#introvert activity book | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

red-riot-unbreakable-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ship: Shoto Todoroki x Fem Reader! 💋

Note: The fic gets a bit saucy, so A18+ ONLY just to be safe!

Genre: Fluff, Romance, S*xual Tension, Making Out

CW: MDNI!, kissing, making out, boobs, fondling, romance, sexual tension, semi-spicy scenes, lemon

Link to My Master List

Its mid-afternoon in the UA library. The early Spring sunlight is streaming through the tall windows and across the sci-fi novel you're flipping through. You sigh; content to finally have a Saturday off after a grueling few weeks of classes, training and internship activities.

You think back to a particularly tough training session that had taken place the day before - you had finally kicked Shoto Todoroki's ass in front of the whole class. You smile as you remember the shocked look on his face as you reached down to help him back to his feet.

"You had it coming, hot stuff." You winked as he grabbed your hand and let you pull him back to standing position. His face had flushed red in humiliation at the loss.

You're suddenly jerked out of your reverie when a figure looms over you, casting a long shadow on the desk before you. You turn, startled. As if pulled from your daydream, Shoto Todoroki has materialized before you – tall and handsome. You look up at him in surprise, mouth half open.

"I think we should kiss." Shoto's deep voice says above you, his tone neutral.

"Huh?" Your mouth drops fully open. Shoto is looking down at you with eyes alight with determination. That cute blush is back - splashed across his pale cheeks and across his aristocratic nose.

"I was thinking back to our fight yesterday, and the reason why I lost. It was because I was thinking about kissing you the whole time. I let myself get distracted. I think that if we kissed, I could get over it and refocus on training." So matter-of-fact! That was one thing you liked about Shoto - he was straightforward.

"Um...okay." With an effort, you close your gaping mouth. You’re absolutely dumbfounded. Shoto has never shown any romantic interest in you before. You’ve never caught wandering eyes on you in class, he’s never stashed a love note in your locker. None of the typical school love tropes have been leveraged here. If anything, the two of you are loose acquaintances on the cusp of being friends. Maybe a few more months of class and group activities together would have helped you bridge the gap and fully form a decent friendship.

You wonder if he’s been into you all this time, or if this is just a whim he’s exploring. Either way - who are you to let an opportunity to kiss a hot guy go by the wayside? You snap your book shut and stand. "You want to do this right now?"

Shoto nods, and turns to walk away with the expectation that you’ll follow. You get up and sweep your things into your bag, heart beating double time. You quickly jog to catch up with Shoto – he’s already out the door. The two of you walk across the UA grounds in silence, your footsteps falling into a soft rhythm. Your mind is going at a million miles per minute – could this all be an elaborate prank? Shoto has never struck you as the type to play a cruel joke on a classmate. Quite the opposite – when he’s not training he seems so soft and sweet. He strikes you as more of an introvert than anything else. He keeps people at a safe distance. You’ve always been under the impression that when it comes to Shoto, trust is earned, not freely given.

You wonder if this kissing business means that you’ve earned a bit of that trust? Who’s to say.

“So…” you say, attempting to break the tension. “Where are we going?”

Shoto looks back at you, confused. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re going to my dorm room.”

“Oh.” You pause. “Wouldn’t that be a bit inappropriate? Like, what if someone catches us kissing in your dorm room? Won’t we get in trouble?”

“I’ll lock the door.” He says sensibly. “It’s no one’s business but ours.”

“Huh.”

“Oh – I think I understand what you’re getting at.” He runs a hand through his hair reflexively. “It’s no wonder you’re one of the top members of the class. A good hero always has a strategy. So we should come up with an alibi.” He brings his thumb to his chin as he stares into space, pondering.

“If someone catches us, I can say that I experimentally froze my lips with my power and that I asked you to help me warm them up. Naturally, the best way to do so was with your lips.” He turns to you expectantly to gauge your reaction.

What the actual hell, Shoto.

“You’re um…you’re fucking with me, right?” You look at him uncertainly. Shoto’s unusually harsh upbringing has caused him to be shockingly literal at times. Your eyes scan his face until the corner of his mouth quirks upwards into a small smile.

“Yes, I am.”

You burst out laughing at the unexpected joke, and his tiny smile grows into a full grin. He likes making you laugh.

“Listen…” He says reassuringly, “No one is going to bother us – it’s such a nice day. I overheard some of the girls saying they were going to take pictures near the campus cherry blossom trees. They roped Midoriya, Ida and a few other classmates into the activity as well. Bakugo, Kirishima and Sero are all training across campus in the gym. We should have at least an hour or two before anyone comes seriously looking for us.”

Wow. That must be the longest group of sentences he’s ever said to you directly.

“You’ve really thought this through.” You say, following him across the threshold of Class 1A’s dorm complex.

He smirks. “I’m strategic.”

You look at him appraisingly. He looks clean and trim in his tailored UA uniform. Aside from the scar surrounding his eye, he has the most perfect skin of anyone in your class. While the rest of your classmates have been stressing about moisturizer and SPF and acne treatments, you’ve watched Shoto sail through his hormonal teens without a skincare care in the world. The skin of his cheeks is the color of porcelain and looks so, so soft and deliciously kissable. His face holds a mixture of determination and apprehension.

You enter the kitchen and common room area of your dorm and see that it’s completely, blessedly empty - odd for a Saturday. Shoto is right - it is one of the first nice spring days on campus. You assume everyone is out enjoying the nice weather as he said. This is a good thing – it means your clandestine meeting with Shoto can stay secret. Everyone in Class 1A can be so nosy sometimes. You’re determined to keep this juicy little secret between the two of you.

He leads you up towards one of the hallways that encompasses the boy’s dorms, pausing in front of his door to fiddle with his key. His usually steady hands are shaking a bit as he turns the lock and pushes open the door to reveal his immaculately clean bedroom with it’s traditional Japanese décor.

You step inside and slide off your shoes, letting your bag drop to the floor.

“I forgot how traditional your space is, Shoto.”

He closes the door behind you and clicks the lock into place before discarding his keys on his desktop. He looks around the dorm room thoughtfully.

“It’s how I grew up. I never really had the chance to develop my own taste or style.”

“Maybe now that you have your own space, you finally can!” You say enthusiastically. “If you’d ever like to go shopping or want help putting together a Pinterest board, Mina and I can definitely help you find some inspiration.”

His flat line of a mouth quirks up into another small smile. “I haven’t really had the time to think about anything other than school work and the L.o.V. since we moved into the dorms. Maybe you’re right – this could be an opportunity to broaden my horizons. See what I like.”

“Yeah! There are so many fun ways you can bring more of yourself into this space. We can start with a throw pillow.” You say knowledgably, pulling up the Pinterest app on your phone. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

You type the color into the search bar, and immediately the screen is flooded with hundreds of different shades of blue throw pillows – all kinds of patterns and sayings and beading and embroidery. You hand him your phone and encourage him to scroll through the options.

“I’m sure we can find something that makes you feel like you.”

His eyes soften a bit as he takes the phone from you, intrigued. He scrolls through the colorful images, overwhelmed by the options. After a few minutes of careful deliberation, he finally stops and double taps a picture, hyperlinking to a website.

“This. This feels like it could be me.” He sends himself the link so he can purchase the pillow later. He hands back your phone and you take a curious look – the image he’s drawn to is a long rectangle of fabric shaped like a whale. It has navy blue stripes along with a small curved tale and button eyes sewn on. You look up and see that the tips of Shoto’s ears are bright red.

“This isn’t what I was expecting – but I see now that it suits you perfectly.” You say, picturing the whale pillow in his room – a dash of whimsy against the otherwise stuffy outdated décor. He practically glows at the compliment. You realize that this is likely one of the first times someone is validating a choice he has made for himself. You cough and toss your phone into your discarded bag – the moment feels oddly intimate.

Shoto’s eyes scan across your face and he speaks his next words slowly, almost deliberately. “This is what I’ve always liked about you, y/n. You always seem to know what to say to get someone to smile or to open up. Admirable traits in a future hero.” You feel your own face heating up at the sweet compliment. Shoto has never given you so much direct attention outside of class, and it’s exciting and almost unnerving to have those two intense eyes focused in entirely on you.

“Thank you Shoto, that’s a very kind thing to say.” You suddenly realize how very close Shoto’s face is to your own. He’s only a few breaths away. Shoto is a few inches taller than you, so you need to crane your neck in order to get the full picture of his beautiful face. You wonder nervously if he expects you to initiate – should you reach out and grab his face? Your heart starts beating much too fast and you see his intense eyes dart down to your lips, wanting. You take a step closer to him, leaning up to meet his face, and…

“Let’s get started.” He says abruptly, breaking the moment. He walks over to his closet and pulls out his bedroll, hastily moving to set up his sleeping space so that you’ll have a comfortable place to sit. Once he sets up the space, he takes a seat on the soft mattress and motions for you to join him. This wasn’t really what you were expecting, but you remember that Shoto is pretty sheltered. He clearly has a plan in mind here, so you decide to let him take the lead.

“Alright, before we start – I just want you to know that we can stop at any point you’d like. I want you to be comfortable here, so please let me know if at any time you feel like you don’t want to continue. Ok?”

You nod, appreciating the dialogue and Shoto’s forethought surrounding consent.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Leaning his head back, he exhales slowly through his nostrils. After a moment of deep breathing, his eyes flutter open. “It’s an exercise my father taught me for clearing my nerves before a battle.” He explains as he runs a nervous hand through his two-toned hair.

“Are you anticipating a battle here?” You tease, reaching over to place your hand on his thigh. Shoto eyes the hand curiously before matching your gaze.

“Of course not. But surprisingly – I have the same feeling of anxiety now that I usually have right before a sparring match.” His expression is stone cold serious, not even the hint of a joke this time.

“I understand that. It’s nerve wracking to kiss a person for the first time.” You quickly double back on your words. “N-not that I’m implying that this is your first kiss or anything, I-”

Shoto blinks. “Oh – this is my first kiss. I thought it was fairly obvious.”

“Oh! Oh, Todoroki – I didn’t realize!” You trip over your words a bit and it brings out a soft smile in Shoto.

“I think that’s why I’ve been so distracted lately. Once I know how it feels, maybe then I can move on and focus back on my training and studies. Is this not your first kiss?” He tilts his head to the side, questioning. You see no hint of jealousy in his eyes – he’s legitimately curious.

“N-no. I’ve kissed a few people before. Never anything serious! Just here and there at summer camp.” You smile weakly, face burning. Shoto nods appreciatively at your candid answer.

“That makes sense – you’re very competent at everything you do. And very attractive.” This last part brings a blush across Shoto’s pale cheeks. “I had assumed there were plenty of people who have wanted to be kissed by you.” The compliment is unexpected and it makes a laugh bubble up your throat. You start giggling and Shoto seems taken by surprise.

“Did I say something funny?”

“No – no! You’re just so sincere and sweet and I am so nervous right now. Shoto you’re competent and attractive, too. I hope that you know that!” This brings his smile back out again, like the sunshine after a long rainstorm.

“Why don’t we just get it over with, then? I’ve read a few articles and studied some movies and…well, I think I’m as prepared as I can be.” Shoto’s face is so open and earnest your heart squeezes in your chest. He studied for this??

Slowly, carefully, Shoto reaches out a delicate hand to cradle the side of your face. He scoots somewhat awkwardly closer to you, but the rest of his movements hold his typical grace. He leans forward, eyes half closed, and brings his lips to your own.

You dip your head to receive the kiss, and you feel his soft lips melt against yours. You close your eyes and revel in the feeling of his mouth. Everything about him is soft and electric at the same time – the points where your bodies are connected feel charged with some kind of buzzing energy that leaves your breathless. And just as soon as it’s begun – it’s over. A brief peck, a stolen moment in time. Shoto pulls away from you, eyes wide, as he catches his breath.

“So?” You ask, trying for nonchalance but failing when you realize your voice is just a hoarse whisper. “What did you think?”

“It’s…” Shoto looks at you thoughtfully, touching his fingers to his tingling lips. “It wasn’t what I was expecting. I just feel like I want to do it more – like I need to keep going.”

You laugh – “Did you really think you’d want to stop after your first kiss?” Shoto shrugs, unwilling to answer the question.

“Can we kiss again? Please. If you’d like to, that is?” He asks, and you note the want in his voice. You’ve never heard Shoto Todoroki sound desperate for anything in his life before this moment. You’re surprised at how he sounds fairly desperate for you.

You smile at him and lean in close, bringing your foreheads together. You can feel different temperatures playing across his skin as he works to keep his quirk in check as excitement roars across his body.

“Follow my lead, lover-boy.” You whisper, before crashing your lips together. You move at a faster pace this time, showing him how to slide his mouth against yours to have a proper make out. He picks it up quickly and absolutely relishes in it. His eyes are closed and his hands find either side of your face again. You let him hold you like that for a few minutes before you decide to take the reigns a bit more. You reach out to place a hand on his chest and softly push him away from you.

“Here – this will make things a lot easier.” You stand up and move to straddle him, slowly sliding into his lap and wrapping your legs around his back. You place his hands on your waist and wind your arms around his neck. “Comfortable?” He nods, his eyes blown wide and almost glassy with lust.

“This is okay?” He asks, looking down at the way his hands grip your hips.

“Absolutely. You’re going to want them there for leverage.”

“Leverage?” He asks weakly, his eyes trained on your lips.

“You’ll see.” You smile deviously as you take in how absolutely undone Shoto looks. “Okay, next step – have you done any research on French kissing?”

Shoto nods again, looking a bit uncertain. “I watched a romantic comedy online and at the end the main couple kissed that way.”

“Well it’s super easy – I’ll walk you through it.” You tilt your head towards his and melt your lips back together, starting out with a slow and soft kiss. As he begins to get comfortable with the pace of your kissing, you move to deepen it – running the tip of your tongue across his lips. He naturally opens his mouth to you, and you move so that your tongues meet. You guide him into a light dance, your kisses becoming more frantic as your mouths and tongues collide. This brings out a ferocity in Shoto that you hadn’t expected, and you feel his hands grip your hips with almost bruising force. You groan, turned on by the contact. You automatically rock your hips into his and he stills at the motion. You blush as you realize that you can feel Shoto’s dick becoming hard beneath you. Shit.

His hands fly off of your hips and he sits back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry-” you start to say as he runs his hand anxiously through his hair again. Shoto takes a deep breath and looks at you, eyes still fuzzy.

“Don’t be sorry! That was amazing, I just…didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He looks down between you pointedly. He doesn’t want you to get freaked out by the fact that he’s got a boner.

“Oh I’m not uncomfortable at all! Actually, quite the opposite.” This answer makes Shoto’s sculpted eyebrows fly up into his hair.

“Really?” He whispers.

“Yeah. It’s actually really hot.” You reach down and take his hands in yours, moving them back to your hips. You make piercing eye contact with Shoto as you roll your hips experimentally again – feeling his hardness even through your clothes. He groans at the contact this time, a soft sound that is just: So. Goddamn. Hot.

You grind against him again, picking up a steady rhythm as Shoto enthusiastically moves your hips. Struck by sudden inspiration, you lean forward to kiss a sloppy line up his neck. This draws a moan from Shoto that you weren’t expecting – low and sweet. You smile as you continue to kiss his neck, using your tongue when you find a particularly sensitive spot beneath his ear.

Shoto grabs your face with one hand and tilts your head up before crashing his lips back into yours. His kisses are heated and passionate as he bounces you on his lap, making you both see stars. You’re so wet you can feel yourself soaking through your panties. You pray that your school uniform pants won’t get damp beneath you – how embarrassing would that be?! At the same time - you don’t give a damn; Shoto’s mouth and his hands and his dick feel far too good. At the moment kissing Shoto Todoroki feels like the only thing you were put on this goddamn earth to do.

Tentatively, you feel Shoto’s hands wander up from your hips. You moan into his mouth as his hands find your breasts. “How is this?” He whispers hoarsely, running delicate fingertips across the peaks of your breasts. “Is this okay? I can stop if you want me to.” You moan your consent enthusiastically, and when he begins to softly knead your boobs over your shirt, your hormones fully take the wheel.

You hop off your classmate so you can quickly unbutton your shirt – your tie flying off as you work. Shoto remains sitting on the floor and does the same with his own uniform. In a moment he is sitting shirtless and beautiful before you, chest heaving as he works to catch his breath. He stares at you with bright eyes as you stand above him in nothing but a bra and UA’s uniform slacks. He has never seen a woman with so little clothing on before, and he is in awe.

You kneel down beside him on the bedroll and reach out to touch his perfect body. Your hand hovers above his perfectly sculpted abs and you look up at him, eyes asking permission. He nods, giving you his blessing to touch. You smooth your fingertips lightly across the defined planes of his chest and abs, marveling in all that he is. Your palm comes to rest against his chest and you feel his heartbeat – a quick staccato beneath your delicate hand. You push him lightly so that he moves to lie on the ground before you.

“You alright with all this?” You whisper, moving slowly to straddle him on the ground.

“If I get to have you on top of me again – absolutely.” And he grins – a genuine smile that radiates comfort. You’ve never seen a look like that before on Shoto’s face and it stops you in your tracks. You just want to bask in the glow of the rare gift of his beaming face.

After a moment, you collect yourself and move so that you’re on all fours and hovering over him. You shiver – you’ve never been so close to someone in this way before. He seems to notice your hesitation.

“You look cold – do you want to grab a blanket?” He reaches up and runs his hands up and down your arms, giving you more goose bumps. You nod, and he reaches to grab a thick grey knit blanket that’s folded neatly to your left. He pulls you down to lay on top of him and easily casts the blanked across your intertwined bodies. The knit feels luxurious and expensive – and it smells deliciously like Shoto. A scent that’s a mixture of sandalwood and fresh sheets wafts around you. It’s comfortable and warm and you feel so, so happy to be sharing this moment with Shoto.

He wraps his arms around you and feels himself get hard again at the delicate feeling of your bare skin against his own. He pulls you in for a kiss – and this time the passion is slow, sensual. You’ve never kissed someone like this before – like you have all the time in the world. He moves his hands up and down your bare back beneath the blanket – warming you up. He’s keeping his ice quirk at bay – both of his hands are the perfect temperature as they run across your soft, supple skin. His hands come to rest on your lower back as he moves to experimentally kiss down your collarbone.

