#is the color-coding helpful or distracting?

[oweltheft]

the chinese spam texts i get -> free reading practice

transcipt + translation:

Hi! Anna, 你近期要来 San Francisco Hi! Anna, you're coming to San Francisco soon

出差一段时间， on a business trip for a while

什么时候出发呢？ When are you setting off?

vocabulary + notes below:

近期 (jìn qí) can mean soon OR recently--the word itself doesn't specify past or future. tread carefully and consider the context!

出差 (chū chāi) just means business trip

San Francisco in chinese is 旧金山 (jiù jīng shān) or 三番 (sān fān) 三番 is casual (slang?), while 旧金山 is the official (and i think ～cooler～) name

[jazzzzzzhands]

I was going to draw Dandy just sitting sweetly on a flower!! but then i noticed that there was just a liiiitle space next to them!! and Oopsie!! My hand slipped!! Pretend this @ is a big smooch!! @sketchy-tour

[imminent-danger-came]

first of all, hopping onto the Linkin park train that Numb by Linkin Park is definitely a MK song SECOND OF ALL The fucking. Werewolf narratives wifh MK it’s the REPRESSIONS THE FEAR OUHJ THE HORROR THE HORROR

LOOK. LOOK. LISTEN.

MK WORKS AS A WEREWOLF CHARACTER. HE DOES. HE'S JUST A LITTLE TO THE LEFT

Like you're right, the repression? Not wanting to hurt those close to you? Wondering what you are? Wondering if you're destined to cause pain and suffering? Giving in and fighting back? Like you understand me more than most. You get it. Look me in my eyes and tell me it's not there:

Truly here's where I come in with my hot take: werewolves are fate vs freewill/identity themes the monster. You know. "Of one thing I am certain—fate has plans for you! Great plans, or foul? Time will tell." "I can't be, I'm just MK!" COME ON. COME ON

[mariasont]

JUST THE TIP(S) - A.H

aaron learns the hard way that upping your maintenance allowance has unexpected, explicit perks. especially when you insist on showcasing your newest investment while he's stuck miles away.

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, sexting, nsfw imagery, exhibitionism? (in the form of pictures), references to masturbation, workplace inappropriateness, power dyanmics (boss/employee), dirty talk, sugar daddy hotch vibes wc: 1.7k request: here!

Hotch attempts to read the file in front of him again, just to keep himself busy, but it starts to resemble gibberish somewhere between the countless victim timelines and his unwavering staring contest with the phone screen. 

Nothing. Still nothing. 

It’s been, he glances down for confirmation, thirty-nine minutes since he hit send. Not exactly long enough to panic. Yet here he is, panicking, because your replies normally land instantly, punctuated with frantic emojis, a parade of exclamation points, and nonsensical crises like:

i just made toast and almost caught my sleeve on fire but it’s ok now !!!! 🤭

So, yeah. Thirty-nine minutes feels like a small eternity.

Last week, he had upped your spending limit. You murmured something vague about having a bad day. You didn’t supply any specifics, no dramatics, just an innocent observation that he instantly took as an urgent call to action.

He logged into your account and adjusted your monthly extras, expanding that little safety net you didn’t even know he color-coded as you-time on his accounting spreadsheet. 

It wasn’t even remotely about the actual money. How could it be, when you were always giving pieces of yourself away — filling his silence with your easy chatter, kissing his frown lines, leaving perfume on his pillow (and everywhere else). So if a few extra hundred dollars meant more wellness appointments or a couple frivolous purchases that could help you feel more like yourself, it was the easiest, most obvious choice in the world. 

This is what he attributed your lack of response to. You’re probably out using that buffer right now.

He doesn’t need to spiral.

But he does anyway. Because when he’s not around, you have a tendency to forget to hydrate, to neglect to eat anything remotely nutritious, to lose yourself in shiny distractions, and his mind, unfortunately, never seems to shut off where you’re concerned.

He digs the heel of his hand into his forehead, trying not to jump to worst-case scenarios. He’s not clingy. Definitely not the kind of boyfriend who sends another text after less than an hour. 

Still, he nudges his phone a bit closer, strictly precautionary.

It takes exactly fifteen more agonizing, anxiety-inducing minutes — minutes shaped like big neon question marks — before the phone finally buzzes.

You: hi bossman !! miss ur grumpy face sooooo bad it’s criminal (arrest me??) how’s the case?

He exhales through his nose. His first thought is to correct you, to say that he’s definitely not grumpy, but his fingers pause, and he erases it instead. 

He is grumpy, though he’s fairly certain it’s directly correlated with how long it’s been since he’s since your face.

Hotch: Miss you too. Case is fine. Hopefully wrapping soon. Should be home late tomorrow. What did you do today? Everything okay?

You: yay !! can’t wait to see u ! got my nails done 🩷 they’re sparkly pink and sooo cute wanna see?

He snorts once, rubbing his thumb over the edge of his phone.

Hotch: Somehow I already know exactly what they look like.

He pauses, considers, then quickly adds,

Hotch: Send them anyway.

Hotch expects something wholesome, mundane even, manicure displayed prettily around a cup of overpriced coffee (a staple for you) or maybe the steering wheel of your car. 

What he receives instead is categorically, devastatingly the antithesis of wholesome. Completely unfit for polite company. His phone nearly plummets to the floor accordingly, eyebrows already halfway to his hairline.

Your new nails, as glittery as you advertised and innocent enough in isolation, become fully obscene in context, pussy spread wide, your fingertips highlighting slick, swollen folds and a flushed, glistening clit practically begging for attention. 

Hotch has always considered you beautiful — insanely, impossibly so — but this vision of you. A vision where you’re open, soaked with a brazen sweetness that borders on indecent, surpasses beauty entirely.

It’s sinful, artful perfection crafted with the sole intent of his demise. No matter how quickly he closes his eyes, the image is now seared permanently into his brain, burnt onto his retinas in dripping pixels.

Hotch never could fathom why anyone would willingly risk sending something so compromising. It spat in the face of good judgment and flagrantly ignored every articulated piece of advice he’d ever given. He’d lectured until your eyes glazed over about internet safety, how every text you send is stored indefinitely in some obscure digital archive, potentially retrieved at the most inopportune times. 

He was certain, perhaps arrogantly so, that you’d internalized his paranoia.

How wrong he had been.

Because he now stands staring at the evidence of your rebellion, humbly acknowledging that he himself has become precisely the sort of fool he’d warned you about, happily entrapped by the irreverence of a single photograph.

The only genuine risk Aaron can currently recognize is the frankly painful strain of his cock pressing against his zipper and the fact that you’re hundreds of miles away. 

He draws in a sharp, shaky breath through gritted teeth, silently pleading with unapologetically indifferent cosmos to grant him patience. 

Or teleportation.

Hotch: Gorgeous nails, sweetheart. Clever use of your resources, though next time save me the torture and just show me in person.

You: glad u like them 😇😇 maybe consider it motivation to hurry home faster?

Hotch: Duly noted. If I close this case in record time, you’ll know exactly why.

You: i can always send additional inspiration if it helps your productivity 🥰

He doesn’t remember making the conscious decision, and frankly, he doesn’t care enough to second-guess it now, because his palm is already moving, instinctively pressing down to relieve the unbearable tension straining his trousers.

He’s halfway through typing out his surrender (a blunt, undignified Yes. Now.) when a sudden, sharp knock jerks him brusquely back into a reality that pales considerably compared to what he’s just been forced to abandon.

His thumb stalls above the send button then pockets the phone, exhaling through his nose as he smooths the front of his tie with a touch more vigor than necessary.

If he were honest, and lately honesty seems unavoidable, another second spent alone with your message would inevitably lead him to doing something highly inappropriate beneath the desk, your name hissed quietly against clenched teeth.

By the time he reaches the door, Hotch has resigned a reasonable facsimile of composure.

At least from the waist up.

He cracks the door open cautiously, standing at an awkward, stiff angle, hoping that Rossi won’t notice the disarray happening beneath his belt.

“Local PD's still caught up arguing procedural technicalities,” Rossi drawls, seemingly unaware. “Apparently, nothing moves forward without our explicit approval.”

You’ll have to wait. And so will his dick.

The so-called procedural technicalities take three hours. Three. hours. One hundred and eighty increasingly insufferable minutes drowning in bureaucratic drudgery, combing through details Hotch is positive he could recite while heavily medicated. He pinches the bridge of his nose, attempting to fend off the migraine steadily encroaching.

He’d managed the polite, dutiful thing — a succinct, thoroughly unsatisfying reply to you about responsibility and paperwork, the kind of message that made his own eyes roll at its dreariness compared to your far more compelling offer.

And now, each monotonous signature is underscored by thoughts of you, each image progressively more not-safe-for-work than the last.

He pictures your nails, painted in that damned color you loved so much, wrapping firmly around his cock, stroking with leisurely hands. How good it would feel. How you would lean closer with thay look in your eyes, lips parted, whispering filthy words that would make the tips of his ears bleed red.

He loved spoiling you, sure, but secretly, selfishly, he knew the real reward came later, when your fingertips traced up and down each vein of his length.

His daydream splinters to pieces as another officer delivers a statement so inane, Hotch considers, with alarming sincerity, the merits of repeatedly banging his head against the wall.

Before he can fully commit to a public crisis of faith in his career choices, his phone vibrates in his pocket.

Stupidly, he sneaks a quick look,

You: bet that paperwork has you wound up tight. when u get home, feel free to fuck out all that frustration. im yours however u want me <3

Hotch snaps his phone off with such force he’s briefly amazed the device doesn’t shatter.

He redirects his gaze at the neat rows of law enforcement jargon before him, willing the flush spreading from his neck to his ears to retreat. He’s knows he’s past the age of blushing fits, but apparently, you delight in reminding him otherwise.

Hotch’s eyes briefly skim the room, double-checking that the rest of his team is sufficiently absorbed in their tasks.

Hotch: I sincerely hope you’re prepared to stand by that offer, he sends back, thumb tapping a bit faster. Because I fully intend to take advantage of your generosity. 

The familiar little bubbles of an incoming message appear almost immediately, punctuated seconds later by the ping of an attachment.

Hotch reopens the thread, only to be met with an image of your pretty hands cupping even prettier breasts.

Suddenly, he’s standing, brisk strides carrying him toward the hallway, a curt, excuse me tossed hastily behind him, already pressing your contact photo before the door swings fully shut behind him.

You answer on the first ring. “Hi there, handsome. Calling to check on me?”

Your voice, dripping with honeyed naivety, and the image of your tits still pulsing insistently behind his eyelids, sends an immediate rush of heat southward.

Hotch grits his teeth, resisting the temptation to flee toward the bathroom for a quick release.

“Do you really think you’re being fair to me? While I’m stuck here, of all places?”

“Fairness is subjective. Personally, I think it’s unfair you’re so far away when I clearly need your expert opinion on this manicure.”

“Expert opinions are usually best delivered in person. Very hands-on.”

Your giggle spills through the line, and Hotch is convinced it should be bottled and sold as medicine. How he managed to win the privilege of hearing it on demand is an eternal mystery.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you whisper, “is this how you typically behave at the office, or am I getting special treatment today?”

“You’re permanently on the receiving end of special treatment.”

Another giggle.

“Well, I fully intend to cash in on that privilege when you get home, and I advise your neighbors to consider getting some top-quality earplugs.”

He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other to mask the fidgeting as purposeful adjustment. Unsuccessfully, of course. He can feel Morgan’s stare burning pointedly into the side of his head. Honestly, if roles were reversed, Aaron would probably be offering equally unsubtle judgment.

“Sweetheart,” he warns, lowering his voice, “you’re making it exceedingly difficult to pretend this call is work-related.”

“Fine, fine,” you say. “Go play nice with your friends and come home safely. I miss you.”

“I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.” He inwardly rolls his eyes at his inability to maintain any credible authority with you. “Try to stay out of trouble until then.”

“No promises.” He can picture the smile on your face. “But I’ll do my best to keep your investment safe, these nails weren’t cheap, after all.”

“Careful. Because when I get home, I won’t be gentle enough to guarantee their safety.”

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[cxvii666]

“DOWN WITH THE TRUMPETS”

“when i get down, i get respect now”

feat. denki k.

wc: 780

mdni 😴

“don't talk with your mouth full, it's bad manners.”

denki kaminari is a yapper.

he can talk for japan.

about nothing, and everything. about his little hobbies and interests, like the time he got really into origami for two weeks and folded fifty paper cranes before getting distracted by baking videos. about a bug he saw one time that kind of looked like pikachu if you squinted. about an anime he watched five years ago that reminded him of a tiktok he saw yesterday—actually, no, it reminded him of two tiktoks, and he’ll pull them both up even though you’re in the middle of eating.

he doesn't even realize he's doing it. he just talks.

before you started dating, he once spent two full hours explaining the entire five nights at freddy’s lore to you. he even brought a whiteboard. he drew a timeline. there were arrows, names, color-coded events. he kept glancing at you nervously, like he was waiting for you to run. you thought he was fucking psychotic, but according to all his friends that was his weak attempt at flirting.

he talks in his sleep too. full conversations. one night, around 3 a.m., he whispered, “gregory… you have to hide.” and you just laid there, staring at the ceiling, wondering what choices in life had led you here. he was completely out. you even poked him and he just mumbled something about “security breach.”

you didn't sleep much that night. he did.

you hear him on the phone all the time. he’s loud. his voice carries. you don’t even need to be in the same room to catch half the story. in group calls, he’s that guy—never letting anyone finish a sentence, always jumping back in because he just remembered another detail, or because he needs to relate something someone said to a completely different topic.

he narrates everything he does. it’s like living with a one-man podcast. making a sandwich? you’re getting a full tutorial with sound effects. brushing his teeth? he gives ratings to the toothpaste flavor like he’s doing a mukbang. finding a sock under the bed? live drama, complete with shocked gasps and a full backstory on how the sock ended up there.

he doesn't mean to talk so much, honestly, he can't help himself. he just… gets excited. he thinks out loud. he loves sharing things. his brain moves fast, and his mouth just tries to keep up.

"s-so sorry baby, your pussy just tastes so—mmf."

so sometimes you have to shut him up. the only way you know how.

his long eyelashes flutter against flushed cheeks, those bambi eyes of his wide and glassy as he looks up at you from between your thighs.

his fingers gripping the fat of your thighs as he drags your pussy back down onto his mouth. tongue greedy, he mouths at you like you're divine. slow, wet, sloppy kisses, tongue flicking then flattening, dipping in and out like he’s tasting something sacred. he hums against you, needy and messy and so, so fucking eager.

but as he pauses to catch his breath, you realise, he's still running his mouth.

with eyes locked onto the sticky mess he's made, his mouth is still moving, lips slick and parted as he mumbles god knows what into your pussy. eyes fixed on the mess he's made, like he's hypnotized. and the worst part? you can feel it. the vibrations, the breathy whispers, the praise he's spilling straight into your cunt. you strain to make out the words, and between the rush of blood in your ears you catch bits and pieces. "t-thank youuu, so fu-ucking good for me, you’re perfect, so warm, so wet, love you, love you, love yo—"

you roll your eyes and cut his praises short with a forceful tug of his hair. not too hard. just enough. it makes him whine into you, the sound all breath and heat, and you feel his hips twitch against the mattress. he loves it when you take control. he melts for it.

