and some asshole sitting in a basement has a good laugh at you.

Meh. You’ll deal with it in the morning.

*****

You were jolted awake with the sound of rapid knocking coming from your front door. You groaned into your pillow as you tried to ignore the person desperately wanting your attention from outside your apartment. You finally got some sleep only for it to get interrupted. Only minutes and minutes of continued knocking without any signs of letting up, you decide to get up and shoo away whoever it was. You wearily grabbed your phone to check the time.

8:02 a.m.

You huffed as you stormed towards the front door.

“If this a fucking Jehova’s Witness, I swear to god…” you grumbled. You swung open the door and threw the person a harsh glare, only to be met with popping sounds as confetti flew in your face.

“Good morning, my dear darling~!! Are you ready to begin on the road to happiness and love?” the stranger shouted a far too happy tone for 8 in the morning.

You took a step back in shock, fully awake as you waved and dusted the confetti from your face and hair. You looked the strange man up and down. He was smiling ear to ear and wore an expensive looking suit to warm for the summer weather. A briefcase stood right beside him along with dozens of other party poppers and a white plastic bag filled with brown bottles with oddly enough no labels on them. You looked at the man’s face. He was surprisingly attractive and without a single flaw anywhere. His hair was jet black and shined a very prominent gloss. You were honestly kind of embarrassed to be seen by him when you looked like such a mess. The man let out a chuckle.

“Oh my.” he said, gently putting his hand over his mouth with vague concern. “I hope I didn’t startle you too much. I probably should’ve sent you an email notifying you of the time I was coming. I’m sorry that must’ve been a troubling awakening.”

You quirked your eyebrow and took another step back, grabbing onto the doorknob so that you could slam it right in his face if things got too weird.

“And… you are?”

“Oh my, oh my. Where are my manners? How careless of me to assume.” The man bowed with a curtsy. “I am the ‘Matchmaker’. My job is to pair two people with their fated soulmate and give each of my clients their happily ever after. It’s very nice to meet you, (Y/N) (L/N).”

You felt a chill crawl down your spine. How’d this weirdo know your name?! You tried to close the door as fast as you could, but the ‘Matchmaker’ was even faster. He clicked his tongue at you, his smile unchanging, but his eyes seemed to harden his gentle tone.

“My, how rude. Is that any way to treat a guest?” He let out another chuckle. “You’ll never find love that way.”

“H-How did you know my name?” you stuttered.

Again, another chuckle. What was so funny? “My dear~. You gave it to me.”

What the hell was he talking about? How could you have given this creep your name? Was he a stalker? A junkie? Noticing the confusion on your face, the man spoke up again.

“Oh my dear. Do you really not remember?” he asked, tilting his head in feign innocence. “You filled out an ad to meet singles in your area. And here I am, coming to fulfill that ad.”

You eased up on the tension you had on the door and tilted your head in surprised confusion. “That was a real ad?”

The man stood up tall and smiled earnestly again. “Of course. However, you are the first person to actually fill out that ad. Really, this is more of a celebration to both of us.”

Huh, so the pop-up ad was real.

Not a prank.

And now there’s a psycho standing at your front door promising you a partner from an actual yandere.

“I honestly thought it was a prank. I mean… yanderes? Isn’t that just an anime thing?”

“Oh, I assure you my darling.” he said with a snide smirk. “Yanderes are real. And when they heard about signing up, it was like tossing chicken in a sea of alligators. All clamoring to be the first person to take a bite.”

Okay, gross but kind of sweet.

“May I come in?”

“Huh?”

“Well, my dear. It would be easier to come in and talk through the process of how this goes instead of standing here.”

“Oh, um… Suuuree-”

“Great! My my darling~. What a lovely home. Very well decorated.” The man quickly strided into your house and made himself comfortable in your living room, looking as if he was analyzing every detail about your house.

Richard Chase would’ve loved your dumbass.

You shut the door and followed him into your own apartment and offered him a seat on your couch. Might as well, right? You’ve gone this far and you're still alive.

“Umm…” you hesitantly shifted from one foot to another. “Do you… um… want some coffee maybe? Or tea? Maybe a glass of water? If you haven;t eaten breakfast yet, I whip you up something.”

Yeah, sure. Feed the man with only a title for a name and waltzed right into your house after showing up after you put in your personal information into a random pop-up ad at 3 a.m. promising you a happy life with hot single yanderes in your area. You are the pinnacle of human genius. The apex of natural selection. The creme de la creme of common sense. Charles Darwin would be so impressed.

“How thoughtful. Just coffee would be fine. Thank you.”

After brewing a quick pot, you sat across from the man facing him heads on and gently slid him his steaming cup. After a while of taking little sips in weird silence, he spoke up again.

“Before we continue, I’d just like to say: Thank you so much for applying for this wonderful opportunity!! Not many people would click on an ad requiring doxxing information to meet their soulmates! Again, congrats on being our number one willing client!”

“Willing client?” you asked.

“Well, of course! For some reason, humans seem to really love the idea of a yandere until there’s one standing on their front porch!” he laughed.

“Humans? I’m sorry. Are you not human, Mr…?”

“Ah ah! No need for formalities! Just ‘The Matchmaker’ or simply ‘Matchmaker’.

“Oh, so… you don’t have a true name? Or is that just a title?”

“Oh darling~.” he sang sweetly. “That’s none of anyone’s fucking business, is it?”

Your eyes widened and let out a nervous chuckle. “Okay, got it! Just Matchmaker. Lovely name. Adore it. In fact, I love when strange mysterious men only give a title for a name.” What the hell does that even mean? You had no idea what you were saying anymore.

“Heh, smart cookie.” He winked. “Shall we begin?”

“Um, yeah, so… how does this work exactly?” you finally asked.

“Simple, my dear darling. Think of this as an ordinary matchmaking appointment. I have a stack of potential soulmates all ready to meet you. I have the same information about them that I also have of you. Each potential soulmate also has a picture so if you don’t really feel up to meeting face-to-face just yet you can look over the picture and see who captures your heart.”

“Face-to-face? So these guys have my picture too?” “Of course! And might I say, those pictures don’t do you justice. In all my years in this business, I’ve never seen such an obsession and overload of potential soulmates for just one person.”

You lightly blushed. “I-I don’t know about that… I barely got any sleep last night so I probably look like a zombie right now…”

“Au contraire, Darling. You look absolutely stunning. If I weren’t such a professional I would burn all these forms and claim you as my one and only~.”

You felt your entire face flush red as the Matchmaker pierced your soul with his longing gaze. It felt like he was staring into your very essence – like he could read you like a book. You nervously cleared your throat and shifted your eyes away, hoping to bring down your blush.

“S-So! Um… should we get started?” you stuttered, internally kicking yourself for being so easily flustered by a couple of smooth words. Ted Bundy would’ve had a field day with your dumbass.

“Ready whenever you are, my dear.” The Matchmaker set his briefcase on your coffee table and pulled out a single form and slid it over towards you. “Let’s start off with an easy one.”

You looked at the form along with the picture of a very attractive man paperclipped to the paper. According to the form, his name is Hamazawa Akita. He was in his early 20’s, had a varying array of hobbies from hiking to scuba diving, and was very much in love with you.

“Well, what do you think?”

“Hm, well, he’s very cute. And very active.”

“Would you like to meet him?”

“Um, sure… is there a number I could call or…?”

“No need! We can bring him in right now.” The Matchmaker snapped his fingers and you whipped your head towards the front door where Akita strolled in, all smiles. You looked back over the Matchmaker. “Did I not lock my door? Wait. More importantly, how’d he get here?!”

The Matchmaker smiled. “My dear, when you’re in this business you pick up a few tricks.” He then turned his attention towards Akita who now stood in the middle of the living room. “No. 1 would you like to introduce yourself?”

Akita stood tall and his eyes seemed to beam directly at you. “My name is Hamazawa Akita. Ever since I saw your picture I’ve dreamed about sweeping you off your feet and claiming you all to myself!”

“So, like 8 hours ago?”

“Yes!! But those hours feel like years when being away from you.”

“Hmm.”

“So, what do you think? Are you feeling the butterflies?”

You looked up Akita up and down and your face twisted as if you’re deciding on whether or not to buy a car or a piece of clothing.

“Um, to be honest my guy. I’m not feeling it.”

“Huh?”

“Excuse me, my darling?”

“Weeeelllll…. I mean, don’t get me wrong! You’re very attractive and your words are sweet, but I don’t think I believe any of it. Like, you just admitted to wanting me all to yourself only 8 hours ago, but I don’t really feel anything. Not even a shiver.”

The Matchmaker and Akita both looked at each other like they weren’t really expecting that. With a quick wave of his hand, Akita slumped his shoulders and headed towards your front door. You shouted out an apology as the dejected suitor walked out.

“Well, I didn’t expect that. I don’t normally get such competent clients. At least those that get past kicking and screaming.” The Matchmaker grinned. You shrugged.

“I guess I just know what I like. All the anime I’ve watched kind of gives you that high standard of what makes a yandere a real yandere, y’know?”

He nodded. “I cannot agree more. Well, we have plenty more where that came from. Shall we continue?”

*****

Papers were strewn across your coffee table in an unorganized fashion as both you and your estranged guest were tired beyond belief. You had no idea how many hours had passed nor how many guests were in and out of your apartment. You’re honestly surprised none of your neighbors complained or called the police. Your apartment would’ve looked like a clown car if anyone had been watching from the outside. You honestly lost count after No. 256. You let out another yawn and laid on your side trying your best to keep your eyes open. Maybe 2 hours of sleep wasn’t enough for the multiple interviews you had to conduct today. Maybe your 9th grade biology teacher was right. Maybe you are going to die alone. A weary sigh brought you from your thoughts.

“My, my. You are definitely the most high standard client I’ve ever had. I didn’t think we’d get to the triple digits in just one day.”

You also sighed and sat up in your seat. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just… All these guys are cute and all, but they’re all lacking something. They’re either too forceful or not forceful enough. Too wimpy or too strong. Or too obsessed or just incredibly so lovesick that I feel like they’d fall in love with just about anyone who’d be willing. Ugh, why can’t this be simpler like adopting an animal?” You groaned. You also hadn’t thought this would take this long. You didn’t really think of yourself as having high standards until today. Until today, you’d be happy with anyone close to you in age and with a heartbeat. Who knew picking out a yandere soulmate would be so challenging. And who knew that there’d be so many willing participants! The Matchmaker reached into his briefcase and pulled another stack of forms and slid them over to you. There must be at least over a hundred papers in front of you. How did he have so many?!

“How about we switch things up, hm? You’ll look over the papers and when you see someone that catches your eye, I’ll bring him in.” He made it sound like you were adopting a dog or a cat. But if this made it go any faster, you were willing to try.

After about 3 more stacks of papers, you were starting to lose hope and patience. When you got to the last few papers, you stopped dead in your tracks. Woah baby!

“Woah baby!” you exclaimed.

“Did you find someone you like?” The Matchmaker asked hopefully.

“Oh yeah. This guy.” You showed him the paper. He furrowed his brows a little.

“Are you sure? I don’t think I remember this man. His name and face don’t seem familiar.”

“Really? Maybe he’s a late entry or something?”

Matchmaker stroked his chin in thought. “I’ll go check it out. Be right back, dear. I’m very sorry for this inconvenience.”

You waved off his apology with a smile and he left your apartment. You then leaned back with a groan. You just wanted to find your ‘soulmate’ or whatever and move on with this day. You closed your eyes for a second and waited patiently for Matchmaker to come back.

Tap tap tap

Just like deja vu, you were awoken by rapid knocking. Except this time it wasn’t coming from your front door.

Tap tap tap tap

It sounds like it’s coming from… your window?

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

You quickly got up and walked towards your window and opened it.

“Woah!” You jumped back a little as you were met face to face with the man that you had picked out and that the Matchmaker went to go find.

‘Wow… he’s even cuter in person!!’

He let out a delicious chuckle and gave you a charming smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, darling~. Hehe, though I think that fear in your eyes was worth it. So adorable~.” For the second time today, a complete weirdo stranger has made you blush. Wait…

“Wait! I don’t have a balcony and I’m on the third floor. How’d you-?” You peeked over the window to see if he was pulling a Criss Angel.

“I have incredible grip strength~.” he winked.

“Oooh I’m sure~.” you swooned. For a weirdo, he was a smooth talking weirdo.

“Oh, I got these for you, sweetheart~.” He pulled himself up and sat on your windowsill and pulled out a bouquet of roughly cut flowers from behind him. You gasped and grabbed them, giving them a smell.

“These are my favorite!! How did you know? I don’t think that was one of the pieces of info required for the Matchmaker.” you asked.

The stranger chuckled. “Easy. I never filled out that stupid application.”

You looked up from your flowers and titled your head like a confused puppy.

“I already know everything about you. I don’t need a stupid piece of paper to tell me what I already know about you. Like, how I know that you have secret sweets hidden all throughout your room. Or that whenever you have a good day you love to sing Stray Kids.”

He inched closer to you as you backed up further into the room.

“You won’t eat frozen pizza, but every so often you eat a lobster roll from a food truck from Gary on Main St.. You have life destroying evidence of your boss that you’re planning on using on your last day. You’ve seen the Barbie movie 5 times. And…”

You felt your legs hit the couch and tried to keep yourself from falling onto your back like a defenseless turtle.

“Your favorite anime is… Dar-” You quickly covered the stranger’s mouth with a furious blush.