“Oh! Oh, Shoto, yes.” Is all you can say. The use of his given name seems to turn him on even more, because his kisses become sloppier and he runs the edge of his teeth against your skin. He continues to kiss down your shoulder, pausing for only a moment in order to roll you both over so that he can have a turn on top. You gasp at the sudden movement – the dynamics have unexpectedly shifted and Shoto is in total control.

He gazes down at you, shifting the blanket so that it doesn’t get tangled between your bodies.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Your skin is so soft…I never realized how great it would be to touch you.” He runs a light fingertip across the delicate skin of your neck and across the expanse of your collarbone. He watches as he runs his finger down the slope of one of your breasts, stopping when he meets the soft cotton of your bra.

“Can we take this off?” He whispers, moving to palm your breast over the delicate white material. You nod, and prop yourself up so you can reach behind yourself to unclip the clothing. With a light “pop!” the bra clip comes undone and Shoto helps you discard the item. He takes in your breasts with a look of absolute amazement and cautiously reaches out to touch them. He gently runs the palm of his hand across your right breast experimentally. You gasp at the contact, and he nervously glances at your face to make sure you’re not in any discomfort. You smile at him, encouraging him to keep going. He kneads the breast in his strong hand a few times before experimentally rolling his thumb over your nipple. You gasp at the contact as pleasure surges through you – you had no idea you were so sensitive. Shoto repeats the motion, earning a soft moan. He smiles at the praise – unexpectedly mischievous as he moves so that he’s kneeling over you, able to tackle a breast with each hand. He goes to work pinching and massaging and rolling your breasts between deft fingers, drawing the sweetest sounds from your mouth.

“Shoto!” You cry out as he moves to spread more kisses across your neck as his left hand plays with one of your breasts. You reach down and squeeze the muscular plane of his ass, begging him to grind into you. He gets the message loud and clear – moving against you gently so that you can feel his hardness graze against you.

He’s causing so many delicious sensations across your body with his lips, hands, hips, groin – it’s almost too much. You feel like you might drown in him when suddenly –

A knock on the door causes you both to still.

“Todoroki?” Mr. Aizawa’s voice is muffled behind the door. You’re both rigid with fear. Shoto’s lips are at your neck and his breath tickles your bare skin. Your fist is tightly squeezed around his left ass cheek. You stare at the ceiling as you start to panic, wondering wildly what you’re supposed to do in this situation. Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

Mr. Aizawa knocks on the door again. “Todoroki – your father is here to see you.”

“My father?!” Shoto blurts out before he can stop himself. He scrambles off of you and looks around in a panic. “Why’s my father here?”

The walls seem to be thinner than you thought, because Mr. Aizawa supplies an answer from the other side of the locked door.

“Endeavor had a press conference at a hotel down the road this morning. He wanted to check in and discuss internships. I left him waiting in the common area. I’ll be in my office if you want to grab any internship paperwork while he’s here. I wouldn’t keep him waiting, kid.”

“Of course – thank you Mr. Aizawa!” Todoroki calls through the door awkwardly, listening as your teacher’s footsteps recede into the distance.

You and Shoto stare at each other in absolute horror.

“Do you think he heard us? Do you think h-he knows?” You whisper, panic lacing your voice.

Shoto shakes his head no as he gathers up his shirt and shakily tries to re-button it. “No – I don’t think he was out there long enough to hear anything incriminating.”

You let out a breath of anxious air, reaching for your discarded bra. “Thank goodness.” You re-clip your bra and shrug on your shirt.

“Endeavor is here?” You eye Shoto with concern as he dawns his tie and straightens his hair in a wall mirror on the back of his door.

“My old man likes to pop up at inconvenient times.” Content with his hair, he looks down at you. You’ve started to fold up his blanked and bedroll, patting down your own hair along the way.

“We should probably talk about what just happened…” He starts to say, but you shush him as you hear heavy footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Shoto!” A booming voice rings through the hallway, sending shivers up your spine. The heavy footsteps come to a stop right outside Shoto’s dorm door. The doorknob rattles as someone tries the lock. “How dare you keep me waiting!”

“I’ll be out in a minute, old man!” Shoto calls back bitingly. He glares at the door, thankful for the meager lock. He turns to look at you, and his eyes fill with panic. You scan the room for a place to hide – there is absolutely nowhere to conceal yourself in Shoto’s sparse, plain room.

Suddenly, you’re struck with inspiration – you point to the window. Shoto nods in agreement, dashing to grab your things from where they lay abandoned at the threshold of the door.

Quietly, you pad over to the window and pull back the curtains by a foot. You unlatch the window and slide it softly open before hoisting yourself into the wide window frame. It’s lucky you’re not afraid of heights – because Todoroki’s room is on the fifth floor. There is a small escape ladder for fire emergencies (you smile at the irony of Endeavor being the fire emergency in this case). You move to settle your feet on the top rung of the ladder, with plans to climb your way back to the ground so you can re-enter the dorm building from the back.

Shoto leans out the window and hangs your messenger bag around your shoulder.

“Find me later so we can discuss this.” He says, looking apprehensively over his shoulder as his father continues to bang on the door and callout his name. “I’m sorry this ended with you having to sneak out the window like some sort of criminal.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal! Makes it more exciting.” You grin and he smiles back. He leans forward and presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth before moving back to close the window.

As he slides the glass closed, he says to you “I don’t think this is going to help me refocus. If anything, I’m more distracted than ever.” You give him a wink as he shuts the window soundly, drawing the curtains to cover your escape.

Hastily, you climb down 5 stories worth of thin metal ladder, landing gracefully in the soft spring grass. You walk to the dorm’s back entrance and let yourself in, walking past the laundry room and up towards the common area. Mina waves at you as she tosses some clothes into the washing machine, and you say a silent prayer thanking the powers that be that none of your friends had come looking for you while you spent your blissful hour hidden away, half-naked and moaning, in Shoto Todoroki’s room.

You climb the stairs two at a time until you hear the voice of the Number 2 Hero grumbling in the common area. Curious, you peak around the corner to see Shoto and his father seated on one of the couches, sorting through paperwork. Shoto has a dead look behind his eyes as his father lectured him about the importance of networking. He nods blankly a few times before his eyes catch sight of your small frame hiding around the corner. His entire face softens at the sight of you. Endeavor notices and turns to see what’s captured his son’s attention.

“You there! Are you a member of Class 1A?” He booms out, almost polite in his delivery. You walk out into the room, drawing yourself up to your full height.

“Dad – this is my classmate Y/N. She lives on the girl’s side of the dorm. Her quirk is extremely powerful.”

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Endeavor.” You say, trying not to blush at Shoto’s compliment. Endeavor waves you off with a fiery hand.

“Ah, that’s right. I recognize you from the Sport’s Festival. Your quirk and fighting style were both quite impressive.” He looks at you appraisingly. “Are you a close friend of Shoto’s?”

“She is.” Shoto answers smoothly. “Actually, she’s been tutoring me a bit lately on some techniques I’m not familiar with. She’s a greatteacher.” The subtext is not lost on you.

“Surely you don’t need help in your studies, Shoto. You’re at the top of your class.” Endeavor says gruffly, looking to his son for further explanation.

“Just showing him a few moves I picked up in one of my martial arts classes, sir! Shoto picks up new techniques like a Pro.”

Endeavor seems mollified by this answer. “Of course he does. He’s on track to become the best of the best.” The hero claps his hand on Shoto’s shoulder proudly, and you smile weakly at the discomfort that flashes across Shoto’s eyes.

“Well – I’ll let you both get back to your work! Shoto – if you want to practice those techniques again later, I’ll be in the library until 8 tonight.”

You see Shoto ever so slightly lick his bottom lip. His face is tinged with the lightest of blushes.

“Got it. I’ll see you there, Y/N.”

You have a feeling that Shoto isn’t going to be able to focus on his studies for quite some time.

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

Here are all the currently released chapters of Shoto's First Kiss!

Shoto's First Kiss Series:

Part 1: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋

Part 2: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 2

Part 3: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 3

Part 4: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 4

Part 5: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 5

Part 6: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 6

Part 7: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 7

Part 8: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 8

Part 9: Shoto Todoroki x Reader | First Kiss ❄️🔥💋 PART 9

🔥 Link to My Master List 🔥

2K notes · View notes

lily-bisque · 22 days ago

Text

continuation of this drabble. cw: dub-con, heavy degradation, bdsm, dacryphilia, loss of virginity, threesome, implied pressured drug use, angst, bully&stoners suguru and choso.

a/n: please tread lightly with this one. it is lowkey FILTH so read the warnings!

it was like two sets of beady eyes that followed you everywhere.

no matter where you went, you felt that prickle on your nape, the feeling of being hunted, lingering. at first, it was just an instinctive feeling to peer behind you and be met with nothing. you would shake it off and continue with your day like nothing was out of the sort. but soon, that feeling settled like a blanket over your core and turned from harmless to threatening.

whether it be in your lecture halls, eating alone in the cafeteria with foggy frames and a bento thermos of warm soup, or attending any of your out of school activities like heading to the local park, you felt it. not constantly, but it would come and go in waves when you were in public.

you couldn’t place the source, not for days. it followed you endlessly and you had begun to believe you were losing your mind. that somewhere along the way of being an anti-social and mousy girl, you’d snapped from the isolation.

that was, until you caught the two of them eyeing you from the corner of the school archives.

bloodshot and narrowed eyes, whispering something to each other in hushed tones that made your skin crawl.

it was them.

they had been watching you. no; stalking you, all this time.

you wanted to go up to them and give them a stern talking to, to leave you alone and stop whatever it was they were doing. they’d picked on you for months and it only let up after they’d forced you to attend some stupid party where they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves.

ever since, you thought you’d been free. but no, you were fatally wrong.

the remembrance of the way they’d find themselves by your deskside, peering over whatever book you were reading and plucking it from your hands to hold it up, asking you why on earth you were so adamant on being an outcast. you’d turn your head away, feeling your eyes brim with tears, until suguru would lift your chin with two fingers and look you square in the eyes.

“we’re only here to save you, darling. to save you from yourself.”

not only did their words ring in your ears and fray the edges of your psyche, but the looks on their faces had you trembling in steadily growing trepidation. expressions of feigned sympathy and mirth washed over them as they watched you stumble over your words, fiddling with your hands in your lap and averting the gaze of your classmates giving you odd stares as they listened in.

it was an introvert’s nightmare and they reveled in it.

you loathe them for it, for making you feel so small and vulnerable, choosing you to be the target of their inflated egos that needed to step on someone.

but right now, two things stopped you from stomping right over and cursing them out.

one, you were a sweaty, nervous mess that could barely string together two sentences when it came to them. you were known to be quite the hermit on campus, always a nose in your textbooks and attending literally no social events. so who were you to expect your body not to betray you and make an utter fool of yourself?

second, you had no proof that they were doing this, the stalking, that is. what were you going to do? randomly throw some blame on them without ever actually spotting them? no—you couldn’t go and second guess yourself because, in truth, your gut instinct had never failed you.

so, you were hopeless.

you returned to the dusty tomes on the shelf with a resigned sigh, shoulders drooping as you lost yourself in your pathetic thoughts.

you’d never stood up to them before, so what would change now?

suddenly, you felt a hand brush up against the small of your back. you registered that familiar scent of weed wafting into your nose, making you recoil and scrunch your nose.

another hand tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your chin and turning you towards them.

you were met with the tall figure of choso kamo, looming over you with his doe-like eyes tainted with a faint crimson hue. he had a pitiful expression coloring his pale cheeks with a pout of his lips. “has our princess missed us?”

before you had the chance to speak, suguru geto entered your field of view, casually propping a hand up against your head as you backed up against the library wall. “i think she has. that surprised look on her face as if she wasn’t ogling at us just moments ago.”

you stiffened. “i-i wasn’t ogling. just… surprised to see you here.”

suguru clutched his free hand over his heart, dipping his head even lower to match your eye line. “you wound me, darling. you think of us too dumb to visit the library?” he queried, tossing an entertained glance at his counterpart who only chuckled low.

“no! don’t put words in my mouth,” you squeaked out, casting your gaze down at their shoes as you could barely allow yourself to crane your head up to look at them, your stomach suddenly feeling incredibly light as your mouth went desert dry.

“well, it’s quite the shame that you hadn’t missed us. because we missed you, didn’t we, suguru?”

“how could we not after she was practically throwing herself at us at the party before ditching us. you know, blue balls is a shit thing to endure, and even shittier to fix it yourself.”

you felt your heart stammer, hands clutching into fists at your sides as you stilled.

choso leaned in, one hand caging you in on the side that suguru wasn’t blocking, his breath fanning against your neck before he placed a chaste kiss against it. and unfortunately, your body betrayed you in that moment, releasing a soft whimper as he bit your earlobe. “too bad we had something to show you, angel.”

his tone was low and husky, sending a chill dancing down your spine that it took you a moment to unclench your thighs and register what he’d just said. “w-what’d you want to show me?”

the two of them dropped their hands in unison, exchanging a look as choso shoved his hands into his pockets while suguru ran a hand through his hair.

“it’s a surprise, love. you want to find out, come over to my place tonight and i’ll show you what we’ve got ready for you.”

–

you don’t know what possessed you to be standing in front of suguru geto’s house right now.

he’d plugged his number into your phone, and vice versa, without even asking before the two left you stranded in the library, still shaking from whatever hold they had over you, a vex hanging heavy over your head.

the last few hours you spent contemplating exactly how you’d curse them out, scribbling down notes and talking to yourself in the mirror until you were winded.

and, despite the best of you, you found yourself dolling yourself up for the occasion. you blamed that solely on the fact that you wanted to look your best when you cursed them out and condemned the two to hell.

minutes before you’d arrived, you got a notification telling you that you’d been added to a groupchat and opened it.

6:47 pm – xxx-xxx-xxxx: this our sweetheart?

6:47 pm – suguru: leave her be, cho. you wanna scare her off again?

6:48 pm – xxx-xxx-xxxx: good point.

you couldn’t believe them, not even knowing how to respond as you fumbled at the door step, erasing and typing out a reply before the door propped open.

you hadn’t even knocked yet.

“you made it,” suguru breathed out. but you were barely registering a word, eyes flitting over his outfit that had your breath hitch. he was wearing a black hoodie and grey jeans, though he looked to be fresh out of the shower, his raven tresses cascading lackadaisical down his shoulders, water dripping from the tips.

“i did,” you whispered, clasping your hands in front of you after you stuffed your phone into your clutch.

he smiled knowingly, taking the time to admire your look. “looks like someone got all dolled up for the occasion,, and you don’t even know what your surprise is.”

you shook your head and knitted your eyebrows up at him, the first sign of annoyance you’ve ever tossed in either of their directions. “what?”

before suguru could ridicule you anymore, a familiar mess of brown hair appeared in a white cotton tee and black slacks, in the midst of tying his hair up into two buns. “if it isn’t the bookworm. you actually showed.”

you scoffed and the two men could barely hold back the evident shock on their faces. “are you going to let me in or what?”

choso tilted his head, studying your vastly different demeanor before stepping out of the way. “come right in, sweetheart.”

rolling your eyes and steeling your quivering resolve, you pushed past them and into suguru’s house. it was massive, and you’d heard of the ragers they’ve thrown here. though, you didn’t know how to imagine it outside of the party scene aura it radiated through gossip you overheard.

it was incredibly clean, decorated in a monochrome scale to the numbers, and there had to be a handful of bedrooms he wasn’t using.

nepotism.

“gonna keep staring or you wanna hear about that surprise?”

you turned around, glaring at suguru who was sending you an unreadable expression; you couldn’t tell if he was humored or bored.

“forget the surprise,” you retorted back, shuffling through your bag to pull out a stack of index cards. not your best option, but you had a pattern of going dizzy-minded around them.

they watched you shuffle through them until you settled on the correct sheet, confused what this act of yours was.

clearing your throat, you began reading them off. “hello, choso, suguru. i’m here today to, uh,” you squinted at your handwriting that was dotted with tear marks that smeared the ink during your fit of frustration just a few hours ago. “i’m here to address your behaviors over the past semester towards me.”

choso crossed his arms over his chest as he rubbed the lobe of his ear, as if what he was hearing was all in his head.

“you’ve ridiculed me, you’ve made fun of me, you’ve mocked and stalked me. and i’m done with it, all of it,” you pressed on, eyes glued to your card. you did everything in your power to speak at a loud enough volume that could possibly come off as intimidating.

suguru took a step forward, hands resting casually in his pockets as he peered down at you like you were nothing worthy before him. you ignored that familiar feeling you’d been feeling for months and continued on.

“i-i have done nothing to the either of y-you and i don’t understand why you’ve made me your victim.”

choso had to stifle a laugh as he, too, took a step forward, the two of them inching towards you like you were their prey, a hungry glower in their eyes.

“i’m only here to say that i’m no longer putting up with it, a-any of it. i’m done being bullied by the t-two fo you, find someone else to make fun of it or else.”

suddenly, the shuffled cards were plucked from your hands, choso eyeing them in his hand and skimming through them. “or else?”

you could feel your stomach lurch at the sight, suddenly wishing you hadn’t added on that last part.

“what, you gonna threaten us?” suguru imparted, running his tongue over his lower lip as he eyed you carefully.

you were silent, simply wide-eyed and darting your focus between the two men looming over you.

“not much without your little cards, hm?” choso questioned, reaching up to twirl a strand of your hair with his finger, just how he always toyed with you like you were his doll.

you swallowed hard, your fingers trembling by your side as suguru placed a hand on top of your head to stroke your hair, humming in thought as he mulled something over.

the fact that they didn’t even question the stalking portion you added onto your speech was evidence enough.

“we’ll stop,” he whispered, earning an odd glance from his friend before he continued. “if you let us indulge in the surprise we prepared for you. come all this way and you won’t even humor us?”

your pulse was roaring in your ears as you could barely tear your eyes from his piercing gaze, biting your lip subconsciously.

you don’t know what caused you to forget all of your bearings in that moment when you agreed.