"denki, sweetie, what have i told you?" you sigh contently when his tongue starts doing circles on your clit, "no talking while you're eating."

he doesn’t answer with words—he knows better. just moans, all obedient and desperate, nodding his head so fast his blonde locs shake. sweat glistens on his forehead, some strands of hair sticking to it. you brush them away gently, and his amber eyes snap up to meet yours.

they're wide. glassy. brimming with devotion.

he's docile, pliable. he listens, does what he's told.

and for now, he's quiet.

but you'll keep him here until he's learnt his lesson.

[mcrdvcks]

Congratulations on 2000 followers 🫶🏾

Can I request a headcanon where Joaquin Torres and his fiancée are going from the engagement to wedding planning to the wedding day? Just how they’re feeling and little bits about what’s happening during those times (organizing, the parties, how he proposes etc). I thought that would be a fun idea ☺️ thank you for sharing your writing with the world ❤️

YESSSSS! i'm so glad someone sent me a joaquín request because i've been needing to talk about this mannn. it's my first time writing for him so be gentle pls!!

send an ask for my 2,000 followers celebration!

warnings/tags: engagement, planning for a wedding, bachelor party, sam and bucky, wedding, joaquín is a 'my wife' guy

The Proposal

Joaquín spends weeks planning the proposal. He wants it to feel like you, not a big public thing, not too over-the-top—but something intimate, intentional, and full of heart.

He asks Sam for advice. Sam says, “Don’t mess it up,” and then sends him links to rings for three straight days.

He proposes during a quiet morning walk—your favorite route, by the lake where you once said “I could sit here forever with you.” That’s where he kneels, hands shaking a little, voice low: “You’re my forever. Want to make it official?”

The ring? Simple, elegant, and perfectly you. He had it custom-made—with a tiny engraving inside that says flight path locked.

You don’t even let him finish the question before saying yes and tackling him into a kiss. He nearly drops the ring. You both cry. A jogger claps.

Wedding Planning

Joaquín is absurdly organized about the planning. Color-coded spreadsheets. Calendar reminders. He has a “wedding planning” playlist. He’s that guy.

That said… he wants your happiness over everything. “Whatever you want, amor. Just tell me where to show up.”

He insists on helping with everything. Seating charts? He’s got it. Menu tasting? He’s there. Even learns calligraphy for the invites (gets halfway decent at it too). You catch him muttering to himself while practicing swirls and “Mrs. Torres” in ten different fonts. It makes your chest ache with love.

You have planning nights where you both wear pajamas, drink wine, and go through Pinterest boards like it’s a mission debrief. Occasionally the two of you get distracted by kissing or arguing over dessert options.

He picks his suit early and keeps it a secret—but leaves a tiny token of you sewn inside the jacket lining. Just a reminder. You are with him.

Joaquín makes a list of all the things you’re not allowed to stress about. “Florist? I’ll handle it.” “DJ playlist? Already made one.” “Rude aunt you don’t want to invite? I’ll fake an intel mission.”

He asks Sam to be his best man. Sam pretends to grumble but is secretly proud as hell. Bucky somehow ends up planning the bachelor party, which is a chaotic masterpiece.

Speaking of…

Bachelorette/Bachelor Parties

I remember seeing a post about Joaquín being confused/annoyed that you aren’t invited to the bachelor party. Bucky and Sam (after years of bickering and fighting) are now an almost chaotic duo. But Bucky tries to keep the party somewhat chill, suggesting skydiving or mini golf.

Joaquín immediately says there’s a cute mini golf course you’ve been talking about, and Sam has to groan and explain, again, that you’re not supposed to be there. “It’s not a date night, Torres. It’s your bachelor party.” “But she’d love the pirate-themed hole…”

Bucky and Sam plan the bachelor party together. This is both comforting and terrifying. Sam wants it to be chill: good food, drinks, maybe karaoke. Bucky wants “controlled adrenaline.” The compromise is skydiving in tuxedo T-shirts followed by an all-you-can-eat taco bar.

Joaquín calls you three times during the party. Once to show you the sunset from 10,000 feet. Once to tell you what taco he dedicated to you. Once because he found a bird that looked like Redwing.

The Week Before the Wedding

Joaquín gets so soft. He checks off lists twice. He calls your caterer just to confirm. He keeps sneaking glances at you like he still can’t believe you’re real. “Next week you’ll be my wife. Like, officially. You sure about that?” “A little late to back out now.” “Good. I’d chase you down anyway.”

He gets sappy over the little things. You leave him a note in his shoe the day before the wedding. He finds it and immediately texts you: Are you trying to make me cry before I’ve even put the tux on??

Sam walks him through a “calm down” breathing technique when he panics the day before. “What if I forget my vows?” “You won’t.” “What if she forgets hers?” “She won’t.” “What if I cry?” “You will. That’s part of the charm.”

The Wedding Day

He doesn’t sleep the night before. Not because of nerves—but because he keeps thinking about your first date. The walk around the lake. The way you looked in the morning light. “How’d I get so lucky?” he mutters into his pillow at 3AM.

He’s the first one ready. Suit sharp, tie slightly off (Bucky fixes it), pacing near the venue entrance with the energy of someone who really needs to kiss his person, like now.

His hands shake when he sees you. Not because he’s nervous—but because you’re it. His everything. The way he looks at you makes Sam and Bucky go suspiciously quiet.

The ceremony is full of tiny things only you two understand. A quote from your favorite movie. That song you played during your first kitchen dance. His vows mention the mini golf course and you almost lose it laughing.

When the officiant says “you may now kiss—” You’re already pulling him in.

Reception vibes: First dance is sweet and slow and full of whispered I love you’s. The cake has tiny wing decals on the sides. Sam’s speech is surprisingly emotional and ends with “don’t mess it up or I will hunt you down.” Bucky’s speech is just: “He’s alright. You’re better. Mazel tov.”

Later That Night

He can’t stop smiling. Keeps calling you “mi esposa” like he’s testing out the sound. “My wife,” he whispers dramatically while brushing his teeth. “My wife.”

You curl into bed, exhausted and giddy, and he wraps himself around you like he’s afraid you’ll float away. “We did it,” you whisper. “We did it,” he echoes, forehead to yours.

[rinky-dinky-dink]

Star Sanses But There's More Of Them

Figured I would make a sort of master post for my Star Sanses interpretation! This is just an idea I'm playing around with, I don't plan on making a proper storyline for them at the moment. Just me exploring characters!

Long post ahead-

General:

All five members have star badges, per Blue's insistence ("So they look more like a team!" Ink liked the idea of them all sharing a design element, and Sugarplum thought the idea was fun, so Dream and Red were outvoted). The badges are equippable items to give each member a bit of a boost in combat (exact stats have yet to be decided).

Combat:

The five of them end up a pretty efficient team in fights, especially against Nightmare's Gang (plus Error sometimes). Even when Dream is occupied fully with Nightmare, and Ink's attention is on Error - Blue, Red, and Sugarplum manage to hold their own even as incodes. Combat roles (per the rules of DnD, for no real reason) are as follows:

Dream is the leader, he maintains party focus and morale, and generally decides the strategy going into a fight. His ability to sense the feelings of others allows him to monitor his teammates even during combat, so he can call for a retreat if necessary. (Switches to/also serves controller role, when needed.)

Ink is the group's striker, he's fast and he hits hard with precision, but it can be difficult for him to focus on more than one enemy at a time. Stays up close to the opponents, falls back behind the others on occasion to refill his paints or regain his bearings. (When fully necessary, he can use his brush to take broader strokes and serve as controller with color coded AoE attacks. Can serve as leader in extremely rare situations, but that's not nearly as fun, so he's content to let Dream do it.)

Blue is the defender, he's the tankiest of the group despite his shorter stature. He has the highest base defense of the group's three incodes, since he's essentially a Papyrus. Not much aggression in combat, preferring to help cover the others as they attack. (Can switch to striker role, if necessary.)

Red is the controller of the group, his bones and blasters let him cover a wide area from a safer distance. His stats still aren't great, so he hangs back from up close combat, and relies on Blue to help maintain the distance, especially when he gets tired and needs a bit of time to recover.

Sugarplum is also a controller, technically speaking. He focuses less on direct combat and more on effects, usually ACTing to lower an opponent's AT, DF, or speed. He also hangs back from direct fighting most of the time, and heals the others (mostly Blue) when their HP gets too low.

General Team Dynamics:

Dream: The leader of the group, as agreed by everyone else. He's friendly and easy to get along with, so he serves as a good "face" for the team. (Ink also thinks Dream having his own "gang" is a fun parallel to Nightmare!) Keeps the group on track when on missions, when the others' antics (affectionate) threaten to veer them off course. He's nervous about the responsibility this sort of role comes with, and whether or not his aura is skewing his teammates' evaluation of him as a leader, but he's determined to do his best.

Ink: Local menace. Bastard. Usually the cause/intigator of the team's distractions. Here to have a good time, occasionally at the expense of others. Sends cursed memes to the team groupchat at 3am. Luckily the others don't mind his sense of humor (Red thinks he's funny as hell sometimes), and Blue's general enthusiasm usually just serves as fuel to his fire. Will randomly give his teammates a thoughtful gift (a trinket he found somewhere that reminded him of them), and then steal food off their plate before they can say "thank you." Overall he's having a good time, and the others have just accepted this weird eldritch paint skeleton on their team.

Blue: Underswap Sans! As peppy as ever, always there to cheer on his friends and tell them he believes in them. Tends to get caught up in his own excitement sometimes, but means well! His ability to befriend even the more hostile residents of the multiverse makes him the glue of the team, keeping everyone together and on the same page even when Dream and Ink argue, or Red is a bit too abraisive. Since being exposed to the multiverse and joining the team, he's changed his focus from being a royal guard back home, to being a hero alongside his friends. There are people to be helped, and he's found the recognition he's always wanted but couldn't quite achieve back home. He's still technically a sentry back in Snowdin, and still has to return relatively frequently to keep the whole multiverse thing under wraps, but his brother helps cover for his absence. (Papyrus isn't super fond of the whole concept, especially not Ink, but he supports his brother 100%.)

Red: Underfell Sans! The designated grump of the group, he still hasn't really shaken off the defensive habits he learned from back home. The "tough guy" of the Stars, he's generally not a bad guy once you get past that wall he keeps up. Is steadily improving, unlearning a lifetime of defensiveness and distrust is difficult. (His jacket is heavy, and he would drop it over a teammate's shoulders in lieu of a weighted blanket if they needed it though. Just don't go spreading those kinds of rumors about him.) Has not told his brother about his multiverse-hopping escapades with the other Stars, partially out of worry that his universe will start bleeding out into more peaceful ones. He's dodging that particular conversation with everything he has.