“I only watch it ironically!! I don’t love it! It’s not my favorite!” you quickly clarified. The gravity of the situation was made perfectly clear after that. This man really knew all about you. Honestly, you’re so loud that you’re pretty sure that people on the ground outside could hear you singing. And you don’t really pay attention to your surroundings so it's easy for someone to know that you eat from a food truck every other week at specific times. But, knowing your favorite secretly watched anime?

“W-Who… are you?” you stuttered. You’re pretty sure you already knew the answer.

He laughed and you felt his lips brush against your fingers. You blushed and tried to pull back, only to be stopped by his hands.

“Sweetie~. You already know who I am.” He grabbed the paper from the stack and put it next to his face. “See? I’m Yami Ai. Your soulmate.”

Before you could even process what was happening, you were gently pushed onto the couch with Yami hovering over you holding your hands beside your head. You couldn’t stop the blush erupting from your neck to your face. Your heart was beating way too fast and your stomach felt jumpy and queasy. Butterflies.

You cleared your throat. “Um… so, if you didn’t fill out a form then how come The Matchmaker had your profile and picture? And why didn’t you use the front door?”

Yami smirked and leaned in closer. “It’s pretty simple to pull off when your apartment does security checks on new guests entering the building.”

“But, my apartment doesn’t–” you stopped. “Ooooh… So you impersonated a security guard, slipped your profile and info into his briefcase, and were planning on showing up as one of the potential singles? That’s… convoluted. But, smart.” You shrugged. “And since you obviously knew which floor I was on and which window was mine, I assume you’ve been watching me for a while and were watching me last night when I couldn’t sleep?”

Yami laughed again. “You are so smart~. You really catch on quickly, don’t you?”

You shrugged again with a nervous smile. “W-Well, obviously not smart enough to not put in my personal info and have strange men come in and out of my apartment.”

Yami was quick to turn his gentle smile into a hard, harsh frown. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and you winced under the force he placed in you.

“You know, my darling. It’s partially my fault. If I hadn’t backed out and taken you that night, you’d never be in this situation. With those men eyeing you up and down like you were theirs. Having that smiling freak calling you ‘dear’ and ‘darling’ when only I can call you that. I was planning on getting rid of the competition, but you did that for me.”

Yami loosened his grip and lifted you up, staring into your eyes. You blushed again.

“Rejection after rejection. Some guys didn’t even get 2 words out before you turned away. Of course my darling would only want the most perfect man. Isn’t that right, darling~?”

“Hehehe~” you leaned in with a giggle. “You’re so sweet~.”

You are such a baby for flattery.

*****

“My dear darling, I’m so very sorry for the inconvenience. I didn’t mean to be gone for so long, but I could not find this person you–” Matchmaker explained, rushing in and stopping dead in his tracks when he saw both you and Yami, the man who left 30 minutes ago to go find, eating breakfast in the living room.

Sitting in his lap.

And feeding each other.

“Oh! Matchmaker!” you exclaimed, quickly swallowing your food. You didn’t notice Yami tightening his grip on your waist nor did you notice the cold glare and tense atmosphere enveloping the room. “Look who I found~.”

“I see…” he said hesitantly.

“He climbed up the building and came in through the window.”

“My~. How romantic~.” he sang. “So, I take it that you are satisfied with your soulmate? Or… do you wish to continue searching?” he asked teasingly. Before Yami could say anything, you quickly spoke again.

“Yep! I’m sure.” You ruffled Yami’s hair and nuzzled up against him. “I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.” Yami hugged you closer to his chest as you giggled. “Plus, he makes the most amazing breakfast in the world, so extra points!” you cheered. You reached out towards the Matchmaker’s briefcase.

“Here you go! I put all the papers back in for you.”

Matchmaker quickly walked over and grabbed his briefcase along with your hand. “Well, my dear. It’s been an honor. You are truly the most remarkable and memorable client I have ever had.” he said with a bow and made his way towards the door. However, before leaving he chuckled and looked back at the both of you. “Although, it’s a shame,” he sighed. “Maybe if I had stayed, I would’ve snatched you up myself.”

And with a final loud laugh, The Matchmaker disappeared, but not before Yami stood up to lounge and attack the fleeting man like a guard dog. You snorted and caressed his face to calm him down. “Relax, Yami. He’s just joking.”

“Well, I hated his joke. Fuckin’ freak…” he grumbled. “And it’s Ai. You’re mine now. You should get used to calling each other by our first names.”

You smiled and leaned against him. “Okay, Ai. Whatever you say.”

“And if a man comes to the door, never EVER answer it, got it!”

“Mhm.”

“I’m serious, darling. I’ll gouge their eyes out right in front of you.”

“Yes sir.”

The rest of your life was going to be very interesting. Suck it, Ms. Braxton. I guess you’re the one dying alone. Because you have a yandere boyfriend! And she has gonorrhea. Bitch.

---

a/n: this is so shit. i'm so sorry that i've been MIA for a while. work has been pretty crazy and i haven't really felt much motivated to write. however, i'm trying to get back into it now. with this goofy shit. kind of a joke piece, but i needed to write something silly and not serious at all to relax. (also i've been writing since 4 a.m., so...) anyways, i'm going to try and update regulary or at least post something.

Here's my YouTube. I make anime playlists.

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 10

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, attempted assault & smut, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says BYE, SB being a nice and kind human, a bit of humor, fluff, a lot of exes, heavy dose of angst

Word Count: 11.0k

Posted on Patreon May 3, 2025

A/N: Sorry for the delay, guys! Baby boy was not cooperating with me at all this week lol. Ready to say goodbye? Deep breaths, babes 😘 ✨ Chapter title comes from Casablanca (1942)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 10: Here's Looking at You, Kid

The kitchen of the mansion had always run on the domestic diplomacy of Dottie’s sharp tongue, the tireless shuffle of Florence’s feet, and the way Frances could carry an entire roast duck, a tray of petits fours, and a silver bucket of ice without breaking a sweat or a smile.

Today was no different.

At half past noon, it was cooler in the kitchen. Not by much, not in July, but the oven heat was at least a familiar warmth compared to the rest of the house.

The room itself, however, was a whirlwind of flour and steam and shouted orders, while you were tucked into the corner by the island, looking marginally useful with a tray of unfrosted cupcakes in front of you and a star-tipped piping bag in your hands.

Earlier, you’d almost sliced a finger cutting strawberries – not that it would’ve done anything. You probably would’ve only broken the knife.

“Lord save us,” muttered Florence, snatching the bag from your trembling grip with all the grace of someone removing a stick of dynamite from a child. “You’re gonna frost the whole counter with that tremor in your hand.”

She wasn’t wrong.

At least, you looked nice. Your navy A-line dress was crisp, belted neatly at the waist with white that hinted at patriotism. You had even let Dottie do your hair that morning, which explained the intricate braid with a silky red bow in your locks.

Outside the windows, the grounds looked like a dreamscape – white tents rising like clouds against the green lawns, waitstaff in black and white bustling with trays like chess pieces, patriotic bunting draped across columns and fences, and a jazz trio already tuning up near the terrace.

One hour from now, the estate would be crawling with old money – Philadelphian coal royalty and their wives in fox furs and peep toes, oil barons from the Main Line, and of course, the Du Ponts.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in that chair if you keep fidgeting, honey,” Dottie teased, kneading dough with a firm grace that would make a ballerina blush.

“I’m not fidgeting. I’m merely… anticipating,” you replied and twisted your fingers in your lap some more.

“You’re anticipatin’ the way a turkey anticipates Thanksgiving,” Frances muttered with a snort, brushing egg wash over a tray of tiny apple pies.

“She’s calming her nerves, leave her be,” Florence threw in, icing cupcakes with practiced flicks. “I’d be twitchy too if half of Philadelphia came into my house with an eye on my man.”

Comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Frances said instantly. “That dumb boy looks at her like he’s confusing her for oxygen.”

“Like a man lost in the dark sea, swimming toward a lighthouse,” Dottie added, smirking and proud of herself.

You groaned and tilted your head with narrowed eyes. “Why do I like you three again?”

“Because we know where the whiskey’s hidden, and we’ve seen you after two glasses,” Dottie sassed without missing a beat.

When Margaret then entered the kitchen, you didn’t jump, but you did straighten your spine like a schoolgirl waiting for inspection, even though she helped you pick out your dress and coached you as best as she could.

Ben’s mother wore a seafoam silk dress that did something devastating to her figure, her dirty blonde hair in a soft twist. Her peach lipstick even matched the carnations in the centerpieces.

“Oh, haven’t you been busy bees! Good Lord, it smells like Versailles in here,” Margaret said, grinning a little, waving at the heat. “Is there any air left, or did my husband’s ego suck it all up when he came downstairs this morning?”

Frances covered a laugh with a cough. Dottie didn’t even bother hiding hers.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” Florence said warmly, wiping her hands and giving Margaret a look that was almost sisterly. “You want coffee? Or a seat before you pass out in that dress?”

“Both, please,” Margaret sighed. “You’re a vision, Florence. I don’t know how you keep this place from collapsing into ash.” Her attention then swung to you, eyeing you with a raised brow. “Hiding, are we?”

“Obviously.”

Margaret gave you a gentle smile as she gracefully sat down across from you. “Well, you look lovely, dear. Terrified, but lovely.”

You gave her a wry smile. “I thought if I hid in here long enough, maybe the party would be over before I came out.”

“A clever plan,” she said, nodding. “Sadly, it’s no good. The vultures will circle either way.”

As you looked at her, you took note of the strain behind her green eyes as if she had suddenly aged thirty years over the last few days.

“How’s it been? Since he’s back.”

Margaret exhaled sharply. “Stifling. Determined to pretend his heart attack was merely indigestion. He leaves a film on everything like cigar smoke. Nothing like having a man who believes yelling is foreplay back in the house.”

You choked on your spit a little and coughed, not quite sure what to say. The last time the two of you had spoken about Ben’s father, she’d said she didn’t miss him at all.

It reminded you only too vividly of last night’s dream – a fight between Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess and apparently the last straw that made her give him up to the Russians.

And believe it or not, it had been about the fucking chimpanzee sanctuary. More specifically, how she wanted to hold this weirdly heartfelt musical for fucking apes.

And well, Soldier Boy thought it was the stupidest goddamn shit he’d ever heard. Yeah, of course he did because it was. But he didn’t have to be so mean about it:

“Christ, you’re gonna croon lullabies to a bunch of shit-flinging fleabags? Maybe you can teach ‘em to clap when you miss a note. Might be the only audience that don't fuckin’ boo you off stage.”

And God, how he would mock her singing!

“Listening to you sing’s like gettin’ kicked in the nuts by a donkey. Repeatedly. And the fuckin’ donkey still sounds better.”

“If screechin’ brakes and a goat had a baby, it’d still sound fuckin’ better than you.”

“When you hit those high notes, it’s like someone set a dumpster full of possums on fire.”

But the final nail in the icebox was this:

“Go build your little monkey circus, cooch. Maybe I’ll stop by and put ‘em out of their fuckin’ misery.”

Yup, no love lost there either.

Margaret then continued, your thoughts drifting back to her as her tone softened. “He invited the Du Ponts today. I’m sure you already know.”

“I do,” you said and almost chewed off your lower lip. “Any chance they might’ve succumbed to a house fire overnight?”

Margaret swallowed a laugh. “Unfortunately for all of us, no. The storm didn’t wash out those rats. And God knows no party of Richard’s is complete without some psychological warfare against his son. I’ve been preparing for this damn party like I’m heading into battle, not a celebration.”

You smirked a little, lifting a brow. “And what armor are you wearing under that dress? Chainmail?”

She laughed fully this time. “Only metaphorical. Though I did sharpen my wit and rehearse my contemptuous eyebrow.”

“That’s why I like you.”

“But you don’t have to worry about out a thing, dear,” she added and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Your Benjamin wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Even if the pole had money wrapped around it?”

“He’d only use it to joust his father,” she retorted and sipped on her coffee with elegance.

The kitchen door then swung open with a creak and a flood of sun, and in walked the reason you hadn’t poisoned Richard Brooks’ scotch decanter yet.

Ben.

He was in a pristine white linen shirt rolled to the elbows, collar open, and navy slacks, the kind of casually perfect that makes your mouth dry. His hair was tousled like he’d run his hands through it too many times already. He looked freshly laundered and stupidly handsome.

And very pleased with himself.

He scanned the kitchen like he was looking for you and instantly lit up when he spotted you by the counter. “George, I found her!” he called out through the door, but his sparkling apple green eyes stayed on you, grinning. “Wasn’t sure if you’d barricaded yourself in the icebox or climbed out the dumbwaiter.”

“I considered the dumbwaiter,” you muttered.

He strode straight toward you like you were magnetic, ignoring the polite chaos around him. He slipped an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. Then your jaw. Then behind your ear.

Behind you, Dottie made a sound like she was gagging. Florence just kept frosting. Frances, always quiet, huffed softly under her breath – her version of a laugh.

And then, Ben got impatient and kissed you fully, fervently, and shamelessly in front of all four women. You squeaked against his lips, giggling.

“Benjamin Brooks!” Margaret gasped but stifled another laugh with a shake of her head.

“Mother.” Ben tipped an imaginary hat and smirked broadly. “Happy Independence Day.”

“Go get dressed, you scandalous boy,” she told him, shaking her head some more, but the smile on her face was undeniable.

“Already am,” he replied and then whispered in your ear, “Though I’d let you undress me again if you ask nicely.”

You lightly swatted his chest, cheeks flushing. “What are you even doing in here?”