“okay.”

–

they led you down a corridor, which led to descending stairs in suguru’s house, winding and coiling until you reached the basement. you wondered if they were going to kill you here for a moment, realizing you hadn’t told anyone where you were.

were you literally and figuratively spiraling to your demise?

you didn’t have any friends, nor did you keep in daily contact with your parents.

no one would know where you’d disappeared off to.

“she’s shaking, suguru,” choso chuckled behind you, cocking his head as he found the display oddly cute.

“i think she’ll be shaking when she sees our surprise for her too.”

something nasty twisted in your gut, your fight or flight instincts triggering, yet unfortunately you’d always been a freeze kind of person.

suguru walked to a door at the end of the hall, pressing a couple of numbers into a keypad before pushing it open.

a red hue spilled form the doorway as he opened it and you were met with a fairly dim, neon crimson room. your feet were planted, wondering if the last meal you’d ever eat was the ramen cup you’d downed before you arrived, that is, until choso pushed you in.

“so scared. baby, we’re harmless,” choso chuckled, heading over to a door at the side of the room before stepping in and leaving you and suguru alone.

you clasped your hands before you, heart palpitating as the stifling tension was nearly suffocating you.

“not gonna take a look around?”

“what?” you immediately squeaked, glancing over at suguru who leaned against a wall with folded arms, studying you quietly. when you registered what he said, you did in fact glance around to take in your surroundings.

the two walls on opposite sides of you were lined with shelves and objects resting against them. you adjusted your frames, taking a couple of steps forwards and squinting your eyes as you made out exactly what they were.

toys. sex toys to be exact. peering to the middle of the room, there were harnesses tucked away against the ceiling and below it was a small platform with cuffs on them.

your eyes widened as you took a step back, tripping over your heel and landing in a pair of burly arms, the scent of cannabis wafting into your nose.

“like what you see?” choso whispered into your ear, licking a languid stripe across the crown of your ear that had you shuddering.

pushing off of him, you turned around and scoffed, staring at them with wide eyes.

“where the fuck did you bring me?”

suguru chuckled, low and patronizing like always. “i’m getting the feeling you’re not liking your gift. unfortunately, there’s no gift receipt, sweetheart.”

incredulously, you laughed and waved your arms around, motioning at your surroundings, feeling as if you’d finally lost it. “your present to me is a sex room?”

suguru pursed his lips, coming to your side and placing his hands on top of your biceps, then turning you to the shelf just beside you.

“not sure if you’re a virgin, so we can start off real small. got this itty bitty thing for you, and we can work your way up,” he coolly whispered into your ear, breath tickling you and making your thighs quake. “‘till you can take us.”

“you’re fucking disgusting,” you spat, thrashing in his grasp and pulling away.

“oh don’t play hard to get, dear. we know all about the way you spend your evenings.”

you focused on choso, cocking your head and feeling shocked at your outbursts so far as you’ve never been one to speak up to them. “oh, please. how exactly do i spend my evenings.”

the two of them glanced at one another, then back at you, then down at your skirt. your head bounced back in confusion as you blinked a couple times, registering what they were implying.

how on earth would they know how you spend your evenings?

“s-so are you going to explain, or just keep staring at me?” you pushed, praying that they were just bluffing.

but, oh. were you so incredibly wrong.

“saw your little reddit post. about how you can’t stop getting off to your bullies and feeling ashamed by it.”

you could feel your mind slur and become lightheaded in an instant. choso began to explain your post in incredible detail as if he had it committed to memory, the way you had your hand down your panties in your dorm room and moaning out the names of the two guys who made your life a living hell. suguru simply stood there, the image of an incredibly proud man, watching you crumble.

it was over. they were going to expose you and ridicule you until you were six feet under. you could feel the bile rise in your throat, your hands resuming their trembling at your sides as shame shook your core.

how on earth is the nerdy loser the most disgusting pervert out of them all? you could hear the whispers and rumors now, your eyes brimming with tears at the thought.

choso broke you from your reverie, shrugging his shoulders as he finished his thorough analysis. “don’t worry. we’ll keep your little secret safe, princess.”

you lifted your gaze from the spot you had it trained on the ground. “w-what?”

choso hummed, stepping towards you and bringing his hands to your cheeks. you flinched like he’d burned you, but that didn’t stop him.

“we think it’s… cute. our little docile geek is a fucking degenerate.”

you scowled at that, moving to pull away but he held you there.

“why not let us help you?” he whispered, biting his lip as he played with your hair, as if it grounded him. “i know those hands of yours can’t satiate you like we can.”

and then you felt a hard chest press against your back, sandwiching you between the two men just like they had you on the couch. suguru’s hands snaked down to your midsection, pulling your ass flat against his pelvis. you could feel how hard he was, the bulge pressing down on the small of your back.

“like a favor. you help us, we help you and keep your secret. it’s a win-win situation for all of us and you get a little extra,” choso added, caressing your cheek gently before running a thumb over your bottom lip.

and that perverted part of you responded when you whispered out a whiney “okay.”

the two men had you undressed within moments, then strung up in the air spread eagle with your body bare to the world.

heat covered your body as they worked in tandem to prepare things for you, things they discussed in hushes conversation that you weren’t privy to.

was this your best decision? no. but it was far too late now and you’d prefer if the two boys kept true to their word.

they passed blunts between each other, exhaling the billowing smoke into the air and you watched as it disappated, something akin to dread settling in your core.

what on earth did you get yourself into? what if they told everyone about this, how the nerd was toyed with by not one but two guys. you’d be ridiculed until graduation.

“want a hit?”

“what?” you whined out, feeling your stomach lurch as choso eyed you carefully.

he chuckled at your worry before placing it into your mouth. “suck.”

you inhaled automatically, not meaning to take such a large hit as it spread into your lungs, making you cough until it stung your eyes and burned the lining of your nose.

“there you go,” he drawled out, biting his lip as he admired your bare form. “should calm you a bit.”

“i’m fine,” you bit out, wheezing as you attempted to steady yourself.

“suit yourself,” he shot back with a reluctant once-over at your quivering figure, returning to suguru and you were left to your thoughts again.

although, he wasn’t lying. your mind that was a muddled mess of anxiety was coming to rest as the effects of the weed settled in your mind, making it the slightest bit hazy. the smell was pungent, but you were thankful for the simple reprieve.

“having fun, angel?” suguru quirked, walking over to you and watching as you gave him a bleak stare. he adjusted your sliding frames, pushing them back up and leaning in to pepper soft kisses along your neck.

you heard soft clicks before something hard pressed against your nipples. you glanced down and let out a shaky whimper at the clasps he’d placed on them.

your arms suddenly twitched, wanting to move and run them through his hair as he works on your skin with his mouth, but was promptly stopped by the well-done restraints.

choso fiddled with a speaker off to the side, then pressed play on his playlist he's prepared for this moment. funny enough, the first song that played was quite fitting–she’s my collar by gorillaz, matching the black leash clad on your neck.

suguru’s hands groped your breast, his hair tickling your bare skin as you whimpered and whined in his grasp.

choso found purchase standing behind you and tying your hair up with his rubber band, just so he could begin to decorate bruising hickies across your nape.

it was all too much, you felt their hands gripping and teasing you everywhere, your thighs quivering from the simple touches.

“we haven’t even started yet,” suguru chuckled, pinching your clasped nipple between his fingers. “she’s like a little bitch in heat.”

“s’ how i like them, though. that fucked out and starry-eyed look they give me, makes me so fucking hard,” choso chuckled back to his friend.

you hated how disgusting but turned on it made you feel, how they spoke about you as if you e squashed between them.

suguru’s slender fingers found your bare cunt, a digit sliding between your drooling folds and collecting your slick. “and she’s already dripping, cho.”

choso’s warm breath tickled you as he bit into your shoulder, gripping your ass in his hand.

a dextrous digit of suguru’s began to toy with that sensitive nub down there, making your body bow into his form, hands shaking in the restraints, biting your lip as you muffled your sounds.

“wanna know how she sounds,” choso groaned, a hand of his dancing up your side to fondle your tit. “when she’s moaning out our names.”

suguru sped up his motions, two fingers rubbing tenderly against your clit as your body wracked with pleasure. and soon enough, you could feel choso’s finger pushing against your tight hole.

“bet she’d take us like we were knives killing her, tight cunt she’s got,” he added before pushing a digit in.

you gasped out, eyes widening as they continued their assault of love bites dancing across your chest. it was all overstimulating and you could feel them all over, their greedy hands gripping and pulling and tearing at anything you’d give them.

and you gave it up to them, squirming in their hold and letting them test out whatever they were curious about. if that spot could make you cry out or how hard they could bite against your previously unmarked skin.

and when suguru passed his friend a dildo prepared with lube, you knew you were going to be in tears by the end of the night. but they loved it.

they slurped up every tear you gave them as if they’d earned it. weeks of plotting and watching you finally handed to them, the delayed gratification damn near overwhelming as their slits leaked pre.

the small pink plastic cock pushed past that first ring of resistance, making you flinch hard enough you were sure that your wrists and ankles would be bruised by sunrise.

"so fuckin' tight," suguru scoffed, watching as it slowly disappeared into you. "what, you a fucking virgin?"

you kept your mouth shut, along with your eyes, hoping the embarassment that flushed you was enough evidence.

"no fucking way," choso sighed out in awe, the tent in his boxers only growing tighter. "you're the most perverted girl i've ever met and you've never even had sex before?"

you bit your tongue, shutting your eyes to brace yourself from the impact of their verbal abuse. hearing it from their lips was all the more ridiculous.

"you just keep surprising us, sweetheart," suguru chuckled, pressing hard enough down on your clit that you headily gasped out his name. "mmm, there we go."

choso continued drilling you with the dildo, brushing right up against that sweet spot you were never able to pinpoint yourself. suguru took the chance to consume your moans, planting a wet kiss against your mouth and shoving his tongue down your throat.

you could barely breath through it, eyes rolling back into your skull as the two of you swapped saliva. with the hand that wasn't rubbing your bud of nerves, he cupped your cheek to angle your head just right, making you gag on his pink muscle.

"like a fucking toy," he groaned into your mouth, and you could feel his clothed cock press up against your abdomen, the outline so massive it made your stomach flutter. choso’s pushed against the small of your back, the size one to rival with suguru’s.

you didn’t want to imagine what they looked like bare and erect.

you felt so pliant and maleable under their grasp, as if they could mold you into anything they pleased. a rotted part of your psyche was crumpled and smashed, quiet voices whispering to you that this act made you theirs.

their quiet victim that never spoke up to their degredations? their fuck-toy they used whenever they pleased?

so be it. that's what you were going to be.

you chest began to heave as suguru's mouth moved in tandem against yours, practically sucking the air from your lungs. the rapid pace of choso's wrist drilling that toy into was unrelenting.

soon enough, stars blotted out your vision and a flash of white painted everything you could see, your ears ringing as you screamed out into suguru's mouth, your orgasm being pushed over the precipice.

your body stilled, every muscle contracting, until you fell limp, slack in the restraints.

the two boys were no longer kissing you, no longer touching. a part of you was afraid to open your eyes, fearing that this was all some sort of dream the dark and deep recesses of your mind cooked up.

yet, when you parted your wet lashes, you were met with their figures quickly ridding themselves of their clothes.

choso tossed the dildo to the side, working to undo the restraints while suguru grabbed what looked to be a box of condoms and lube.

"think you can take us both on suguru's bed upstairs?"

242 notes · View notes

venussaidso · 2 months ago

Text

Also. People still thinking sidereal Aries individuals act like this extroverted interactive stereotype is what's making them confused. And this is why I couldn't fully relate to my Aries placements in tropical. I'm not super expressive like that. Yes, it turned out I was Pisces in sidereal. But I still have major Aries placements. Major, major Mars influence. Mars Atmakaraka. Mars in 1H in Bharani with Ashwini ASC.

I am private and internal, my mind is the most active but I'm outwardly passive. I seem intense and confident in my blog, but irl I'm withdrawn and I prefer to be alone — I don't speak much and I master a lot to say something, words are used a lot on my blog but I'm not much of a talker unless I'm being intentional. I can be charismatic and influential because I've watched a lot of movies and stolen certain mannerisms and personality traits which resonate with me. I know how to make a room chuckle. I've often been told I'm good at speeches and talking, even though I'm quiet. I'm a brooder and the mysterious label has been used on me, or I'm labelled as ‘shy’. I see so many Ashwinis like this, even the unstable ones. And this is why it's so easy to discount many possible, potential sidereal Aries Moons too. “Cillian can't be Ashwini, he's too introverted and Ashwinis are very insane intense people.” Forgetting that Ketu co-rules Ashwini. Ketu causes introversion, detachment... I spoke of this. Ketu is also related to ethereality, otherworldliness. Ketu nakshatras are known for their inclination to absorbing and consuming knowledge, making for some book-ish people. I remember the first time ever when I claimed that Tom Hiddleston can be a possible Ashwini Moon on here. I shook a lot of followers of mine. I think I was the first person ever to suggest this here, but I was just contemplating a lot of things that time and it personally resonated (and not because I'm Ashwini myself, it was just intuitive? Still, both Cillian and Tom are unconfirmed).

My point is, stop perceiving sidereal Aries people from this limited lens. I don't see them in the way people describe Aries only. The chaos and intensity usually manifests privately, or artistically. The Ketu rulership means the natives are supposed to be a distant mystery, they're enchanting, but they're out of reach. That is Beyonce.

Even Bharanis are different outwardly. Although I talked about themes of aggression, violence and superiority when it comes to Venus nakshatras, they don't always come across that way outwardly. Their fire element doesn't always show for us. Venus can come off sentimental, even romantic. Jamie Campbell Bower, with Bharani Moon, comes across fashionable, fanciful and chill, for example. The nakshatra lord is often influencing the outward perception of the sign.

Daniel Day Lewis has Ashwini Moon. He is just like Beyonce actually. Very private, hard to track, INSANE WORK ETHIC, and in interviews he's extremely calm, controlled and even seems like an introverted shy sweetheart. With Ketu especially, everything is not what it seems. We don't know Beyonce, we don't know her internal processes. But these are ARIES natives. Ketu makes for passivity, an out-of reach or withdrawn person, so of course she won't come off as what we think Aries is! But if you actually pay attention to all of her works, she is intense and incredibly passionate and Martian. "I'm a Martian, they wishin' they equal," she definitely wrote that lyric knowing she's an Aries Rising.

Ashwinis make for really, really intense artists. Hello?? Daniel Day Lewis?? Again with him. He does not come off like an Aries, but if you have followed his acting career, you can just seeeee the fire. The art reflects inner processes. I repeat, art reflects inner processes. Pay attention to the art, not the fucking visuals, I mean the messages, the portrayals, the energy and the effort they put in their work. Your basic knowledge of Ashwini should be from all the copy pasted facts found in many websites about Ashwini which states that those born under Ashwini influence have the strength and stamina of horses. Have you people seen how thoroughbreds run on that field and train? Beyonce's stamina and work ethic for her performances reminds me of that exactly.

Stop limiting yourself to perceptions of vanity, beauty and outward “personalities” to one thing only. My goodness. This is why I support people making fun of astrology lmao. Allow yourself to see the layers and nuances to one nakshatra. Ashwini energy can be hardass and chaotic but the natives can also be internally hyperactive — though outwardly cool, calm, calculating and collected. And I explored this aspect before.

In this post, I talked about the differences between how Rahu and Ketu is perceived. I clearly gave more examples of Ketu nakshatras having one appear introspective and shy, while Rahuvians are perceived as a lot more polarizing, controversial and outwardly passionate. But that's just the nodes causing distortions because fundamentally, the rashis are what signify the underlying temperament. Ashwini and Swati are vastly different temperamentally. Also, Rahu wants to be seen, so Beyonce being Swati makes no sense. She is extremely quiet, distant and private.

#vedic astrology #astrology #sidereal astrology #ashwini nakshatra #ashwini #ketu #ketu nakshatras #ketuvians #fire signs

223 notes · View notes

at4-raxia · 3 months ago

Text

Mark Grayson x ladybug!reader

I've seen a couple of people doing this and I couldn't stop thinking about it, English is not my first language and this is my first story on Tumblr, nevertheless I hope you enjoy!

Before you read: reader is not weak (I don't really give a shit about power scaling even if it's ladybug), possessive/protective Mark (headcanon: viltrumites are a rational species but they have an irrational subconscious part that chooses a 'mate' which they will love until either they die or their partner does. In the second case, it's not out of the question that they might have other partners, but they will never truly love them because their heart belongs to the partner their subconscious has chosen for them. That's one of the reason why Viltrumites focus more on reproduction than love, since it's an irrational weakness they can't control), mostly narration and monologues, they both want eachother but are too dumb, I tried to not make anyone ooc (if I did, sorryyy), childhood friends to lovers, there is not smut but there are some things you could consider suggestive I guess, lastly but not least, violence and blood.

Synopsis: you and Mark have been childhood friends for as long as you can remember, you have known each other since you were in diapers! Your families were as close as they can be. With all of this said, you never understood why he grew distant to the point where you were strangers. Now you're back from Paris, you're a superhero, you have faced countless foes, yet, you don't think you're truly ready to face Mark. Lucky for you, he doesn't know who's under the mask of your alter ego.

There's a fine line between wanting to smash his head on the sideways and hug him breathless, a fine line dividing the most jaw dropping beating and the most passionate of kisses. You can't believe that someone like Mark Grayson, your dear beloved Mark, is causing so much turmoil inside your mind.

You can't really remember a life before Mark, because there was never one. Your parents had become friends after one tired nurse had brought you in Debbie's arms, who had been so tired that she didn't recognise that who she was holding was not her newborn. Of course, after not even half an hour, you were returned to your parents safe and sound. This experience made your mothers bond and therefore the path to your blooming friendship was created.

Needless to say, the both of you were attached to the hip.

Oh? Mark was at the park? Boom! You were also at the park, playing with him whatever game he had in mind. You were doing some extra curricular activity at school? Bam! Now so was Mark. The both of you knew everything about eachother: from your favourite color to your most embarrassing secret, from one peculiar preference to every little habit.

