#^^^ also I do know some banging play parks
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jikigo · 6 months ago
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Alexa how to talk to someone without feeling like a burden
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forlix · 9 months ago
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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.
— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.
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words・15.2k
pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)
genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!
warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.
playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes
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a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡
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“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”
Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”
Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Please, angel.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”
At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 
When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”
Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”
You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.
The air between you curdles like sour milk.
Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.
You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 
“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”
“Because you’re so scholarly.”
“I am not scholarly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”
“I need to get my steps in somehow.”
“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”
“God, I learned so much about you that day."
“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”
“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Or is it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”
He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.
But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time, Vector resemblance and all.
He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.
“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.
You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”
He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.
“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”
“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”
All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.
“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.
Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.
“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”
“Thanks, cap.” Useless.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”
“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.
From: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad
Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”
“Yep.”
From: Kim Kyeyoung «[email protected]» To: Park Jinyoung «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kim Kyeyoung Professor of Anthropology
“That’s bullshit!”
“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”
“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman. “No way you just had that.”
“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”
Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard—”
“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”
He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”
Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.
“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.
The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.
Then comes the yelling.
“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”
“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”
“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”
Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.
“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”
Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.
He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.
“Beats me,” he fibs. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”
“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 
Hyunjin shudders.
It just might, actually.
Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.
It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.
At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.
Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.
Piazza replied within the week.
For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.
But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.
He cards a hand through his air, regaining focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”
“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”
Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.
“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”
Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.
Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”
Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
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A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.
“I thought you said your order was complicated.”
You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.
“Was it not?” You ask.
“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”
“What? Really?”
“No.”
He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.
“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”
“I do, but you don’t.”
Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.
“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”
“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.
You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”
Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”
“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.
You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.
You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.
He’s thinking.
That can’t be good.
Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”
“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”
“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”
“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the season. It was so funny.”
Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”
Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the mention of larceny. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”
“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”
The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”
“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”
Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”
“I can see it.”
“I can see killing myself, maybe.”
The next time you reach for him is to hit his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall. Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.
“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.
Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”
Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.
“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”
You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.
Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.
“I didn’t like that at all,” you say.
“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”
“You have a kid, don’t you?”
“Wha—huh? Who do you think I am?”
“The one-night-stand’s poster child. The champion of the contraception industry.”
“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”
You can’t argue with that. “What do you have to tell me?”
A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.
“I’m failing anthro.”
So much for a serious conversation. 
“Come again?”
He repeats the mystifying statement.
“You’re joking.” The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair. “You’re failing anthro?”
“I just said that, yes.”
“You’re failing anthropology?”
“Mhm.”
“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”
This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”
“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”
Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.
“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”
You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”
“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”
“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”
“Do you want it to?”
“Just tell me the deal, boy.”
“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class, I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”
Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“On which part?”
“All of them. Everything.”
Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”
You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.
He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.
“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”
“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Go on.”
“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”
“Let me guess. Not for you.”
“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”
“To dinner or to practice?”
“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”
He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.
“—you should manage our team.”
“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”
“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”
“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”
“Me!”
Oh, right. “But you hated it!”
“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”
Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”
“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”
“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”
You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”
He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class. No fucking wonder he’s failing.
“What is this, mock trial?”
The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.
“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”
“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”
“I would never.”
“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”
“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”
You stiffen. “I haven’t—”
“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”
You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—
Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.
“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”
“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.
He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.
You do kick him under the table, though.
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The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.
“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.
The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.
“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”
“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”
“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”
Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.
“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.
“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”
“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”
“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”
“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”
Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”
The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.
You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.
“Go easy on me, yeah?”
While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.
“I can’t promise anything.”
With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.
A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.
Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”
“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”
“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”
“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”
“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.
“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”
The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.
“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”
One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.
So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 
Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.
Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.
Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”
He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.
“Caring about me.”
Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.
“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”
“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”
It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.
As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”
“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”
You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”
The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.
The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.
You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.
Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.
“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.
Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”
“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”
The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”
He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.
It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.
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A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 
“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”
You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”
“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”
You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.
“Motherfucker!”
He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”
“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 
“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”
The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.
“You should’ve opened with that.”
“I tried, hello? Someone distracted me!”
“Read. It. Before I change my mind.”
You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.
You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.
Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.
With that, his attention span has run its course.
“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”
You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.