Sugarplum: Underlust Sans! Doesn't really live in his own universe anymore, spends 99% of his time in the Omega Timeline. Doesn't like to talk about his universe, dodges any questions in relation to it (luckily in multiversal etiquette it's considered rude to ask questions about someone's universe, unless invited to do so). Didn't start out as much of a fighter, and still doesn't quite match up to the other Stars, but he can hold his own in a pinch. All the fighting and training and running around burns energy, which helps keep his soul from acting up. Wine aunt energy, always up to date on drama in the OT. Generally pretty chill, with an easygoing attitude that lets him help Blue smooth things over when conflicts arise in the team. Drinking buddies with Red, can relate to having a messed up universe he'd rather not discuss.

~~~~~~~~~

Dream -> @/jokublog Ink -> @/comyet Blue -> @/popcornpr1nce Red -> @/underfell Sugarplum -> @/nsfwshamecave

[foxy-eva]

Stress Relief

Summary: When Reader complains about back pain, Spencer offers a massage. Things escalate. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) a little bit of awkwardness, massages, implied hand kink, heavy kissing, fingering, handjob, unprotected penetrative sex

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

It wasn't the first time your team had to double up in a hotel while working on a case but you had never ended up being paired with your favorite coworker before. When you stepped into the room after a long day of trying to save lives, you suddenly realized something. 

Spencer was right behind you when he saw it too, mumbling an almost inaudible, "Oh."

Oh. 

There was only one bed. 

The receptionist had already let you know that they were completely overbooked, so switching to a different room was no option. 

Spencer was quick to offer solutions as he started rambling, "I know Morgan said he wouldn't share a room with me but maybe he'll change his mind if I explain this to him?" 

"Don't you think it's more likely he'll tease us? Besides, that would leave me with Hotch and I'd rather share a bed with you than with my boss."

Spencer shrugged and mumbled, "I always liked to double up with Emily. I wonder why she insisted on sharing a room with JJ." 

You looked at him with raised eyebrows and a smirk on your face. "Yeah, who knows!" 

You did know but Spencer was as oblivious as ever. If he was really that bad at seeing what was right in front of him, there was at least a chance that he hadn't yet caught onto your feelings for him either. You really hoped that tonight any improper thoughts you had would be drowned out by the exhaustion slowly taking over your body.

"I can sleep on the floor," Spencer voiced his final offer. 

You shook your head in protest. "The bed is big enough for the both of us."

With that it was settled, you were going to share a bed with the man who had been occupying your mind an almost embarrassing amount. Spencer, however, had never once shown any signs that he reciprocated your growing feelings for him. So instead of addressing them, you decided to simply suffer in silence until they'd pass.

When he stepped into the bathroom to get ready for the night, you couldn't stop your mind from racing to fantasies far from being appropriate. It didn't help to hear him turning on the shower because now all you could think about was tearing your own clothes off to join him. Somehow you managed to keep your composure - for now at least. 

Spencer looked absolutely adorable with his washed-out Caltech shirt and checkered pajama pants, so much so that you took several seconds to blatantly stare at him when he came back into the room. It caused him to look down at his body to make sure that everything was in place. 

“Sorry, you just look really… cute like that,” you muttered to help with his confused look. 

A slight rosy shade spread over his cheeks at your compliment and he looked at you as if he wasn’t quite sure if you were making fun of him. But of course your words were genuine. 

As you gathered your things to go take a shower yourself, you snickered, “It’s a shame that outfit probably wouldn’t pass the FBI dress code.” 

He took a book out of his bag and sat down on one side of the bed, chuckling, “Yeah, it definitely would not pass.”

The shower helped clear your mind and you were positive that you’d be able to go to sleep without any other distractions. As you approached the bed in your usual nightwear - a tanktop and some colorful shorts - it became obvious that Spencer was even worse at hiding his staring than you were. 

“It’s weird, right?” You asked as you sat down on the bed. “Seeing each other in casual clothes, I mean.”

Without saying a word he just nodded before focussing back on his book again. As you leaned against the headboard of the bed you noticed something that had been bothering you all day. Your back was aching and your shoulders were painfully tense. You stretched your arms over your shoulders before you reached back to massage some tender spots on your neck. 

“You okay?” Spencer asked as he turned his head to watch you. 

“Yeah, it’s just my back pain. I slept weird last night and I have been sitting at my desk too much those past few days,” you explained. 

To your surprise, he offered, “Maybe I could help?”

Before you could consider what feeling his hands against your body would do to you, you replied, “Yeah, that would be nice, actually.” 

You readjusted your position until you sat cross-legged on the bed with your back facing your roommate for the night. Spencer set aside his book and sat behind you, tentatively putting his palms on your shoulders. The heat his body radiated entered your body and lit a spark inside you that you desperately tried to ignore. 

When he began pressing his fingertips into the tense muscles of your shoulders and neck, you instantly became pliable under his touch. The places he touched were innocent but that didn’t change the fact that a familiar warmth spread through your body and collected in your center. 

There was no way to hold back the shy moan from falling from your lips when he found a particularly tender spot. 

He halted his motions to ask, “Did I hurt you?”

“No, it just feels really good,” you breathed. 

“That’s nice to hear,” he cooed in the softest tone you’d ever heard from him. “You deserve to feel good.” 

Those last couple of words echoed in your mind before you could grasp what they meant. It was that moment that you asked yourself if the innocent and shy Spencer Reid was trying to flirt with you. 

To distract yourself, you decided to talk to him - unaware what colossal mistake that was going to be.

“So, where did you learn how to give back rubs?” 

Nonchalantly as ever, he responded, “I read a book about it a few years ago.” 

“You read a book about massages?”

The breath he let out at your question tickled the skin of your shoulders and you broke out in goosebumps. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice. 

“Well, it was about tantric practices and there was a very interesting chapter about… uhm… full-body massages,” he explained, not helping with your current situation at all. 

It was getting almost impossible for you to form coherent sentences, even more so when Spencer continued talking. 

“Are you interested in that?”

Almost jumping at his words, you blurted out, “In getting a full-body massage?!” 

“No!” Spencer laughed. “In reading the book!” 

Before you could respond, you felt his hands wander down your back, lightly rubbing over your shirt. It was getting harder to focus with every second passing, too overwhelming became the need to feel more of him. 

“I’ll think about it,” you finally responded. 

Spencer’s fingertips brushed over your lower back, way too lightly to find any tight spots and you were wondering if he was trying to tease you at this point. 

His words brought you back to reality. “I can continue with my massage if you want but uhm.. your shirt is getting in the way.”

Without thinking about it, you stated, “I’m not wearing a bra.”

“I know,” Spencer chuckled. “I won’t look, I promise. Just lay down on your stomach.” 

The feeling of his hands on your body had left your skin tingling and you were yearning to feel it again. So without questioning his intentions or making sure his eyes were really closed, you took off your top and lay down on the mattress. Spencer kneeled beside you and began working his skilled fingers over your entire back. 

Any tightness from tired muscles slowly left your body but you felt another kind of tension growing in your core. When Spencer grazed the waistband of your shorts with his fingertips, a sigh escaped your throat. He didn’t say anything, instead he kept massaging you until there was no patch of skin on your back left unattended to. 

The second time he brushed over your waistband gave away that he was doing it on purpose. For a moment you thought that he might slip his hands right beneath it to descend further down your body. That thought caused you to unwillingly press your thighs tightly together to soothe the aching between your legs. 

Spencer must have noticed it, too, because he audibly let out a breath right at that moment. His hands were still on your back when a quiet moan left your mouth and you noticed that your hips had started moving ever so slightly, desperate to find some friction. You weren’t sure if Spencer had been watching you doing that until you halted those tiny motions. 

“Don’t stop,” he purred. “You look so pretty like this.” 

You turned your head enough to see him from the corners of your eyes. The hardness straining against his pajama pants was impossible to ignore but even more intriguing was the smirk spread over his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark and filled with lust. Seeing him like this suddenly let any restraint you had left vanish. 

“Please, Spencer,” you begged him to keep going. 

One of his hands found the side of your face to brush a strand of hair aside. He leaned down to place a soft kiss on your heated cheek before he whispered, “Tell me exactly what you want.” 

Spencer’s hands were all you could think about. Every fiber of your body was longing for him and you felt like you might combust if he didn’t grant you relief anytime soon. 

“Please continue and… go lower.” 

In an instant his hands were on your backside, greedily grabbing your soft flesh through your shorts. 

“Like that?” Spencer groaned. 

You tilted your hips to press your butt against his hands and slowly opened your thighs before you whimpered, “Lower.”

As his fingertips wandered over your thighs you felt how your arousal began soaking through the fabric of your panties. His hands dared to move underneath your shorts, grazing along the apex of your thigh. It was not enough to soothe your aching but enough to drive you wild. 

You moaned out his name before whining, “Take them off, please.” 

“You’re so cute when you get all desperate,” he chuckled in response. 

There was no more teasing then. When he finally grabbed the waistband of your shorts, you immediately lifted your hips so he could pull them down together with your panties. He reached between your thighs to finally touch you where you were burning for him. 

The realization of how aroused you were let a groan escape his mouth. His fingertips glided through your folds before focussing on your most sensitive spot while he purred, "You're so fucking wet." 

It was the first time you had ever heard him use a curse word, the sound of such crude language shooting through you like lightning. All your senses were on edge, you couldn't think about anything else but him. 

The sensation of his fingers moving over your sensitive pearl was somehow too much and not enough at the same time. You hadn't realized that you were grinding your hips against his hand until his words brought you back to reality for a moment. 

"You deserve to feel so, so good. Let me take care of you."

At that you point you weren't even sure what you were begging for when an almost silent "Please," made it past your lips. Spencer, however, seemed to understand. He let two of his digits enter you, finding no resistance from your body. As soon as you felt him inside you, you couldn't help but clench around him.

Slowly he began working his fingers against tight muscles at an angle that made you almost lose your mind. There was no more holding back the sounds of pleasure falling from your lips, so you buried your face into the pillow to muffle your moans. 

You felt Spencer's free hand brushing over your hair while he whispered, "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear you."

With that you turned your head to the side again, just enough to be able to see his beautiful face. His smile was too much for you to handle, so you decided to close your eyes instead. 

The room filled with your moans and mewls and the sound of his hand relentlessly moving against your wet center. Within just a few minutes you were dancing along the edge of euphoria. Spencer noticed that, too.

"You're doing so good," he praised you. "Let go for me, sweet girl." 

You felt him moving over your swollen nub one more time before your body began to tremble beneath him. He helped you ride out your high with a few more skillful motions before he lay down right beside you. 

When he found your eyes, he whispered, "You okay?" 

Instead of answering him, you grabbed his wrist to bring his fingers to your lips. They were still coated with your essence when you took them in your mouth to suck them clean. Spencer stared at you in disbelief, almost as if he was witnessing some kind of miracle. 

You could still taste yourself on your tongue when you found his lips in a hungry kiss. He didn't waste any time to reciprocate your enthusiasm, his tongue meeting yours as the two of you melted into one another. There was no space allowed between the two of you, with your chest pressed hard enough against his you could feel his accelerated heartbeat. 

His palms began wandering over your exposed skin as if he'd never have enough of touching you. Your hand became curious as well, moving underneath the hem of his shirt to finally feel him without any barrier. It wasn't enough though, you needed all of him.

With joined forces you rid him of his clothes and took a moment to take in the beauty of the man in front of you. As your eyes locked once more you found the sweetest smile spread over his face. 

"You're so pretty," you breathed before kissing him again. 

"And you're so beautiful," he mumbled against your lips. 

His hardness was pressed firmly against your thigh and you could already feel the tip leaking onto your skin. A sneaky hand found its way between your bodies to touch him. Your fingertips found soft curls at the base of him before wrapping around his shaft. He felt hot and heavy in your palm and you noticed him twitching when you began moving your hand. 

Spencer gasped into your mouth once you reached his tip and his whole body quivered when you let your thumb swipe over it. Your kiss was interrupted by him panting against your face as you sped up your motions. 

"Look at who is getting desperate now," you teased him. 

He already seemed lost in the pleasure when he whimpered, "Feels so good."

Your hand left his erection to push against his shoulder until he was lying on his back while you snickered, "You know what would feel even better?"

As you began straddling his hips, Spencer's hands flew to your waist. 

He still needed reassurance before he let you continue. "Are you sure about this?" 

You nodded and promised, “I want you Spencer.” 

"I want you, too. More than you can imagine."

With your hand around his cock you lifted your hips to guide him to your entrance. As you sank down on him, Spencer moaned out your name. You took your time, relishing the sensation of him slowly stretching you open. Once he was fully inside, you could feel his heartbeat deep within you. 

As you began grinding your hips against him, his hands moved from your waist to your breasts to caress your soft curves. 

“You have no idea how long I have wanted you,” Spencer sighed.

You leaned down to find him in a kiss before you whispered against his mouth, "You have me now. I'm yours."

His hips began moving in perfect synchronicity with yours as you chased the sweet relief together. When you began moving faster, Spencer suddenly gripped your hips to halt your motions. 

"I'm so close. Slow down," he whined with desperation clearly audible in his voice. 

That didn't slow you down, though. Instead you purred, "Me, too," and kept going. Spencer threw his head back into the pillows and sang your praise in the form of his moans. You tried to hold on just a little bit longer, not to torture him but because you didn't want it to end yet.

When one of his hands descended from your hip to where your bodies were joined, you knew that it wouldn't be long now. He began drawing small circles with his thumb around your little bud, throwing you over the edge within a few seconds. Once he felt your walls pulsing around him, he let go himself. 

Each of your twitches was answered by him throbbing inside you, sharing his essence with you until he had nothing left to give. Spencer welcomed you inside his arms as you collapsed on top of him with a racing heart and lungs longing for air. 

You stayed connected for as long as physically possible but once he was soft, you felt him slowly slipping out of you together with the mixed evidence of your shared desire. Spencer insisted on helping you clean up the mess between your legs and was quick to get a damp towel from the bathroom.

Watching him carefully rid you of any remaining stickiness somehow felt even more intimate than anything you had done before. Neither of you bothered to put clothes back on, instead you cuddled up under the comforter together to savor the sensation of having each other near.

When you thought back to what led you into Spencer's arms earlier tonight, you couldn't hold back your giggles. 

"Maybe I should read that book you mentioned." 

"You can, if you want," Spencer chuckled before he began kissing along your neck. When he found your ear, he whispered, "I'd much rather show you everything it says, though."

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @sebs-oxygen @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @conniesanchor @reaux02 @ellamaianderson @cynbx @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @amititties @castiels-majestic-wings @torigorie @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @reidtopia @velvetthunder93 @cncoxlifeline @jordie-gvf-admin @saturnstringz @missabsey @spencerslove @guacam011y @whoopdy-doo @hugyourlungs

[thecuriousbeauty]

Different Frequencies- Part II (Harry Styles!au x autistic!reader)

Synopsis- College heartthrob and football captain Harry Styles needs extra credit to survive the year. His only shot? Mentoring Y/N, a brilliant but blunt autistic student who couldn’t care less about his charm. What starts as an obligation soon sparks something neither of them expected.