You had always been an an introverted child, awkward and not really sociable. Yet, with Mark at least, you never had to worry about anything, because why worry when he knew everything and had seen nearly everything about you? Why worry when you had such a caring person as your support? You didn't consider yourself clingy, more like affectionate.

Everytime you found a new recipe you went to his house to bake it with him and sometimes his mum, every time he had to go to the comic book store you were with him listening to his rantings about Science dog. Every single time you were somewhere, everyone knew that Mark wasn't far behind.

Your friendship while cute and wholesome to people who actually knew you (even if it took so much mental strength to not bash you and Mark's oblivious head with a baseball bat), it looked to be on the border of something more to outsiders. You had never been uncomfortable expressing your love to Mark: hugs? Kisses on the cheeks? Being all over him and at least touching him in some sort of way? They were daily occurrences. Why would it be weird? Why were they necessarily romantic gestures?

It's not like your touch lingered far more each time, as if you couldn't get enough. It's not as if when you went back home you smelled so much like him that people asked if you used cologne. At some point you couldn't argue with the fact that you were constantly craving his presence, his touch and maybe even something more.

(His lips had always looked so pretty when he ranted passionately about the comics he was so obsessed with, how would it feel if he was just as obsessed with you? You wondered how it would feel to be the only object of his attentions, just like he was yours.)

Mark wasn't really any better. Maybe on some degree he was worse.

His parents, even his father, were really, extremely, supportive of a possible relationship between you and him. New people he met genuinely thought that the both of you were together, and were left speechless when you said otherwise:

"we're not together" you'd say with laughter between each word, giggling at the silliness of it all. You had always had such a pretty laugh, so mesmerising. "Mark wishes we were together! Right, Mark?" The joke would make him laugh because of the irony of it all, because of the fact that if you hadn't been there he wouldn't have bothered to correct them at all.

Why would he exactly? With the way you two were constantly at each others necks, the only thing that needed to be done was to make it official. ( He doesn't want to think that if he was less scared of ruining your friendship, he would do that in a heartbeat.)

Sometimes he did feel bad about not being clear about your relationship, since he just blatantly ignored the question, leaving it unanswered. Yet, when you pressed your chest and forehead against his back, hugging him from behind, and he could feel the heat radiating from your soft and pliable body, he forgot all the shame and guilt. Why would he leave the person that was destined from birth to be with him to someone else?

Why would he not touch you in public? The both of you hugged frequently, you kissed his cheek, on public transportation or in general he always had a hand on your waist, when walking your hands were always holding (unless he was carrying something for you), on the couch and on the bed you were a tangled mess of limbs with his head resting on your stomach as you stroked his hair. The nights in which you both had fallen asleep like this in the arms of the other were so many to keep track, there had been so many mornings with you waking him up softly while caressing his cheek and whispering in his ear.

(he can't shake off how good it felt to wake up with you by his side, he wished all mornings were like this.)

How had you not kissed yet?

That was a question that kept him awake and a question that left his parents confused. Whenever they came home the both of you were always together doing various activities, and whenever Debbie came home late from work and there was no sound of Mark, her husband would smile knowingly and point upstairs and she would find him cuddled with you, soundly asleep. The hold he had on you was so tight that Debbie believed that not even her husband's viltrumite strength could pull Mark away from you.

Yet, the chokehold you had on him was even tighter.

Nolan had realized this not from the moment Mark had forced them to recreate a matrimony due to the fact that he had professed his love with a candy ring, not even when he had caught him reciting in front of a mirror the part of the prince, that he absolutely needed to have in the fifth grade school play since you were chosen as the princess.

No, no, what had made him realise it was the fact that Mark seemed stronger, faster, better, when around you, even if he didn't have any powers yet. It was not a massive noticeable boost, but just enough to make a difference under the keen eye of Nolan Grayson. It was in the way his boy couldn't seem to stay away from you for more than five minutes, it was in the way Mark couldn't keep his hands to himself when around you and how he seemed to preen proudly just like a peacock whenever you either reciprocated his touches or initiated them.

For Debbie it was a normal crush, but her husband would beg to differ.

Like all viltrumites, Mark was not exempt from the instincts that drove his cilization, so different and yet so compatible with humans. Mark, like all viltrumites, just like him, was love sick and possessive because of the unknown instincts that plagued the viltrumites' rationality. Undoubtedly, Mark's subconscious had claimed you and it pushed Mark to protect you and be all over you. To give in to one's irrational half was a mistake, a weakness, yet Nolan couldn't bring himself to separate the two of you when it was just because of this that Nolan had seen at least a glimpse of his heritage in Mark.

And it had been all thanks to you.

Nolan genuinely liked you, you were a good and smart kid after all. Yet, what he appreciated the most was the fact that you were the confirmation that his son was just a late bloomer. If not for this he might have been against his son's silly behaviour and crush, after all he would have preferred someone more powerful (viltrumite), but this fact and your intelligent mind made up for it. So in his books the only human worth his time, was you.

Therefore everytime his wife came home late from work and asked where his son was, he just smiled and pointed upstairs.

Your predicament was damning, because why was Mark avoiding you? Giving you the cold shoulder? Acting as if you were mere acquaintances? Every time you tried to hug him or kiss his cheek he would move, not in a noticeable way to make it embarrassing for you, but he still moved to make sure he avoided your touch. Every single time you tried to talk to him he would respond to you in short sentences and with quick strained smiles, to then go back to what he was doing. Each damned time you tried to go to his house and spend time with him, for some reason, he wasn't home.

The former you could understand, maybe you were just unlucky, but the latter? No, no.

Mark was plainly avoiding you and now it was even more noticeable: why did he walk away each time you approached him? Why did he not walk home with you anymore? Why was he sitting so far away from you in class? You were going crazy, but you would eat shit before not finding out the reason why.

Since you were a kid, you had been granted an incredible intelligent and observant mind: not even one single tiny detail could go unnoticed by you, not even one subtle change. You were awkward and socially inept, sure, but your problem solving skills were top tier. Being in a group with you in school was like a blessing in disguise, it didn't matter that you were that clumsy unatlethic girl that couldn't form a coherent sentence without Mark as support, from the moment you were assigned in the group all the members would breathe a sigh of relief. No matter how hard a problem, how hard a test, how difficult a situation: you always seemed to find a solution.

Superstitious people would say your ancestors had done really great deeds to grant you this blessing, others would say that you were just extremely lucky, but deep down everyone knew you were just one of a kind, the unstoppable kind.

You can't think of one time you had given up, you were just an unstoppable force that hadn't found it's immovable object yet (and surely Mark's change in behaviour was not going to be it).

You had noticed Mark's change in behaviour months ago, but they were slight differences not really worth focusing on or mentioning, at least when you had noticed them. (At least when he wasn't avoiding you yet).

His hands had become calloused, bruises had begun to appear over his whole body, and sometimes on his face, and while you had been really worried at first, he always had some sort of excuse to justify his beaten up body, which, by the way, had changed drastically. Mark had never been fat nor too skinny, so you wondered when he was pressed against you so nicely why you could feel toned abs, your mind travelled miles to find out why your Mark was now ripped with a marvelous back and strong shoulders.

"Mark!" You had screamed out his name when out of nowhere on the way home he had grabbed you with so much ease and thrown you over his shoulder. You don't really remember what you were talking about, but you had been teasing him about something and then you had sprinted in a run while laughing. In just a second you were hanging from his body like a sack of potatoes, gaping and with rosy cheeks from what had happened. Sure, you were unathletic, sure, you didn't have the strength of a man, but there was no way, simply no way, that your Mark, the same Mark who read comics everyday, had just grabbed you and put you over his shoulder in matters of seconds with only one hand. Back home you could still feel his hands on your lower back and thighs, and remembering how easy he had manhandled you made you weak in the knees. (Oh, how you wished his hands had travelled further).

His touches were rougher, his hold was more firm and unescapable, and it excited you. (You don't want to entertain the possibility that you liked this change so much to just completely have dismissed the causes of it. God, you were so enamored with this nerd it was crazy.)

Just now you realize that the problems might have started when he had begun to treat you like you were made of glass, as if even with one gentle hold you would crumble under him. It was subtle, almost undetectable, but it was there: the constant feeling that you would shatter and pulverize in his hands if he even so slightly grazed your skin.

You can't even seem to shake the fact that you couldn't surprise him anymore, it was as if he could feel your presence before you could even try to spook him (or just touch him like usual). There were so many things that were wrong, how could you just brush off how tired he was? How busy he always seemed to be? What was happening in his life for him to always look beat up?

You knew that people out there had superpowers, but it was just so difficult to say that Mark had them too. It was difficult to accept the possibility that Mark could be a superhero until his father slipped. (Yet, why did that new superhero, "Invincible", coincidentally appeared when your dear Mark disappeared?)

"Are you alone? Where is Mark?" You were used to going to the Grayson's house, it was like your second home and nobody minded, especially when you brought fresh pastries with you. "I thought you could tell me that Nolan", there was no point in calling him 'Mr.Grayson', this man was almost like a father to you. (You'd prefer to say in-law, but life is so unfair sometimes).

"I think it's time we have the talk, Y/n"

You were a bit taken a back by how serious he was, in his eyes there was...pity? Sadness? You didn't really know. Were you about to receive a sexual education talk? Did he think you and Mark had sex? (Some part of you wouldn't be surprised if he truly believed it).

"Mark...you know since he is a viltrumite.. he might not seek human company, or the company of non powered people—"

"—viltrumite??"

"—I know the both of you have never been separated, I hope you won't take it too badly, I mean it's a lot to take in—"

"sir, what do you mean 'viltrumite'??"

If he was honest, Nolan thought that by now you knew that two thirds of the Grayson's family was not exactly human, due to the fact that Mark had always told you everything (he had been so excited to have manifested his powers that in Nolan's mind you had probably known about them even before him). He knew you had never seen him come in the house with his costume on, since you were too busy focusing all your attention on Mark, but he couldn't believe that his son had never talked to you about this. It took about an hour for the man to explain the situation, and while it didn't exactly hurt that Mark was not 100% human, you were really rethinking your friendship.

You obviously didn't expect him to hide this big of a secret, especially when the two of you had been so close. It was just that your judgement was now clouded by a million of different self deprecating thoughts: were you not enough for Mark anymore now that he had powers? Had you been too clingy to the point were he had to keep something to himself, because you knew too much? Was the fact that you were a mere human the reason why he was avoiding you? If so, why was he not avoiding his other friends, like William for example?

Had you become unbearable?

Maybe now with all the stuff on his plate, he needed someone who set him free. Not someone that caged him with her clinginess and obnoxious presence.

"kid, are you okay?"

Someone like Amber maybe. (You wish it could go unnoticed by you how his gaze always seems to go to her now that you're out of the picture. Not standing beside him, but far away, has made you see just to who his attention goes to, and it's to everyone but you).

"Breathe, you're with me, it's okay let it all out", was Nolan hugging you? (Nolan doesn't know what came over him, he doesn't know why him, a viltrumite, had felt the urge to comfort you. It's not because he loves you like a daughter surely).

You think you need some fresh air, you think you need new lungs actually, because why were you so sad? Your chest was feeling so heavy, the world was so blurry and why was your makeup coming off?

You don't think you had ever left house Grayson feeling so ashamed.

Mark didn't know if being distant had been the best course of actions, he saw how much it hurt you but this was better than the suffering you would face by being with him. It wasn't just the thought of someone using his love for you against him, it was more a whole series of things that made him realize how fragile you were, so painfully fragile to the point were he himself was a danger to you.

(For him you might as well have hung the stars from how ethereal you looked, you were unreal. He doesn't think he could forgive himself if he ever so slightly hurt you unintentionally, you just get him so worked up that it's nearly impossible to control his strength. You make it so difficult to be delicate when he would just like to melt and become one with your body.)

This was a momentarily solution badly executed, at the end of the day you didn't know about his second identity, so you were safe from the horrors he had to face. Yet, that didn't mean you could escape the possibility of him causing you pain if he sticked close to you. William had argued with him about this, saying that he at least should have talked about this with you, since communication was key (but it's not like William knew about his second identity, yet).

But how could he do it?

There was a lot to unpack, and revealing his identity meant making you face more risks. Why couldn't it be so easy? He really missed you, but the fear of hurting you was stronger. If it meant that he had to stay away for a little while, than it was fine, it was okayish.(It was not).

His father had petrified him with his gaze after he had asked if Y/n had stopped by, since there were freshly baked pastries on the counter (you always smelled like baked goods, he just wishes he could eat you up). He didn't say anything afterwards but it was clear that he wasn't particularly happy about something. His mother had tried to dissipate the tension but it was clear that the family dinner was not going to run smoothly that night.

"Why didn't you tell [name] you are a viltrumite?" There was something in his voice, he doesn't know what it was, but it wasn't reassuring.

"I just didn't think it was important" then he saw his father's expression falter and he clenched his fists tightly.

"You didn't think it was important to tell her about your heritage? This is your future we're talking about!" He screamed. (Nolan was still set on conquering earth with Mark, so obviously you needed to at least know that his son was not human if he wanted you around in the big picture).

"It's not a big deal! You said that less people know, the better!"

"But we're not talking about anyone, are we, Mark? Just like it's not a big deal the fact that everyone can see from a mile away how smitten you are, you went from not being able to keep your hands off her to keep your distance with her!" His mom then yelled his father's name from the shock, but it was late.

"What?" He was now looking at Debbie, anger still in his face. "It's not like they were being subtle about it, you know that you were afraid of finding them in a compromising position one of these days! Don't lie!" His mom was looking elsewhere and was unresponsive, yet it was clear that what his father had said was not a lie.

"She's not my girlfriend, we would have never done anything like that!"

"Mark, first of all,don't lie to us and yourself. Second of all, she might not be your girlfriend but she is your friend. Don't you understand that you might destroy whatever kind of relationship you have with her if you keep this up?" (Didn't his son understand that out of 8 billion humans they would enslave, he was giving him the chance to keep close the one that truly mattered?)

"It's better like this for her, it's much safer". The gears in his father's head had slowly started to move at his son's answer.

"Are you serious right now, Mark? Are you so weak that you can't control your strength? Is this what it is? I can't believe it—", his father had closed his eyes and brought two fingers to massage his nose bridge.

"why do you care? Whatever I do with my friends is none of your business".

"Don't lie to yourself Mark, 'friends'? Don't make me laugh". His mom had long gotten up from the table, fed up with that nonsense. Nolan had also gotten up and followed her, he could hear mom arguing with his father about how harsh he had been, but not about what he had said.

Now he was left alone contemplating his choices and the entire evening with a cold plate of food at the table, his head was resting on his crossed forearms and his eyes were shut tightly.

(Why did he decide to leave you again? Ah, he was scared.)

You had never travelled much, but you weren't kidding when you had realized you needed fresh air. Next thing you knew, you were on an airplane to one of Paris's best cooking schools. (You don't think that after this revelation you could have handled seeing Mark, so you were lucky when you came home that night and found the acceptance latter on the table with your joyous parents to cheer you up. You had applied to other cooking schools nearby, but this one was your dream).

You weren't there for when William discovered his identity, for when he got demolished by his father and killed tons of people, you weren't there when Mark realized just how weak he was when he got beat up the second time by another viltrumite, you weren't there when he acquired a purple baby brother.

You weren't there for a lot of things, but for him you were everywhere.

One part of you was in every thing he did, the other was in the girls he had dated after you had left. Amber and Eve shared so many similarities with you, and while they were beautiful and special in their own way, his true desire was to actually be with you. (He remembers the meeting with his father and Amber, he remembers the words he had said to him about you when beating him to a pulp, about how he would have never accepted any other human but you and how stupid he had been to have just given you up. "And for what reason?" His father had said with bloodied fists "because you are afraid and weak".)

William had told him that you had decided to go to France and stay in your aunt's apartment for a while. Your dream was to open a bakery, possibly here in the city, and make freshly baked goods everyday. What better place to learn how than Paris?

He shouldn't feel bitter about you leaving without saying goodbye, but it's not like he had given you any choice. He doesn't want to mull over the fact that you had actually left, that his wish for you to be safe from him had manifested itself to reality. To be frank, Mark can only dream about what your years had been for you in the city of love, since you had nearly cut all contact with William too from how busy you were apparently.

In fact he can only dream of you mixing batter and piping vanilla cream inside croissants or macarons, he doesn't dream of you fighting crime in a red and black polkadot costume. (He actually dreams of you hugging him close, caressing his hair and playing with his locks like you always did, he dreams of being able to lose himself in your touch, to show you how much he loves you, he dreams of worshipping every little mole, scar and curve on your body. He wouldn't leave any piece of skin unmarked, he swears it).

Because why would he even imagine you fighting crime? In what world his dear [name] would have to face battles to save the world in a skin tight costume? (He has imagined you wearing his costume, or one similar to Eve's, and he has had a hard on one two many times because of said thought.)

Life in Paris hadn't really been easy, to put it simply it had drastically changed you. You felt like a new person if you were honest, without Mark around, without the people you had shielded yourself with, you had learned to face the world headstrong overcoming any kind of social anxiety. Your future required social skills and cooperation, not only creativity and following the recipes to a tee.

Yet, sometimes you wish this had been the only change.

Your Aunt's friend, Marinette Dupain Chang, a famous parisinian fashion designer known worldwide (you still don't know how your aunt could be friends with someone like that, but you're glad), almost everyday participated in the baking classes for a couple of minutes.

"it's so nostalgic" she would say while mixing the dough and reminiscing about her parents own bakery, while also giving some tips. She wasn't a teacher, no, no, she was better. You think you'd learned more by spending that one day with her at her house than in a week at the prestigious school.

She was magnetic, her dark blue hair, nearly black, shone in the light just like her eyes did. Those eyes were mature, gentle and caring but they held something, some kind of pain you didn't know about, until, of course, Marinette herself revealed this to you on the day of her wedding anniversary.

Her husband had been dead for a couple of years now, and she couldn't be Ladybug anymore (you remember being speechless when a tiny ladybug like creature flew in front of your face to greet you), due to the fact that not only did Paris not really need her anymore, but she couldn't bring herself to fight without her dear Chat by her side. (You shed a few tears with her thinking about what you would do if one day Mark died fighting a villain, what would you do in that situation?)