“Why? Am I interrupting the coven meeting?” Ben grinned, his fingers trailing up and down your spine. “Figured I’d find you here when you weren’t in the shed. You do like to snack. Are you hiding?”

“Of course I’m hiding,” you replied.

“I should get back to work,” Margaret said, rising gracefully. “Try not to ravish each other where I can see it.”

“You’re no fun,” Ben called after her, still smirking like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I’m married to your father. Of course I’m no fun.”

Margaret then excused herself with another shake of her head and something about wrangling seating charts, dragging the staff with her so fast it was clearly a coordinated escape.

Ben then studied you for a moment, hands settling on your waist, thumb stroking the small of your back. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, letting yourself breathe.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly.

“No,” you said, eyes closed, inhaling his cologne like it carried memories you hadn’t even lived yet. “But I will be.”

“I’m not leaving your side today,” Ben said, kissing the top of your head. “Unless you push me into the pond.”

“No promises.”

He winked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The lawn behind the Brooks mansion glittered in patriotic spectacle – ribbons in red, white, and blue tied into neat bows on the ends of each table, floral arrangements exploding in bursts of carnations and white lilies, and American flags tucked into the centerpiece of every polished buffet cart and cocktail bar.

It was as if the entire backyard had been scrubbed and star-spangled for the sole purpose of impressing the crème de la crème of wartime Philadelphia.

The party was already in full swing: Servers weaved between groups of people with trays of champagne flutes and crystal bowls of chilled shrimp, there were monogrammed napkins on each table, and the band already played something jazzy beneath a striped canopy. The air smelled like rose water, cigars, and seven different kinds of expensive cologne under the burning July sun.

The guest list was curated – a mix of elite families with names older than the Constitution, sleazy politicians, and military brass.

And you? You were glued to Ben’s side, playing anthropologist among the gentry, clinging to his commentary like it was your first language.

His palm was splayed low on your back, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the silk of your dress, while he pointed out various names and whispered in your ear like a scandalous tour guide.

Because another thing he apparently shared with his mother – the love for high society gossip.

“See the guy with the side part and the fake war injury?” Ben leaned down toward your ear, his hand still snug and low on your back. “That’s Franklin Hughes. He’s been telling everyone he got shot in the shoulder in North Africa, but it was actually skeet shooting in the fucking Berkshires.”

You tilted your head, spotting a puffed-up gentleman shaking hands with Richard near the bar.

“And see that man in the seersucker with the cane? That’s Douglas Fitzroy. His daughter Audrey tried to climb into my lap at Easter when I was seventeen. I think she mistook it for a pony.”

You snorted into your champagne flute before noticing the curious stares of a few guests, mainly from a group of younger women by the buffet. You instinctively tightened your grip on Ben’s arm, even though your outfit gave the illusion that you belonged here as well – fake it till you make it.

You’d been on the Brooks lawn for all of thirty minutes and already counted at least six girls who looked like they wanted to push you into the nearest hedge.

“Over there, that’s the Carmichaels,” Ben continued joyously. “They own the distillery. He’s boring, and she’s more interested in the company of other women from what I’ve heard.”

“Ben!”

He chuckled at your little gasp and pecked your temple. Then his green eyes drifted across the lawn again. “Oh, uh, the girl by the fountain in the green dress? Don’t make eye contact with her. That’s Lucille Sinclair. I took her to prom once. She cried when I didn’t want to go steady.”

You frowned slightly, cocking an eyebrow. “Was this before or after you slept with her?”

He paused, scratching his throat. “During.”

“You’re awful.” You shook your head but couldn’t help the bubble of laughter. “How did you survive this long without getting clocked with a high heel?”

“I have quick reflexes.” He shrugged casually, then grinned that boyish smile again.

“Alright, so what’s the body count here, Brooks?” you asked, glancing around the lawn and still feeling those judgmental stares on you.

Ben played innocent. “How do you mean?”

“How many girls here have seen you naked?”

Ben nearly choked on his drink, then leaned down to murmur in your ear, “Statistically speaking, it’s best if you avoid speaking to anyone between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. Just to be safe.”

You snorted involuntarily. “That many?”

“Listen, I went through a very misguided Hemingway phase. Lots of brandy,” he retorted and then grinned again, completely unapologetic. “There was a time when I was very popular, alright? Rich, handsome, emotionally unavailable… I was basically catnip for that whole row of pearls over there.”

You followed his nod toward a row of young women near the garden steps, watching you with the kind of passive aggression that could only be bred in East Coast boarding schools.

“Besides,” he added, brushing his knuckles down your bare arm, “you’re the only one who ever told me no. And meant it.”

Jesus fucking Christ, this man…

You raised a brow, looking up at him. “Was that your idea of foreplay?”

Ben gave a sheepish twitch of his shoulders. “Look, my twenties were a bit of a blur.”

“You’re only twenty-three!”

“Which just means I’m still in my prime.” Ben smirked and wiggled his brows.

“Yeah, I have a feeling you’re gonna be in your prime for a while…”

“Thank you,” he said and looked so smugly gorgeous about it that you practically forgave him on sight.

“Not a compliment, Benjamin.”

You tried not to laugh, but it surfaced anyway, especially when he pulled you closer, forearm braced possessively against the small of your back like he wanted every silk-and-sequin heiress here to see exactly who you belonged to – or who he belonged to now.

And then, Ben grabbed you and pressed you up against a stone column wrapped in ivy, one hand firm on your hip, the other tangled in your hair as he kissed you senseless like he hadn’t just done the same thing five minutes ago. Or ten. Or twenty. You’d stopped counting.

“Feel what you do to me?” he whispered, grinding just enough for you to know. He kissed you again, rougher this time, fingers playing with the hem of your skirt. Then he smirked lazily. “Already picturing that dress on the floor, baby.”

“You are shameless. Stop it!” You made a noise between a gasp and giggle, slapping his chest again. “Every girl here already looks like she wants to light me on fire.”

“Correction,” Ben said, amused, “They want to light me on fire. You’re just collateral damage.”

Ah yes.

“Comforting,” you said out loud this time.

“You’re the only one here who matters, sweetheart,” he reassured you, cupping your cheeks, forehead touching yours. And then, his eyes flickered sideways for a split of a second. “Uh-oh. The Du Ponts have arrived.”

Cue the Imperial March…

You didn’t have to look. You felt it. The air changed, the sound warped, and everyone straightened just a little as the Du Ponts glided in like a parade of pearls and Protestant guilt. Grace, a fucking vision in silk white, was flanked by her parents.

And Ben? Well, he only kissed you again – one of those longer, deeper ones that curled your toes, lifted your head to the clouds, and made it clear he had no intention of being on his best behavior during this party.

“Well, isn’t that charming,” Grace’s shrill voice screeched behind you.

Ben didn’t turn around, finished his kiss with all the patience in the world. Then he sighed audibly against your neck, mouthed fuck’s sake, and slowly leaned back, finally twisting around – but only halfway. He didn’t let go of you. His hand remained steadily at your waist.

Then their eyes met, and you could feel Hell freeze over.

“Benjamin,” she said primly. “I see you’ve kept up your little… hobby.”

“Watch it,” he growled, shifting a little in front of you, not exactly shielding you but close. His fingers laced with yours automatically.

“I’m not a hobby, Grace,” you replied coolly, your thumb brushing over Ben’s knuckles to keep him calm.

Grace then looked at you – not like someone she’d only encountered once, but like someone she’d spent months privately raging about. Because she had. Ben’s so-called “phase” was supposed to have ended by now. And instead, here you were. Still next to him. Still touching him. Still making him look happy in a way Grace had never seen before.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” she asked you like she didn’t fucking know, eyes flicking down to where Ben’s fingers were splayed possessively over your hip. “The tea room. I’m surprised you remembered my name.”

“Oh, I did,” you said with the sweetest smile. “It’s the same as the virtue you lack.”

Ben choked on a laugh, and Grace’s spine stiffened like someone had yanked it from above.

“I must’ve seen you two around town a dozen times this spring. Soda fountain, book store, even some little movie theater,” she said with venom in sheep’s clothing. “How… quaint.”

You arched a brow. “Are you making a fucking scrapbook?”

“I assumed it was just a bit of fun.” She ignored your quip, her smile curling like it hurt. “Aren’t you tired of pretending? After all, Benjamin isn’t known for his consistency.”

You took a casual sip of champagne. “Oh, I don’t know. He’s been pretty consistent with me… especially in bed.”

Grace blinked, smile dropped, looking like she choked on a pearl. Ben, on the other hand, coughed out a laugh that sounded downright gleeful.

Her eyes snapped to him with a coldness that exceeded Antarctica’s. “Your father invited me today. He still thinks you’ll come to your senses.”

“Really?” You smiled tightly. “I wouldn’t bet on it. See, his father can marry you two all he wants, your husband’s still gonna spend his wedding night with me.”

Grace’s face flushed a deep red. “I suppose some people cling to delusion when reality doesn’t suit them.”

You simply smiled again. “Exactly what I was thinking. Thank you.”

Grace didn’t respond straight away. Instead, she looked Ben over one last time, gaze dragging across the flush in his cheeks and the unmistakable impression of his hand on your waist.

Then she smiled – tight, sour, brittle. “Well. Enjoy the fireworks… while they last,” she bit and turned, stomping away with the stiff elegance of someone holding in a tantrum.

Ben let out a low whistle when she’d made it halfway across the garden again. “Christ.”

You glanced up at him – sheepish, innocent. “I was polite.”

Ben met your eyes, visibly impressed, a smile playing on his lips. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

You snorted a chuckle and took a sip from your drink. “Oh, honey, I’m pretty sure you’ll manage it eventually.”

Ben only smiled. That devastating, lazy smile that said he was exactly where he wanted to be. And then he kissed you – slow and possessive, like punctuation at the end of a sentence.

If the Brooks Fourth of July party had a theme, it wasn’t freedom, liberty, or the American dream. It was Richard. Richard Brooks – recovering heart attack survivor, self-declared titan of industry, and, as of today, Philadelphia’s most insufferable comeback story.

The lawn was full now – brimming with silk dresses and summer-weight suits, the clink of crystal glasses, and the low hum of political posturing disguised as pleasantries. The sun slanted through the trees in golden beams, but you were tucked under Ben’s arm in the shade as he charmed the hell out of some War Department colonel. Every so often, he dipped his head to murmur something wicked into your ear, and you laughed, leaned into him more. It was easy until–

A silver spoon clinked against a champagne flute.

The subtle hush that fell over the crowd wasn’t total, but enough that you heard Ben sigh under his breath.

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Here come’s the resurrection speech.”

Richard Brooks stood at the head of the steps leading down to the garden, champagne flute raised, suit crisp and face composed in that particular brand of patriarchal smugness only men like him had patented.

“Friends, family, colleagues, esteemed guests,” Richard began, “what a joy to see you all gathered once again for our most cherished tradition.”

A smattering of polite applause followed.

“After my… brief medical interruption this spring, I’m pleased to report that steel doesn’t bend easy. I’ve recovered fully – stronger than ever – and I’m filled with clarity about what matters most. I have been reminded of how vital legacy is. How important it is to see the next generation step up, to carry our name with honor, with purpose. To host, to lead, to build.”

Next to you, Ben groaned under his breath.

“Mortality forces a man to ask: Who will carry the torch? Who will shoulder the mantle of responsibility, of excellence, of vision?” Richard continued, eyes flicking all too deliberately to his son. “I admit passing that mantle is no small task. One must consider not just bloodlines, but merit. Discipline. Readiness. This country rewards resolve. Focus. Clarity of purpose.”

You could practically hear Ben grinding his molars on top of your head.

“And while some among us are still… growing into the shape of that legacy,” Richard said, eyes narrowing now on you in Ben’s arms, “I remain optimistic. And next year, perhaps, we’ll be here not just to celebrate our country’s founding but a new union as well.”

The speech ended with polite applause. Richard basked in it, then descended the stairs with the force of a man who believed the world owed him something.

“I hate him,” Ben muttered.

“He’s practically announcing your engagement with an ellipsis,” you said, brow furrowing. It was almost a word-for-word reenactment of what Dottie had told you once. “Do we think there’s a wedding arch hidden behind the hedges?”

“Not funny,” Ben murmured.

You raised your champagne flute with a wry grin. “To your betrothal, honey. May it be fictional and short-lived.”

Ben eventually let out a snort of amusement and kissed your temple, pulling you closer. But the peace, love, and laughter didn’t last long. He barely had time to recover when Richard marched toward you two like a general surveying his troops, a man with a lapel pin in tow, and of course, Grace floated beside them like a victory prize on a parade float.

“That’s Senator Davis,” you whispered to Ben. “He’s a Republican, but he comes from a working class family and is a supporter of labor laws.”

Ben’s head whipped to you, brow knitting. “How do you know that?”

You shrugged. “I read.”

And then, the group stood before you, Richard and Grace flashing their fakest polite smiles, while Senator Davis looked annoyed at best and exhausted at worst.

Richard then placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder like a branding iron. “Senator, allow me to introduce my son, Benjamin. And this,” he gestured to Grace, “is Grace Du Pont. His fiancée.”

Ben sputtered. “Actually, I’m–”

“Soon to be,” Richard steamrolled. “It’s only a matter of formality. You know how young people are. Always delaying what’s inevitable. But these two? Perfectly matched. Old family. Solid values.”

“Huh.” The senator looked unimpressed by the theatrics, and you knew why.

Know your fucking audience, Dick.

Then Richard turned his chin slightly toward you, almost as if noticing a passing servant. “This is one of the staff assisting the event. Would you be a dear and bring the senator a refill?”