A/N:- Thanks for the love on Part 1 guys! There will probably be another two parts to it. Here's Part 2, hope you enjoy! If you haven't read part 1, here's the link to it- Part 1

Word count:- 5379

Warnings: Physical abuse, meltdowns, some angst and fluff.

____________________________

The library was nearly empty, bathed in golden sunlight slicing through the high windows. At a corner table near the art section, y/n sat hunched over her sketchbook, her headphones resting loosely around her neck. It wasn’t on, it was just there. A pencil danced between her fingers, making sharp, clean lines across textured paper.

Harry spotted her before she spotted him.

He hadn’t planned to look for her today. No mentor session. No extra credit.

He walked over quietly, stopping beside her table.

“Hey, Da Vinci,” he said lightly, tipping his head toward the sketchbook. “You drawin’ world domination or somethin’ prettier?”

Y/N didn’t jump. She glanced up, briefly made eye contact, then looked back down. “World domination would be pretty?”

Harry just smiled at her honest question, “You could make anything look pretty.”

Flirty. Harry could be flirty, Zayn had warned her. She chose to ignore him.

“It’s a city made of sound.”, she replies quietly.

Harry blinked. “A what?”

She turned the sketchbook toward him. A skyline spread across the page, but not made of buildings. It was composed of waveforms, musical notations, color-coded sections that resembled sound patterns. There was a rhythm in the way it rose and fell, like it pulsed.

“Each building is a sound. Red is warmth. Yellow is distraction. Blue is... quiet.”

Harry sat across from her slowly, eyes scanning the page.

“That’s insane,” he said, meaning it in the best way. “You think in colors like this all the time?”

She shrugged. “Not always. Sometimes. It helps make things less loud.”

He nodded, thoughtful. No jokes. No smug grin. Just awe.

Before he could say more, someone walked up behind her. Tall, dark-haired, with a backpack slung lazily over one shoulder.

“Hello,” Zayn said, voice casual, as he dropped a soft side hug onto Y/N’s shoulder. “Hi Zayn!”, she replies brightly.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. She leaned into the hug, just for a second. 

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That’s rare,” he said, nodding toward the hug. “She usually threatens to stab me with a pencil if I get within a foot.”

Zayn laughed, sliding into the seat beside her. “She’s been threatening me since second grade. Took her a decade to allow a side hug.” Zayn looks sideways at his best friend. “You two are getting along pretty well too, aren’t ya?”

“Harry asks too many questions.”, she says, and Zayn chuckles. 

“Yeah, I can be annoying, but you haven’t told me to stop.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you say we’re great friends now?”

y/n was focusing on the drawing, but she was listening. She takes a minute to think before saying, “Friends, yeah.”

Zayn laughs as Harry’s face falls. “Oh well.”, he sighs and answers his phone as it rings. “Yeah, mate?”

Harry’s eyes furrow as he curses, “That dick. Yeah I’m coming.” He hangs up as he mutters, “Fucking asshole-”

“Harry! No cursing, and it’s the library! So shh!”, y/n glares at him. Harry gets up with his hands out, defensively. “I’m sorry, Cherry, I gotta go anyway. Something came up. Meet you tomorrow at 2.”

She lifted her head up to give him a small wave, that made him smile and give her one back. “See you around, Zayn.”

“Yup, see ya.”

 Zayn noticed the tiny flicker of her eyes tracking Harry until he disappeared through the main doors.

The moment he was gone, Zayn turned to her, smirking.

“Sooooo…” he started, drawing out the word.

y/n didn’t look up. “No.”

“You didn’t even let me ask.”

“It’s still no.”

“Come on. You like him.”

She finally glanced up. “I tolerate him..”

“Tolerate?” Zayn teased. “You didn’t even flinch when he sat across from you. You let him sit with you in class and ask you questions. You didn’t hit him with your sketchbook.”

“He’s good, he doesn’t make fun of me..,” she muttered, closing her book carefully.

“Well, he’s clearing your bar. With swagger, too.”

y/n sighed. “What bar?”

“What I mean is that, finally, it looks like my best friend has an interest in someone!”

“Nope.”, she said but there was the faintest smile there, reluctant and secret. She stood, tucking her sketchbook into her backpack.

Zayn slung an arm around her shoulders as they headed toward the parking lot.

“Let me hug you like a normal person.”

“No.”

“What if I promise to stop talking about Harry?”

“Double no.”

“You wound me.”

She snorted. He bumped her gently with his shoulder.

“It’s good, though,” he said after a pause. “You letting people in, even just a little.”

“Let’s not make it a speech.”

“Fine,” Zayn grinned. “But if he breaks your heart, I will break his knees.”

She didn’t answer, but she didn’t push him away either. That was anwer enough. “Movie night at my place?”, she offers, and Zayn grins happily. “Do you need to ask? I’m always down!”

________________________________

In the locker room across campus, the mood was different.

Shouting echoed off the tiled walls. Harry stepped into the room to see two players squared off. One red-faced and furious, the other smirking, arms crossed.

Darren.

“That’s enough!” Harry barked, shoving his way between them.

The younger player backed off immediately, still scowling. Darren didn’t move.

“You wanna act like a damn child?” Harry snapped. “Pick fights like we’re in a high school locker room?”

Darren just leaned against the wall, nonchalant. “He mouthed off.”

“You pushed him into the lockers.”

“Barely.”

Harry’s jaw clenched.

“This is the third time, Darren. Next one, you're benched. Fourth? You're off the team.”

Darren scoffed. “You’re not the coach.”

“No,” Harry said evenly, “but I’m the captain. And I’ve got enough pull to make sure you’re gone. Try me.”

Darren’s smirk widened, slow and mocking.

“You gonna cry about it to Coach? Or maybe that little pet project of yours, what’s her name? y/n the freak?”

Harry’s expression darkened instantly. He stepped closer.

“Watch it.”

“Relax,” Darren said with a snort, pushing off the wall. “Didn’t know she needed a bodyguard.”

He brushed past Harry and walked out, laughter echoing behind him, the kind that wasn’t amused, just cruel.

Harry stood there a beat longer, fists clenched. He didn't know yet just how deep Darren’s cruelty ran, but something told him this wasn’t the last time their paths would clash.

____________________________

It was quiet on the east side of campus, where the older buildings stood, all ivy-covered brick and rusted window frames. Y/N always came this way before her sessions with Harry. The walk was longer, but it was quieter. No one shouting across lawns. No earbuds blaring in passing ears. Just gravel crunching underfoot and the low hum of distant traffic.

She liked the stillness. She could think here.

Y/N rounded the corner of the building slowly, tucking her sketchbook under her arm. She had a new piece to show Harry, something calmer than yesterday’s city of sound. She’d used only blue this time. Layers of it. Textured. Like silence painted in water.

That’s when she heard it. It wasn’t loud, but sharp. A voice, cut off mid-sentence. Then a thud. Her head snapped toward the alley between the arts building and the storage annex.

A girl stumbled back against the wall.

y/n froze.

It was Leah, a girl from her design theory class. Always kind, always softly spoken. Her portfolio was filled with soft pastels and tiny, intricate patterns.

Leah’s back was pressed hard to the bricks, one hand raised like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Darren stood in front of her.

Even from a distance, y/n could tell it was him. Tall, broad, that ever-present tension in his shoulders like he was always one second away from snapping.

“Don’t talk to me like that again,” he hissed. “I don’t care who was watching.”

Leah said something, too quiet for y/n to hear and Darren stepped forward fast.

His hand didn’t hit her, not exactly. But it grabbed her wrist hard enough that she gasped. He yanked her forward, whispered something with a snarl in his voice, then shoved her back. Not enough to knock her down but enough that she staggered.

y/n’s fingers dug into her sketchbook. Her pulse roared in her ears. She even noticed a bruise forming on Leah’s right cheek, had he hit her before she stumbled upon them? She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She just watched, locked in place by something cold and familiar.

Her father’s voice, sharp and sudden. Her mother’s stillness. The day the door closed, and no one came back.

Darren turned, storming off down the path, and y/n flinched as his footsteps pounded past her without even noticing she was there.

Leah stayed frozen against the wall for a second longer, then quickly wiped her face and walked the other way.

Y/N didn’t call out. She just stood there, sketchbook pressed against her chest like a shield, mouth open slightly. She had to get out of there.

y/n walked briskly, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, shoulders tight with tension. Her breathing was shallow, controlled, but barely. The image of Leah’s frightened eyes and Darren’s aggressive grip looped in her mind like a broken record.

She didn’t know how she got to the room. Only that she pushed open the door, her limbs stiff and cold, and stepped inside.

Harry was already there, which was rare as he always comes late. He looked up, smirking.

“Well, look who’s late for once,” he teased, tapping his watch. “I was starting to think you got abducted by the math department.”

Silence.

She didn’t smile. Didn’t roll her eyes or tuck her hair behind her ear like she usually did. She just stood there for a second, frozen near the door, eyes unfocused.

Harry’s smile dropped halfway. “Hey,” he said, more gently now. “You alright?”

Still nothing.

She moved to her seat, mechanically. Set her bag down too carefully. Sat without looking up. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her pen, then changed her mind and placed it flat on the table instead.

Harry watched her. Really watched her.

y/n was quiet, yes. She often needed time to warm into a session, to speak, or even meet his gaze. But this was different. This stillness wasn’t peace. It was something else. Like she was somewhere else entirely.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Cherry?”

She couldn’t form words. Harry gasps softly when he notices that her eyes are welling up. “Did something happen?”

The walls were closing in.

Y/N’s breath hitched as her fingers dug into the sleeve of her sweater, knuckles white. The air felt too loud, the ticking of the clock, the faint hum of the lights, even Harry’s quiet breathing across from her. It all pressed in.

“I-” she croaked, then stopped.

Harry was concerned now, but he didn’t want to rush her. “Take your time. You’re safe, yeah?”

But her body didn’t believe him.

She shook her head. “It… it reminded me-” Her voice broke. “I can’t-I don’t wanna be here, I can’t be here-”

“Okay,” Harry said quickly, pushing back his chair just a bit to give her space. “Okay, no problem. You don’t have to stay. You can leave, if that’s what you want-”

“Call Zayn,” she gasped out. “Please. Call Zayn. I need Zayn to take me home.”

Harry was already reaching for his phone. “Yeah, yeah-of course. I’ll call him.”

She was rocking now, ever so slightly, her hands over her ears, not pressing hard, but enough to dim the world.

Harry found Zayn’s contact, the only reason he had it was because Zayn had given it to him telling him he might need it for emergencies. This qualified as an emergency, didn’t it?

One ring. Two. Straight to voicemail.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Harry muttered. He tried again. Nothing.

He looked up. “y/n… I can’t reach him. He’s not picking up.”

Her eyes widened, panic flickering across her face. “No. No, he was-he said he’d-he’s supposed to-”

“I know,” Harry said gently. “He probably thought the session would run longer. He’ll be here soon. But until then, I can-”

“No,” she snapped, too loud for her own ears, flinching. “No, I don’t want- I need Zayn.”

Harry swallowed hard. This wasn’t about him. He knew that.

But it was about being there. About doing something. Anything.

“I’m not trying to replace him,” he said carefully, voice softer than ever. “I just… I don’t want you to be alone while you’re feeling like this.”

Tears were streaming down her face now, but she wasn’t sobbing. Just shaking, as though the world inside her was coming apart in slow motion.

Harry pulled his hoodie off and held it out gently. “Here. Just while we wait. You don’t have to talk. Or look at me. Just, here.”

She stared at it. Then, after a long moment, reached out and took it with trembling hands, pulling it over her own. It was warm. It smelled faintly of him- something clean, earthy, familiar.

Harry sat back down, not too close, not too far.

He kept his phone on the table, screen facing up, so she could see it.

“I’ll keep calling,” he said quietly. “I promise. I could drive you home, Cherry, I don’t mind.”, he adds, eyes going to her trembling hands. Harry gently slid his hand over hers, warm and steady. He didn’t squeeze. Didn’t shift. Just held it, his thumb brushing the back of her hand lightly, not to soothe, but to say I’m here.

And to his surprise… she didn’t flinch.

Her breath hitched again, but this time, a little less like panic and more like relief. The shaking didn’t stop entirely, but it slowed, like her body was listening to something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.

Harry swallowed.

He had held hands a hundred times before. With girls he’d dated, friends, strangers at parties who needed help down stairs. But this? This wasn’t like that.

This was delicate. Like holding a bird that might fly away the second you tried too hard.

“H-Harry.”

 His phone was ringing. Still holding one of her hands, he answers the phone with the other. 

“Is everything okay?”, Zayn asks him on the other side.

“Uh, something happened. y/n wants to go home, could you come pick her up?”

“Of course! I’ll be there in two minutes, what do you mean something happened? What did you do? Is she okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath, swallowing his urge to snap back at Zayn for assuming the worst from him. “Just get here, okay?”

Zayn was there in less than 2 minutes. His gaze landed on his best friend, and he rushed to her side, “y/n, god I’m so sorry I should have been here. Are you okay?” He sits on the seat right next to her and she lets go of Harry’s hand to hug Zayn as his arms wrap around her, pulling her into his embrace. She let herself melt into his arms, the tension in her back easing only slightly. Her hands gripped the fabric of his shirt like an anchor.

“Zayn..”

“I’m here, shh..”, Zayn soothes, and Harry watches. Zayn narrowed his eyes at him. “The fuck did you do?”

“Nothing. I-”

“You were the only one with her. Did you say something to her? She-”

“-Zayn. No, no..Harry helped.”, y/n manages to get out. “Stop, please. Wanna go home.”

“Okay.”, he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

Then she left with Zayn, his arm tight around her shoulders as they disappeared down the hallway.

Harry sat back down in the empty room, wishing he could go with them. But he also could not stop wondering what had made her feel so horrible.

___________________________________

The ride home was quiet.

Zayn glanced at her now and then from the driver’s seat, his hand resting on the gearshift near hers, not touching, just there. She hadn’t said a word since leaving the college. She just curled into the passenger seat, Harry’s oversized hoodie still wrapped around her, face turned to the window.

He wanted to ask. God, he wanted to ask.

But he didn’t.

She was safe now. That had to be enough.

When they pulled into the driveway, he helped her out of the car without a word. y/n walked slowly, like she wasn’t fully in her body yet. Zayn opened the door with the key her mom had given him long ago and guided her inside.

“y/n?” her mother called from the kitchen, footsteps approaching. “Sweetheart, you’re-”

She stopped when she saw her daughter.

y/n didn’t speak. Didn’t explain. Just walked forward until she reached her mother, burying her face into her chest, arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

“Oh, baby,” her mom whispered, immediately holding her close. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

y/n didn’t cry this time. She was past the peak of the wave now, just exhausted. Her knees buckled slightly, and her mom led her gently to the couch.y/n curled up beside her, resting her head in her mother’s lap like she used to as a child. Her mother ran fingers through her hair, slow and rhythmic, not asking a thing.

Zayn stood off to the side for a moment, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

He wanted answers.

But y/n’s face was soft now, her eyes already slipping closed, comforted by the only two people in the world she’d let see her undone.

So he just said, “She didn’t say what happened. But she was shaking. Panicked. I think… she saw something.”

Her mom nodded, expression serious, but not surprised. “She’ll talk when she’s ready.”

Zayn lingered for a moment more, then nodded and sat nearby, close enough to be there, far enough to give her space.

And y/n, wrapped in silence and soft hands, finally let sleep take her.

______________________________

y/n sat on the low stone ledge outside the library, her notebook open in her lap but untouched. The page was blank, just like her mind.

Well, not blank. Crowded. With thoughts. With guilt. With her.

Leah’s smile in class that morning had been bright, too bright, wrapped around Darren’s arm like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t grabbed her. Like she hadn’t flinched.

Maybe it wasn’t what she thought. Maybe it was just a fight. Maybe Leah wanted to stay. Maybe it wasn’t her place to interfere.But then again… her father had smiled in front of people too. That hadn’t stopped what happened when the doors closed.

She glanced around, eyes scanning for Zayn like she always did. But he wasn’t there today. She was alone.

Or… so she thought.

“Hey.”

She flinched slightly at the familiar voice.

Harry.

Of course.

She kept her head down, tried to focus on her notebook like she was busy, like nothing had happened. But her hands gave her away, stiff, tight around the pen.

He walked over slowly, giving her room. “Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “Can we talk?”

She shook her head, almost immediately. “I’m fine.”

Harry sat beside her anyway, not close enough to overwhelm, but close enough that she’d know he wasn’t leaving.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