You were skeptical to accept the proposal and you could see how hard it was for the kwami and Marinette to separate, but ultimately the 40 year old woman didn't back down and pushed the box in your hands, saying that nobody would be better than you to fill her place. (You want to disagree since she probably wouldn't let the world burn if it meant keeping safe the people you love).

So from then on you had to juggle both school and superhero duty and training. You weren't really fighting what Mark was fighting (you don't want to remember your fight with the cat miraculous owner), but thanks to being able to experiment with your powers, you had realized that even if you weren't athletic, when transforming your body felt 50 times stronger and faster, to the point were even holding a collapsing building with a yo-yo didn't make you break a sweat.

The critique had been harsh with you (especially after what had happened with your supposed "partner"), in fact the media kept comparing your feats with the ones of the previous miraculous owner. It's not like you minded, but sometimes it did sting you a little that no matter what incredibly creative strategy you pulled out of your ass with your lucky charm, you were still second. (Apparently you had to get used to being second, or even third, since you had heard from William that Mark had got together with Amber after you left and was now with Eve. But how could you be angry? Those girls were literally perfect, it was unfair, sure, but you couldn't be angry at Mark for choosing a girl who made him happy instead of his childhood friend.)

You could have stayed more, you could have opened a bakery right in the middle of Paris, but you were tired of Paris (you can never truly repair everything, can you? You can never wash the blood from your costume, from his clothes, from his unmoving body). You really missed home, you missed your family (you missed Mark).

"Sir, we are out of cinnamon rolls right now. You can buy something else or wait until a fresh batch is ready". When you said you wanted to work in a bakery, you weren't really thinking about facing rude customers. All these social interactions were draining you out and in the mean time Tikki was giggling in the pocket of your apron while munching on the 10th cookie of the day. She was in heaven to say the least, and sadly you couldn't say the same for you.

"[name]?" You could recognise this voice everywhere.

"Mark?" You almost couldn't believe you were finally face to face with him, after two eventful years you were back where you started: fearful. Due to the fact that seeing Mark was inevitable, you thought that after all you went through that seeing an old friend, your long time best friend (ex-best friend?), was going to be a breeze. You really wanted to talk to Mark, but not the boring conversations you have with strangers, no, you wanted to go back to how things were before, even if some part of you screamed that maybe, just maybe, you deserved better. To have that, you needed to address all the baggage of stuff that you didn't really want to open, why would you really? Why would you want to go back to how things were before? When you were an awkward social reject who had nobody else but Mark.

(You're contradicting yourself, do you or do you not want to go back to how things were? Now you have anyone but Mark and your heart cries, because why do you miss those times so much? Why do you miss him so much?)

"You're looking good" the compliment is like a breath of fresh air, because to Mark you are indeed one. It's not just because he is ecstatic to see you (if the place had been empty he would have jumped across the counter), but because you're literally glowing. You were already really gorgeous before, now though, having grown in your features, you are shining.

He should order but he really doesn't want to move his gaze away, were you always this captivating?

"thanks, you look great too! So, have you decided yet your order?" Mark looked good, yet your gaze seemed to fall on the red-head at the small pink table. She was focused on her phone and while you had seen photos of her, the selfies William had sent you didn't do her justice.

"I haven't decided yet, how have you been?" Mark doesn't think you noticed his little love struck gaze as you put a couple of croissants in a small bag for a sweet old lady, but he wouldn't have minded if you had.

(He just can't help but have some shred of hope that maybe he didn't ruin everything).

"Not much, honestly. What about you loverboy? Are you going to keep your lady waiting?" Your brows wiggled as you spoke with a joking tone. As you said the joke, your giggles didn't really reach your eyes, giving away partially how you kind of felt about the couple. You couldn't give up Mark but at the same time you couldn't accept the reality that you hadn't been enough.

His brows furrowed slightly as he took notice of your devoid laughter, suddenly remembering that you two were now mere acquaintances and not those two kids that were attached to the hip.

"Well, she was my girlfriend..."

"trouble in paradise, Grayson?" This was awkward, but joking had kind of become a coping mechanism at this point.

"No, no" he laughed, his eyes twinkling with mirth, believing that your joking nature was maybe you releasing some tension. "More like we just didn't work out, we just need different things, you know?" You didn't really know, because, unlike Mark, your dating repertoire had been devoid of men, or in general devoid of people as a whole. You had just been so busy that romance had practically flown over your head!

"Yeah, I get it... Anywaysss, what are you getting? Honestly I recommend the chocolate muffins or the strawberry cheesecake", you are actually smiling now, not because the air was less awkward, it was just that talking about your passion really got you going.

(You vaguely remember your first attempts at cooking, and they were done with dirt, sand and water. As decorations you used some grass or some rocks you found in the garden, then you proceeded to serve it to Mark on your little pink plastic toy plate. It was funny to think that your younger self genuinely thought he ate it, while instead he was throwing the brown goo on the ground whenever you were distracted.)

Mark was almost tempted to ask if he could just buy you instead, since you were the pastry he was craving. But he opted to keep his thoughts to himself since the joke would probably make you cringe so hard to the point where you wouldn't look at him for a while.

"I'll take two chocolate muffins", then with a nod you picked up the small brown bag with the bakery logo and you put two piping hot muffins inside it, then you focused on packing the goods and you stated the price after going to the register.

"Have a nice day, Mark" you said with the smile you give to all your clients, the one you give out of courtesy. Some might say one of relief after a painfully draining interaction (you don't recall a time when Mark had ever drained your social battery like this).

"Have a nice day too". It all went too fast in Mark's opinion, weren't your conversations supposed to last hours? Why hadn't he asked at least if you would have liked to hang out?

(Looking at you felt exactly like looking at those love interests that appeared in slow motion, with a pink background and with sparkles all around you. You can't blame him for getting enchanted by your beauty, just like you can't blame someone for having their jaw on the floor when looking at a incredible painting.)

Eve was waiting for him with a smile, immediately going for her muffins and giving hers a generous bite before walking out of the glass door.

"oh my god, they taste so good! Did they always make them this delicious?" Obviously not, since only your pastries could be this delicious and, while he hadn't eaten one in a long time, he still recognized the differences with the sweets made by other people.

"I know right? She's fantastic at baking", with that it was like a little lamp turned on on top of Eve's head and she asked him the fatal question:

"mm! Do you know her? You two seemed pretty close", in the tone of her voice her curiosity was made apparent, especially since she distantly remembered seeing you in school.

"She's an old friend" answered Mark while not looking at her in the eyes.

"You don't need to lie, you know. We're not together anymore, I don't care that much about who she is to you"

"She's a childhood friend but we drove apart after I got my powers.."

"That sucks I guess", in all honesty it also sucked that Mark hadn't bought more of those addicting muffins.

"yeah, it does..."

Staring at Eve and Mark had made you nostalgic. You might or might not have tried nearly every bakery in the zone with him, you said "it's to perfect a recipe" each time, and while it was partially true, at some point it was just to spend even more time with Mark. Now, after retracing the events that occurred in the last fifteen minutes, you can't help but feel guilty about how you had handled it. It was Mark after all, why were you so closed off? So awkward?

(Didn't he know everything about you? Wasn't he the person who had seen nearly everything?)

With a sad look in your face you continued your shift alternating with your coworker between the kitchen and the counter, hoping that at least this was going to be a one time thing.

Except it wasn't.

Not only was Mark everywhere and trying to spark a conversation and following you throughout your errands ( you can't forget that time when you almost shit your pants after seeing his smiling face on the other side of the shelf with the canned beans after grabbing one). Not to mention that he had made it a daily occurrence to just drop at your workplace, he bought something and then sparked a conversation with you while laying with his arms on top of the glass counter that displayed your work. It's not like you truly minded his presence, but you still couldn't shake that feeling deep in your gut that made it difficult to look at him in the eyes. (The constant reminder of what had happened kind of made it impossible for you to act like you used to).

Mark was not entirely happy either about the arrangement (why weren't you hugging him? Touching him?)

Especially when you moved before he could even put a hand on your shoulder, when he could close the distance that kept you separated.

It was better than nothing anyway, considering your two year absence.

It was fun now that people once again, from the fact that Mark once again was everywhere in your life, mistook you for a couple. You never corrected them with a laugh, you were always uncomfortable by the supposition that the both of you could be more than old friends.

While his gaze had been only dazed and love sick when looking at you, he couldn't really say the same for you. Yes, he was a guy looking at you through pink coloured glasses, but that didn't mean that he didn't know when you were uncomfortable (a two year change was nothing compared to the fact he had known you your entire life). The worst was when you acted just like you did years ago to strangers, awkward and shy, not really knowing what to say, not even looking at him in the eyes sometimes.

It was just too much to bear.

He should have expected something like this, but it still hurt. It was frustrating, especially when he could have had it all now. So it's no wonder that he was a tiny bit more aggressive when fighting, it was not a surprise when he came out of battles a little bit more bloody than usual.

It wasn't a surprise when he answered coldly or in a passive aggressive way to the new hero who was clinging on to him all the time.

She called herself "Ladybug": she paraded around in a red and black polkadot skintight costume that was fitting due to her name, her (h/c) hair was half up in two small high pigtails while the rest was let loose, shaping her face in a cute way. Her eyes were as playful as the 'weapon' she used, which, by the way, was an indestructible yo-yo that also worked as a cellphone.

From the moment you had defeated a tricky villain with just a hair clip and then you had repaired all the damage and healed all the hurt civilians with your "miraculous ladybug", the GDA and all the heroes were sold. Cecil was so happy to have someone in his team like this that he let you have many privileges, including keeping your identity a secret, and even if each battle made him respect you even more, he was so jealous of you.

He had trained for so long and then you had dared to come along and defeat villains with freaking utensils, but not only that, no, you also fixed and healed everything and then you got the praise he wishes he had got when he had started.

It's selfish, really, especially when it's your fellow new coworker that you should support no matter what since being a hero was no easy task.

Nobody knew who you were under the mask, but each one of his hero friends/coworkers adored you. It felt oddly reminiscing to the times when everyone used to want [name] for group projects and he would laugh internally when you rejected each of their offers shily, saying that you were partnering with him to do the work. He remembers how smug he would look at the frowning faces of his previous classmates.

"I'm going to patrol with Mark tonight" you say, even if he never really agreed to it. (He never agreed with you and the GDA deciding that the both of you were now a package deal.)

At this, He always turned his head ever so slowly and found you looking at him with such heart melting devotion, it was almost sickening. (You're a really nice girl, but in his mind he is already married to his little soft baker. He is a loyal husband who doesn't need.. what do they call it? Ah, a "work-wife".)

He never really said no but you should have got the hint at this point, because why were you always all over him so casually? Your hands always found a place on his body, either straight up massaging his shoulders when you saw he was too tense or carding through his hair as you explained how you were going to handle the villains.

When you fought with gymnast like movements, swinging your yo-yo left and right, you always at some point ended up using his solid figure as some sort of rest from your acrobatics. One time you sat on his shoulders, another you used his extended arm as a surface to jump, other times you just kicked and punched villains while moving on his body. Your agility and fighting style was respectable, but this was crazy.

Fans, FANS, had started shipping the both of you, and the funniest thing? You laughed and showed him compromising fanart while just hugging his arm and pressing yourself against him.

He couldn't lie and say that the two of you didn't look good together, but him and [name] just looked so much better. (Is it too much to ask for his girl to stop avoiding him and sit on his lap? Why the hell are you doing that instead? The first time you had done it he had briefly froze and then he had pushed you off. Mind you, it was a freaking skyscraper.)

He didn't know how to handle you without blushing and snapping at you, he didn't know how to properly interact with your bold self without his pungent remarks and comments laced with frustration. The worst part? You responded to his attitude with your sassy one and then clung to him even harder, as if this could have magically changed the way he felt about you.

You were attractive and smart, and you reminded him an awful lot of [name], especially in your mannerism, but he was sick of settling for people who were similar to [name], and not [name]. (First Amber, then Eve and now you? No, no, he wanted the real deal to himself, not someone who just reminded him of [name].)

You never looked disappointed when he blatantly rejected your advances, no, you smiled and tried again. You never really got tired of playing around with him, of touching, nagging and pulling at his strings.

Because you liked a good chase and if you couldn't have Mark for yourself due to your pressing fears, at least you'd have his alter ego. (You had seen videos of Invincible on TubeYou, but seeing him in front of you with his chiselled body wrapped in latex made you weak in the knees.)

You got bolder and bolder each time, you were each time more shameless both in gestures and remarks. The battles were fun as long as you were assigned Invincible as your partner. (You try to avoid the desperate look in his eyes as you make your way to him, opting to avoid feeling bad from the fact that not even your superhero alter ego was able to woo him.)

You didn't care if he didn't like you yet, because you knew him. You knew that one day he would crumble and not push you away so roughly, but instead pull you in and give you the kiss of your life. (You're kind of scared of that day actually, because what if things get serious and he wants to know who you are? What do you do then? Run? Move to another country?)

("Aren't you forgetting something?" The blood from the weird creature was sticking all over him, his hair was disheveled and he just really needed to see you with that little short skirt and that cute apron. In your equally bloody suit, you were staring at him as he combed his fingers through his hair, with a light sheen of sweat on his face and a light, almost unnoticeable, blush on his face due to the intense physical performance. The way he had said the words was laced with irritation and impatience, but you didn't care as you hazily laid your hungry eyes on his figure.

"A kiss goodbye?" Your honey-like voice, which just so happened to sound like his [name] at times, caught him off guard.

"Are you brain-damaged? Your "miraculous ladybug!"

"oh, right! Yeah, I almost forgot", you pouted before throwing the item in the sky and saying the so famous words.)

Bye <3

I hope you guys enjoyed it, this will most likely have a part 2, especially if you guys would like it. Anyway, I'd really appreciate it if you gave your opinion or support on the fanfic, don't be shy to ask about the au, or about giving constructive criticism or signalling spelling mistakes. Honestly I just can't wait to write more for the Tumblr Invincible girlies since there's a criminally underrated amount of fanfics both here and on ao3 especially.

Update: part 2 is now available!

178 notes · View notes

auren-zagarra · 2 months ago

Text

Trey Clover: A Psychological Analysis

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Trey Clover, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation.

Trey Clover is portrayed as a calm, conscientious “big brother” figure. He is described on the wiki site as “mild-mannered” and essentially a parental figure for Heartslabyul’s students, often smoothing over conflicts caused by the strict leader Riddle Rosehearts. In personality terms he comes across as laid-back and agreeable. He carries out his vice-dorm-leader duties patiently – for example, a game scene shows him calmly checking on injured RSA students and apologizing for their attackers’ behavior (book 5, chapter 55). Under pressure Trey likes to think things through and have backup plans, which suggests high conscientiousness and composure. He generally avoids drawing attention, downplays achievements, and even hides his face when people make a fuss over him (Deuce’s Wish Upon a Star vignette). Altogether this profile matches a highly introverted, dutiful personality (analysts note he aligns with an ISFJ-type in MBTI: supportive, reliable, community-minded), with high Agreeableness and Conscientiousness in Big Five terms.

Despite this gentle exterior, Trey’s behavior also hints at underlying conflict: If pushed, Trey can flip to a surprisingly harsh side. A canonical example is his “sadistic front” when angry: after being injured, he threatened the whole dorm of Savanaclaw to suffer after he was injured by Ruggie. More generally, the profile notes he often has to “smooth things over” when Riddle “gets out of hand”, implying Trey suppresses frustration to keep the peace. In sum, Trey’s persona is one of a self-effacing caretaker – composed, thoughtful, and conflict-averse – with occasional flashes of hidden anger when his calm facade cracks.

Emotional Expression and Coping Mechanisms

Trey frequently suppresses his own emotions. In dialogue he rarely shows strong upset or excitement; like when peers mock an outfit he hides behind a pillar and quietly admits embarrassment. This indicates he is sensitive to others’ opinions and prone to anxiety about standing out. His low-key smile often masks stress, and he downplays praise. Psychologically, he embodies a “false self” in Winnicott’s sense: a compliant facade created to meet others’ expectations. Trey’s genial niceness is not always “genuine good will” but rather a strategy to keep life calm and conflict-free: As one source notes, he’ll help others mainly to avoid emergencies or because “he knows he’ll get something of equal value in return”. This suggests his amiability functions more as self-protection than pure altruism – a classic sign of a false-self coping style, where the individual’s own needs and spontaneity are subordinated to pleasing others.

When stress does break through, Trey handles it with careful control. He plans and rationalizes, rather than venting impulsively. For instance, during sports and club activities he calmly scouts for problems, and when the dorm’s reputation is at stake he quietly rises to the occasion just to not discredit them. In crises he often mediates or stays level-headed rather than lashing out. This suggests high-functioning anxiety: outwardly composed and dependable, but internally vigilant and anxious about outcomes. Evidence of inner anxiety appears in his backstory and behavior – he seems prone to worry about responsibility and avoids risk-taking. He even exemplifies classic caretaker burnout patterns: always tending to others’ needs while neglecting his own emotional expression.

Family Background and Upbringing

Trey’s childhood set the stage for his caretaker role. His family runs the Clover family bakery, Patisserie Clover, and he spent his youth working there with his younger siblings. As the oldest child, Trey routinely assumed a parental role, even ensuring his little siblings performed tasks like brushing their teeth nightly. These details show he was parentified early on – effectively serving as a co-parent in his own family. Clinically, this kind of parentification imposes heavy psychological costs on a child, as they shoulder adults’ responsibilities. In fact, research on parentified children notes that they often “incur a cost to their own psychic stability and development” when asked to care for others without reciprocity. Trey’s upbringing fits this pattern: he learned from childhood to prioritize others’ welfare (family and friends) above his own, shaping him into a natural caretaker.