You opened your mouth before noticing Ben was seconds away from losing it.

“She’s not–” Ben started but stopped when you gently placed a palm on his arm.

“It’s okay. Let Daddy have his narrative,” you whispered to him with a wink and then turned to the senator and Richard with the brightest smile. “Of course! I’ll be right back with your drink, sir.”

Grace looked smug and triumphant as hell as she watched you beeline to the bar – but not for fucking long.

Pause.

You stretched your neck, cracked your knuckles. Time suspended and turned the party scene into a Norman Rockwell painting as you swayed easily like a breeze through a garden full of statues.

Waiters paused mid-step. A glass in mid-pour. A hand in mid-toast.

With a diabolical smirk, you let your fingertips graze the fabric of Grace’s white dress before tugging her hem just slightly under the tip of the cupcake stand’s leg.

Oh, this will be fun, Puck said. This party needed a breath of chaos.

You moved on to the delicately balanced champagne tower and nudged the base with a touch. Just enough to make it precarious.

And then, well, your eyes spied Betty Vanderbilt, reaching for a glass near Grace.

Not resisting the mischievous urge, you took a creative liberty and rearranged her path ever-so slightly. You then grabbed a drink for the senator, took a deep breath, and forced the most innocent smile. Angels didn’t wear halos as brightly as you.

And Play.

The scene resumed, and in a few gloriously chaotic seconds, your plan unfolded.

Betty tripped forward and crashed into Grace like a missile. Champagne flutes shattered like glass rain, the toppling tower cascading over Grace’s head in a vintage baptism of golden bubbles. She twisted, staggered, and slammed backward into the cupcake table, ass-first into a heap of patriotic-themed frosting.

“You absolute cow!” Grace shrieked, scrambling to her feet with blue frosting in her eyelashes and a dripping white dress doused in champagne.

“You ran into me, you viper!” Betty huffed, dusting off her dress.

“You’ve been jealous since Benjamin picked me!”

Betty’s eyes flashed. “Picked you? Sweetheart, Ben sampled the tasting menu! I wasn’t the only one. There was a goddamn waitlist!”

Grace lunged. Betty grabbed a champagne bottle like a club. Frosting flew. A small child screamed. Someone’s shoe caught on fire (unclear how). One of the band members dove under a table. You hadn’t even meant for it to get this out of hand, but now that it had?

Delicious.

Next to the senator and Ben, Richard stood frozen in absolute horror, watching the chaos unfold like a man watching his stocks crash in real time.

That was when you decided to return with the sweetest smile.

“Senator, here’s your drink–,” you started and then stopped, feigning a gasp as you clasped your chest with the outrage of a fine lady. “Oh my! What’s going on here?”

Speechless, Ben blinked like he regretted a few decisions again. “Uh…”

Senator Davis took one slow, disapproving glance at Grace, dripping with champagne and rage, before turning to Richard. “Charming girl,” he said dryly. “But not quite the picture of grace, is she?”

Richard’s face turned to stone.

And then, Ben finally stepped forward, pulling you gently and proudly to his side. “Senator, I’m sorry about the chaos. Please allow me to introduce my actual girlfriend.”

Richard’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then clenched shut.

Senator Davis took your hand. You straightened your shoulders and gave him a warm, practiced smile.

“Pleasure, sir,” you said cheerfully. “I read The Iron Puddler when I was sixteen. Made me feel like grit still counted for something, even if you didn’t come from money.”

Davis blinked in surprise but then gave you the warmest smile upon the mention of his cherished autobiography. “Well now, that’s a fine thing to hear. I wrote that book hoping some kid out there’d believe they didn’t need a silver spoon to make it,” he said, sending Richard a look. “That’s worth more to me than a good poll number. I wrote it for folks like you. People can either be defined by their circumstances or use those very circumstances to shape their future. It’s the essence of the American spirit, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely agree, Senator. It hit me like a thunderbolt, sir,” you continued your flattery. “Reminded me that being poor doesn’t mean you’re powerless.”

The senator chuckled happily. “That's all I was hoping for – one person to believe in the long shot. You’ve got fire. I like that. Just don’t go running against me,” he joked with a wink.

“Oh, don’t worry, sir. I’m not planning on running against you,” you said, giggling, and then placed your hand on Ben’s chest, cheekily nodding toward him, “But he might. He’s not one to rely on anyone else’s legacy either. He’s determined to carve out his own path.”

Ben smiled wryly, shooting a glance at his father. “She makes sure I don’t take a single thing for granted, sir.”

“Then you’ve got a good woman and better sense than most in your tax bracket, son,” Davis replied, laughing.

Ben laced his hand with yours and brought it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “She’s the reason I’ve come this far. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“Some think wealth is something you pass down like an heirloom. But there’s something to be said for building something yourself. If ever you two need support, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’ve always believed that anyone with the drive to build something of their own deserves a hand up, not a handout.” Senator Davis then turned to Ben’s father with a smile that was a little too polished. “You’ve raised a fine son with a strong head on his shoulders, Mr. Brooks. It’s rare to see someone so committed to building from the ground up, especially when he’s got the option to take an easier route. It’s commendable. And with someone like her beside him, well, I’d say he’s well-positioned for success.”

Richard looked like he’d bitten through his cigar and someone had drained the bourbon from his blue bloodstream.

And you? You looked up at Ben, grinning smug as hell. “I think I just officially became your father’s nemesis. Should we get out of here before he bursts a vessel?”

“Before you get caught in the crossfire, yes.” Ben chuckled and tugged you away before his father could combust.

The afternoon had been a blur of sunshine, laughter, and clinking glasses. As the day wore on, the party shifted to something quieter and drunker, strings of lanterns beginning to glow against the falling dusk.

You never left Ben’s side, charming every congressman and colonel alike with a trained laugh. You’d made yourself indispensable.

You only slipped away for a moment, excusing yourself inside to the powder room. You smoothed out your skirt, washed away the sticky remnants of stolen cupcakes, and applied a new coat of lipstick since most of it had landed on Ben at this point.

On your way back to the garden, the empty mansion echoed faintly with distant music and laughter from outside. And then there he was:

Richard Brooks was already waiting, posted by the doorway to his study like a vulture smelling fresh meat.

“Miss,” he said, not even bothering to finish your name. “Inside. Now.”

“I was just heading back to the party,” you said, forcing a polite smile.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he said and opened the door with one hand and stepped back, waiting like a man who never heard the word no.

You walked past him, breath shallow, pulse fluttering like a caged bird. And then it was just you, Richard Brooks, and the scent of whiskey and old power clinging to the room like rot.

“You’ve been busy,” he said, absentmindedly pouring himself a glass of bourbon. “Making friends. Charming donors. Wiggling your way in like a parasite.”

Your fingers curled slightly at your sides. Careful. Controlled. “What exactly is it you want from me, Mr. Brooks?”

“I want to make this very simple,” he said, stepping closer with the slow gravity of a man used to the world bowing to him. “You want money? I’ll give you money. You walk away from my son. Tonight. I don’t care where you go, but you disappear. And in return, I’ll write you a check large enough to make sure you never have to get your hands dirty again.”

The heat crawled up your chest. You scoffed a disbelieving laugh. “I’m not for sale.”

“You are. You just don’t know your price yet,” he said and took a long sip from his drink, staring at you like you were something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to him?”

“Excuse me?”

“What’s the game plan? Stick around long enough to get a ring? Or were you hoping for a baby first? Anchor him down, ruin his life properly.”

Your throat went dry. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m realistic,” he snapped. “You think I don’t know your type? You think he’s the first boy with a bleeding heart and a hard-on?”

“Go to hell,” you bit through gritted teeth.

“Oh, don’t play coy now. It’s unflattering. You’ve wrapped yourself around my son like ivy around stone, hoping no one notices what you’re choking.” Richard tilted his head with a smirk, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Don’t think I haven’t seen girls like you before. Pretty. Starved. Sharp enough to keep your legs crossed until the stakes are high enough to spread them. How long did you hold out before you gave my son what he wanted?”

“I love Ben,” you said fiercely.

But Richard only scoffed a humorless laugh, amused. Condescending. His trademark. “Please, let’s not pretend for a second this is love. You needed someone to pick you up off the street, and he was stupid enough to do it. He’s always had a weakness for broken things. He likes the way you moan. That’s it. You’re not the first little stray to wander into our lives, after all.”

Your blood ran cold, skin crawling. “Fuck you.”

“You’re a pretty little thing for a gutter rat. I’ll give you that. Voice like honey, mouth like sin, decent pair of legs…” He stalked forward, sneering.

You took a step back. “Stay away from me.”

“Why?” He smiled, all teeth like a shark. “You’re fine letting my son put his hands all over you. Why not me? I could make it worth your while. Why waste your charms on a boy who’s still wet behind the ears when you could have the man who built everything he’s trying to give you?”

“Don’t,” you warned sharply, hands balling into fists.

He only laughed darkly and took another step toward you, eyes raking you up and down like a lion circling. “Oh, come on. You’re not shy when it’s him.”

And then, his fucking hand came down – bold, calloused fingers grazing your hip like they had every right.

Goddammit!

Like father, like son, like fucking grandson.

But it was his grave mistake to underestimate you.

Your hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist like iron, body moving faster than your brain. You didn’t squeeze at first. Just let him feel the pressure. Enough to make him flinch.

“I suggest you take your hand off me,” you said, sharp as a razor. “Now.”

Then you squeezed. Not enough to break bone, but enough to make his knees buckle. Enough to make him gasp, to panic, to understand that something was very wrong. He tried to pull back, but you didn’t let him.

On the inside, you were terrified. Because for a blink of an eye, you didn’t know how this would end.

“What the hell–” His eyes widened, choking out a strangled sound. “You–… what are you–… You’re–… you’re a goddamn–”

Jesus fuck, please don’t say it.

“–witch!”

Shit. Not again. Why did this keep happening to you?

But this time, you used it to your advantage, leaning in closer with a fearsome snarl. “That’s right, you little Puritan shit. Be fucking scared because if you ever touch me again, Florence will be picking pieces of you out of this leather chair till 1953.”

His blue eyes narrowed as the pain set in. “You crazy little–… Let go of me!”

“Dad?”

Ben’s voice shattered the moment. He froze in the doorway, scanning the room in sharp confusion – his father’s disheveled state, your tense shoulders – and that’s when he saw it. The panic on your face. Your body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Your eyes wet, wild, and locked on the floor like if you looked up, it would all come crashing down. His gaze flicked from you to his father’s twisted face down to the wrist you were still gripping tightly.

That was when you finally snapped out of it and dropped it like it burned you.

Richard yanked his arm away, cradling his wrist like it had been caught in a bear trap. His face was red. His eyes burned.

“What the hell’s going on in here?” Ben asked, brow furrowed.

“I–… Ben, I didn’t–… He–” The words tangled. You’d never stammered in front of Ben before. But this moment wasn’t built for composure. Your heart was pounding against your ribs, ready to crack them on impact.

Richard stumbled back, face contorted with both rage and humiliation, painting on a mask. “She assaulted me. The girl’s hysterical. Look at her! She’s not right in the head.”

Your stomach turned. Your heart dropped. “That’s not what happened, you fucking–”

“She came onto me,” Richard continued, fully drilling his gaze into Ben now like a basilisk. “Started touching me. Got handsy when I told her it wasn’t happening. You really think she’s with you for you, son?”

But Ben didn’t look at him. Not once. His glassy emerald eyes stayed on you. It seemed like he wasn’t even listening to his father. He came closer to you, touched your cheek with a gentleness that almost broke you.

Because he believed you. Because he knew you. Every inch of you.

“Did he touch you?”

You swallowed hard, biting back the stinging tears in your eyes, but you gave him the weakest nod. Silent.

And that was all it took. Something in him snapped.

“You bastard fucking touched her?!”

“Ben, don’t,” you tried to intervene carefully, keep the situation from escalating. You wanted to pull Ben back. Wanted to beg him not to do this. Not to ruin everything for you.

“Watch your goddamn tone, son!” Richard warned, seething with anger. “She’s clearly lying!”

Ben was on his father in a heartbeat, shoving him roughly against the closest bookshelf, hard enough to rattle a few leather-bound works off the shelves.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?!”

“Spare me the dramatics,” Richard said, snorting. “The girl’s been in your bed for weeks. What’s the difference?”

“She’s not yours,” Ben growled.

Richard laughed loudly. “Don’t tell me you actually think this is love, son. You barely know her. You think she’ll stick around once the lights go out? She’s using you. You’ll see it eventually. They always leave. She’ll leave too. She’ll take everything, drag your name through the mud, and walk away. You can dress it up any way you want, boy, but at the end of the day, she’s just your whore.”

Ben’s fist slammed into the sideboard with a thunderous crack. The lamp wobbled. You flinched and tentatively placed your hand on his arm. You could feel how fast his heart was beating, could feel your own panic ratcheting higher.

“Ben, don’t,” you whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Please, just… don’t.”

But Ben didn’t let go of his father or look at you. Not yet. His hand gently pushed against your shoulder to shift you aside. Out of harm’s way.

“Say one more word about her and I’ll make sure it’s your last in this goddamn house,” he threatened, voice more thundering than the summer storm brewing outside the study’s windows.

Richard only scoffed, shaking his head and smoothing out his dress shirt as Ben’s grip finally loosened, hands falling to his sides. “Christ on a cross, don’t romanticize this. What, you’re calling it love because she spread her legs?”

“Fuck you,” Ben spat.

Fuck you.