y/n didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed on the page.

He waited for a beat. “You think I see you differently now.”

She looked up, startled.

“You think because I saw you upset, or scared, or hurting… I see you as broken,” Harry said, his voice calm but clear. “Or weird. Or… whatever other word you’ve been called before.”

She didn’t deny it.

Her fingers curled into the edge of her hoodie sleeve. “I don’t… I don’t want you to think I’m… like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like a freak.”

The word hit the air like a dropped glass.

Harry turned fully toward her then, eyebrows drawn together. “You’re not.”

She scoffed and looked away.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “You’re not. And I’m not like them.”

Her eyes flicked back to his, cautious.

He wasn’t saying it to make her feel better. He meant it. That was the difference. He wasn’t talking to her like she was fragile, just like someone who mattered.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but if somebody hurt you..I-” Harry took a breath, thinking of the right words. “I would like to have a word with them.”

y/n cracked a small smile. “Why?”

“Cause you’re my friend, duh? Friends stand up for each other, Cherry.” Her smile widens when she hears that. From the time she can remember, she only had Zayn as a friend. y/n hadn’t had the time to discuss with Zayn or her mom about what had happened, so she was hesitant to tell Harry. But then she remembers how sweet he was yesterday, giving her his hoodie and holding her hand.

“I saw Darren and Leah fighting.”, she says, motioning for Harry to come closer and listen. He does, already about to make a comment about Darren but he thinks it’s better to let her complete. 

“He grabbed her wrist and spoke to her very rudely. Very rude. Mean. She was holding a hand to her cheek..so maybe he hit her? I don’t know. But it wasn’t right.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Darren’s not a good guy, always picking up fights and being mean. I thought he was good with Leah though..I mean, the way they make it seem..anyway, what are you going to do about it?”

“I think I should talk to Leah.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Then we can confront Darren. He’s in the football team, you know, always upto no good. He acts like he’s better than everyone and doesn’t really gel with the team. One more strike and the coach will throw him out of the team.”

“Mean.”, y/n repeats, and Harry smiles, watching her lips press in a small pout, expressing her displeasure. Her hair wasn’t in her usual braid today, it was pulled back in a pony, the gentle wind making her repeatedly push the loose strands away from her face. Harry found it really cute.

Her watch beeped, and she started packing her things. “Which class do you have now?”, Harry asks.

“No class. I have nothing until noon. I’m gonna take a walk.”, she tells him, standing up.”Lake behind the library, I like it there.”

“Oh the hook up spot?”, Harry smirks and she rolls her eyes. “There won’t be many at this time..I hope.”

Harry chuckled and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Can I come along? I’ll stay quiet.”

y/n shrugged, she was starting to feel like he wasn’t so annoying after all. She walked beside Harry, her hands tucked in the sleeves of her cardigan, eyes lighting up every time she spotted a familiar plant poking through the underbrush.

"That's mugwort," she said, pointing to a patch of tall, silvery-green leaves. "People used to believe it protected travelers from getting lost. And nightmares, too, if you put it under your pillow."

Harry glanced at her, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile. "Maybe I should start carrying some around. I get lost in the campus parking lot at least twice a week."

She smiled, a small huff of amusement escaping her. Harry kept pace with her, not rushing, just... listening. He liked how her voice changed when she talked about things she cared about. He liked how she noticed the tiny details no one else seemed to.

They rounded a bend in the path, where rain from the day before had left a muddy puddle stretching across the trail. y/n tried to step around it, but her foot caught the edge of a slippery rock. She gasped, arms flailing slightly as she tipped sideways.

Harry reacted instantly, catching her by the waist before she could fall. "Whoa! I got you," he said, steadying her easily.

For a second, they just looked at each other. Her breath shallow from the near-miss, his hands still holding her carefully like she might shatter if he let go too fast. Then, slowly, their fingers slid together. He didn’t pull away, and neither did she.

The path continued, but now they walked hand in hand.

Y/N’s heart beat a little faster, not from the fall, but from the warmth of his palm in hers. She wasn’t used to this kind of touch. But it didn’t feel overwhelming. It felt... grounding.

Harry noticed the way her eyes darted occasionally, like she was still carrying yesterday’s stormclouds. So he squeezed her hand lightly. “Hey, want to hear something kind of dumb?” he offered, his voice playful.

She looked up at him cautiously. “Okay.”

“So, my freshman year, I thought the ‘honors’ lounge was just, like... a really fancy bathroom. I went in there with shampoo and a towel because I thought it had showers or something. Walked in on two people studying thermodynamics while I was holding a loofah.”

She blinked. Then snorted.

Harry grinned. “Yeah. I ran. Fast. Left the loofah behind. I think someone still uses it as a paperweight.”

A soft laugh escaped her, and she covered her mouth, shaking her head.

“That’s... ridiculous,” she said, a little shyly. She realized slowly that Harry shared a piece of information so that she doesn’t have to feel embarrassed. She stole a glance at him, his curls bouncing a little as he walked, his eyes scanning the path ahead but occasionally flicking down to where their hands met. Every time he did, the corner of his mouth quirked, like he couldn’t help but smile at it.

“Um, do you like board games?”, she asked quickly, before she could take back what she was going to ask him.

“Board games? Yeah, sure, why?”, Harry was a little surprised but her answers nevertheless.

“There’s a thing we do on Fridays, Zayn and I. We go to a club for board games, like you know, book clubs. Mostly we go there for snacks. They’re really good.”, she rambles. “Would you, um like to join?”

Harry grinned. He couldn’t imagine how in the beginning he just wanted to get the mentorship classes done as soon as he could to get his extra credit and now he was getting happy the quiet girl is inviting him to something.

“I’m in, you had me at snacks. Are you sure Zayn will be alright with it though? He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Don’t worry about him.”, y/n assures, sitting down on one of the benches near the lake and taking a deep breath as she looks at the still water. It always made her calm. Harry sat next to her quietly until he had to run off for football practice.

_____________________________

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

She wasn’t someone who confronted people. Conflict made her skin buzz with static. But the image wouldn’t leave her. Leah flinching, Darren’s fingers digging into her wrist, the mark on her cheek.

Y/N stepped forward before she could overthink it.

“Leah,” she said, voice a little higher than normal.

Leah turned, pleasantly surprised. She was walking with her friends to the canteen.

“Can we talk?” y/n asked.

Leah’s smile faltered just a fraction. But she nodded.

Once they were out of earshot, y/n fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve.

“I saw what happened,” she said plainly. “Yesterday. With Darren.”

Leah froze. “W-What, what do you mean?”

y/n continued before she could back out. “You don’t have to explain. Or say anything you’re not ready to. But I just want you to know… I noticed. And I believe you. Even if you’re not ready to say it out loud.”

Leah’s throat moved like she was trying to swallow a stone.

“You saw him?” she whispered. “But… it’s not usually like that. He just-he gets stressed. And sometimes I push his buttons and-”

“No one deserves to be hurt,” y/n said softly, her voice trembling but steady. “Even when it looks like love on the outside.”

Leah’s eyes welled up, and she turned away quickly, brushing at her face. “H-He loves me, you don’t know us. I have to go now.”

“Leah-”

“It’s none of your business, okay? Just stay out of it.”, she said harshly, and then added a quiet, “Please.”

Then she went. y/n sighed watching her go. She couldn’t just leave it like that, knowing that someone is being hurt. Leah trusts Darren too much, she’s blindly in love. y/n thought about what she could do but couldn’t come up with anything. Maybe she’ll ask Zayn and Harry for suggestions. 

__________________________

Harry wiped sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, catching sight of Zayn near the vending machines. He almost didn’t say anything, but something gnawed at him.

The way y/n’s breathing had hitched like her whole system had short-circuited.

He walked over.

“Hey.”

Zayn turned, expression neutral. “Hey, Styles.”

Harry glanced around. No one was close enough to hear.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, quieter now.

Zayn folded his arms. “About y/n?”

Harry nodded.

“She told me what she saw, but I felt like there was more to it. I didn’t ask her. I figured if she wanted to tell me, she would. But… I’ve been thinking about it. It wasn’t just sensory overload, was it?”

Zayn studied him for a long moment. Not suspicious, more like measuring how much truth Harry could hold.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “What she saw reminded her of… stuff.”

Harry tilted his head. “What kind of stuff?”

Zayn exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening.

“Her dad used to hurt her mum. Bad. Like hospital bad. When he found out Y/N was autistic, he blamed her for everything, said she was the reason their lives were hard. He left not long after, but not before doing damage that stuck.”

Harry felt his stomach drop.

“He told her she was broken,” Zayn added, voice thick now. “That no one would ever love her ‘the way she is.’”

Harry’s grip on the edge of the vending machine tightened. “Jesus.”

Zayn shrugged, but there was no casualness in it. “She doesn’t talk about it much. But sometimes, when she sees something that reminds her of it, someone hurting someone they claim to love, she freezes. It’s not just memory. It’s her whole nervous system going into lockdown.”

Harry nodded slowly, feeling like he’d just been handed something fragile and sacred.

“I want to help,” he said quietly.

Zayn’s eyes softened. “Then don’t rush her. Let her come to you. And when she does… mean it.”

Harry met his gaze. “I do.”

Zayn gave a short nod, like he’d come to a decision. “She trusts you. I don’t know how fast that happened, but… it means something. Don’t screw it up.”

Then he turned and walked off, leaving Harry alone by the vending machine, the hum of the gym dull in his ears.

He stood there for a moment, hands braced against the metal, heart thudding a little too hard.

He had known there was something more to her, not in a fragile way, but in a layered way. y/n moved through the world like someone who’d had to build her own armor. Not hard-edged, just precise. Measured. Honest in a way that most people weren’t brave enough to be.

And now he understood a little more of why.

She’d let him see the cracks. Not all of them. But enough.

Enough to make him feel the weight of it in his chest, not in a way that scared him off, but in the way you feel when someone trusts you with something real. Something that matters.

Harry pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and let out a breath. God. He really liked her

______________________________

Please let me know if there are any changes to be made to the tag list.

Taglist: -@livypops12352568 @harrydeary, @harryswifee, @harrysbxtchh, @gracelovesethan, @kiwitsayedsugar, @angeldavis777,@madstyles3204, @youngpastafanmug, @fruity-harry, @wannaliveinparadise@hermionelove@mayalove014 @vikiii07@ell0ra-br3kk3r @thelooneytoon @charlesleclercwifey, @stylesftcher @mads3502 @somewiseguy @huhidontknowstuff

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mentions of school fights and bruises (non-graphic) + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 2.3k | genre: romance, fluff, kinda enemies-to-lovers !! ;p

note: WOWOW, two posts in one day??? who is she??? (definitely not someone procrastinating her to-do list by writing about a rebel basketball captain and a stressed-out student council president falling in love—definitely not.)

anyway, hii !! i had way too much fun writing this !! >< also, feel free to send me messages, asks, or requests—i might (emphasis on might because I’m lazy, hehe) turn this into a series if you guys like it, aaa. ALSO, i really, really need to make a masterlist to keep my profile organized, but guess what? i’m too lazy. someone please bonk me with a pillow or smth. 💔

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ♡‧₊˚

Y/N L/N

Year & Section: 12 - A

Position: Student Council President

Vibe: Miss Goody Two Shoes, Walking Honor Roll, and A Literal Angel

Known For:

- Fixing everyone’s mess (including Natasha’s)

- Straight As, Complete notes, and a color-coded Google Calendar

- Always wearing her ID. Always.

- Literally the only reason the faculty hasn’t given up on this school

- Smiles sweetly while saying, “That’s against school policy.”

NATASHA ROMANOFF

Year & Section: 12 - A

Position: Captain, Women’s Basketball Team

Vibe: Rebel Without a Cause, Hotheaded Heartthrob, and Leather Jacket Energy

Known For:

- Cutting class but still scoring MVP

- Pulling up to school on a motorcycle (allegedly)

- Has a permanent seat in detention—but makes it look like a throne

- Once made a guy cry during a scrimmage... with just a glare

- Looks like she doesn’t care—until it’s Y/N.

What would you do if you got partnered with your polar opposite for a school project? Like... the girl who's practically allergic to rules, shows up late to every class—if she even shows up at all—and somehow makes your life as student council president ten times harder just by existing?

Well, I have... and here's how the story goes.

She's Natasha Romanoff.

If there’s one person on this campus who gives me a headache at least three times a week, it’s Natasha Romanoff.

Captain of the women’s basketball team. Standing at six feet of pure chaos. The type of student who thinks rules are suggestions and uniforms are optional. She’s the exact kind of person I swore I’d never get involved with. You know—the delinquent, the rebel, the walking red flag your mother warned you about.

She rarely shows up to class. And when she does? She’s either asleep, doodling in her notebook, or getting sent out for being a 'distraction.' Her file in the faculty office is thicker than the student handbook—and I would know, I helped revise it.

She picks fights like it’s a sport. She’s been banned from three different cafeterias for fighting in line. Her knuckles are always bruised, her lip usually split, and yet she still walks around like she owns the whole school—because somehow, she kind of does.

It drives me insane. I’m the student council president. I run this place on schedules, protocols, and peacekeeping. I solve disputes between orgs, approve event permits, and enforce policies like my life depends on it—which, sometimes, it kind of does. So imagine my horror every time her name pops up on my desk. 'Romanoff punched someone again.' 'Romanoff’s skipping classes again.' 'Romanoff's motorcycle is parked on the faculty lawn again.'

She's a walking nightmare for someone like me.

Worse, she seems to have no plans for her future. No goals. No ambition. Just… basketball. That’s all she ever thinks about. Practice. Games. Scores. Like the world outside the court doesn’t exist. It’s frustrating. It’s pathetic. And yet—she plays with so much fire, it almost makes you forget everything else. Almost.

Tip: don’t be fooled by her soft-looking face. Sure, she’s got those calm green eyes and a lazy smile that makes girls weak in the knees, but trust me—she’s all sharp edges underneath. Dangerous. Reckless. Untouchable.

Naturally, girls chase after her like she’s a rom-com lead in real life. I’ve seen love confessions on paper cups, flowers in her locker, and girls literally waiting outside the gym after practice hoping she’ll so much as glance at them. But you know what’s weird? Despite how egoistical she is—despite the arrogance, the swagger, the attention—I’ve never seen her date anyone. I’ve never even heard rumors of her with anyone. Not once.

And then came the groupings for our Humanities project. A randomized draw, they said. Fate, I’d argue.

It was one silly project. That’s all it was supposed to be. A one-time, two-week, half-grade assignment. But it led to the one thing I never expected...

Actually knowing her.

That was the day everything changed.

That was the day Natasha Romanoff looked at me like I wasn’t just the school president... but something more.

—

You hear your name and Natasha Romanoff’s in the same sentence and immediately feel the universe collapse.

“Group three… Romanoff and L/N.”

The room goes silent. A beat of stunned silence, and then—

“WHAT?”

“Oh my god.”

“No way.”

“Lord, this is my Roman Empire.”

You shut your eyes and exhale slowly.

“Y/N,” Wanda whispers, clutching your arm like you’re on a sinking ship. “Tell me I heard wrong.”

You stare at your teacher. “Miss, is there a mistake—?”

“No mistakes,” she says cheerfully. Too cheerfully. “I think this will be a… fun dynamic.”

Yelena is already cackling. “Good luck, president,” she sings. “You’re gonna need it.”

Behind you, Natasha Romanoff stretches in her seat like she didn’t just cause a classroom-wide scandal. She yawns, leans back, spins her pen between her fingers like a basketball. You lock eyes for exactly two seconds. She smirks.

And just like that, you know you’re doomed.

—

Later that afternoon

You’re pacing by your locker, chewing your lower lip. You don't have Natasha’s number. But Yelena does.

“I hate this,” you say, typing quickly. “This feels like betrayal.”

“Calm down, you’re literally texting her for school,” Yelena replies while eating fries. “Now go! Be a good president and go manage your delinquent girlfriend.”

“She is not my—never mind.”

You shoot her a glare, then copy the number. You stare at your phone for a full minute before finally typing:

You expect to be left on read. Or worse—no response at all.

But she replies.

You blink.

She does find you. Within ten minutes.

You watch her walk in like she owns the place. In her hoodie, earrings glinting under the warm light, one earbud in, backpack slung over one shoulder. She moves like a secret, like danger with a pulse.