“I suppose I am. Will you keep working tonight?”
“I think so. I hit my stride.”
“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 
“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know.”
“Why is that?”
“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”
“It really is.”
“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”
“I really would.”
“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”
“Didn’t you come up with that?”
“No, hello? I live in that village.”
He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”
“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”
Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.
“But I do give a fuck about you.”
There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.
He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.
Then he opens his texts.
Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡
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He picks you up at 7:53.
You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.
“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.
Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”
You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”
“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”
“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, Minho.”
“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”
“I want nothing to do with this.”
When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.
“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”
“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”
He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”
“I’m okay, I think.”
“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.
You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”
“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.
You purchase an hour.
One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.
But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.
“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.
You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.
You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.
“I already did,” you finally answer.
“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”
“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”
“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”
Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”
He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”
“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”
“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”
“Then you’re smarter than you look.”
“Well, you look—”
His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.
“What was that?”
“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 
When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 
He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.
Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.
Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.
“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”
“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”
“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”
“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”
He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”
“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you around.”
You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 
Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.
He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.
“Do you want to be alone?”
You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 
“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.
When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 
Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.
You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.
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Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.
Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 
Last week, you could be found helping Minho put up the volleyball nets before practice, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You spent more time in the gymnasium those ten days than you had your entire college career.
Then came the arcade.
Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 
In person, that is.
That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.
Then you listen to it again.
And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.
As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.
Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.
“It’s been a while,” he greets.
“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”
“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”
You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”
Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.
Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 
Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.
You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.
“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.
His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.
“Is this enough space?”
More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.
“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”
Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.
The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.
The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.
There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 
“How do you see under these things?”
“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”
“And?”
“He made them brighter.” Sounds about right.
Hyunjin spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.
But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.
This cannot be his burden alone.
You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes. The lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.
“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”
You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”
The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.
“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”
His role model.
“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”
The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”
“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.
“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he—he would—”
You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.
Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.
You stop thinking after that.
You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.
You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.
“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”
His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.
“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”
“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”
You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before; does he do the same?
“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.
“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.
“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”
Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.
The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.
“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”
Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.
“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.
“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”
“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.
“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”
Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.
“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”
The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?
“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”
When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”
You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.
“How the fuck are you still sweaty?” You choke out, and you think you like his cologne after all.
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Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.
A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 
Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.
“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”
You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”
He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”
You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”
Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Traitor.”
Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 
“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.
You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 
“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”
He stops speaking.
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”
“You are about to be a professional athlete.”
“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”
Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.
“Let’s get this over with.”
At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.
At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.
You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.
Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.
“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”
Hyunjin is already out the door.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.
“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 
“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”
Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”
Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”
Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”
“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”
“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”
“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”
“She really is.”
A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.
Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.
It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.
At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.
Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 
Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.
Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 
“Yeonwoo, right?”
He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.
“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”
“Also a singer?”
He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”
“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”
Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.
“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.
“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”
“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”
“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”
“The arcade wasn’t enough?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Whenever you want, then.”
“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”
“Bet.”
They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.
“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”
Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 
Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.
But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.
He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.
It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?
Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”
Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.
“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”
Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.
Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.
Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.
But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.
You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.
You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.
It has always been him.
The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 
It’s not awkward this time.
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Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.
He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 
He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.
The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.
He balls his fingers into fists.
“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”
An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”
His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.
He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.
“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”
Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.
The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”
Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”
Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.
“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 
“Love you too, Bin.”
Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.
“The short answer,” she deadpans.
He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.
In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.
Hyunjin thanks you.
You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.
What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.
You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky, and they’d be right.
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed.
“Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 
“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.
He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.
He calls out to you.
You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.
You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 
Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.
“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.
A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”
Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.
He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.
“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”
“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”
From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano
“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”
In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”
You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.
“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 
She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.
Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s our opponent today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?
He’ll be here in eight minutes.
You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.
Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.
You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.
He finds you a sobbing mess.
“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”
“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”
“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.
Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.
“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 
He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.
You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”
He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”
“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”
“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”
You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”
He returns in a flash. “You love me.”
You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.
“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”
“No, no. The opposite, actually.”
Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”
“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.
“Duty calls, my love.”
“Tell me your thing later too?”
“Of course.”
You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”
He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.
“Hypocrite.”
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Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]
This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.
I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.
As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. But only sometimes.
You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It really fucking does.