Something clicked. You stood frozen behind him, heart pounding, lungs too tight to fill, brain buzzing like a bee hive. Somewhere behind your ribs, where your mind met the deeper currents of knowing, a ripple moved through your sense of reality, subtle but cold. That gnawing, familiar feeling was back, a persistent hypothesis creeping with it this time.

What if–… No, it can't be.

Maybe you were never steering anything. Maybe all you’d done was arrive exactly on cue.

“I’m marrying her,” Ben announced, straight to his father’s face and ripping you out of your chalkboard theories.

The silence was only interrupted by thunder roaring outside, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if it wasn’t just the sound of your heart exploding. Like Oppenheimer was throwing a goddamn trial run in your chest.

“No, you’re fucking not,” Richard bit like it was an order his son was supposed to obey.

“I am,” Ben stood steadfast, his deep voice unwavering. “Tonight, if I have to.”

“Benjamin–”

Ben cut in firmly, bristling. “I will not let you lay another finger on her. I will not let you speak to her. I will not even let you goddamn look at her.”

“She is nothing but a broken little–”

“She is mine,” Ben snapped. “I’m done. I’m leaving with her right now. And I’m never coming back. Keep your money and your legacy. Choke on it for all I care.”

“You’re deluded. You’re not thinking clearly. You’ll regret this, son. Trust me,” Richard continued spewing.

But Ben had already turned his back on his father. He took your hand. His grip was tight. Sure.

“Let’s go,” he said to you, voice softer now.

Your legs felt numb. Your body still shook, muscles twitching.

“Ben, are you sure? What if–”

He stilled for a heartbeat, then turned to you fully, and all you could see was the devotion glistening in his eyes. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You couldn’t stop the tears this time. Not from fear. Not from anger. Not from worry. But because it felt like you were fucking drowning.

Ben walked out of the study without another word, your hand safely in his.

But the adrenaline clung to your skin. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know what came next. All you knew was that the man at your side had just set his life on fire.

For you.

Your heart hammered more furiously than the thunder cracking outside as Ben dragged you down the familiar maze of dark hallways, the tapestry blurring in your vision, Richard’s voice still ringing in your ears, but your hand still in Ben’s. His grip was so tight it would’ve probably hurt anyone else, but you still didn’t let go.

Lightning slashed white across the windows as Ben yanked open the double doors to the drawing room. You stumbled through after him, still trembling, still trying to catch your breath, still tasting bile.

And then you heard her voice.

“Benjamin?”

Ben stopped cold. You nearly collided into his back.

Margaret Brooks stood by the piano in her seafoam party dress, and she wasn’t alone – Dottie, quiet as a shadow, hovered just behind her, holding a tray of empty glasses and an anxious expression. Margaret’s eyes locked on her son, then on you – disheveled, breathless, teary-eyed, your hand still clutching Ben’s like a buoy out at sea.

And she knew.

She didn’t say how. Didn’t ask. She just stepped forward slowly. “What did he do?”

Ben’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t speak. His shoulders shook with the effort not to go back and punch a hole in the study wall. He squeezed your hand, fury still radiating off him in waves. You could feel the heat of it in your skin, in your chest, in the way your heartbeat hadn’t slowed since you’d dropped his father’s wrist.

Margaret nodded once. “I see.” Then she turned to Dottie. “Get my travel case and that stack of twenties I keep behind the dressing screen. Hurry.”

Dottie vanished without a word.

“I should’ve burned this whole place to the ground years ago,” Margaret muttered, eyes flicking toward the stormy window before they landed back on you and Ben. “But if I can’t walk out, at least you two can.”

Margaret’s expression softened as she looked at you. She touched your cheek – light, maternal. It made your throat tighten. “You know, dear, after that first dinner, I knew you were the one person in this house who couldn’t be bought or bullied. Which means you’re exactly who he needs,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You make him happy. I haven’t seen him smile like that since he was ten years old. Don’t let him forget how to. You take care of my boy. He’s a pain in the neck, but he’s got a good heart.”

You nodded, fighting tears, too choked up to speak.

The thunder rumbled low and mean outside the windows, a distant growl growing steadily closer. You could hear voices echoing down the halls, servants ushering guests indoors as the storm rolled in. The party was no longer spilling across the lawn – people were beginning to trickle into the ballroom, clinking glasses and polite laughter rising in the wake of the approaching downpour.

Then, without a word, Margaret slipped off the massive diamond ring on her left hand and pressed it into Ben’s palm. The thing was a glacier – ornate, heavy, and stunning. He stared down at it like it might explode.

“What–, uh… You-, uhm, you want me to propose with this?”

She snorted humorlessly, shaking her head. “Good God, no, Benjamin! That thing is cursed. Only ever got two decades of eternal misery out of it. For God’s sake, don’t put that on her finger,” she retorted and cupped her son’s cheeks, looking into his eyes intently. “But it’s worth a fortune. Pawn it. Use it to buy her a ring. And maybe something with a roof and plumbing, yes?”

Ben nodded slowly in her palms, brow so intensely furrowed you wouldn’t be surprised if those creases stayed permanently.

“I’ve waited twenty-three years to say this: You are nothing like that man, and I am so proud of you for it, Benjamin,” she whispered and kissed his forehead.

Ben froze and shut his eyes, swallowing hard, and you could see what it did to him – the quiet devastation of a son who’d waited his whole life to hear those words and never believed he would.

“There’s no time to argue. Go to the stables at the edge of the property. No one goes there this time of night. Not in this weather. Use the old servant path past the orchard. You remember it, Ben,” Margaret said.

“I do,” Ben replied, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“I’ll tell your father you stormed off after a tantrum. He’ll believe that. He always underestimated your spine.”

Ben gave a bitter huff.

“I’ll never forgive him for what he did to you,” Margaret added, directed at you both. “But I can still help fix the ending.”

Dottie reappeared then, out of breath, carrying a small overnight suitcase and an armful of coats. Outside, the thunder roared louder, closer, the wind howling like something unholy.

Ben pulled you close, holding the suitcase in one hand and your waist in the other. You both followed Dottie, quick and silent, down the servants’ corridor toward the back door that led out to the garden path.

Dottie cracked the door open, looking left and right. “Coast is clear.”

Rain pounded against the roof now, soaking the porch as soon as you stepped outside. Cold, blinding sheets of it. You gasped as it hit you, but Ben just held the coat over your head and guided you through the downpour, across the gravel, past the hydrangeas whipping in the wind.

And then you ran.

The rain chased you two down the hill like hounds nipping at your heels, slamming the world into a blur, thunder cracking like the earth itself was breaking apart. You sprinted across the lawn, mud splashing under your shoes, lightning streaking white through the clouds and splitting the sky. Your pulse hammered loud in your ears, but the questions and doubts were even louder.

By the time you reached the stables at the far end of the property, your clothes clung to you like a second skin, chilling your muscles to ice. Rain pelted down, cold and hard, stinging your cheeks and numbing your fingers. Thunder roared across the sky like a cannon, drowning out your breathless sobs and the frantic beat of your heart.

Ben pushed the heavy barn door open with his shoulder, glancing back at the dark outline of the mansion once before ushering you inside. You stumbled in after him, dripping, shaking, soaked straight through to your bones. The door slammed shut on creaking hinges behind you, muting the storm to a low, feral growl. The scent of hay, horses, and damp wood filled your lungs.

Panic curled tight in your ribs, sharper than the cold. You didn’t know where to go, what to do. The walls felt too narrow, the future too wide.

“Why didn’t you just tell him to go fuck himself?”

“Ha, I imagine that would’ve probably gone over well…”

You grabbed a beam to steady yourself, rainwater dripping down your back, your throat closing around a sound you couldn’t name. You were breathing too fucking fast.

For a moment, everything was pitch black. Ben fumbled along the wall, fingers brushing until he yanked a brass hanging lantern from a hook on the wall and flicked it on. The low golden light washed over his face, catching the sharp angles of his jaw, the soaked, wild mess of his hair.

He then stopped short in the middle of the barn, hands braced on his hips, chest rising and falling beneath his drenched dress shirt. He looked around quickly – assessing, scanning the space like he could plan ahead, like he could solve everything if he just stared hard enough.

“This’ll do for the night,” he muttered, half to himself. “We’ll figure out where to go in the morning. I can sell the ring, get us on our feet. Just need-… need a plan.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, dripping, freezing, too full of emotion to speak. The high beams above you groaned with the wind, lightning flashing blue and white through the gaps in the slats.

Ben then finally turned to you, his chest still heaving, hair plastered to his forehead, jaw clenched with fury and adrenaline. His eyes found yours instantly, and something in them softened. He stepped forward, closing the space between you, rainwater dripping from his lashes. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing rain off your cheeks like you were made of glass.

“You okay?”

You nodded in his palms but shivered, too.

“Did he–” He bit his lips harshly, another surge of anger rumbling through him. “Did he hurt you?”

“No. No, nothing like that,” you replied, quickly shaking your head. “Just scared me. I stopped him before anything could happen.”

Ben pulled you flush against him then, arms coming around you and holding you tight. He rested his chin on top of your head.

“How did you even do that? I mean, you’re–”

Small. Weak. Fragile. A woman.

Whatever it was, he stopped before he said it.

“I’m not soft.”

“Prove it.”

“I wouldn’t hesitate to go back in time and fucking kill you!”

“Oh, you can certainly try, sweetheart.”

Your heart battered your ribcage. You swallowed heavily. “Oh, uh, adrenaline… I guess. Didn’t really think about it.”

“Right, yeah… Good,” Ben said, but you weren’t quite sure he believed you fully this time. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. Never shoulda left your side at all. I promised you I wouldn’t, but I–”

“Hey, hey, no…” You looked up at him, seeing the thunder-lit fury in his emerald gaze. You cupped his jaw, rough and sharp beneath your gentle palms. “It’s not your fault, okay? You got there. You believed me. It’s all that matters.”

“I shoulda known. Shoulda put him through a fucking wall,” he gritted, muscles shaking under your touch. “I’ll never forgive him for what he tried to do. We’re done with him. With all of it. Just you and me, alright? We’ll make it work.”

Your grip faltered. The words scraped at the raw, unsure part of you. That feeling was back. Stronger. Not even a feeling at all anymore – just truth. A fact you didn’t want to believe in like God.

“Look, while you were away, I talked to Hardwick again. He said he might have something for me. Pays well,” Ben said, and your heart slowed for the first time that day – not for a good reason, though.

“The army general?”

“Yeah, he said we wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. Said we’d be taken care of.”

Your mind flashed with the next lightning strike. Your lips pressed into a tight lines, the creases on your brow even tighter. “What-, uh, what exactly did he say?”

“What does it matter?” Ben looked at you in confusion, probably for the same reason he always had – protecting you.

He had it handled. There was no need for you to worry.

“Just tell me,” you still insisted.

Ben exhaled a small sigh through his nose but relented like he always did, too. “He said they found some scientists in Germany or something. Said it might take a couple more months, though. Maybe years. But they’d take care of us now. Recruit me… or whatever. Said something about paperclips…”

“Ben–” You squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath.

“What?”

Don’t get frustrated with him, you reminded yourself. He doesn’t know.

“Did he maybe say Operation Paperclip?”

Ben nodded slowly, forest green eyes flickering. “Yeah, I guess. How d’you know?”

“I-… Your father’s golf buddies talked about it today.”

Yeah, you had listened to that conversation very intently. From what you’d gathered, they’d found out about Frederick Vought’s existence, discovered his plans for Nazi super soldiers, and heard about first trials in camps. Only casualties, no successes. But you knew there’d be one, eventually. Then two. No contact made yet. But that would happen as well.

You were sure about history, weren’t you?

“Hey, look at me,” Ben’s deep voice pulled you back. His thumbs brushed your throat, hands locked around your neck, forehead pressed against yours. “We’ll be okay, I promise you.”

But you couldn’t believe him. Not anymore.

“Ben, wait–”

His lips crashed against yours, tasting of rain and relief. His kiss was desperate. Hard. Addicting. You stumbled back from the force of it, your spine hitting the barn door, wood wet and splintering beneath your soaked clothes.

And you kissed him back just as fervently.

His hands buried in your hair, your ribs, your thighs – anywhere he could touch, like he had to grip every inch of you because he didn’t trust the world not to rip you away.

And you clung to him, shaking, breathless, heart breaking.

“You’re it for me,” he rasped between rougher kisses. “You understand? There’s no one–… There’s nothing else.”

And you never stopped him.

Your legs wrapped around him, massive hands clawing at your ass like you clawed into his broad shoulders. His knuckles brushed up your thighs, dragging your soaked dress higher and higher and higher. Your mind went higher with it.

You whimpered as his fingers shoved your panties aside, his touch rough, reverent, rampant. Yours was desperate, desecrating, despondent as you fumbled at his slacks, unbuckling just enough.

The thunder outside barely hammered louder than your own heart.

“Oh, c’mon! One song. How about something from the fucking 80s? Like Cyndi Lauper! I’m sure you’d like that, huh?”

He pushed into you in one fierce, unrelenting thrust. The oxygen left your lungs in a choked cry, and he filled your lungs with his next kiss. Devoured you like he was trying to crawl into your very skin to stay.

Your fingers dug into his back, twisted the soaked fabric of his shirt in your dying grip. He groaned your name like it undid him, heavy head falling to your shoulder as he held you there, his body shuddering with the force of it.

“I’ve never lo–” He couldn’t finish. Couldn’t breathe.

And you couldn’t either.

The thunder growled above you like a warning, the storm outside only amplifying the chaos inside you. He moved again, and you whimpered, overwhelmed by the pressure, the stretch, the maddening, soul-breaking closeness.