She drops into the seat across from you. “Hey.”

You glance at the time. “You’re… early.”

She shrugs. “Skipped practice.”

Your jaw drops. “What?! Why would you—”

“To work on the project,” she says simply, like it’s obvious.

You gape at her. “You skipped practice. For school.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, presidente,” she teases, resting her chin on her hand. “You messaged. I showed up. That’s the arrangement, right?”

You can’t even tell if she’s being serious. But her eyes are calm, and she actually opens the module you printed out. No complaints. No smart remarks. Just… reading.

You snap out of it and start discussing your plan. She listens. Occasionally nods. Offers surprisingly decent ideas. You make notes. You don’t notice that your voice grows more relaxed. You don’t notice how she’s been watching you the whole time—not the paper. Not the topic. You.

“You know,” she says once you finish outlining the draft, “you talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cute.”

You nearly choke on your water.

—

Once you pack up

“Okay, I’ll message you updates after I type the outline,” you say, stuffing your planner into your tote. “Thanks for actually showing up, by the way. I didn’t expect you to.”

Natasha stands, slinging her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ll walk you home.”

You pause. “What?”

“It’s late. You’ve got three books in your bag, and your tote’s heavier than Yelena’s sarcasm. Come on.”

You blink at her. “Are you… being nice?”

“Don’t ruin it,” she deadpans.

You roll your eyes but… follow her. She doesn’t ask for your address. She already knows it. (You don’t want to know how.)

The walk is quiet. She keeps her hands in her pockets, glancing at you every few steps like she’s making sure you’re still there. At one point, she slows down to match your pace. You pretend not to notice. But your heart’s doing cartwheels.

When you reach your gate, you turn to her. “Okay, um… thanks. Again.”

She shrugs. “Text me when you’re editing. I wanna see what it looks like.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You care about the final output now?”

She gives you a lopsided smirk. “You care. That’s enough reason.”

Before you can respond, she’s already walking away.

You stand at your gate, heart thundering, cheeks warm.

What just happened?

—

Meanwhile, the group chats are on fire.

—

Your phone buzzes again—more group chats lighting up, your friends collectively losing their minds—but you don’t check them right away. You’re still thinking about her voice. The way she said you care, that’s enough reason. It loops in your head like a song you’re not ready to skip. And for the first time since the semester started, you’re not thinking about deadlines, reports, or disciplinary forms.

Outside, your phone buzzes again.

You smile.

You think that’s it. But then…

Your jaw drops. You type furiously.

You let out an annoyed huff. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself it is. But deep down, you’re smiling like a fool under the covers, kicking your feet just a little—just enough to feel ridiculous.

Because Natasha Romanoff just told you sweet dreams.

Because she showed up. Listened. Skipped basketball for a group project.

Because somewhere between the chaos and the attitude and the teasing, you’re starting to realize something terrifying:

She’s not just a delinquent.

She’s not just trouble.

She’s kind of wonderful.

And she’s starting to mean something to you.

You’re so doomed.

You’re thinking about Natasha Romanoff.

You fling your pillow over your face to muffle the scream

You close your eyes, the ghost of her smirk burned into your mind.

Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.

Very, very interesting.

[girlboypersonthingy]

Hi yes i saw hazbin requests were open??? Anything involving pining Lucifer. Or lucifer seeing reader dressed super nice for like a fancy party or something (full makeup, fancy revealing dress, that sorta thing) for the first time. Maybe feelings are revealed? I’m a sucker for pining

I love that we are all so disgustingly thirsty for this man. He deserves it ❤️‍🔥 but seriously tho…all my Lucifer posts have gotten at least 100 likes in the first day that they’re posted. Like damn yall, we need to talk about our husband more! We all have such good taste 😌 I love our little short king. Thanks for the request. Enjoyyyyyyy~

Notes: fem!reader, reader wears a dress in this one

TW: suggestive themes, hardcore pining, heavy making out

🪽The King of Pining🪽

This morning, Charlie invited everyone to the lobby of the hotel, shouting out that she had great news and a wonderful idea. Husk and Angel grumble about their annoyance with it being too early in the morning and them being way too sober for group activities right now as they plop down on one of the couches. The rest of the group files in, finding spots to relax as Charlie bounces up and down in her spot, bitting her lip and clenching her fists out of pure excitement. You follow along, deciding to stay standing and a bit behind the group, glancing back to see Lucifer coming to join the pack, standing just behind the couch that sat Vaggie and Nifty. You stare at him for a moment and when he finally glances your way, you offer him a sleepy smile and a quick wave of your hand. A small smirk finds its way to his lips as he nods his head at you, quickly looking away after.

“So…what’s the news?” Vaggie finally speaks up once everyone is settled and all eyes are on Charlie standing front and center. “Sooooooo, I had a brilliant idea that will be equally fun and beneficial to the hotel. Ready? Ready for it?” Charlie looks around the group, looking as if she might burst into flames of enthusiasm any moment now. “WE ARE GONNA HOST A BALL!!!”

Angel smirks as he nudges Husk beside him. “Heh, balls.” “She said ‘ball’, jackass. Singular.” Husk spits back, rolling his eyes as he scoots away from Angel a bit.

“It’ll attract new recruits for the hotel! We can mingle, talk about all we have to offer. AH! It’s gonna be soooooo funnnnnn.” Charlie is yelling now, she can’t control herself in the slightest.

Charlie goes into explaining the details- it is to be a huge party with a formal dress code that everyone and anyone is invited to. It’ll be here at the hotel, with an open bar (Husk wants to die) and music! The group lets out noises of mixed emotions, Nifty and Angel shouting out of excitement and anticipation while Husk and Alastor both let out noises of dread. You, on the other hand are nervous but looking forward to having a fun night and getting to know the hotel staff and residents better. As Charlie’s speech ends, the group begins to disperse and talk amongst themselves.

You watch as Charlie approaches Vaggie, shyly dropping to her knees in front of her on the couch so that they are eye level with each other. “Will you…be my date to the ball, Vags?” You can’t help but smile as you watch Vaggie laugh, her cheeks and nose slowly changing color. “Of course, you goofball. You’re my partner. There’s no one else I’d rather go with.” They share a long hug, a beautiful positive energy radiating off of them.

“They’re just adorable, aren’t they?” The low, charming voice that sounds right next to you causes you to flinch a bit, now turning to see the king of hell himself standing beside you. “Oh! Hey. Yeah. They are pretty cute. They make a great couple.” You look back to the two girls holding hands and giggling but Lucifer keeps his eyes on you, taking this opportunity while you’re distracted to examine all the little details of your face up close. Hopefully no one else catches sight of him in this moment of utter hopeless romanticism.

When he finally snaps out of it, he lets out a sigh before putting on his best smile, clearing his throat just to get your attention again. “Speaking of great couples~” And as soon as your eyes land on him again, your lips curved up ever so slightly, his courage quickly leaves him. Lucifer freezes for a moment, mouth going dry as he tried to find a way out of this. Say something you idiot.

“I-I ha! I uh…I wonder what other great couples we’ll see at this party. Maybe some of hell’s highest royalty?” Nervous chuckles just keep rolling from his lips and he’s really hoping you don’t notice the way his hands are shaking as they rest on his cane. One of his trembling hands comes to the collar of his shirt, lightly yanking it down as if that would help bring air back to his lungs, the air you’ve sucked out of him with one simple glance.

“Hm. Yeah. Maybe.” You reply plainly, looking back to Vaggie and Charlie and before you can converse with Lucifer any further, he’s walking off with his tail between his legs, eyes wild and full of doubt. “You’ll be there. You are the king of hell after all, I’m sure everyone will be too focused on you and Charlie to notice any other royals. Are you uhm…planning on going with anyone?” You ask, still watching the two girls near the couch. Your voice stops Lucifer in his tracks, making him pause for a moment as he listens. He turns slowly back to you, wearing a bashful smile as he tucks both his arms behind his back.

“No, actually. I hadn’t even thought of it.” He lies, watching as you finally pull your gaze from his daughter and relax it on him. He slowly saunters back your way, unable to control his wandering eyes. “And what about you? Do you have anyone in mind that you’d want to go with?” And now his nervousness is rubbing off on you, making your voice shake as you respond. “Me? No, no…I’ll probably just tag along with uh…”

As you look around the room, it seems all couples have already paired up. Vaggie and Charlie sat on the couch still, Charlie’s legs strewn over her girlfriend’s lap. Angel and Husk seemed to be having a bit of an argument over what they will wear together. Angel wants to wear all pink but Husk is like FUCK NO. Even Sir Pentious was trembling in front of Cherri, as he looked to he asking her out. Obviously, Alastor is bringing his shadow along. That’s kind of a date…right?

“Uhm I mean, who knows? Maybe I’ll meet someone there.” The pride that inflated Lucifer’s chest just seconds ago seems to suddenly be punctured and drained by your lack of acknowledgment to his flirty hints. He wants to ask you to be his so badly it’s making his chest hurt now. Not his for the night, not his during the party, his all the time, any time he needs you. As he opens his mouth to speak, he hesitates and then decides to let out a heavy sigh instead. “Well..I will see you there.” And with the tip of his head, he finally turned and left you standing alone in a herd of conversing couples.

~night of the party~

You figured there’s no harm in showing up fashionably late tonight. At least, that was your excuse for showing up late. In reality, you were fully ready before the ball even started but your legs were so weak and shaky, you couldn’t find the strength to get yourself out there. So instead, you’re sitting in your room, fully clad in your nicest dress along with some accessories, sunken into your plush bed as you try to steady your breathing. Maybe if I stay here long enough in this dress, I can just say I was there but not actually go…

A knock on your door has you straightening up in your spot, a warm surprised feeling lighting up your chest. “Come in.” You respond, wondering just who was coming to see you right now. You assumed it was Angel trying to get you to come out and start partying with him. To your surprise, the princess of hell pops her cheerful little face inside your room.

“(Y/N)! I was wondering when you’d be coming…out…there. Oh my gosh! You look so gorgeous EEEEE!” Charlie steps into your room now, her big yellow eyes shining with enthusiasm and hope as she fangirls over your getup. “Oh, thank you. You look stunning yourself.” Charlie watches your eyes fluttering all around the room, unable to focus. “Yeah…I’m coming. Just…feeling anxious I guess.” Taking a deep breath, you finally stand, straightening out your dress and checking your hair in a mirror quickly. “Oh stop it! You look flawless, (Y/N). Let’s go have some fun.” Charlie quickly links arms with you and drags you out to the lobby full of people, lights and music.

Within just a few minutes of joining the party, you find yourself looking around a sea of strangers all on your own. Seems the princess of hell has a line of guests wanting to meet and greet with her. Understandable, but you’re starting to get overwhelmed. You’re desperately looking for a familiar face, needing a buddy to help you feel included and secure. As you swim through sinners and other residents of hell, head turning side to side, you finally spot Lucifer after nearly an hour of wandering around alone.

Sure, His typical white suit is nice, very flattering on him. But, oh boy, did he look fantastic tonight, heavenly even. For this special occasion, Lucifer was dressed in a deep red suit with accents of white and no hat, instead sporting his pretty, slicked back blonde hair. You’re not quick to rush to him, I mean are you trying to look desperate and pathetic? No, just stay calm. But once again, you two share a glance from afar and give each other a small wave of the hand. Lucifer looks…pained. He looks like he might just collapse to his knees and start vomiting. His shift in body language causes your smile to drop, your expression shifting to one of concern as you mouth to him ‘you okay?’.

From Lucifer’s point of view, the room became silent, empty, dimly lit with you there at the center of it all under this glowing golden ray of light. You looked angelic, innocent and sweet, elegant but also nervous and out of place and adorable and fuck it, he can’t wait. He nearly pushes the sinner trying to talk to him aside, rushing to you as his brain became overloaded with ideas of what to say to you.

With each and every stride he takes, your cheeks flush deeper shades of red. With every step, his knees begin to feel more and more like jelly. Finally, he’s joined you in the spotlight, the rest of the party fading away before both of your eyes as you stand just inches apart. Now, it’s all wandering eyes and heavy breathing from both of you. Licking your lips first, you force words out to break this awful silence.

“Wow! Y-you clean up well. You look nice, Luci.” As your voice reaches his ears, his dream-like state abruptly ended. The room floods with loud music, chatty people and bright lights again. He seems to perk up at your compliments, feeling like a dog in heat as his eyes travel up and down your lovely outfit. You watch as his eyes finally leave your waist and come up to meet your own gaze.

“Holy hell. You look absolutely divine.” He scoffs quietly, wondering how an angel like you ended up down here. “Oh, Lucifer.” You swat a hand at him and you can feel your face burning up, sweat starting to form on your upper lip and forehead. “Stop it. You flatter me.”

Lucifer looked as if he might pass out, becoming more and more flustered the more you blush. Although, a pleased smirk graces his face because oh~ you like when he flirts with you, huh? It’s okay, he’s hella into you too.Together, you’re just a ticking time bomb of gushy feelings and sexual tension. He figures if he wants to have any chance of confessing his feelings to you tonight, his best option is to lead you out of the way and put a little distance between you two and the crowd. So, he reaches out and gently takes your hand, pulling you along to the now vacant bar with an extremely forced and up tight grin.

Husk is standing behind the counter, looking not as irritated as you’d thought he would tonight. Luci pulls out a stool for you, gesturing for you to sit before he does because he’s a gentleman and ladies always go first. “Hey. Whatcha want, doll?” Husk ask you first, giving you a wink after you answer. “And for you, sir?” He eyes Lucifer who shakes his head, politely refusing his offer. As Husk begins whipping up your drink, yet another tense silence falls between you two.

“Are you having a good time?” The blonde finally speaks up, side eyeing you. “Eh. I’m not a big party person. I’m not a fan of big crowds either so…not really.” At long last, your unhappy and disappointed attitude brings all of Lucifer’s courage and gall to his mouth. Now’s his chance. “Let’s get out of here then.” He blurts out as Husk slides your drink to you, the bartender giving you an awkward look. “What? But all these folks wanna meet you.” Once you look over to him, a devious smile makes its way to Lucifer’s thin lips as you take your first drink. “And? I’m the king of hell! I do as I please.” He teases and now you’re both smiling brightly, a soft laugh leaving your lips as you push his arm playfully. “I love Charlie but I hate this party. Let me finish my drink first, yeah?”

Lucifer continues to side eye you and also scan over the entire room, checking out the scene as you sip on your drink. You can see his casual glances and the way he quickly diverts his attention as soon as you catch him staring. Now you’re the one feeling some bravery. You quickly and smoothly slip your hand into his, letting your thumb rub back and forth across his knuckles as you try to quickly suck down the rest of your drink.

The grip you have on each other grows stronger, tighter with each second that passes. You notice Lucifer bouncing his leg now, growing impatient and needy. As soon as a slurping noise comes from the straw at the bottom of your glass, Lucifer is trying to pull you up off your seat. He’s not worried about hiding his eagerness from you at this point, not when you’re looking like you do now and getting so blushy and shy at his flirtatious comments. He has to shoot his shot, he has to try. You’re the only person who’s made him feel young and love sick again after Lilith, he can’t afford to let you slip away too. That would crush him more than the weight of the embarrassment and discomfort he is feeling right now.

Lucifer leads you to the library, doubting anyone would be occupying it at the moment and he is correct. Finally, alone together, his hand in yours still, fingers interlocked. His big eyes, full of worry and second thoughts stare deep into yours as he gives himself a moment.

“Oh, my. Where do I even begin?” His other hand comes to yours, holding them both oh so delicately. “You…I’m so….” You nod, smiling to give him some encouragement to continue. “I want you so bad. I want to hold you, I just want to touch you already. I need to kiss you. (Y/N), I love you-“

You’re not sure what came over you but now your hands are exploring his blonde locks, your lips moving feverishly against his. Besides the faint, far away music playing, all you two could hear was each other’s soft gasps and the smacking of wet lips. At first, Lucifer was very engaged in the kiss but he was hesitant to touch you, unsure of where to put his hands. Like hell he wants to rest his claws on your hips or your butt, but he waits for you to give him the okay, his hands balled into fists and held up near his shoulders.