This background influenced Trey’s personality. Growing up in a large family bakery likely made him responsible and service-oriented. His mastery of baking may stem from early training. However, constant caretaking may also have stunted his ability to express personal needs. For example, a childhood incident underscores this: when Trey and Che’nya got Riddle into trouble, Trey's family was heavily scolded for his irresponsibility. The canon notes this event was “extremely formative”, causing Trey lasting anxiety about responsibility. Thus from an early age, Trey learned to be cautious and to shoulder blame quietly. His emotional development was framed by these expectations – putting others first and avoiding conflict – contributing to his current habit of emotional suppression and self-restraint.

Interpersonal Dynamics

Trey’s relationship with Riddle is particularly telling. He supports Riddle’s strict rule-following but is more lenient and pragmatic. Officially, he “always backs up the overly-strict Riddle”, yet he tempers Riddle’s actions to preserve harmony. At the same time, Riddle’s authoritarian style likely reinforces Trey’s role: Trey steps in as mediator when Riddle’s justice feels too harsh. Trey’s childhood with Riddle also shows loyalty: he and Che’nya taught Riddle to play and even brought him to their bakery. However, when Riddle’s mother found out, Trey was blamed and remained cautious around Riddle thereafter. This may help explain why he rarely stands up to Riddle boldly: he’s anxious about upsetting authority or causing conflict, perhaps, even carrying some kind of guilt due the fact he was “responsible” for his punishment.

Outside his own dorm, Trey is polite and measured. For instance, when meeting unfamiliar students (even perplexed dwarves from another school), he asks respectful questions without judgment. He apologizes easily and tries to smooth over misunderstandings. However, his efforts to please can mask inner fatigue; he tends not to share his personal worries. In sum, Trey’s interpersonal style is the classic diplomat/caregiver: humble, service-oriented, avoiding conflict unless absolutely needed. He interacts warmly but with an undercurrent of maintaining boundaries – consistent with someone who grew up managing others’ emotions.

Psychological Analysis and Frameworks

Several psychological concepts illuminate Trey’s mindset. First, his use of a “false self” is evident: he presents a friendly, accommodating front to protect himself. As Winnicott noted, a false self “is created as a defensive facade” when one’s true needs are suppressed. Trey’s true feelings are often hidden behind politeness. For example, the Twisted Wonderland Wiki comments that Trey’s courteous nature is driven “less from genuine good will, and more from a desire to maintain peace”. This reflects false-self behavior — he adapts to others’ expectations to feel safe, at the expense of spontaneity. The risk of this pattern is feeling “dead and empty” under the facade, which may explain why Trey sometimes seems quietly disconnected. His background (high responsibilities, reprimands for mistakes) would encourage forming such a facade: as a child he had to comply with parents and guardians, building over him an identity of caretaker rather than his own independent self.

Looking at clinical traits, Trey shows signs of emotional suppression and possible dysthymic mood. He rarely expresses sadness or frustration in canon material, yet his imposed responsibilities and anxiety (from the bakery incident) imply chronic low-grade stress. Persistent mild depression (dysthymia) could underlie his even-keel exterior; he may feel a dull sadness or fatigue without overt despair. He also demonstrates alexithymic tendencies – difficulty identifying or expressing emotions. He habitually brushes things off with humor or logic. For instance, even when upset about something, he might make a joke rather than a complaint. His inability to openly articulate feelings is consistent with alexithymia, which often co-occurs with heavy caretaking (people with high emotional labor roles sometimes shut down their own emotions).

Another relevant concept is high-functioning anxiety. Trey is never depicted as erratic or panic-stricken; instead, he looks composed while likely feeling anxious internally. His habit of planning ahead (“having a backup plan”) and his visible discomfort with confrontation suggest ongoing mild anxiety. This pattern – capable and calm on the surface, but self-doubting and worried underneath – fits high-functioning anxiety, which often comes with people-pleasing (trait Trey exhibits).

Finally, Trey’s upbringing induced a parentification trauma dynamic. Trey’s life story matches this: his self-sacrifice and responsibility likely hindered exploring his own identity or desires. He still carries the habit of prioritizing family/dorm needs and may feel guilty if he considers acting on personal impulses. For example, we have seen Trey remark that he isn’t a top student and tends to do only what’s expected academically, perhaps because he was conditioned to focus on practical responsibilities (helping in bakery, caring for siblings) rather than personal ambition.

Signs of Repression and Subclinical Struggles

Trey’s profile hints at subtle mental health strains. He has never been diagnosed with any disorder in-canon, but his pattern suggests some subclinical issues. His pervasive cheerfulness is a form of masking; such people sometimes experience chronic inner tension or exhaustion. The “sadistic front” suggests he bottles anger until it erupts dramatically, which is a sign of long-term repression. His consistent fear of failure or upsetting others (as when he keeps Riddle in check to avoid a dorm scandal) shows he may be driven by anxiety about making mistakes. This fits a profile of someone who might suffer from persistent anxiety or mild depression if taken literally – akin to dysthymia or Generalized Anxiety Disorder, but not so severe as to be outwardly crippling. Instead, Trey appears adaptive: he’s developed coping skills to function normally (even excel in time of need), hence he could be described as “high-functioning anxious”.

In terms of identity, Trey may experience a slight diffusion. He defines himself largely through roles – “Big Brother,” “Vice-Dorm Leader,” “bakery helper” – rather than through personal passions or uniqueness. The false-self construct implies he might not be fully aware of his own independent feelings. However, he does have personal interests (like science club and baking skills), which he keeps somewhat hidden. There is no clear evidence of deeper identity confusion (as one might see in adolescence), but the emphasis on duty over self hints that Trey’s personal identity might be somewhat underdeveloped. He seems content staying within his supportive role, which could indicate he never forged a strong separate identity outside his family/dorm contexts.

Symptoms: Excessive worry, perfectionism, over-preparation, people-pleasing, difficulty relaxing despite appearing calm.

Summary of Possible Diagnoses or Subclinical Conditions

High-Functioning Anxiety (Speculative)

Supporting Traits: Constant responsibility, conflict avoidance, calm facade under pressure.

Persistent Depressive Disorder (Dysthymia – Subclinical)

Symptoms: Low-grade, chronic depressive mood, emotional blunting, fatigue, feelings of inadequacy.

Supporting Traits: Downplaying his own needs, low emotional expressiveness, subtle signs of inner exhaustion.

Alexithymia (Emotion Suppression)

Symptoms: Difficulty identifying and expressing emotions, over-reliance on logic or routines.

Supporting Traits: Rarely displays strong emotion, masks discomfort with humor or rationality.

Parentification Trauma (Role-Based Stress Response)

Not a formal DSM diagnosis, but recognized in clinical psychology as a developmental issue.

Symptoms: Taking on adult responsibilities too early, chronic guilt, neglect of self-needs, caretaking behavior.

Supporting Traits: Oldest sibling role, caring for younger siblings, acting as mediator in dorm.

False Self Syndrome (Based on Winnicott’s Theory)

Not a formal diagnosis, but a psychoanalytic concept.

Symptoms: Chronic compliance, emotional detachment, masking true self to gain acceptance.

Supporting Traits: Trey often does things to keep peace, not necessarily from genuine joy or self-interest.

Avoidant Personality Features (Mild)

Symptoms: Social inhibition, low self-esteem, avoidance of attention or conflict.

Supporting Traits: Shyness about being complimented, discomfort with spotlight, preference for staying in the background.

#trey #trey clover #twst #twisted wonderland #character analysis #trey character analysis #trey clover character analysis #twst character analysis #twisted wonderland character analysis #psychology #twst psychology #trey clover psychology #trey x reader #trey clover x reader

159 notes · View notes

lov3lycosmos · 2 months ago

Text

"𝑹𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓" 𝑨 𝑯𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒋𝒐𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 💐⋆.ೃ࿔*: 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 1

Chapter Genre: this chapter consists of fluff!

Synopsis: You’re a freelance artist struggling to pay bills when your best friend signs you up (without asking) for a new dating app service: Rent-A-Date — where people can 'rent' a pretend lover for weddings, events, holidays, etc. You’re furious... until your first renter is Hongjoong — a charismatic, mischievous guy who hired you to be his fake girlfriend for an important family event.

Wc. 10k

💌: this is the first chapter of my new hongjoong series, this series consists of fluff, smut, and a bit of angst! Comment if you'd like to be added to the taglist! (Sorry about the multiple timeskips!)

Series Masterlist 🌷 My Library🌷 (NOT PROOFREAD! LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE ANY HUGE ERRORS)

The worst part wasn’t that you were broke.

The worst part was that you were broke and getting fake-hired as someone’s girlfriend on an app you’d never even signed up for.

Your phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter, the screen lighting up with a notification that might as well have been handwritten by the devil himself.

“Your Rent-A-Date profile is LIVE! Clients are browsing now.”

Brows furrowed, you stepped toward it as though it might explode. Rent-A-what?

It only got worse from there.

On the screen, your face stared back — slightly crooked smile, the subtle remnants of glitter under your eyes from that party last winter, and a caption underneath that made your soul leave your body:

Freelance artist. Introvert with a bold streak. Great with parents. Can fake-laugh at bad jokes.

Underneath: Best friend submitted profile.

You made a strangled noise, your mouth falling open in shock.

“No. Nope. No, no—”

Your fingers flew across the screen, unlocking the app with shaking hands, heart pounding like you were about to be sentenced to death. It was sleek — all pastel pinks and lavender swirls, with soft music playing in the background, like this was some dreamy, magical matchmaking world instead of… whatever hell this was.

Rent-A-Date, the bold bubbly font read. Need a plus one? A pretend partner? Someone to survive a wedding or win your ex’s jealousy? Rent your perfect fake partner today!

You stared blankly at the screen, processing the absurdity of it all.

There were five glowing stars next to your profile — five glowing stars. Had someone actually rated you?

And there, sitting like a neon sign mocking your existence, was a pending request.

Your jaw dropped.

“Pending—? Someone actually booked me?”

And there it was. The job you didn’t ask for, the nightmare you didn’t sign up for:

Client Request: Kim Hongjoong

Event: Cousin’s engagement party (family present)

Dates: Friday–Sunday (includes hotel accommodations, transportation provided)

Role: Girlfriend (must be convincing)

Rate: $1,200 + bonuses for realism and extended stays

Your eye twitched. You couldn’t even form words. Was this a joke?

You hit call, but your heart was already sinking.

The line clicked twice before the bright, chaotic voice of your best friend — the only person in your life you would actively consider murdering — answered.

“Helloooo, newly employed fake girlfriend!”

“You have five seconds to explain before I call the cops.”

“Oh, come on! I did you a favor!” your friend laughed, entirely too pleased with herself. “I saw the app and immediately thought, you know who needs cash and has serious girlfriend material? My best friend.”

“You submitted my face,” you snapped, pacing the length of the kitchen, your mind spinning. “You put my photo and name on a dating-for-hire app without even telling me.”

“Technically, they ask for consent when you log in. Which you did. Yesterday.”

“I thought it was for art commissions!” you barked, incredulous.

Silence.

“Okay, that’s on me,” your friend admitted, sounding far too calm. “But still. It’s a brilliant idea. You need money. And now you’ve got a high-paying gig with a really hot guy. A rich, hot guy. I mean, hello?”

“I don’t want to fake-date anyone’s rich ass,” you hissed, slumping onto the couch and dragging your knees up to your chest. “I want to make rent without being someone’s trophy girlfriend for the weekend.”

“Well, it’s not like you have to actually do anything,” your friend said, almost too cheerfully. “You smile, hold his hand, make his grandma think you’re dating. It’s not illegal. It’s barely even acting.”

“It’s completely humiliating,” you muttered, dragging a hand over your face.

“It’s twelve hundred dollars,” your friend corrected, voice syrupy and teasing. “Plus bonuses. You could buy, like, actual groceries. A new stylus. Coffee that doesn’t taste like burnt tears. That doesn’t sound like humiliation, does it?”

“I hate you.”

“You’ll love me by Sunday,” she promised in a sing-song voice. “You always do.”

You were quiet for a long moment, staring at the booking details again, biting the inside of your cheek like you could physically will the words to vanish from the screen.

Rent-A-Date.

Kim Hongjoong.

Fake girlfriend.

Twelve hundred dollars.

You groaned, dropping your head back against the cushion like you were suddenly too tired for this.

“What’s his deal anyway?” you asked, defeated.

“Oh my god, I’m so glad you asked,” your friend said, her voice going all excited and dramatic.

There was a flurry of rapid typing. The next thing you knew, she gasped like she’d discovered the Holy Grail.

“Okay, so… he’s a creative director at a music label — don’t ask me which one, he’s secretive. Really artsy, kind of cocky, but in a flirty way. Think charming menace but, like, the good kind of menace? His Instagram looks like an indie fashion magazine. Anyway, he apparently needs a girlfriend for a big family weekend or his aunt will set him up with someone again. He’s desperate. And picky. But he picked you.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered dryly.

“I saw a picture of him. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s your type.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“You do, and it’s mischievous jawlines with too many rings.”

You groaned and collapsed back against the couch, eyes drifting shut for a moment. Mischievous jawlines with too many rings.

Your friend’s voice continued, syrupy sweet. “Just meet him. One coffee date to discuss the job. You don’t have to sign your soul away — just feel it out. You know, for the sake of... potential true love.”

“You already confirmed the request, didn’t you?”

“…I sure did.”

“I actually hate you.”

“Love you too,” she chirped. “Wear something flirty, but not desperate. First impressions matter. Especially with future soulmates.”

She hung up before you could scream.

An hour later, you sat in front of your mirror, glaring at your reflection.

This was not a date. It was a fake job interview for a fake relationship that you didn’t even want.

And yet… you’d changed outfits three times.

You settled on something casual but cute — a dark cardigan over a tank top, jeans with just the right amount of “I’m not trying too hard,” and your favorite boots. Just enough to feel put together. Not enough to look like you cared.

Which you didn’t.

Definitely.

Outside, the sun was just starting to fall behind the buildings as you walked toward the café where the meeting was scheduled. Your hands were cold in your sleeves. A fall breeze rolled down the street, biting but kind of refreshing. You tried not to think about what was waiting on the other side of the glass.

Just coffee. Just business.

Just pretending to be someone’s girlfriend for a weekend.

Totally normal.

The café was warm, a soft, amber glow of lights spilling across the worn wood floors and faded brick walls. Indie music floated lazily through the speakers, mellow tunes with gentle guitar strums and mellow percussion, creating a cozy cocoon around you. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans mixed with the faint sweetness of baked goods. You scanned the room, looking for your supposed "client," half-expecting some unremarkable office-type with a clipboard or a disinterested phone-call kind of guy.

That was, until your eyes locked with his.

A guy in a black beanie, seated by the window, caught your gaze. There was something magnetic about him — the sharpness in his eyes, a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips. His rings caught the light, gleaming as he turned his head to meet you, a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.

Before you even had a chance to blink, he was standing up. His movement was fluid, confident, the kind of natural grace that only comes with years of practice — like he'd done this a thousand times before.

"Hey," he said, his voice low and effortless, the smirk never fading. "You must be the storm I hired."

Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion washing over you.

He chuckled at your reaction, not waiting for a reply before he reached out a hand. "Kim Hongjoong. And you must be the reluctant fake girlfriend who didn’t sign up for this."

His gaze didn’t waver as you hesitated, sizing him up. For a moment, all you could do was stare at his hand, his skin warm against yours when you finally took it, shaking it with caution. His grip was firm, steady — not the kind that you’d expect from someone trying to fake their way through a situation.

You blinked a few times, trying to shake off the strange feeling crawling up your spine. The fact that he was already throwing out lines like that had you on edge. You slid into the seat across from him, trying not to think about how annoyingly attractive he was. His jawline was sharp, like it could cut glass, and his earrings sparkled under the dim lighting. His eyes, though — they weren’t just looking at you like he was sizing you up. They were focused. Interested. Like he could see right through the fake smiles and the exterior you’d perfected.

"So," he began, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table, fingers playing with the edge of his coffee cup. The soft clink of his rings against the porcelain broke the otherwise quiet space. “How fake are you willing to go?"

You blinked, thrown off by the question. You weren't sure if you should laugh, be offended, or just leave. "Excuse me?" you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

"I mean," he continued smoothly, his smirk never wavering, "are we just holding hands and laughing at my jokes, or are we doing the whole rom-com experience? You know — fake dates, accidental kisses, spontaneous declarations of love?"

You narrowed your eyes, unsure how to respond. "I don’t… do rom-coms," you said, shaking your head, already regretting the words. This was going to be a disaster, wasn’t it?

He leaned back in his chair, his grin never fading, and shot you a playful shrug. "Shame," he said, almost wistfully, like it was a personal loss. "You’ve definitely got that main character energy."

Your eyes narrowed even further. "Are you always like this?"

"Only with people I pay," he said with a wink, voice dripping with teasing arrogance.

For some reason, you almost fought a smile. Almost. But you couldn’t let him get the satisfaction.

"I’m not kissing you," you said bluntly, letting the words land with as much finality as you could muster.

"Noted." He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. In fact, he just gave you that infuriatingly confident grin. "Unless it’s, you know, absolutely necessary."

"It won’t be," you retorted firmly.

"Still noted," he replied casually, like he’d just made a mental note in a list of things he would absolutely ignore later.

You sighed, sinking back into your chair, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of control in this situation that was already starting to spin out of your hands. "Why not hire someone who actually wants to do this?" you asked, genuinely curious. Maybe you’d get a straightforward answer.

"I did," he said, his voice smooth, confident, almost mocking. "You just didn’t know it yet."

Your mouth opened, then closed, your mind reeling at the implications. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, unsure how to respond to that. The nerve of this guy. The audacity.

Okay — fine. Maybe he was charming. In an infuriating, smug, weirdly endearing way. The kind of guy who could easily win people over without even trying. The kind of guy who could lie to your face and make you feel like he was telling the truth.

And the thing that made it worse? He didn’t feel fake. Not yet. That was the most dangerous part.

There were few things more awkward than standing in your living room while a man you barely knew scrutinized you, sizing you up like you were a piece of fragile glass. Then, he hit you with the bombshell: “So… how do you feel about PDA?”

Your posture stiffened instinctively, arms folding across your chest, a small, incredulous laugh escaping your lips. “Uh, we haven’t even fake-hugged yet, and you’re already jumping to PDA?”