“You’re it. You’re everything,” he groaned, thrusting harder, rhythm gone to ruin.

And you were shaking.

From the cold, from the heat, from the whiplash of fear and want and love and devastation. You didn’t know which part was louder – the terror of what came next, or the ache to fall apart in his arms and stay there forever.

Ben kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your eye where a tear escaped.

His thrusts grew messier, less controlled. One hand gripped the door beside your head, the other wrapped tight around your waist, grounding you. But it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

And still, you tried to carve something real out of the ruin.

Your body moved with his, dizzy with need, lost in him. Every thrust was a promise. Every breathless, broken word was a vow.

“How about something a little slower… Time After Time! That’s fucking perfect for you!”

“Ben–”

“I’ve got you. I’ve always got you, sweetheart. That’s it,” he growled, his rhythm stuttering as your body clenched around him.

You could barely keep up with the half-incoherent words spilling from him. Desperate, beautiful nonsense. Confessions torn from the back of his throat.

And all you could do was feel him – thick and hard, and so deep, it hurt, it ached, it mattered.

Ben never saw the spiral in your eyes. Didn’t feel the tremble in your hands as panic and desire collided like fire and gasoline. He drove into you with every ounce of desperation he felt – relentless and bruising, as if only he went deep enough, hard enough, he could stay inside you forever.

And your hips rocked against his, chasing the edge together and outrunning everything else.

“Led Zeppelin, huh?”

“Yeah, I got it for my twenty-fifth birthday. I went to Zeppelin’s first tour in 1969. Only wear it on special occasions.”

“Oh, yeah, right… Happy fucking birthday, I guess.”

You loved him. You bit down on his shoulder as you came, cried out his name and everything else. It tore through you – sharp, electric, wild. Your head fell back against the door, body tight and shuddering in his hold, letting the rain on the tin roof drown out the war in your heart, you wished you could Pause right here.

But you didn’t stop time. You didn’t stop him. You didn’t stop yourself.

You kissed his temple. His jaw. His mouth. You held him tighter than you ever had.

And you were losing him.

Your name fell from his lips, wrecked and worshipful at once. He buried himself as deep as he could go – one broken thrust, one strangled moan, one bruising grip on your ice-cold skin, spilling into you, thick and hot.

The world was still for a moment till your mind screamed through the haze.

“That’s a closed loop. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think it fucking does…”

“Marry me,” Ben murmured through the patter of rain, barely coherent, barely audible. It was a whisper, rough and low. Not a grand declaration. Not some dramatic plea. Just two words spoken into the hush of the barn, forehead resting against yours, his breath still ragged.

And your eyes snapped open.

You felt it more than heard it, like your whole world had just shifted a few inches sideways. His eyes searched yours, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, and there was something in his gaze that leveled you more than anything else had tonight.

“I mean it. Marry me,” he repeated, louder this time. Firmer. Surer. He swallowed thickly. “I love you. I know I should’ve said it before. It’s not because I didn’t feel it. I did. I do. I just-… I never knew how. You make me feel things I don’t know what to do with. You always have.”

And tears welled in your eyes, but not for the reason he thought. He didn’t know how much loving you would ruin.

But he kept going, hope laced in every word. “This isn’t a mistake. I’ve been sleepwalking through my whole goddamn life and then you–… you showed up like a fucking miracle, sweetheart. And suddenly I know what I want. I want you.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. You just stared up at him, trying to find footing on ground that didn’t exist.

And your legs loosened around him before you even realized you were doing it, letting him slip out of you, soaked dress clinging to your skin.

A half-step. A breath of space.

His eyes flashed with hurt and confusion. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything? Why are you pulling back?”

“I-… I just need a minute,” you managed to push out, head dizzy, barn spinning. “Why would you do this…” you muttered to yourself, not meaning for Ben to hear, but he did.

You weren’t talking about him, though. Soldier Boy.

“Do what? Don’t you want to? I thought-… I thought you loved me, too.” His brow furrowed, trying to understand something he never could.

“No, I-… I mean, I do. I love you, okay? God, I love you so much,” you assured him, your feet pacing frantically on hay and damp earth.

“Then what is it?” He was trying so hard to keep calm, but panic flashed behind his green eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He knew. He fucking knew.

“I just-… I need space. Please. I need… I need time, okay? To think,” you tried to explain, but your head was too convoluted to function, memories flooding your mind and drowning all coherent thoughts but one:

Why would he sent you here?

Ben’s jaw clenched. “Why do I feel like you’re running?”

“I’m not!” you cried, voice cracking, tears falling. “I’m not trying to run away from you.”

“Then what is it?” He stepped forward. “Is it something I did? Something I said? Just tell me–”

“I can’t!” you snapped, chest heaving. “I can’t tell you anything!”

He flinched like you’d slapped him. You were only making it fucking worse.

And you hated yourself for it.

“I need a second,” you whispered. “Just… give me a second. Please.”

And you bolted.

You didn’t wait for his answer. You stumbled toward the barn door and out into the rain, the storm swallowing you whole. You didn’t look back. Couldn’t. You would’ve stopped if you did. The cold slapped you in the face. Mud squelched beneath your feet.

You ran behind the barn, to the side where the shadows swallowed everything. The wind ripped at your hair. You crouched behind the nearest tree, hands fisted in the wet bark, heart galloping, lungs seizing.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself. “Okay, it’s fine. Just breathe. You can think. You can–”

But the storm was louder than your thoughts. Ben’s voice echoed faintly in the distance – your name, over and over again. Desperate.

And then that horrible, all-consuming pull unfurled from your spine, from the deepest part of you where time lived like a ticking bomb. Electricity surged up your arms. The world folded in.

Shit. Not now. Not ever.

But you were already gone.

▶️ Chapter 11: When You’re Slapped, You’ll Take It and Like It

Should we do a mental health check-in again? How are you holding up, loves? Was this the end to 1942 you've expected?

Hang in tight for Soldier Boy's POV next week. We're going back to the future 😉

Coming Up:

The scream came first. Feral, guttural, ancient. Something primal ripped from your throat like it had been building in your bones for eight fucking decades.

You snapped like a wire he’d strung too tight, lunged forward, and decked him clean across the jaw.

The punch snapped across his face, sharp and personal and full of all the fire he remembered. It cracked so loud, the room winced. You were a magnificent angel of vengeance.

God, he fucking missed you.

And Ben took the hit. Didn’t even try to block you. Knew he deserved it. Knew he had it fucking coming.

He staggered back half a step with a grunt, head snapping just slightly from the brutal force of it. Slowly, he turned back to face you, look at you, and then the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a smirk.

Smug. Cocky. Satisfied.

“There she is.” He grinned, then rubbed his jaw like it amused him, inspecting the ache with something between pride and admiration. “Actually fuckin’ felt that one. Good for you, sweetheart. Knew you had it in you.”

🚀 Read up to 4 chapters ahead on Patreon now

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444 @syrma-sensei

@perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming @hunter-or-the-hunted

@k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways @muhahaha303

@ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith @nesnejwritings

@samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02 @impala67rollingthroughtown

@star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13 @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v @youroldfashioned

[lavandadiana]

just more than i like you

Yes, the title is an Xdinary Heroes song lyric. I feel like this song is somewhat yandere OG Nice x Lin Ling coded.

Once again I got inspired by @kiraisrika post of yandere OG Nice but instead of spreading out my time for my writing, I wrote this in a day. Never again...

It's not connected, but here's Nice's Support System :)

🜲Ao3

WC 🜲 3,522

TW 🜲 Yandere OG Nice, Possessive behavior, A little bit of horny Nice, a bit of a creep Nice, Mentions of sexual thoughts and behaviors, no sex, minor (1) murderous thoughts, minor (1) thoughts about permanently disabling someone, if I miss any TW's let me know!

Once again, constrictive criticism is very much welcome!

It has been a couple of weeks since Lin Ling saved Nice from suicide. Since Lin Ling brought the light back to Nice’s eyes. Since Lin ling became the only reason for Nice to live; to be a hero, to be perfect. ”Everything else must be perfect for him. I am already perfect, but everyone else isn’t. Only Lin Ling and I are perfect. Soon they will see it too.” Nice thought as he stared at a sleeping Lin Ling on Nice’s bed.

”A little truthful lie about a nightmare and that I can’t go back to sleep without someone sleeping next to me.” Nice smiled at the memory. “Maybe next time I’ll ‘accidentally’ cuddle with him in my sleep.” He thought as his heart begins to raise and heat flushed to his cheeks. “Ah~ I thought I could never go back to sleep with Lin Ling being so close to me~ Our faces, our bodies, inches apart. I must’ve spent hours staring at Lin Ling’s face. I could draw him memory, but it wouldn’t hold a candle to the real Lin Ling.”

Lin Ling’s dark brown hair is messy, strands poking out every which way, soft snores from Lin Ling filling the silence in the room. Drool escapes from Lin Ling’s mouth, leaving wet marks on Nice’s bedsheets, yet Nice isn’t disgusted by this. No, rather, it was the opposite. ”Oh~ I don’t want to wash the sheets. Perhaps I’ll just put them away, preserve them. Although, I wouldn’t mind getting the bed sheets dirty with other fluids~” Before Nice could ponder on those type of thoughts, Lin Ling shifted in his sleep, moving to a more comfortable position, which caused Lin Ling’s black T-shirt to rise a bit, showing a bit off Lin Ling’s Stomach.

Nice’s eyes widened as his heart beat faster; blood flows to places not acceptable for the scene, as unpure thoughts filled Nice’s mind. Nice had to bite his finger to hold back the groan that almost escaped from his throat. "I need to calm down. I can’t do anything yet. Our first time needs to be perfect; I want it to be perfect. I need to get my mind off this. I’ll make breakfast for him. Yes, that’s ideal. I’ll surprise him with breakfast. Hmm... What shall I make? Cereal? No, too basic. Eggs and toast? No, too bland. Pancakes? Hmm... Maybe. Ahaha! I got it! Chili crisp fried eggs with rice and French toast sticks, topped with fresh berries, powdered sugar and honey, and a cup of freshly squeezed orange juice and freshly brewed coffee. Yes, a perfect breakfast meal for the perfect person to be with the perfect hero."

Nice nodded, quietly walking away from the sleeping Lin ling and towards the kitchen to cook the meal for the love of his love, even though Lin Ling doesn’t know it yet. Nice puts on a white apron with a pair of cute white and brown bears embroidered on it. A gift from Lin Ling after a couple of days of living together. He said that it reminded of them. First, Nice washed the rice till the water ran clear and put the washed rice in a rice cooker. Then he prepares his French toast mixture. A cup of milk, and 2 eggs; he mixes them to combine in a bowl. Next, he added a teaspoon of cinnamon, a quarter teaspoon of nutmeg, and a quarter teaspoon of ground cloves. Then he mixes the spices before adding a tablespoon of sugar and half a teaspoon of pure vanilla extract before mixing once last time. He warmed up a skillet with clarified buffer over a low flame. He dipped 2 slices of brioche bread into the custard for 10 seconds per side and placed them on the low flamed buttered skillet, letting it cook for 7 minutes and 30 second per side.

While Nice waits for the French toast to cook, he heats up another skillet over a medium flame and scoops a couple of spoonful of chili oil in the skillet, letting the oil of the chili crisp to spread and heats up for a couple of minutes before cracking 2 large eggs over it. “Lin Ling likes his eggs runny, if I remember correctly.” Nice finishes up making breakfast and starts to squeeze fresh oranges in a juicer and brewed a cup of coffee with freshly grounded coffee beans from Brazil.

Nice softly hums a song from Lin Ling’s favorite band, Xdinary Heroes. He doesn’t remember the song’s name, but he likes the song. After all, anything Lin Ling loves, Nice will support it. He tops the French Toast with fresh strawberries and blueberries, raw honey and powdered sugar. He plates the chili crisp fried eggs over a bowl of freshly made rice, topping it with chopped scallions, a pinch of sea salt and a sprinkle of sesame seeds. He strained the squeezed orange juice to remove the pulp, remembering that Lin Ling didn’t like his orange juice with pulp. He poured the now pulp free orange juice in a clear glass. He poured the brewed coffee into Lin Ling’s favorite mug, a mug that has a picture of Nice and Moon posing.

Nice didn’t know how to feel when Lin Ling brought the cup when he moved his stuff in with Nice, but he knows that Lin Ling’s new favorite mug will be a picture of Nice and Lin Ling posing once the public and his fans know and believe that Nice and Lin Ling are perfect for each other, and soon Lin Ling will believe it as well. For the coffee, he added 3 spoonsful of sugar and a splash of caramel creamer. “Yawn~ Good morning, Nice! What are you making? It smells delicious!” Lin Ling says as he rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Good Morning, Lin Ling! I’m making chili crisp eggs with rice and French toast topped with fresh berries, honey and powdered sugar. Also, I squeezed some oranges and removed the pulp for orange juice and brewed coffee for you.” Nice stated as he set down the plates of food on the dining table, while Lin Ling washes his hands for breakfast. As Lin Ling dries his hands, Nice handed Lin Ling his cup of coffee. ”3 spoonful of sugar and a splash of your favorite caramel creamer.”