Finally letting him have his way, you guide his hands to your torso before breaking the kiss to whisper, “It’s okay, Luci. You can touch me.” It’s more of a whimper than a whisper but Lucifer isn’t complaining in the slightest. The tone of your voice and the feeling of finally touching your perfectly soft body had his eyes glowing bright red now.

Quickly and without warning, he crashes his lips back into yours sloppily, his long forked tongue gently gliding across your lip, giving the slightest bit of attention to your teeth. He would devour every bit of you right now if you only asked. He wished you would ask right now. He’d even beg for it…You happily let your mouth open more, inviting him in as his arms slowly stretch their way around you until he’s holding you tightly against him. Lucifer squeezes you tightly as he savors your taste for a moment, pulling a soft whine from you before loosening up.

With your eyes closed, you tried to just follow his lead and do your best at impressing and arousing him but he’s sort of doing the same. He hasn’t been with anyone like this in so long, he’s rusty as hell. So, yall are an absolute mess. After about a minute of wild making out and rapidly moving hands, you’ve found yourselves on the floor. The two of you sit up on your knees, holding onto each other as if your lives depend on it. Your hands held his cheeks so tenderly, pulling his face as close to your own as you possibly could.

Lucifer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth, a soft laugh leaving him as he remembers all those nights he dreamt of this exact situation- you looking beautiful and magnificent as always and him having the freedom to let his hands roam your darling figure. He’s been craving you, dreaming of you, wishing for you, praying for you. The laugh that escapes him results in you pulling back to get a look at him. And fuck was he gorgeous- hair a disheveled mess, the purple shadow on his eyelids smudged ever so slightly, his once impressive suit now wrinkled and shifted awkwardly on him, his lips still shiny from your saliva, his breathing loud and heavy and his smile just kept getting bigger, toothier.

“What are you laughing at?” Lucifer rests his forehead against yours, his eyes moving across your breathless, flushed face, just dying to know what’s on your mind now. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for ages, darling. More than I’ve wanted anything in my entire existence, I’ve wanted to be alone with you like this.” A breathy giggle leaves you, your hands shaking as they travel down from his face to his biceps.

“Oh really? Why don’t you stop telling me and…keep showing me?” You tease, your hands coming to rest on his puffed out chest. Your touch combined with your sweet flirting and breathy voice has all of his wings popping out momentarily. You can’t help but laugh at this, but Lucifer is all business right now. You told him to show you, and oh darling, he’s gonna teach you a whole lesson on how beautiful and ethereal you are to him…and he’s gonna teach you with only his hands and his mouth.

[sweetcalebb]

Computer Science Major Zayne

⋆˚｡⋆୨୧˚ headcanons ˚୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

zayne, who codes better than he talks, but god—absolutely meltsss for you in soft, subtle ways.

INSPIRED BY @xyzvoid

tysm for letting me use ur concept!! ur gamer!caleb also gave me this idea for CS!zayne <3

—

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne will make apps for you. he'll sit in his dorm, hoodie rolled up to his sleeves, brows pinched together in annoyance because he can't find what's wrong with his code. he should be doing his assignments, but how he can't forget that offhand comment you made about how messy your notes are. two days later, you get a link from him. it's your own custom-made app that color-codes and sorts them for you.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne will let you study with him while he works on his code. he normally doesn't let anyone see him like this—because honesty? he looks a little wrecked; the complete opposite of him in public, typing like he's trying to punish the computer for his mistakes. and when you tease him, saying he looks like he's fighting with his laptop he lets out a low, "i am." but there's a subtle smile playing on his lips.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne's never been one for affection, but for you, he'll make an exception. like sometimes, when he's in the middle of debugging, or writing some paper on the program he's using, he'll pull you into his lap, rest his chin on your shoulder, and murmur, "don't move. you're warm.”

⋆⁺₊❅。 to everyone else, zayne is an intimidating, composed computer science prodigy. to you? he's just a sweet, awkward, nerdy boy (still scary smart). because when he's alone with you, he's grumbling under his breath, glaring at his computer screen like it's personally offended him because he can't crack an assignment. and when he's done, he'll crawl into your arms. won't say a word, just lay there.

⋆⁺₊❅。 zayne's screen saver is a candid picture of you taking a nap on his shoulder. you hate it, but he loves it. it's his absolute favorite and he refuses to change it. sometimes, it'll distract him. he knows he should be doing work, but instead he'll sit there like a love-sick fool, eyes roving over the picture like he hasn't seen it a hundred times.

⋆⁺₊❅。 he doesn't care how much work he has left to do. he'll always find time to help you with yours. doesn't matter what class is it either. chemistry? he's patiently walking you through the formulas even though he just relearned the material last night. anatomy? he's skimming your textbooks and then letting you practice on him—turning into your own personal life-size diagram.

⋆⁺₊❅。 just like he isn't one for physical affection, he also isn't one for loud, sappy 'i love you's. no, he builds you a game. a whole game. based on some throwaway comment, like, 'i wish i was a bird'. days later, he's built you a short five-minute game where you play as a bird and at the end there's some sweet little note. it's short, but it's there.

⋆⁺₊❅。 he doesn't say anything, but he's positive he works better with you around. even when you're a little too distracting for your own good, how could he not work better when after every section of his code he finishes, he's pulling you in a slow, lazy kiss, then pulling back like nothing and working again?

⋆⁺₊❅。 sometimes, when you're feeling a little playful, you'll sneak up behind him while he works. you'll trail your lips up his neck, across his jaw, and then finish on that spot behind his ear he loves so much. he’ll mutter a rough, “don’t distract me." it has no real bite though, because before you can even apologize, he's turning around and slipping his hands underneath your shirt, pulling it up, then kissing up your stomach. soft, reverent open mouthed kisses.

⋆⁺₊❅。when zayne's finished with an especially grueling assignment, you'll offer to help him.. unwind. he'll say something short and quiet, like, "no, you don't have to." but he doesn't stop you, just watches with lidded eyes as you kneel down between his legs, tug his jeans down with his boxers and take him into your mouth. his breath hitches. "f-fuh—" he bites his lip to stops himself (bc for some reason he doesn't like cussing in front of you). he breathes out, "you really don't—nngh-" but he can't help it anymore. his hand is hovering over your head, hips twitching. "please don't stop."

[squoxle]

HIIEUSI WAS WHHEE HI SIS I WAS WONDERING U COULD DO ARCADE FF WITH HEESEUNG ?

Omg girl I haven’t had time to write a damn thing yet and my drafts are piling up. But moots take TOP priority and I try to respond to asks as fast as possible. Anywaysss here you go and I hope u enjoy 🩷

Ride Me ~ L.HS

pairing: Heeseung!bf x Reader!gf| wc: 1k | summary: Things take a steamy turn after your boyfriend shows you his new at-home arcade setup. | cw: 🔞MDNI!! unprotected sex, cumshots, fingering, clit stimulation, pet names [daddy, good girl, baby] <- 100% Heeseung coded [porn with a plot] Enjoy :)

“Well babe, what do you think?” Heeseung asked as he uncovered your eyes revealing the mass gaming setup. “I figured I’d use this more than the theater room,” he ruffled his hands through his hair, anxiously waiting for you to respond.

“It looks great, but I’m gonna miss our little movie nights under the blankets,” you smiled as you walked up to one of the machines.

You clicked a few of the large buttons, anticipating a pixelated image to flash across the screen. “Umm, how do you turn this thing on?” You asked as nothing seemed to work.

Heeseung placed his hand on the edge beside you, trapping you beneath him as he reached down to flick a power switch. You felt his weight slightly press you against the machine as he did this.

“I must’ve forgotten to turn this one on,” he met your eyes through his shaggy hair. Something about that state felt off, but maybe it was just you so you brushed off the feeling and proceeded to look at the other games he had.

A zombie survival simulator that came with 4 guns.

A claw machine filled with plushes.

A retro fighting game.

And a two player motorcycle game.

Eager to try this one out, you climbed onto the bike.

“Of all the stuff you just saw, im surprised this is the one you wanted to play,” Heeseung tilted his head.

“Yeah, well, I like racing games. Stuff like MarioKart, y’know,” Heeseung watched as you struggled to reach the coin slot from your seat. The opening sat just out of your reach.

Your tits pressed up against the leather as your cheek meshed with cold material.

"Let me help you," Heeseung whispered in your ear as he reached over to insert the coin. You felt him pushing himself up against you from behind which sent butterflies through your stomach.

You went to the loading screen and customized your bike, "If you wanna play, there's another bike," you said as you noticed your boyfriend was still straddled on the bike behind you. His hands gripped the back of the seat as he sat there with his legs spread open.

You had a bad habit of staring at the print in his pants, didn't matter if he was hard or soft. You craved to feel him inside of you.

"I know, but I wanna see how you ride," he smirked as he grabbed your hips, quickly jerking your hips backward.

Feeling the heat rush to your face you continued to start up the game. You chose a Tokyo map because of the neon cityscape terrain at night time. Though you tried your best to stay focused you couldn't shake the feeling of Heeseung sitting behind you like this.

"San, ni, ichi...sutato," the automated female voice called out as tri-colored traffic lights flashed across the screen. The aggressive rumble from the bike startled you as it took off.

You felt as Heeseung squeezed your hips again before leaning against you. You nearly crashed as his touch caught you off guard.

"Be careful baby," he said before placing a kiss on your neck.

"I-I'm trying. But you keep distracting me," you stuttered.

"Am I really that distracting," he asked as he slipped his hands around your thighs, squeezing and pulling at the flesh.

"Ngh," you groaned. "Yes, you are."

"Oh, but you like it when I touch you like this. Don't you?" Heeseung grinded his hips against you.

"Mmm," you moaned as you felt his budge pressing into you. "H-heeseung," you said letting out a soft breath.

"Keep driving baby. If you come in first place, I'll give you a little treat," he hummed as he reached his fingers in between your folds. Your growing wetness slowly seeped through the fabric of your panties.

"Ngh!" you huffed as he massaged your clit through your shorts.

He continued to tease you as you struggled to finish the race, barely coming in first after finding a shortcut.

As the gold star shot across the screen, Heeseung hummed a raspy "Good girl," in your ear before helping you out of your shorts.

At this point, you were only wearing your hot pink thong--something you knew Heeseung loved to use. "Show me that pretty little pussy of yours," he bit his lip as you pulled the small fabric to the side, exposing your wet folds.

He smiled as he palmed himself before pulling his veiny cock out only to glide it between your slimy lips and tease your sensitive bead with his tip.

You whimpered as you began pushing yourself against his hard dick, eagerly trying to force it inside.

He halted your movements by gripping the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs more, before telling you to "ride Daddy's dick like the good girl I know you are."

Immediately after he said those words, he shoved his dick deep inside of you, causing you to let out a sharp groan. "Fuck," he winced. "You're still so fucking tight," he said slowly pumping his cock into you. "Ngh," he moaned before leaning forward to kiss your neck as your ragged breathing filled his ear. "You sound so fucking sexy when you're taking my dick like this," he pecked your cheek as you finally adjusted to his length.

You started to grind into your boyfriend, stuffing his cock deeper into you as he held you from your waist. "That's it, baby, just like that," his words encouraged you to pick up the speed as he pulled your lips into his, gripping your throat.

He turned you over and fucked you from the back as your tits pressed up against the leather. You clenched around him as he let out a groan. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he gritted through his teeth before 3 long, hard thrusts. You felt his warm seed spill into you and drip out as you came with him. Fortunately, your panties caught the majority of the spill.

Exhausted, you laid across the bike as Heeseung kissed your shoulders.

❀ Thank you all so much for reading! Make sure to check out other works on my masterlist!

❀ 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @chlorinecake @mimikittysblog @nikisdubblchococake @wonbinisbabygurl @hynjinnn1 @mrswolfhard3 @laylasbunbunny @sussyjake @furious-eagle @cherrriesss @abbyizzy @weyukinluv @addictedtohobi @thatonenoona @wavykook @givemeyourtmihyun @jaeljn @hoonmywk @valennshit @19-yunalyn @hoonbby @frostedblankets @hoonsyo @no-mannerism @perfectxserendipity @chubbibish @ihrtlix @bunniesforsoobin @thereadersparadise @thatbooknerdfr @aiden2001 @belongstoheeseung @jakeybabe @donut-crazs @rizzhee @nikimeows @woonieees @uarmyxtae @rebecca-johnson-28 @they2luv1naia @isa-2007 @silcry @riverscafe @pearlwhitesoul @nikohiroshi @thatbooknerdfr @wonniewonwon @sughoonieeee @babyy-bambii @adrika04 @sehunsharpasseyebrows @wtfyangjungwon @fr-3-akn-4-stymf @rikiloversworld @shawyle @sunoosrightbuttcheek @uarmyxtae @lovesickxmina @urfavberry @urauntiefaye @breadlover01 @taehyunsfavmoa

[suskz]

reader x hyunjin based on the last skz code where they went camping - he looked so hot working on that tent 😯💨 - , going with the boys since it was all minho idea, reader doesn't like camping but she likes him so, building tension up bc that's hot too, and maybe he could switch places with reader's bff and sneak into their's tent? 🖤

pairing: Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

t/w: friends to lovers ; Hyunjin is a flirt ; fluff ; a little suggestive.

w/c: 2.1k

a/n: it was fun to write! And yeah, Hyunjin really looked hot (I mean, he always is). The way he rolled his sleeves up omg, I couldn’t not write this. Hope you like this, anon!

↳ Reader has with the members the same friendship they have with each other.

"I hate this." Jiwoo complains as she drops the bag she was holding to the ground.

"Come on!" You try to cheer her up, "It's nice to be out in nature sometimes!"

She shoots you a glare, "That's easy to say," she says bitterly, "You hate camping more than I— hey!" she exclaims when you nudge her arm with your elbow, silencing her.

"I love camping." You lie loudly, with the boys just a few meters away from you.

"I can't say the same." Changbin comments, slapping his arm to kill a mosquito.

And suddenly, an arm falls around your shoulders. You turn towards the person who has come up next to you and see Hyunjin, unconsciously shrinking under his close presence, "I agree with Y/nie, a bit of fresh air away from the city is nice."

A small smile forms on your lips.

"You say that because you have no intention to help with anything." Chan chimes in, opening one of the bags he carried.

"Clever of you to assume that." Hyunjin responds, smiling.

"That's why Hyunjin will help set up the tent." Minho states, biting back a smile.

"Huh? I don't know how!" Hyunjin complains, taking his arm off your shoulders and moving closer to the older guy.

You regret that the contact was so short, but you maintain your composure and watch him walk away.

"You'll learn." Minho closes the conversation in a tone that allows no reply.

—

“You need to pump it?” Hyunjin asks, looking for the pump to inflate the tent.

You watch him curiously, seeing him search non-stop for a while.

“Did you find it?” Minho asks him, watching in disbelief. There are only 5 bags, how can he not have found it yet?

He starts to approach him, but you are quicker.

“They have accessories here.” Hyunjin says in a pouty, hopeless voice, closing a bag. He turns to continue searching but almost falls to the ground from the jump he makes when you suddenly stand up in front of him, very, perhaps too, close.

You hand him the pump that you found in a few seconds, “You suck at finding things.”

He puts a hand on his heart, opening his mouth and sighing slowly with closed eyes, as if he has just seen a ghost, “You scared me.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatic behaviour, “Don’t thank me.” You say sarcastically.

He smiles, his front teeth slightly showing behind his slightly parted lips, “Thank you, Y/nie.” He blows you a kiss for show. You are used to this, yet you blush, while he bends down to attach the pump nozzle to the tent opening.

“Do you need help with that too?” you tease, smirking, trying to hide the visible blush coloring your cheeks from yourself, since he can't even see you.

“Huh?!” He stands up and rolls up the sleeves of the baggy t-shirt he’s wearing, showing his muscles, “I don’t need your help, these are enough for me.” He flexes his biceps.

You like them, don’t you? You think he’s cool, right? Hyunjin hopes so.

You chuckle at his words while he gets to work to really show what he’s capable of as you return to Jiwoo, who needs help with setting up your tent.

You don’t even realise you've been distracted watching him the whole time, as his muscles contract with the effort of pushing the pump handle, and soon small drops of sweat start to trickle down them.

Your eyes are fixed on the way his hands roll up the sleeves each time they unroll and on the way he lifts his head and pulls his hair back with one hand when it bothers him too much and prevents him from seeing. It almost seems like he does it on purpose so your eyes never leave him.