Hongjoong, unfazed, smiled like he had just asked you the most natural thing in the world. “I just want to know your boundaries. We’ll be around my extended family in Busan for two days. They’re nosy, affectionate, and they love to assume things. If we act like two bricks sitting next to each other, they’ll know something’s up.”

You exhaled sharply, suddenly feeling like the walls of your tiny apartment were closing in around you, like the air itself was thick with an unspoken tension. This was why he had asked you over tonight — “rehearsal,” as he had called it. His idea of preparing you for the whirlwind that was meeting his family, and it felt weirdly intimate, even though it was fake.

“Okay,” you muttered, forcing a smile as you adjusted the hem of your shirt nervously. “Where do we start?”

Hongjoong stepped closer, just a foot away now, but not enough to touch. “Let’s begin with hugs.”

You blinked, staring at him. “You’re serious?”

He tilted his head, expression playful. “What, you think I’m gonna take my fake girlfriend to meet my grandma without at least practicing one solid hello hug?”

He had a point. But it still didn’t make it any less weird.

You sighed and nodded, taking a step back to adjust your posture. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

The first attempt was painfully awkward. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your arms hovered uncertainly in the air, while Hongjoong stepped in, wrapping his arms around you loosely in what could only be described as a half-hearted attempt. It felt like a third-grade slow dance — stiff and uncomfortable, with no rhythm.

As soon as you pulled away, both of you muttered in unison, “That was horrible.”

And then, you both burst into laughter, the tension breaking for a moment. Hongjoong waved his hand, signaling for a redo.

“Okay, again,” he said, clearly amused. “This time, just… let it happen. Don’t overthink it.”

Easier said than done. You closed your eyes for a brief second, steeling yourself to try again. This time, his arms wrapped around your waist, firmer but not too tight. You cautiously looped your own arms around his shoulders, feeling the heat of his body close to yours. His scent — something warm and woody, with a subtle sweetness — lingered in the air, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

The contact was… not terrible. Not as bad as you had expected, at least.

“Better,” he murmured, voice muffled slightly by your hair, the sound of his words sending a ripple through your chest. You pulled away quickly, feeling an unbidden warmth creep up your neck.

“Yeah. That was… fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze.

His grin was wide, clearly amused. “You were blushing.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your discomfort. “Shut up.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you flirting with me right now? During boyfriend bootcamp?”

Hongjoong’s eyes danced with playful mischief. “Nope. This is fake affection practice. Totally professional.”

Groaning, you flopped back onto the couch, the pillow beneath you soft and a little too warm. “You’re gonna make this harder, aren’t you?”

He joined you, sitting just close enough that your knees brushed together. “Probably.”

The next module was “how to sit together in public,” or, according to Hongjoong, the “let’s make people believe we’re actually dating” training. He scooted in next to you, close enough that your shoulders were brushing, and his knee bumped against yours.

“This okay?” he asked casually, as if he were asking if you liked the weather.

You hummed noncommittally. The proximity made you feel oddly self-conscious. It wasn’t just the fact that he was close, but the fact that you barely knew him — and now you were supposed to pretend to be a couple? Your body felt stiff under the weight of his presence.

“Should I back off?” he asked, eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine.”

His lips curled into a soft smile, then he relaxed slightly, slouching a little as if making himself more comfortable. “Now we’re just chilling at a friend’s party,” he continued, his voice smooth. “You’re tired, and I’m rubbing your back or something. What would you do?”

You turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “Rub my back?”

He chuckled at your reaction. “Not like that,” he corrected, laughing again. “Just like… comforting.” He placed his palm gently on your upper back, his thumb lazily making slow circles. “Comfort.”

Okay. You hadn’t expected that. The motion was gentle, deliberate, and for a moment, you almost forgot it was all part of the “practice.” His touch, while casual, sent a small shiver down your spine. It was surprisingly relaxing, the way his thumb glided slowly across the back of your neck. Until you realized how still the room had become, how aware you were of every little movement, every little shift in his hand.

You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to focus on anything else but the warmth of his hand. “This is weird.”

“You’re stiff,” he pointed out, his voice light but knowing.

“No, I’m not,” you muttered, trying to stay relaxed.

“You’re sitting like I’ve got a knife to your back,” he teased.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Sorry if I’m not used to strangers petting me.”

His smile softened, gaze growing a little warmer. “We’re not strangers anymore, though. Are we?”

You froze, unsure how to respond. You’d known him for less than a week, but in that time, you’d learned things about him — his family dynamics, his quirks, the things he liked and didn’t like. And now, here he was, sitting on your couch, touching you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…I guess not,” you said, your voice softer now.

The next lesson came unexpectedly — hand holding. You reached for your water, but before you could take a sip, Hongjoong’s hand slid into yours, his fingers curling around yours without warning.

You froze, looking down at your joined hands. “What are you doing?”

He smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Pretending we’re walking down the beach at sunset,” he said smoothly. “You look at me with those big heart eyes, and you say, ‘Oppa, I’ve never felt this way before.’”

You snorted in disbelief, feeling your face flush as you tried to pull your hand away. “You are the worst.”

He just laughed, eyes twinkling. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. Hold it like you mean it.”

With a sigh, you adjusted your grip, curling your fingers tighter around his. His hand was warm, his skin rough in a way that felt solid and grounded, and his thumb brushed gently against your knuckle. You refused to look at him, focusing instead on the sensation of his hand in yours, trying to push away the feeling of heat rising to your cheeks.

“You’re blushing again,” he commented quietly.

“You say that like it’s a surprise,” you shot back, though the words felt weak compared to the sudden rush of warmth that spread across your skin.

With a soft chuckle, he released your hand, and for a moment, you missed the contact more than you expected.

“I like flustering you,” he said, standing to stretch, his voice low and teasing. “It’s fun.”

You threw a pillow at him. He ducked, laughing all the while.

Later that night, when things had quieted down, Hongjoong’s expression shifted, becoming more serious.

“There’s one more thing we should go over,” he said, his voice unexpectedly soft.

You were curled on the edge of the couch, sipping tea, trying to ground yourself after the whirlwind of practice you’d just gone through. “What now? Practice baby talk?”

He chuckled at the idea, walking over to sit beside you again. “No. Kissing.”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Excuse me?!”

“Fake kissing,” he clarified quickly, sitting just a little too close again. “We don’t have to. But if someone asks us to kiss — or we get pushed into one — we should know how to handle it.”

Your throat felt dry. “I—I don’t know, Hongjoong…”

“We won’t do it unless you’re okay with it,” he added gently, the serious tone in his voice making you pause. “We can stop the second it feels too much.”

You found yourself looking down at your hands, unsure. The idea of kissing someone for “practice” was a lot harder to swallow than you’d thought. But some part of you was curious. What would it feel like? Would it be as fake as this entire arrangement, or would it be something more?

“…Maybe we just pretend.”

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Pretend to pretend?” he teased. But there was no push, no pressure in his tone.

He leaned in slowly, eyes never leaving yours. His gaze was soft, lips slightly parted, and for a moment, everything around you fell away. He was close — close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin, smell the same warm scent that seemed to follow him around. His presence was overwhelming, and your heart began to race.

You didn’t move. Not until the last possible second, when panic shot through your chest like a warning bell. You turned your head abruptly, flinching away. “I—I can’t.”

He stopped immediately, pulling back, his expression softening.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm and understanding. “It’s okay.”

You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the words “I’m sorry” slipping out before you could stop them. You were embarrassed. More than that, you were overwhelmed by the whole situation.

“Don’t be,” he said gently, his voice quiet. “That’s the whole point of practice, right? We figure out what works and what doesn’t.”

You nodded, feeling the heat in your chest slowly fade. His smile was soft, almost reassuring. “We’ll skip that part. For now.”

His gaze lingered on you for just a moment too long, and in that look, something unspoken passed between you.

You didn’t know what was happening between you two. But you knew one thing for sure — pretending was starting to feel a whole lot more real than you had expected.

Packing for a wedding was already stressful. Packing for a wedding where you had to fake-date your mildly infuriatingly attractive pretend boyfriend? Next level.

You sat cross-legged on your bed, surrounded by piles of rejected outfit combos. Dresses too plain, dresses too tight, shoes too high, shoes too boring — nothing felt right. The pressure of being arm-in-arm with someone as effortlessly cool as Hongjoong made every outfit feel like a potential disaster. He was always so composed, his style sharp and effortless, like he’d been born with a natural flair for making everything he wore look like it came from a high-end magazine. And here you were, tangled in fabric, unsure of how to match his vibe, or worse, how to stand next to him without looking like you didn’t belong.

You weren’t dressing for him, of course. Not really.

Just for the relatives. The photos. The illusion. The act. But no matter how much you told yourself it didn’t matter, your heart still fluttered when his name flashed across your phone. His message read: “Be there in 10 to help pack. Don’t panic.” You couldn’t help it — your chest tightened in that familiar way it always did when you saw his name. The fluttery feeling you’d sworn wasn’t there took hold again, and you found yourself lying down on the bed for a moment, trying to shake it off.

“Professional,” you whispered to yourself. “This is strictly professional.”

You almost believed it. Almost.

Hongjoong showed up exactly ten minutes later, as promised. He stepped into your room, and his gaze immediately swept over the chaotic scene of clothes and half-packed bags scattered across your bed and floor. The way his eyes narrowed slightly, that trademark half-amused, half-exasperated expression on his face, only made him look more... irritatingly perfect.

“Wow,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You really weren’t joking.”

“I hate you,” you muttered, still tangled in a particularly troublesome dress that refused to hang right.

He grinned, taking his time walking over and flopping down on the bed beside you, knocking a few items to the floor in the process. “You love me.”

“Fake love,” you shot back, throwing a crumpled shirt at him in frustration.

“Love is love,” he said nonchalantly, like he had all the time in the world to indulge in this ridiculous charade. He kicked his feet up, completely at ease, as if he weren’t in the middle of your personal chaos. “Alright, what’s the crisis?”

You threw your hands up in frustration, gesturing to the sea of rejected outfits that seemed to mock you. “Nothing fits the vibe. I don’t know how to look like someone you’d date.”

He didn’t respond immediately, the usual teasing grin replaced with a quiet contemplation. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and you couldn’t tell if he was focusing on your clothes or what you’d just said.

“…What does that mean?” he asked, his voice softer than you expected.

You looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes. “You’re just — cool. Sharp. Confident. I don’t look like I belong next to you in photos.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face with a seriousness that made your heart beat faster. “Hey,” he said, the usual playfulness gone from his voice. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful. And anyone would be lucky to be seen next to you.”

The sincerity in his tone stopped you dead in your tracks. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe. You stared at him, trying to find something — anything — to respond with, but your words caught in your throat.

“…You’re just saying that because we’re in character,” you managed to say, your voice quieter than usual.

“No,” he replied, his gaze unwavering. “I’m saying that as me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you. It was like a sudden shift in the dynamic, something that caught you off guard and left you feeling exposed, like he’d just taken the mask off and let you see the person behind the act. And you didn’t know how to handle it.

Before you could say anything else, he waved it off, his usual easygoing demeanor slipping back into place. “Alright, let’s get back to the task at hand. What do you want to try next?”

You blinked, unsure of what just happened. But you nodded, forcing yourself to focus on the mission at hand.

You reached for the nearest dress, holding it up for his inspection — a soft, pastel wrap dress with flutter sleeves and a modest neckline. It was pretty, sure, but simple. Maybe too simple. It screamed “safe” more than “stylish.”

Hongjoong tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the dress before he gave a casual nod. “Cute. Very girl-next-door. I like it.”

You frowned. “Too safe?”

“Depends,” he said, leaning back against the bed. “What do you want to say with your look? ‘Don’t look at me, I’m taken’? Or ‘Yes, he did pull someone this hot, and no, you can’t have me’?”

Your lips curled in a smile despite yourself. “I want to say, ‘This is a lie, but I refuse to look bad doing it.’”

Hongjoong burst out laughing, catching a sweater you had thrown at him without even trying. “In that case, try the black one.”

You narrowed your eyes, already dreading the suggestion. “The tight one?”

“It’s elegant,” he said with a grin. “And it’ll match my suit. Coordination is key, babe.”

You grimaced. “Don’t call me babe.”

“Sorry. Sweetheart?” he offered, giving you a playful wink.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” you muttered, grabbing the offending dress and heading to the bathroom.

You slipped into the black dress he’d suggested — sleek, off-the-shoulder, hugging your curves in all the right ways without feeling overly revealing. The fabric felt like confidence itself as it skimmed over your body, making you stand a little taller, feel a little stronger. You stared at yourself in the mirror for a long moment, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirl inside you. The dress made you feel like a different version of yourself — the one who didn’t second-guess her choices, the one who knew how to own a room.

You stepped out of the bathroom slowly, your pulse quickening as you saw him lounging on the bed, his phone in hand. But when he looked up and saw you, everything shifted. His eyes moved over you, slowly, deliberately — from your collarbone to the hem of your dress and back up again, as if he was trying to memorize every detail. His expression was unreadable at first, but then something changed. His mouth parted, his posture shifted as he sat up straighter, his eyes locked onto yours.

“…Whoa,” he breathed out, his voice low and surprised.

You swallowed, nervous. “Too much?”

“No,” he said quickly, his tone serious for the first time. “Perfect.”

You couldn’t tell if he was still in character or if this was the real Hongjoong, but the way he was looking at you made your heart race. There was something raw in his gaze, something intense that you hadn’t expected. The air between you thickened, and you couldn’t look away.

He stepped closer, his hand reaching for your shoulder to adjust a stray wrinkle in the strap of your dress, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. “You’re gonna make everyone jealous,” he said, his voice a little rougher than before.

You glanced up at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Of me? Or you?”

His lips curled into a slow, teasing smile, but there was something else in his eyes now — something darker. “Both.”

The tension between you two was palpable, and you felt yourself being drawn in, as if his gaze alone had the power to pull you closer. Your heart raced again, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the thrill of the moment or something else entirely.

You turned quickly, pretending to look through your suitcase for shoes to break the heavy silence. “Heels. Somewhere,” you muttered, hoping the sudden change in focus would settle your racing thoughts.

“Want me to help you try them on, Cinderella?” he asked, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

You threw a shoe at him, but he dodged it with ease, the same smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

An hour later, the room was finally organized. Your suitcase was packed, everything was in its place, and you were standing in front of the mirror, brushing your teeth while Hongjoong stood behind you, effortlessly fixing his hair as if this were just another casual hangout.

You spat into the sink, glancing at him in the mirror. “You’re really comfortable here.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, glancing at his reflection. “You’ve got good lighting.”

“…You ever fake-date someone before?”

He paused, looking at you through the reflection. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He met your gaze directly, his eyes softening just a little. “You’re my first.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn’t tell if he was being serious, but the way he said it felt too real, too personal. You didn’t have time to process it, though, because he quickly added, “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be a great fake boyfriend.”

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You’re kind of annoying.”

He smirked, crossing his arms. “You love it.”

“…Fake love it.”

He turned to face you fully, his playful expression slipping away to be replaced by something quieter, more earnest.

“Listen,” he said, his voice suddenly low and steady. “Just so we’re clear — you get overwhelmed, uncomfortable, need a break — you tell me. I don’t care if we’re mid-toast at the reception. I’ll make an excuse, and we’ll leave.”

You stared at him, the seriousness of his words settling into your chest like a weight you hadn’t expected. That wasn’t playful Hongjoong. That was the real him, the one who cared.

“…Okay,” you said, your voice softening. “Same to you.”

His smile was different this time — softer, more genuine. “We’re a team.”

You nodded, the word settling in your mind. Team. It felt safe. It felt like something you could handle. Even if it didn’t explain why your pulse still spiked every time he looked at you like that.

After what felt like a grueling 14-hour flight, followed by a 25-minute drive that felt even longer, the car finally came to a stop in front of a picturesque two-story house nestled between towering pine trees and neatly manicured white garden walls. The home had a quaint, traditional charm—nothing overly extravagant, but there was a warmth to it, a sense of being well-loved and well-kept. The front yard was immaculate, with smooth stepping stones winding up to a wooden gate that looked like it belonged in some old fairytale. The quiet serenity of the place almost seemed intimidating—like it had its own life, its own pulse.

You shifted in the backseat, your stiff legs protesting after the long flight, and a slight buzz of jet lag making everything feel a little hazy. All you wanted was to collapse into a soft bed and let the world fade away for a while. But as the car slowly rolled to a stop, you forced yourself to sit up straighter, adjusting your coat tighter around your frame, feeling your nerves kick in. This was it—the first time you were about to meet Hongjoong's parents, and your heart was a chaotic mix of excitement and dread.

"You okay?" Hongjoong asked from beside you, his voice carrying a soft concern. His eyes, dark and full of that easy charm you were still getting used to, studied you intently.

You nodded, offering a small, tight-lipped smile. "Just nervous. This is the first 'fake girlfriend meets the parents' I've ever done."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "Same here."

You gave him a sideways glance, raising a brow. "You mean to tell me you haven't had a dozen girlfriends fly across the country for you before?"

His grin widened. "Nope. Just one very lucky artist."

You rolled your eyes, but a soft laugh escaped your lips. His playful banter was a welcome distraction, helping to ease the tension in your chest—just a little.

The door opened, and a cool rush of coastal air greeted you, sharp and refreshing. Hongjoong stepped out first, stretching his long frame, his dark hair falling just right, effortlessly messy. He looked at you, an amused glint in his eyes, before offering you his hand. It was warm and steady, his grip reassuring as he helped you out of the car.

You glanced up at the house one last time before following him toward the front door, which had already opened. And there she was—Hongjoong's mom—a whirlwind of energy, a bright smile lighting up her face as she rushed toward him. Her apron was still tied around her waist, her hair clipped back in a messy bun that only added to her effortless charm. She practically tackled Hongjoong into a hug, knocking the air from his lungs, and for a split second, you couldn’t help but smile at how at home he looked in her embrace.

"Joongie!" she squealed, her voice high-pitched but filled with so much love. You stood back, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of awe and slight anxiety.

Hongjoong returned the hug, laughing softly as he ruffled her hair. "Mom!"