Lin Ling took a sip of his coffee and sighed in relief. “Ahh~ Thank you Nice, I love you~“ Lin Ling teased. On the exterior, Nice smiled and bowed his head, but on the interior, oh Nice was jumping for joy. “You’re teasing now, but soon you’ll mean those words, my love~“ Nice thought as he took a sip of water. Lin Ling sat down and eats, with Nice sitting next to him, hands in lap as he watched Lin Ling eating. “Mhmm~ this is so delicious!” Lin Ling eats for a bit before noticing that Nice wasn’t eating with him. "You’re not eating?" Nice shook head. "No need. I have a photo shoot soon. I’ll eat once we’ve done with it." Lin Ling frowned for a bit, then he got an idea. He cuts a piece of French toast and offered it to Nice on a fork.

“Eat.“ Lin Ling demanded. Nice’s eyes widen, clearly not expecting this. “Huh-mmph!” Before Nice could speak, Lin Ling shoved the food into Nice’s mouth. Nice chews as unpure thoughts filled his mind. “An indirect kiss?! Did I die and go to heaven?” “You have honey- here I’ll get it.” Lin Ling leaned forward and wiped a bit off of honey from the corner of Nice’s lips. If Nice’s face wasn’t red now, it would be now because Lin Ling licked his finger that wiped the honey from Nice’s lips.

Suddenly Nice stood up and exclaimed, “Bath-ugh. Uh-b-uh, bathroom!” He stuttered out as he flew quickly to the bathroom. Lin Ling jumped at his exclamation before returning to eat once Nice flew out of view. The sound of the shower starting broke Lin Ling’s train of thought. He shrugged his shoulders and finished eating. He cleans up the dishes and washes them.

Time passes as Lin Ling finishes up washing the dishes, he noticed that Nice was still in the bathroom, the shower still on. “He’s still showering? I guess this is normal since he usually showers while I’m still sleeping ...” Lin Ling got ready for the day in the guest bathroom. Once he was done getting ready, the shower stops running. Nice steps out, his hair dried and in his usual hairstyle. “Finally done?” Nice nodded. “Yes, sorry about that. Just remembered that I hadn’t taken my daily shower yet, so I had to do it before my photoshoot.” A small lie, but Lin Ling didn’t need to know that.

Lin Ling nodded as he grabbed his packed messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You going somewhere?” Nice asked. On the outside, he was calm, cool, and collected. Oh, but on the inside? He was panicking. “Is he going to leave me? No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that, not Lin Ling. I’ll break his legs before he would ever leave me.” Lin Ling broke Nice’s train of thoughts. “Yeah, I kinda want to do some sight-seeing now that I don’t have an overbearing job. I already asked Miss J, and she said it was okay since you only have a photoshoot and training today. I’ll be back before you know it!”

Nice nodded, accepting Lin Ling’s reason for leaving his side for the day. He hated it, but he accepted it. “Very well then. I’ll count down the seconds till I’ll see you again.” Nice said as he bowed down and kissed Lin Ling’s knuckles. Lin Ling chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Haha! Don’t say corny shit like that!”

Lin Ling looked at the time and saw that he needed to go now if he wanted to catch the train on time. “Oh! I gotta go if I want to catch the train on time! Bye! Have a great day! I’ll see ya later!” Lin Ling yelled as he run out of the floor and into the elevator. Nice waved back till he couldn’t see Lin Ling anymore. He sighed, already missing Lin Ling.

The elevator chime interrupted Nice’s thoughts, signaling someone’s arrival on his floor. Nice faced the elevator, hoping that it was Lin Ling coming back, but the elevator opened. It was just Miss J, already stepping out, her heels clacking against the floor. Nice hunched his back, saddened that it wasn’t Lin Ling returning. “Back straight, Nice. Disappointed that I’m not your boyfriend?” Miss J said, a small smirk appears on her lips. Nice rolled his eyes and straighten his back. “He’s not my boyfriend yet. But for your information, I already planned our wedding.” Nice said, beaming with joy as if he said nothing wrong. Miss J rolled her eyes. “Of course you did. Now let’s start our schedule.” Nice softly groaned, mentally preparing for today.

A couple of hours passed, and Nice was still at his photo shoot when his phone dinged a specific ringtone, only for Lin Ling when he sends a message. He steps off the platform, to the objections of the photographers and Miss J. He ignored their cries as he checked his phone.

Yup, he knew it. It was a message from Lin Ling. Nice hopes it’s a selfie or a check-in. Instead, his blood ran cold and his heart raced with terror. The message read ”Help train out of control“ and a location tag. Nice, not even telling Miss J, flew through a closed window, glass breaking and scattering, and flew away and towards Lin Ling’s location.

Within the minute, Nice arrived at the location tag, yet the train nor Lin Ling wasn’t there. He flew forward where the train was heading. Another minute passed when he saw the train; the scene scared Nice to the core. The train was speeding fast and going faster every second. If Nice doesn’t do something soon, the train will derail and crash into the terrain, possibly killing Lin Ling. “No way in hell am I going to let that happen to him.“ Nice flew the fastest he’s ever flown, passing the train, making sure the passengers see him.

“Oh, god! Why today?!” Lin Ling thought as the villain cackled inside of the train. “Hahaha! Now! Unless my demands are met, you all shall perish!” A man stood up, removed his glasses and pressed a button on his watch at grey metallic hero suit wrapped the man’s body. “Haha! In your dreams, villain! Justice shall never bow down to evil! For I am Justice Man!”

“Is this a fucking staged villain fight?!” Lin Ling thought. After saving Nice from suicide and becoming his emotional support civilian, Miss J and Nice talked about how his fight with Wreck are staged fights and that is common in the hero industry. Lin Ling’s thoughts were interrupted when Justice Man rushed forward, trying to tackle the villain, but because of bad timing, the villain accidentally knocked out the hero. “Uh... O-Oh, the justice that Justice Man emits has caused me to stop my evil doing and flee in fear!” The villain pressed a button on his watch and waited ... and waited... and waited… “What the hell?!” The villain muttered under his breath as he continuously pressed the button on his watch. “It’s not going as planned!” Lin Ling panics.

Lin Ling took his phone out and sends a quick text ”Help train out of control” and my location. I prayed-no, I believed that Nice will be here soon. ”Save me, Nice!” The villain looks panicked, he looks around while still pressing the button. “Come on, come on! Work, you stupid thing!” The villain grasped his hair. “Look, it’s Nice!” A passenger yelled, pointing out the window. Outside of the train, Nice was flying next to the train. He waved and smiled at the passengers. “Oh, thank God, we’re saved” “Come on Nice! Save us!” “You can do it!”

With the cheers of the passengers, Nice was able to fly faster, and could get to the front of the train. He held his arms out forward and braced. Nice landed on the train track, pushing against the speeding train. His feet hitting track after track. Using all of his powers, the train was slowing down.

Finally, the train stopped. Nice, breathing heavily, removed his hands from the front of the train and flew to where Lin Ling was at. As soon as he entered the train, it was very obvious to like that this was a staged villain fight, a very bad one. Nice was furious! How dare this idiotic duo try to stage a villain fight while the love of his life is here! His sweetheart, his darling, his mon chéri, his 여보, his 爱人, his cariño, and all the other foreign endearment terms that Nice had been learning since Lin Ling saved him.

Nice smiled at ‘villain’ and at that moment the fake villain felt fear coursing through his body and the only thought that appeared was “Oh shit.” before Nice punched the villain in the face, knocking him unconscious. Nice, his back facing the crowd, scowled at the unconscious duo, before forcing a smile on his face, turned around and did his signature finger gun pose. The passengers cheer for Nice. “Yay, Nice saved us!” “You’re my hero, Nice!” “Nice is the best!” “I love you, Nice!” Yet, all that cheering didn’t matter. AII that mattered to Nice was Lin Ling.

Nice ignored all of his social and public training and ran towards Lin Ling, hugging him. Nice cries into Lin Ling’s shoulders. “I thought I almost lost you...” Lin Ling hugged back, finally letting the event sink in. He almost died because of a wannabe hero. “Nice... You’re breaking your training” “Fuck training! I’m never letting you out of my sight again!”

Lin Ling chuckled as he also cries. “Thank you for saving me, Nice." Nice hesitantly pulled away from the hug and placed his hand on Lin Ling’s cheek. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Nice looks over Lin Ling, checking for injuries. “No, I’m okay. Just relieved that you're here. I’m glad that you’d read my message.” “Of course. You’re my hero, after all.“ Nice whispered to Lin Ling. The sound of police cars arriving at the scene interrupting the moment.

“Mr. Nice; is he your boyfriend?” A little girl, who looks like a 5 years old, asked Nice. Nice wanted to scream yes, and hug and kiss Lin Ling, but Lin Ling beat him to it. “Nah, he’s just a really great friend!” Lin Ling said, kneeling down to the little girl’s height. “Oh, my God, he’s great with kids! Ahh! He’s so perfect!” Nice thought before the police and paramedics entered the train cabin, apprehending the unconscious fake villain and checked on the unconscious wannabe hero. The police asked the passengers questions and for their statements.

Before the police can ask Nice and Lin Ling questions, Miss J entered the train cabin and says “Officers, please, it has been a long day for them; any questions can be asked tomorrow morning at Hero Tower.” The officers nodded, accepting the conditions, and left them alone.

Miss J, in all her sternness, looked at Nice and Ling before giving them a look that says “Follow me.” With fatigue setting in Nice, Lin Ling noticed and took Nice’s hand in his, and pulled him into the limousine with Miss J and her bodyguards. Miss J, not looking up from her tablet, spoke up. ”You’re lucky that Nice x Lin Ling is trending on social media." “Huh?!” “What?!”

“How in the hell did they know my name?” “A former coworker of yours recognized you. And some people found the news article from when Nice saved you from suicide a couple of weeks ago. Nice x Lin Ling is tied with Nice x Moon in terms of popularity. We’ll see where it goes in a couple of weeks before we make drastic decisions. For now, go home, take a shower, eat and sleep. We’ll talk more about this tomorrow morning." Miss J finally locked up from her tablet and glared at the fatigued Nice and mentally tired Lin Ling. She turns her attention to Lin Ling. “Glad you’re okay, kid.” Lin Ling nodded, still reeling in from the event. He knows it was staged, but he also knows that it didn’t go as planned. He and the other passengers almost died because of their stupidity.

At least with Nice and Wreck, their staged fights had the support of Treeman Corp. They can pay any damages off, but with Justice Man and his friend, they’re new. They didn’t have any ties with an agency. No proper hero agency wouldn’t allow this kind of stunt. Too many variables. What if Nice didn’t come on time? What if Nice didn’t have enough trust value? What if Lin Ling didn’t send a message to Nice?

Nice, still reeling from fatigue, almost fell asleep in the limo. If the passengers weren’t there, if Lin Ling weren’t there, Nice would’ve killed the wannabe hero and villain duo. Nice was pulled away from his murderous thoughts when the limousine stopped. “You’re home. Get some rest. I’ll clear your schedule for tomorrow, Nice.“ Miss J says as a bodyguard opened the limousine door revealing the home of Nice, Lin Ling and the other heroes.

They both stepped out and walked into the building where Nice took out his phone and let the scanner scan his ID. The elevator took them to floor 12. The elevator dinged and opened its doors, revealing the large Nice statue. Both Nice and Lin Ling walked out of the elevator. Before Nice could ask Lin Ling if he could sleep with him, Lin Ling beat him to it.

“Can I sleep with you for tonight?” Nice softly gasp before nodding. “Yeah...“ With that single word, both Nice and Lin Ling removed their shoes and got into bed together. At first, Lin Ling and Nice kept their distance, before Lin Ling scooted closer to Nice, till Lin Ling’s head was on top of Nice’s chest. ”Is this okay?” Lin Ling asked. “Yeah.“ Nice said, wrapping his arms around Lin Ling. “Is this okay?“ Nice asked. “Yeah.” Lin Ling said softly, falling asleep to Nice’s heartbeat.

It took all of Nice’s will to make his heartbeat normal. Nice may have wanted to kill the duo, but he may just let them live if it got Lin Ling to initiate this. Maybe Nice will just hurt them enough to leave them disabled. Yeah, he’ll do that. Nice hugged Lin Ling closer, breathing in his scent. The circumstances in how they got there were chaotic, but in the end, the result was perfect. The perfect hero, cuddling his perfect love after a perfect job well done. Yes, this is perfect. This is perfection~

🜲 Mon chéri ✧ French for “my dear” (masculine version)

🜲 여보 (yeobo) ✧ Korean for “darling” (married couples refer to their spouse as this)

🜲 爱人 (àiren) ✧ Mandarin for “lover” (also means your “love person” and “spouse”)

🜲 Cariño ✧ Spanish for “darling” (is gender-neutral; can call any romantic partner this, regardless of their gender.)

I got the endearment terms from Drops

[millermouth]

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥

Bitch!!! I ain’t even a series girl and there’s multiple in here!!! Who is she!!! And look at me tagging a fluff fic!! Turning a new leaf round here. If you see something you like please let these wonderful authors know by showing them some much deserved love Sorry this is late! I was traveling and literally haven’t touched my laptop in days

Bicep biting by @tinysunshine

Daryl Dixon x you one shot summary: you kiss daryl’s arms and have to explain what cuteness aggression is after you bite his bicep ♡ my thoughts: I feel like woodchuck todd from easy a when he’s gobblin’ on that wood log LET ME GET A BITE OF THAT BEEFY ARM, DIXON

literally anything by @cavillscurls

(bitch I’m such a fan we got a whole damn list to get thru)

daddy next door

joel miller x you ongoing series summary: It’s summer in Texas, and when the dashing Joel Miller moves in next door, your less than favorable life gets completely turned around. my thoughts: ohhhhh my heart. such a different version of joel than im used to (rich & fancy) but it really hits the spot. cute romance and I see you in so much of this!!!

ass man

joel miller x you drabble summary: joel miller is an ass man my thoughts: what I wouldn’t do for this man to put his hands all over my best ass(et). Mya showed me this after I went off about joel in fact being an ass man and I was eternally horny grateful

Inescapable 🕊️

clint (freaky tales) x you one shot summary: Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him. my thoughts: YES SIR YES SIRRRYYYYYYYY mya has already heard all my praise but we’re gonna say it again holy SHIT Clint smiling into my neck as he puts a baby in me?!?! SIR MAAM YES PLEASEEEEE this has been a fave trope of mine lately. Captive reader who used to scream and beg for him not to touch now loving every second of it sorry bit dark it’s giving “run” vibes which was rec’d on last month’s list!!! And that shit is one of my faves so I knew this would tickle my pickle in the same way. I wish I could be eloquent about this shit but my GOD it’s so good trust.