But someone's hand rests on your shoulder, waking you up. “He’s really handsome, isn’t he?” Minho smirks and holds back a laugh when you turn to look at him, blushing and trying to stammer out a response, but he stops you right away, “Wipe off all the drool you’ve spilled first.” He chuckles and walks away with your eyes on him, shaking his head slowly, amused.

Just then, you hear the sound of someone falling to the ground, and when you turn, you see Hyunjin sitting from exhaustion. His breathing is heavy, and pained sounds and light groans leave his lips, the heat of the sun making everything worse, while Jisung takes his place to finish inflating.

His friend hands him a black tank top to wear instead of the sweat-soaked shirt he has on, and that's what Hyunjin does.

He takes off the white t-shirt and uses it to wipe off the sweat covering his body. And once again, it seems like he does it to show off so that you watch and can’t take your burning eyes off him, off his body. But deep down, you know it’s not like that, and this thought forces you to immediately look away when his eyes meet yours, amused. It’s a quick contact, it lasts little but says a lot.

And you have to use all the self-control you have in your body not to set your eyes on that tight black fabric that perfectly hugs his body, making his muscles appear more tense and defined.

“That’s better.” he sighs with relief, soon returning to work and starting to add the stakes.

The silence is filled with the sounds of hammers, and you don't notice when he moves away from the group.

When you stand up after finishing setting up the tent, you look around, confused by his absence. “Where's Hyunjin?” you ask Jiwoo, who is taking out lights from a bag to use as decoration.

“He went for a walk over there; there's a river a bit further from here.” She points in a direction with the index finger of her free hand.

“Oh.” you nod in understanding.

Only a few seconds of silence pass before she speaks again, “Go to him, he's alone; I'll take care of decorating the tent.” It's written all over your face, what you want to do. She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and winks at you instead.

And you don't need to be told twice.

When you arrive at the spot, you search for him with quick, darting glances. “Hyunjin?” you call out before finding him lying on a large rock with his hands on his belly and his eyes closed.

He didn't answer, so you gather that he's sleeping. You slowly approach him, trying not to make any noise, and sit down next to his sleeping body.

You look at his serene face and can almost hear his calm breath and sense the steady beats of his heart.

The place itself is very quiet. It's cozy, isolated from everyone else, and intimate.

You glance around a couple of times with furtive eyes, but you end up realising that you're alone. Then you look at him, his slightly parted inviting plump lips. You bring your face close to his almost instinctively, faces so close that you can feel his warm breath on your own lips, but then you pull away.

What are you trying to do? It's wrong and stupid. If someone saw you, it would be a mess.

And if you had done it, he would have noticed, because he's awake.

Your ears burn, your cheeks flushed with shame and guilt when his eyes open.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds, looking at you with distant irises, wrapped in thoughts, then he sits up, raising his torso.

"I heard you calling me but I didn't feel like answering.” he tries to smile to tease you, but what comes out is more of a grimace. You pretend not to notice though, lying to him as well as to yourself.

"I knew it, that's why I've been sitting in silence." You smirk, trying to push away the shame and alleviate the strange tension that has arisen.

However, the situation changes so quickly. There is still tension between the two of you, but it is different with his hand holding your chin and his thumb slowly, intensely stroking your lower lip. Intense, too, is the look his burning eyes give to your rosy lips.

When your eyes meet, his movements stop, and it’s difficult for you to tell what he is thinking. The eyes are the reflection of the soul, he likes to say, but at the moment his do not reflect much.

And then, he pulls away from you. His gaze, his hand, a moment later are no longer on you.

He stands up, "You had something on your lips." He looks around, normal, apparently enjoying the scenery.

You touch your lips, embarrassed, "Oh."

He looks at you and chuckles softly, sitting back next to you with a now more serene air.

One of his arms rests on your shoulder in a friendly gesture, trying to get as close to you as possible.

"I like this place, it's quiet and relaxing," he says. "I want to paint it."

"Hey lovebirds!" You hear someone say from just a bit further away from you. You immediately recognize it's Jisung's voice, who has joined you. "Get a room."

Hyunjin chuckles, and you try to do the same, but your mind is clouded by the memory of his gesture.

The fact that he didn't stop you when you tried to get closer to his lips, the way he touched yours with his thumb.

These images still flash in your mind while everyone else sleeps. You touch your lips with two fingers almost unconsciously, smiling sadly.

But apparently, you're not the only one lost in thought, as the entrance to the tent is opened and the little lamp in between you and Jiwoo is turned on. The latter gets up and leaves, letting someone else in.

And how could you not recognize that head of dark hair making its way inside, closing the entrance zipper after murmuring a 'thank you' and receiving a nod in response.

"Hyunjin? What are you doing here? It's late." you ask him, but receive no answer.

You receive no answer because instead, his lips crash against yours in a needy gesture.

Your eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you don't push him away, not even when his lips start moving on yours shortly after. Instead, you reciprocate.

It's desperate. Your movements aren't even in sync, but it's okay. It's perfect like this; you couldn't ask for anything better.

One of his hands rests above your ear, caressing it so delicately that you barely even notice, as if you’re made of porcelain.

You break the kiss with quick breaths and uncontrollable heartbeats, emotions finally laid bare.

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long." he admits in a whisper, looking into your eyes.

You find the strength to speak, albeit lightly, "Today by the river… I didn't just watch you." You admit, and you can't help the hint of embarrassment you feel in saying those words to him.

"I know, and I hoped so much that you'd do what you were about to do, but you stopped." His smile doesn't falter for a moment. "You didn't have anything on your lip; I just used it as an excuse to touch you. I actually wanted to kiss you, but when I looked into your eyes, I didn't have the courage." He confesses.

"And here you are now." You chuckle.

He huffs a chuckle, "It wouldn't have been like this if you hadn't tried to kiss me first."

“Now I wish I hadn’t stopped earlier today, by the river.” you say, lowering your eyes to his lips and then back to his, licking your own lips. “I’ve always thought you have nice lips and I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you, you know?”

“Now you know,” he says happily. “Or do you need to explore a little more?”

You don’t even need to answer; he already knows the response. And once again, your lips are on each other’s, in a kiss that quickly becomes fast and hungry.

Your hands roam over each other’s bodies, fingers tangled in hair, hands gripping cheeks, hips, ending up on thighs.

Your breaths are fast, and the tent heats up. You’re so lost in each other that you don’t realise you’re not being very quiet anymore.

It’s Changbin’s voice that wakes you up and makes you pull away. “Could you guys keep it down a bit?” he shouts from a couple of tents away from yours.

“If you two don’t let me sleep or wake me up at any hour of the night, I’ll put you in the air fryer.” Minho’s voice intervenes right after, annoyed.

You and Hyunjin lock eyes and then laugh silently.

“At least we’ll be put together.”

[justchillgurl]

Title: Debt and Dagger Smiles.

Summary: At Kanghak High, she’s the girl everyone turns to—for help, for answers, for secrets. Controlled, calculating, she runs the school from behind her polite smile. Unseen by her, Geum Seong-je starts paying attention—and he doesn’t like what he sees. He likes it too much.

Check this out!@

Author's Note: Welcome to Debt and Dagger Smiles. This story is a slow burn—full of power plays, tension, and the clash between control and chaos. If you're into smart characters, unspoken games, and dangerous chemistry, you're in the right place. Updates will come as inspiration strikes—feel free to leave your thoughts.

Content Warnings: None (for now).

_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠_☆_⁠_⁠_⁠_⁠____

Chapter 1: The Balance Sheet.

At Kanghak High, no one held the web of whispers tighter than her.

She walked the halls with a quiet, calculating ease—her uniform always crisp, her eyes always focused, her phone never more than a breath away. Most students thought of her as approachable, reliable, the kind of girl you’d ask for help with a project or directions to the nearest printer. And sometimes, she said yes. But only after calculating the weight of the favor.

Because nothing came free.

She didn’t offer kindness out of softness. Her generosity was strategic. She said yes when it mattered—when the person asking held potential. A future teacher’s pet. A student council officer. Someone whose name would matter on a list. Those who received her help might think they got lucky.

They didn’t.

They were already in her pocket.

She didn’t waste time with the Union. Despite their presence in the school and the vague air of intimidation they carried, she saw them as distractions. She wasn’t trying to control through fists—she was building something smarter. Cleaner.

In her notebook, color-coded and organized to military precision, she kept track of every test date, every exam format, and every student in the top ten. Her grades were near perfect, and she made sure to keep it that way. While others stayed out late or fought behind buildings, she was home by eight sharp. Her family didn’t tolerate disobedience, and she didn’t test their limits.

Not publicly.

What no one knew was that she ran the school blog.

Anonymous. Undefinable. Ruthless.

She didn’t write everything, of course. She barely wrote at all. But she knew what was happening—who was cheating, who was skipping, who was crying behind the lockers. Gossip reached her before it hit group chats. Secrets traveled faster when people trusted you, and she made sure everyone trusted her just enough to slip up.

Geum Seong-je watched her from the corner of the school convenience store.

She didn’t notice him. Not because she wasn’t observant, but because he wasn’t in her circle. Not worth tracking. Not yet.

He’d seen her around, of course. Everyone had. But this was the first time he paid attention.

She stood in front of the drink fridge, scanning the labels like she had a spreadsheet in her head comparing caffeine levels. Her movements were efficient, deliberate. No wasted steps. She picked a small can of black coffee and a rice ball, paid in coins, and dropped the receipt in her bag.

Not once did she smile.

When another student tried to stop her near the exit—some third-year begging for help printing a missing assignment—she tilted her head slightly, brows pinched as if already calculating.

“What do you do again?” she asked.

“I’m vice secretary of—”

“Of the eco club,” she finished. “Right. You owe me. Done. Send me the file. I’ll print it. But you’re collecting survey data for me next month. No complaints.”

The girl nodded quickly.

She walked off without confirming. The favor was made. The debt recorded.

Seong-je didn’t move. He leaned back into the shelf, hood pulled low, watching her disappear past the glass doors.

Interesting.

He’d heard rumors before—of how she always had the answers to tests before they dropped, how her notes circled among the elite students, how she knew when a relationship ended before either person confirmed it. He’d assumed most of it was exaggerated.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

She didn’t just survive in this school.

She ran it—quietly, efficiently, and with terrifying precision.

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

End of Chapter 1.

Chapter 1 has been updated to third-person POV.

Thank you for reading🫂.

[yenhan]

"Study session with the Lads"

Thoughts on TF141 & International student neighbor

Part One - Next - Masterlist

a/n: f!reader

Synopsis: You'll ace the next exam, hopefully.

C’mon over tomorrow, we’ll help you prep for that exam. P.S. You can’t refuse, Captain’s orders.

Most people would think Johnny gave you his number first, being the hopeless flirt he was. But no, it was Kyle. Unlike his fellow former sergeant, Gaz was subtler, able to hide his true intentions behind easy smiles and clever banter. No less effective, mind you.

Then again, the whole 'old men adopting a stranded student' relationship was weird. A detail for your therapist next session, surely. Were you supposed to be worried? Get your head checked? Probably. Creating a found family with three British men and a hyperactive Scot wasn’t exactly listed under “Common Expat Experiences.”

Back to the present: you left Kyle’s message on read for half a second before sending a slightly-too-eager—

Of course!

You imagined a light revision, a few exercises, a cup of tea brewed by Simon just the way you liked, perhaps Soap dramatically imitating phonetic symbols to distract you from spiraling over your performance anxiety.

Certainly not this.

At exactly 1700 hours, you knocked on their door clutching your battered copy of Teaching English as a Foreign Language for Dummies and a highlighter that had lost the will to live halfway through your last grammar workshop.

“Highlight only the important parts,” your brother used to say. Sure. But what if everything was important?

The living room looked like a war zone… but not a gross, sock-strewn bachelor disaster. No, this was tactical mayhem. Soap’s footprints crisscrossed the carpet in suspicious patterns.

Your study notes had been printed, laminated, and tacked onto a corkboard. Snacks were stacked on the coffee table like sandbags. A flipchart had been set up beside the telly. Someone had written across it in bold, underlined red: OPERATION: ACE THE PAST PERFECT.

Price looked up from the kitchen, a mug in hand. “No pressure, kiddo. Just your entire teaching career.”

Ghost, leaning against the wall, nodded solemnly. “We’ve got biscuits.” Was that supposed to help?

Gaz shuffled a stack of index cards, color-coded with terrifying precision. “Who’s quizzing her first on the difference between the present simple and the present perfect?”

“Define the unlawful killing of a human being without malice!” Soap barked like a drill sergeant. You gaped at him. Why was he wearing a peaked military cap? It was even worse than John's boonie hat.

“Wrong subject, Johnny,” Price called from the kitchen. “We’re not teaching criminal interrogation tactics, it’s English grammar.”

“Aye, but keeps her sharp, doesnae it?”

You sat gingerly on the couch between Gaz and a mountain of flashcards. “I... appreciate the effort, truly. But, uh, how did you get my notes?”

And was that your favorite set of pastel pens peeking out of John’s pocket?

“Found them last week. Binder fell down the stairs. Took the liberty of reorganizin’ ‘em by theme.” Ghost’s voice came from somewhere dark and ominous.

“You color-coded grammar topics?” You squeaked.

“Course I did. I’m not a monster. Stuck to your precious Pinterest palette, too.”

Well… You couldn’t exactly argue with that.

The first twenty minutes went smoothly.

Gaz walked you through the major language acquisition theories — Krashen, Vygotsky, yada yada — with flashcards that had doodles of confused stick-figure students on the back. Price explained different classroom management styles like he was giving a battlefield briefing: “Adapt to your environment. Don’t lose command of the room.”

You nodded dutifully, and sometimes got rewarded with a brief, proud head pat.

Then Soap made his move.

“Right! I’ve built a memory palace,” he announced.

“A what.”

“Memory technique! Visualization! Top-tier stuff!” He dragged you into the hallway, where he had drawn on the walls with dry-erase markers. You weren’t hallucinating.

“See here?” He pointed at a doodle of a dragon labeled ‘Past Tense Pete’.

“This beastie guards all irregular verbs. Ye’ve gotta slay him with correct conjugations!”

“What is happening?!” You shrieked, staring in horror at the doodle of an adverbial goblin. John, your knight in shining mutton chops, came to your rescue.

“She asked for help revising!” Soap protested.

“I asked for basic revision, not a full Dungeons and Dragons campaign!”

You pointed dramatically at Johnny, ready to throw him under the bus called ‘Captain Price.’

While Price and Soap bickered about the ethical limits of creative teaching aids, Gaz slipped a flashcard into your hand... CONDITIONALS: First vs. Second – Remember: If I win the lottery, I will freak out. If I won the lottery, I would freak out.

Genius? Madness? Hard to tell.

Then Ghost, quietly but ruthlessly, dragged a chair into the center of the room.

“Quiz time. No fluff. Answer fast, or you owe me a push-up.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I am not doing push-ups over auxiliary verbs.”

“Then don’t get them wrong.”

And he began rapid-firing questions: “What’s the communicative approach? How many types of conditional sentences? Example of a weak modal verb?”

You answered, getting most of them right. You were still terrified.

And then, from the kitchen: “QUIZ TIME’S OVER, I MADE A POWERPOINT!” The Scot roared.

—

At some point, you were cross-legged on the carpet, biscuit crumbs on your notes, explaining the importance of student talking time versus teacher talking time while they all nodded proudly like awkward but loving uncles.

“You’ll smash it,” The captain finally said, clapping a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“If not,” Soap winked, “we’ll sneak into the university database and ‘fix’ it.”

“Please don’t,” you whimpered.

As you packed your things, Ghost quietly handed you a neat stack of flashcards. “Keep these. I made extra copies.”

You flipped through them: clear, minimalist, perfect. You smiled. “Thanks, Batman.”

His eyes crinkled behind the mask. “You’re welcome, Robin.”

Your notes had never been clearer. Your brain, however, felt flash-banged by a PowerPoint titled “How to Conquer the Passive Voice Like a Spartan.”

You would never forget the dragon guarding irregular verbs.