Then a taller figure appeared at the door. His father—more reserved, but you could still see the warmth in his eyes. He nodded at you, his greeting short but genuine. "Son."

"Hey, Dad," Hongjoong responded with a quick bow, showing respect, then pulling him into a hug, brief but filled with familiarity.

And then his mom turned to you, her eyes wide with obvious excitement. "You must be the girlfriend! Oh, you’re even prettier than the photos!"

For a second, everything inside you froze. Smile, you reminded yourself. Smile, even though you could feel your heart racing in your chest, your palms suddenly clammy.

You stepped forward, bowing slightly out of respect. "Thank you so much for having me. It’s so nice to meet you both."

Before you could finish your sentence, Hongjoong's mom was pulling you into a hug, her warmth engulfing you in the most welcoming way. "You must be tired, dear! Come in, come in. I made yubu chobap just in case you two were hungry."

You exchanged a quick look with Hongjoong, who gave you a subtle thumbs-up behind his mom's back. You smiled faintly, appreciating the small gesture of support as you followed them inside.

The house was everything you'd expected—warm and inviting, with polished wood floors and soft rugs underfoot. The walls were decorated with family photos—so many memories of a life well-lived. Your eyes caught a few pictures of Hongjoong as a teenager—awkward, yet endearing in his younger years. One photo showed him at graduation, and another had him grinning widely with bleach-blonde hair, looking like he’d just cracked a joke. It was odd, in the most comforting way, to see him like that, so human, so... real.

His mom led you upstairs to a guest room on the second floor. "You two will be staying here," she said with a smile, like she was inviting you to stay for a cup of tea rather than a few days.

You nodded, giving her a grateful smile. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, the weight of everything—the travel, the nerves, the situation—finally hit you. You collapsed onto the bed, face-first into the soft pillows.

"She hugged me," you groaned, voice muffled into the fabric. "Like, full-on hugged me."

Hongjoong laughed, his voice light as he rummaged through his carry-on bag. "That means she likes you."

"I swear, she’s got enough energy to power the whole neighborhood," you muttered, still half-buried in the pillows.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, tossing you your charger before flopping down onto the bed next to you. "You get used to it."

You sat up slowly, running your fingers through your hair. "She thinks we’re really dating," you said, the words feeling surreal as they left your lips. "That’s... wild."

"We are, remember?" Hongjoong said, his voice teasing as he shot you a wink.

You rolled your eyes and, without thinking, grabbed a pillow from the bed and tossed it at him. He caught it easily, grinning all the while.

A few hours later, the house was buzzing with energy. The sound of voices and laughter filtered through the walls, and you could hear the clinking of pots and pans from the kitchen. Family members continued to trickle in, and you could sense the excitement building in the air. Tonight wasn’t just about meeting the parents—it was a pre-ceremony gathering for a wedding, a celebration that was already setting the tone for the days to come.

You stood in front of your suitcase, staring at the dress you’d brought for the occasion—simple, elegant, yet undeniably flattering. The same black dress you’d worn earlier. It felt more real now than it ever had before.

You were mid-way through changing when a knock tapped lightly at your door.

"Yeah?"

"It’s me," Hongjoong’s voice came through, soft but deliberate. "Need help with your zipper?"

You hesitated for a split second. Then, almost instinctively, you replied, "...Yes, actually."

The door opened a second later, and there he was—Hongjoong, looking impossibly good for someone who’d spent the past half-day in airports and airplanes. His white button-down shirt was tucked in neatly, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal the strong muscles of his forearms. A simple chain hung from his neck, and he looked every bit the man who had his life together—something you were still trying to figure out.

He stopped when he saw you, his gaze trailing over the way the dress hugged your frame. There was a moment of complete silence—heavy, charged—before he stepped closer, his fingers brushing the zipper of your dress with careful precision.

"You look beautiful," he said softly, his voice low, just for you.

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. You met his gaze in the mirror, a quiet heat spreading between you.

"Thanks," you murmured, heart skipping a beat. The way his eyes softened when they met yours—it was hard to ignore.

He adjusted the strap of your dress on your shoulder, his fingers grazing your skin in a way that made your breath hitch slightly. Then he stepped back, clearing his throat, as though trying to push away whatever unspoken tension had settled between you.

"Ready to make our grand entrance?" he asked, his usual easy confidence returning.

You nodded, your nerves creeping back in, but this time, you were a little less scared. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Downstairs, the house was already alive with people. Aunts and uncles chatting, cousins catching up, a sea of familiar faces all eager to meet you. Their laughter and conversation created a comforting hum in the air, but even with all the noise, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being on display. Everyone seemed to want a piece of you, to get to know you, and you did your best to meet their expectations.

You smiled brightly, laughing when necessary, your attention shifting between the various conversations that seemed to pull you in different directions. Hongjoong was by your side most of the time, his hand gently brushing against yours, giving you that reassuring sense of stability in the midst of the chaotic family gathering. You let yourself fall into the rhythm of the event, trying to ignore the nerves that lingered in your chest every time his hand settled lightly on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. His touch was warm, deliberate, like he was always just a step ahead of you, anticipating your every need.

When his mother asked for a photo, you didn’t hesitate, slipping your hand into his as if you had been doing it for years. His mother beamed at the sight, the camera capturing the perfect moment. And even though it was all just part of the act, a little voice in your head couldn’t ignore the way Hongjoong’s smile seemed to reach his eyes when he glanced at you.

As the night wore on, you began to feel the weight of the act you were playing. It was exhausting, and while you weren’t exactly complaining, you couldn’t help but feel like you were pretending to be someone you weren’t. But despite that, something about it felt… right. His presence, his warmth, his charm — it was like you were already part of the family, like you were always meant to be here. The deeper you got into the role, the more your heart thudded in your chest, and it was hard to tell whether it was just nerves or something more.

Eventually, the crowd began to thin out, and the reception shifted into something quieter, more intimate. The music drifted softly in the background, a gentle melody weaving through the air, setting a calm atmosphere. The moment you and Hongjoong found a secluded corner, you let out a sigh of relief, leaning against him as the tension you hadn’t realized you’d been holding onto started to dissipate.

"I deserve an award," you muttered, taking the glass of juice he handed you, grateful for the brief respite.

Hongjoong chuckled, his lips curling into a soft smile. "You’re killing it. My uncle already asked if we’re thinking about marriage."

You nearly choked on your drink, eyes wide in surprise. "You didn’t say yes, right?"

His grin widened, and the mischievous glint in his eyes made your heart skip a beat. "I said it’s too early to tell, but I’m hopeful."

You buried your face in your hands, mortified. "Oh my god, Hongjoong."

He chuckled, nudging you gently with his knee. "Relax, you’re doing great."

You peeked at him from behind your fingers, your heart still racing, but this time, it wasn’t from nerves. "You’re actually pretty good at this," you admitted quietly.

Hongjoong’s gaze softened as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping into something tender, almost serious. "Maybe it doesn’t have to be fake. Not all of it."

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and for a moment, everything else in the room seemed to blur into the background. His words, so casual but so sincere, struck a chord deep inside you. You looked away, your heart pounding, because that warmth in your chest? It wasn’t fake at all. It was real, undeniable, and it terrified you.

The wedding, which had begun as just a role to play, had already begun to feel like home.

It wasn’t a lavish affair — no towering chandeliers or grandiose displays. Instead, it was simple, elegant, and effortlessly beautiful. The venue had an intimate charm, the soft candlelight casting a golden glow over everything, filling the space with a warmth that made you feel like you were in a dream. The air was thick with the melody of gentle music, the kind that made you want to close your eyes and let the notes wash over you, grounding you in the moment. It wasn’t just the setting, though. It was the people, too. Every single person here felt like a familiar face, like family. Their warmth, their genuine smiles, made it feel less like a wedding and more like a gathering of people who had known each other for a lifetime.

You had come to this wedding thinking you were just playing a part — pretending to be Hongjoong’s girlfriend for the evening. But as you found yourself surrounded by people who embraced you like you were already one of them, the lines between reality and performance began to blur.

As the night wore on and the reception took on a more playful tone, the tension between you and Hongjoong continued to shift. It was subtle at first, a playful glance here, a teasing word there, but you could feel it — that invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to him, binding you together with every passing minute. And when the music shifted, beckoning the guests to the dance floor, Hongjoong leaned in, his voice low and teasing.

"You sure you don’t want to dance?" he asked, his breath warm against your ear, sending a ripple of excitement through your body. There was something about his proximity, the way he was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, that made everything feel heightened.

You shook your head, eyes still fixed on the glass in your hand as you tried to keep your composure. "I told you. I can’t dance."

His smile widened, his amusement clear. "Well, you never know unless you try, right?" His voice dropped, sending a thrill through you. "What’s the worst that could happen? You’ll have a blast. Trust me."

You hesitated, your eyes flicking nervously to the dance floor where other couples swayed effortlessly to the rhythm. The thought of joining them made your stomach flip, and a wave of self-doubt washed over you. What if you embarrassed yourself? What if you couldn’t keep up?

Before you could voice your hesitation, Hongjoong’s voice lowered again, this time just a whisper, the promise of safety laced in his tone. "I promise I’ll protect you from any bad dancing."

There was something in his words, a softness that made the butterflies in your stomach settle into something warmer, more comfortable. It wasn’t just a playful tease; it was a reassurance, a subtle promise that he would be there, grounding you when your nerves threatened to overtake you.

A soft laugh escaped you, your nervous tension easing just slightly. "Fine," you relented, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "But if I trip, I’m blaming you."

Hongjoong laughed, the sound deep and soothing, as he took your hand, leading you toward the dance floor. His touch was light but firm, guiding you through the crowd with ease. The moment you stepped onto the floor, the music slowed, and everything seemed to fall into place. He pulled you close, his hand resting at your waist, his touch gentle but secure, and the world around you seemed to disappear. His heartbeat was steady beneath your palm, and for a moment, you forgot about the crowd, about the nerves, and simply focused on him — on the feel of his body next to yours, his warmth, his presence.

"Relax," he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over the waistband of your dress, sending a shiver of warmth through you. The simple gesture, the way he made you feel grounded, was like a reassurance that you weren’t alone in this. "I’ve got you."

You nodded, focusing on his touch as he guided you through the steps. His movements were fluid, confident, while yours were less sure. But with every step, every shift of his body, you found yourself relaxing more, your nerves melting away under his steady gaze.

"You’re doing great," he whispered into your ear, his words like a balm, soothing the last traces of hesitation that lingered. The praise was soft, genuine, and it made something inside you flutter. His hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, and you couldn’t help but smile, the last of your self-doubt slipping away as you moved with him.

As the song came to an end, Hongjoong’s parents erupted into applause, their cheers sincere and filled with pride. "Perfect! You two were wonderful together!" his mother called out, her voice filled with warmth and affection.

Hongjoong shrugged modestly, but his gaze softened as he caught your eye. "Guess we make a good team," he said, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

The compliment made your heart skip a beat, and before you could respond, his mother teased again. "Well, since you two are already dancing, why not continue? Maybe even show some of the other couples how it’s done!"

His father agreed enthusiastically. "That’s a great idea. Come on, show us your moves!"

Hongjoong laughed, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "I guess we’re stuck here for a little longer."

You smiled, even as your nerves flared up again, but his hand in yours was a steadying force. "Guess so," you replied, trying to mask the nervousness that crept back. But as he led you back into the dance, his touch unwavering, you couldn’t help but feel a little less self-conscious, as though, with him by your side, you could face anything.

The night stretched on, with every glance, every touch, every word exchanged between you and Hongjoong making the connection between you feel more real, more undeniable. And as you stood beside him, listening to the gentle rhythm of the music, you found yourself wondering just how much of this night was real. How much of this feeling between you, this warmth, was something that could last beyond the wedding?

And when Hongjoong suggested a walk, you eagerly agreed, stepping into the cool night air, your hand still firmly in his. The streets of Busan were quiet now, and as you walked side by side, the world around you seemed to fade into the background. All that mattered was the quiet conversation, the softness of his gaze, the way he made you feel like you belonged.

"You did amazing tonight," he murmured, his voice low and sincere, sending a wave of warmth through you.

"I survived," you replied, trying to downplay the emotions swirling inside you, but the warmth in your chest gave you away.

Hongjoong chuckled, his grip tightening slightly around your hand. "You did more than survive. You were amazing."

His words lingered in the air, and for a moment, everything felt a little more real, a little more solid. The evening had brought you closer to him, closer to something that was beginning to feel like it could be something more than just a role.

As the night wore on, you both continued to walk, the quiet streets of Busan stretching out before you, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone.

After the wedding festivities had come to a close, the night air felt cool against your skin as you walked back with Hongjoong, his hand casually brushing against yours as you made your way to the car. His parents had bid the two of you a warm farewell, headed off to their hotel room, and now it was just you and Hongjoong, the last leg of the night before you could finally get some rest.

The car ride was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional comment from Hongjoong about how the night had gone. You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of contentment in the back of your mind. The wedding, the dancing, the moments of shared laughter—it had all felt so... right. But now that the night was winding down, there was a new wave of nerves settling in your stomach.

The drive was short, only about 25 minutes from the venue, and soon enough, you arrived at Hongjoong’s family’s house. It was a beautiful, well-maintained home with a cozy feel to it—soft lights glowing from the windows and the faint sound of music still playing in the background from the celebration.

Hongjoong opened the car door for you, offering his hand to help you out. You took it with a soft smile, grateful for his constant care throughout the day. It wasn’t long before the two of you were inside the house, standing in the entryway, with the scent of dinner still lingering in the air.

Hongjoong’s parents were already heading up to their room for the night, leaving the two of you to head up the stairs to the guest room. The tension in the air wasn’t heavy, but you could feel it—it was the same tension you’d been navigating all night, only now it was slightly more intimate, slightly more real.

“Alright,” Hongjoong said, pausing at the door to the guest room. “This is where we’ll sleep.”

You nodded, taking in the soft, elegant room. A queen-sized bed was neatly made, the bedspread smooth and inviting after a long day. There was a couch in the corner with a fluffy throw blanket draped over it, and the soft light from a lamp by the bedside gave the room a calm, warm ambiance.

“Nice,” you murmured, your gaze flitting from the bed to Hongjoong. The thought of sharing a bed with him, even though it was for the sake of the charade, still made your heart skip a beat.

Hongjoong glanced back at you with a smirk, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. “I’ll let you get changed first,” he said, a playful glint in his eyes. “Just… try to be convincing, okay? If my parents come in—”

“I know,” you interrupted, your voice quieter than you intended. “Act like we’re a couple.”

He raised an eyebrow, his teasing smile widening. “Right. We’re pretending to be in love.”

You turned your gaze to the bathroom door, suddenly feeling more self-conscious. The thought of changing into something more comfortable, then lying next to him as though everything was perfectly normal, made you anxious.

“I’ll just… change, then,” you said, and before he could respond, you quickly made your way into the bathroom.

Inside, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself. You could do this. You had to do this. Just act like it was nothing. Act like everything was completely fine. You quickly changed into a simple set of pajamas—a loose, soft shirt, and comfortable shorts—and tried to calm your racing thoughts. The last thing you wanted was for this to feel awkward.

When you stepped back into the room, Hongjoong had already changed into a pair of sweatpants and a plain t-shirt. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, checking his phone, but as soon as he saw you, he raised his eyes with a slight smile.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice calm, but you could see the subtle way he was studying you.

You nodded, hesitating for just a second before joining him at the edge of the bed. It was a moment of pause, the kind where both of you were trying to figure out the unspoken rules of this situation—how to lie next to each other and still make it look real.

Hongjoong stretched out on the bed, making a show of fluffing the pillows. “You want the right side?” he asked, his tone casual, but there was an underlying playfulness in his voice.

You nodded. “Sure. Why not?”

He shifted so that he was lying on his back, the space between you on the bed feeling almost too large for comfort. You sat on your side, pulling the covers up over yourself, but you didn’t dare turn away from him. Not yet.

The silence stretched between you for a moment, before Hongjoong shifted again, this time moving closer. “You know, it’s funny,” he said, his voice almost contemplative. “I’ve never had to pretend to be in a relationship before.”

You chuckled softly, trying to ease the tension. “Well, you’re doing great.”

His eyes glinted mischievously as he slid his arm behind your back, pulling you closer until your shoulders brushed. The touch felt warm and surprisingly comforting, though you were still acutely aware of how close you were, how the bed seemed too small for the both of you.

“I think I can handle it,” he said, his voice low. “We just need to be convincing.”

You shifted awkwardly, then hesitated before settling your head on the pillow. “Right. Convincing.”

Hongjoong let out a soft laugh, his hand gently resting on your waist. It wasn’t a tight grip, but it was firm enough to make your heart flutter. He didn’t say anything for a moment, just kept his hand there, letting the quiet fill the space between you.

Then, as if to break the silence, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

You nodded, despite the way your pulse was quickening. “Yeah. Just a little… weird, you know?”

Hongjoong’s hand slid gently up your back, giving you a light squeeze. “I know. But it’ll be fine.”

His reassurance, coupled with the fact that his hand stayed there, grounding you, made the nerves slowly dissipate. The room was quiet again, save for the distant sound of his parents moving around downstairs, settling in for the night. Hongjoong’s breathing was slow and even, his warmth seeping into you as you tried to relax.

And for a moment, it felt easy. Like you could breathe without overthinking everything. But as the minutes ticked by, and the potential of his parents walking in hung in the air, you both shifted, moving closer under the covers, until your bodies were almost flush against each other.

His hand found yours, fingers interlacing naturally. The touch was soft, almost intimate, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized that even though this was all part of the act, the act was starting to feel a little too real.

"Just like this," Hongjoong whispered, his thumb brushing against your hand.

You nodded, biting your lip, trying to hold back the butterflies. “Yeah, just like this.”

And as the night stretched on, you both lay there, the intimacy of the moment hanging between you like a secret. It felt fragile. But with Hongjoong beside you, you couldn’t help but wonder if, maybe, just maybe, this act might be something more than either of you had planned.

Taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @heechwe @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @ateezswonderland @spenceatiny18 @ewsnup @jilxxasu @justjj97

151 notes · View notes