Joel in glasses by @mushgloomz

peepaw!joel x you drabble summary: what the title says my thoughts: I’ll just put this here and you tell ME you don’t feel some type of way: “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

of rage and ruin 🕊️ by @corazondebeskar-reads

werewolf/alpha!joel x you ongoing series summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though. my thoughts: no no no you don’t understand. You don’t GET IT. Is this omegaverse? Yep. I’ve been dabbling. And the others just don’t do it like you do baby 😭 I read this way too fast and now I just wait for the updates but holy shit. No one puts my baby in a shock collar 😭😭😭😭

Idle Threats by @pearlessance

jackson!joel x you series summary: Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for. my thoughts: I’m so glad I didn’t post this fic rec on time because holy mother of god. I blew through this so quickly because of how fucking beautiful the writing is. Joel Miller feeling dirty about liking a younger woman? Check. Religious themes denouncing god for his one and only girl? Check. I’m sorry I’m so sorry I don’t usually add this but some of this dialogue is 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 “Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.” .....Like W H A A A A A a a a aaaa 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[cvntydazai]

underdog

when you and your boyfriend work for the port mafia, spending time together isn’t always going to be a top priority, especially when he’s an executive and you’re just an underdog.

pairing; chuuya nakahara x fem!reader

word count; 2.5k

content warning; heavy angst, fluff, cursing, lots of mentions of alcohol, bestfriend!dazai, miscommunication, unedited, slightly suggestive if you squint, chuuya is a sweetie pie who i love with my whole heart

a/n: my second post on here! i’m working on my masterlist and stuff right now but formatting that stuff can be so boring so it takes me forever.

you woke to the feeling of the cold morning breeze against your shivering body. the bed felt empty on chuuya’s side, as it always did. he usually left for work earlier than you did, claiming it was mori’s request that he be there at the crack of dawn but some days it felt like he did it by choice.

while chuuya was an executive under port mafia, you were simply an underdog, taking on miniscule tasks that don’t require the attention of any higher up. you tried to reason with your bitter feelings on the title, it was better to be out of the spotlight. so why did you want to be in it so badly?

your phone that laid on your bedside table rung, chuuya’s contact name stared back at you. with a sigh you reached for the phone and accepted your lover’s call. “hello?” you start, a moment of silence before chuuya speaks.

“hey, mori said there’s a job for you.” of course, mori wouldn’t waste time calling someone of such low importance so chuuya was tasked with it.

chuuya explained the details of the mission. it was simple, as they all were. you needed to collect missed payments from someone the port mafia worked with. you were also informed they weren’t hostile, that it was just to collect money.

“if you don’t feel comfortable going alone i can send akutagawa to go with you.” his concern was noticeable even through the phone.

“no, it’s fine. these kinds of jobs bore him anyways.” and they bore you too, but you never voice your complaints.

“okay, just.. be safe.” you agreed, ending the call immediately after.

you got ready in the time it took for the cab to arrive at your apartment. there was no small talk on the ride there, just the silent hum of lost radio signal on the stereo. this would take maybe an hour or two tops and then you would have nothing left on your schedule for the day. that’s how it typically went, no work of any importance.

“we’re here.” you thanked the driver and stepped out.

-

it took an hour and a half, only because the shop owner who owed money did not want to cough up the cash to pay his debts. eventually you had to threaten him, and he finally agreed to pay what he owed.

with the money in hand you headed for the port mafia in the same car you came here with. the same silence, same boredom. when you arrived there was no one to greet you so you decided to take the money up to mori yourself.

you passed akutagawa on the way there, he stopped you. “are you going to see mori?” you nodded, motioning to the suitcase that held the heaping amount of money. “just let me take it, i’ll let him know you went home after finishing the job.” he said, snatching the suitcase from you quicker than you could comprehend.

of course, you could never see the boss yourself. the higher ups had to always be the ones, why couldn’t it ever just be you delivering your work to your boss? it wasn’t fair, but you didn’t dare speak out.

“thanks, akutagawa.” he nodded, turning back to mori’s office.

when you reached the entrance again there was the same driver, you sat in the same seat.

“going home?” you thought about it for a second.

“no, take me to the nearest bar.” he complied without saying another word.

the nearest bar happened to be one you frequented, when you entered you were greeted by the bartender who was currently cleaning off glasses from previous customers. you took your usual spot at the center of the bar, ordering what you usually do. you drank in silence, playing with the hem of your coat while you thought to yourself.

the coat was chuuya’s gift to you after he noticed how much you loved wearing it. even after he handed it over to you, sometimes you would still put it on his side of the coat rack so it smelled like him when you wore it. he used to tease you about it, saying you could just start wearing his cologne too if you liked the way he smelled so much.

the coat that once kept you warm felt colder now. maybe it was because it had aged significantly since it was gifted to you and was now littered in holes, or maybe it was because you hadn’t properly seen chuuya in weeks and the coat doesn’t smell of him anymore.

he was always busy, always having missions to go on while you rotted away at home like the useless underdog you were. could being a higher up and risking your life be worth it, if it meant you could see him more?

“hey, stranger.” you knew that voice anywhere.

“hi, dazai.” you didn’t look up to meet his eyes, only feeling his presence sitting beside you.

even with dazai being in the agency now, he was still your closest friend. you still frequently saw him, usually to drink but sometimes to just talk. chuuya didn’t like it whatsoever but never made an effort to stop you. he would remind you that port mafia doesn’t meddle with the agency if it doesn’t have to, and you would reply with the same “i know” as you left.

he ordered a drink on his never ending tab and hummed a tune to himself. he was awfully quiet, so unlike him.

“you know i’m gonna ask you what’s wrong, right?” he broke the silence, and for the first time since he arrived you looked him in the eye. he saw the tears welling in your eyes and it hurt him to see you like that.

“is it chuuya? are you two fighting?” the only reason he could think of.

you let out a huff, taking the last swig of your drink.

“wish we were, at least we’d be talking to eachother.” you wiped your mouth, motioning to the bartender that you wanted another.

you could see the gears in dazai’s brain working in real time, deciphering your words like a case. you knew he would figure it out eventually, but all you needed right now was comfort so you gave into his curiosity.

“i want to ask for a job promotion, i’m so tired of being seen as a weakling in the port mafia.” you admitted, pulling your newly filled drink closer to you.

dazai didn’t seem the slightest bit surprised, his eyes held sympathy for you, you hated it. he cleared his throat, as if he was about to tell you the world was ending right then and there.

it felt like it was, you were losing your one and only love to a merciless job and no one in the port mafia took you seriously no matter how hard you tried to prove to them you could get work done.

“correct me if i’m wrong but.. is this really about wanting to move up in the mafia? or is it about wanting to see chuuya more?” he solved the case, just like that.

you didn’t bite back your tears any longer, letting them fall into your crossed arms as you sniffled. you were just about to take another gulp of your drink but dazai stopped you, giving you a knowing look, you didn’t handle your booze well and he knew it.

the alcohol wouldn’t solve your problems but maybe it would dull the pain in your heart. ignoring dazai’s pleading look, you drank again. nothing mattered right now, not even the hangover you’d feel in the morning.

dazai knew he couldn’t stop you, but at least he could watch you to make sure you were safe.

-

a couple of hours later and a few drinks down you were feeling the effects in full, your tears morphed into giggles and you felt on cloud nine. dazai had a few drinks in him as well, but not nearly as many as you. continuing to ignore his looks of concern you tried your hand at the dart board mounted on the wall ahead of you.

you were just about to take your shot when dazai’s ringing phone startled you.

“hey! i would’ve gotten it that time!” you shouted, slurring your words.

dazai rolled his eyes and accepted said call, already knowing who was on the other end without having to check the caller id.

“where is she?” chuuya’s harsh voice rang through the phone.

“the bar next to the port mafia building.” he replied calmly, ignoring the slew of curses from chuuya.

“i’ll be there in a second, make sure she doesn’t have anymore to drink.”

when chuuya arrived at the bar he walked onto the scene of you fighting dazai for a bottle of wine and the bartender watching with an unreadable expression. you wouldn’t have even noticed he was there if dazai didn’t greet him.

“what are you doing here?” you frowned, snatching the bottle of wine at last now that dazai was distracted.

“taking you home, put down the bottle.” he could tell you were shitfaced just by looking at you.

“i’ll go with you, but i’m taking the wine.” you reasoned, knowing chuuya wouldn’t be leaving this bar without you.

he agreed, sighing whilst digging in his pockets for his wallet. he slammed a wad of cash onto the counter, apologizing to the poor bartender who had to deal with two idiots the entire evening.

“i’m sorry about that, this should be enough to cover both of their tabs and the bottle of wine.” the bartender offered a smile of gratitude and wished chuuya a good night.

dazai followed the two of you out of the bar, hands stuffed deep in his pant pockets.

“do you.. need a ride?” chuuya asked, already regretting the simple act of kindness. you stood at his side, eyes trained at your feet with your bottle of wine tucked tightly under your shoulder.

“nah, i’ve got someone coming. i’ll see you around.” he took his leave, and chuuya quickly ushered you in his car.

the car ride home was silent, the only thing to be heard was your fiddling fingers. you wanted to say something, anything to break the tension but your brain felt like a melting pot of emotions. you were mad, yet you also yearned for him.

“i-“ you began, he stopped you.

“not right now, we can talk when i’m not driving.” if that wasn’t a dead giveaway that he was angry you didn’t know what was.

it was quiet the entire way back to your shared apartment. the anxiety bubbling inside you helped you sober up, you were still long gone. despite his obvious frustration, he still opened the car door for you and guided you up the steps into your home.

the second the door shut his mouth was moving.

“why didn’t you tell me you were going to be gone? do you have any idea how worried i was?” his voice raised and fired up, it sparked your own rage.

“well, i’m sorry i want to do something other than be your housewife.” a confused grunt left chuuya’s lips, never had he thought of you as his housewife.

his confusion only made you more upset, he truly had no idea how you felt.

“i’m sick of being here, never having anything to do.” you complained, walking into the kitchen to grab a glass for your wine.

chuuya followed you, a stern expression on his face as he quietly listened. he could see you were hurt in a way he desperately wanted to understand, but hearing you say you were sick of being home was like a bullet to the chest. this place was supposed to be a safe place for the both of you, had he done anything to give you the impression of otherwise?

“and no one in the mafia thinks i’m useful, not even you.” you mumbled, fumbling with cork screw that sealed the wine shut.

chuuya suddenly grabbed the bottle from your hand, now looking you dead in the eye. the grip on the bottle made the veins in his hand bulge, you weren’t sure how the glass hadn’t shattered from the force.

“who said that?” he asked, an unnerving calmness in his voice that worried you.

“said what?” you gulped, no longer worried about your wine.

“said you were useless.” silence on your part.

“no.. no one’s said it but i can feel their judgement. hell, even akutagawa thinks i’m useless.”

“akutagawa thinks everyone is useless.” he argues.

“not you, he respects you.” chuuya releases his hold on the wine, instead occupying his hands around your waist.

his touch is gentle, almost cooling against your flushed skin. he leans his head into your neck, breathing in your scent which you’re sure smells of a mixture of all the alcohol you’ve consumed. “and.. it’s not just that i want to be recognized more in the port mafia. i also want to see you more.”

your confession makes him smile, you can feel his lips curving upwards on your neck.

“is that was this is about? you miss me?” you’re half tempted to push him off of you now, his ego undoubtedly stroked. “why didn’t you just say that, sweetheart.”

“it’s hard sometimes, you’re always busy and i barely see you.” he hums in agreement, pressing light kisses your shoulders.

it was hard to stay mad at him for too long when this was his way of apologizing, drowning you in physical affection that melts not only your heart but your body.

“well, if you really don’t like where you stand in the port mafia right now, I'll talk to mori. no one thinks you’re useless, hell i thought you liked staying out of the dirty business.” the mafia itself was all dirty business, but you understood what the meaning was in this context. “and i’ll try my hardest to be home more, i never mean to be gone so long darlin’, work is just hectic sometimes.”

you turned to look at him, his beautiful eyes looking at you with all the softness in the world. “i know, i’m so sorry i made a big deal out of all of this. i just felt so lost.”

he understood, “don’t be sorry, you were hurting and i should have seen it. i’m sorry, i love you more than anything.”

“it’s okay, but i think that booze is catching up to me, i need to sit down now.” with a soft laugh he guided you to your shared couch.

the rest of the night he spent pampering you, making you two dinner and putting on a movie for you to watch in the living room. you laid there in peace, your head resting against his chest while his heartbeat lulled you to sleep.

for the first time in weeks, when you fell asleep beside him you woke to him in the morning.