I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I’ll genuinely commit homicide if I have to do all this again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.
Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
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hockeybabe · 8 months ago
Text
Don’t Chirp My Girl | M. Knies
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Pairings: Matthew Knies x gf!reader
Summary: Pastrnak say some not so great things about you to your boyfriend and your boyfriend isn’t having it.
Warnings: pastrnaks a dick, protective Knies, swearing, pure fluff, making out in a car, illusion to smut
Word count: 879
Note: saw this and was like yes sir 🫡
Out of all the people for Pastnak to go after he had chosen your boyfriend. The two of you had been dating for almost two years and you decided, as this being Matthew’s first full season, you’d go to as many games as you could. 
When they got into the playoffs, you made it your mission to be at every game. You were born and raised a hockey fan, knowing every single thing from wrongs to rights. And for the past two games, the leafs weren’t doing what they normally did. Auston wasn’t playing tonight, which meant Matthew would have more ice time.
That made you truly happy knowing you’d see your boyfriend more on the ice. As of now, it was the third period, and the game was still tied at 1-1. Things in the playoffs were another level. They were more intense, and the players weren’t having it with each other.
From the glass seat you were at, you could see Pastrnak staring right back at you with a creepy look on his face. The whistle blew and before you knew it; they were playing. Your thumbs twiddled with each other as you watched the two teams battle it out. 
Swayman was able to stop the puck before it reached the net, allowing the refs to stop play and just like always, Boston and Toronto were going at it. However, this time it was your boyfriend and Pastrnak. Pastrnak was pointing over at you while saying something, making Matthew lose his shit. 
You could barely make out the words Matthew was saying, but you could see him push Pastrnak before saying, “that’s what I thought.” You shivered slightly at the look on your boyfriend’s face as the game continued. He’d never looked so angry at someone’s words. 
It was common for chirping to go around in hockey, it what caused fights. But it was also wasn’t uncommon for rookies to have their loved one's being called out. 
As the game made its way to over time you sat at the edge of your seat watching as John skated fast to Swayman, attempting a shot, but it slid past him and two players, leaving the puck all by itself and an open net. You watched Matthew skate up to it, flicking the puck into the net, and the sirens blazed. 
You shot out of your seat banging on the glass and give high-fives to the little leaf fans around you as the Boston ones flipped you off and said random shit, making a smug smirk grace your lips. You had followed Steph through the crowd as you both made your way to the team's tunnel. 
You watched as Matthew came out of the change room first with a smug look. He was happy, but in his eyes he was clearly annoyed. You sigh knowing that it’d be a long drive home. He had greeted all the partners before parting ways with his team. “He’ll get over it.” Max said to you before you followed him to the parking lot. 
“So,” you started. “You gonna tell me what happened?” You asked, getting into the passenger seat. Matthew only bothered to give you a grunt as he continued to drive to the apartment. “Jesus Matthew! Are you really not gonna say shit?” You cried out as his silence drove you crazy.
Matthew’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as his knuckles turned white. You couldn’t lie, the sight turned you on, but he was mad and with mad came silence and built up emotion. “Matt, pull over.” You told him, sternly. Matthew looked over at you before pulling off to the side of the road. 
You unbuckled your seat belt, climbed over the console and sat yourself in Matt’s lap, your back resting on the wheel. You took Matt’s face into your hands, forcing him to look at you. “What’d he say?” You ask again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He grumbled. “So what, you’ll bubble this anger up till Thursday and then what? Take it out on the guy! It’s fucking hockey, baby! Shit happens.” You cried out, hoping to get your words through his thick skull. 
“He said you’d leave me for someone better in the end.” He mumbled, making your heart stop. “I pushed him and told his to not start and he thought wrong for trying me.” He said, snuggling his head into your neck and placing a kiss on your collarbone. “Well, who the hell would be someone better?” You asked, making his head perk up. 
“Cause I’ve got the best guy I’ve met in a while. And he makes my fucking world.” You said with a big smile, making him smirk. “Oh, really.” He whispered, pulling you closer. You were pulled up into his bulge, making you whimper, shutting your eyes slowly. “Yeah, he’s got this goofy, uh, smile and he, um, he wears the number 23.” You breath out as he placed wet kisses on your neck.
“The number he’s going to ruin me in.” You moan. Pressing your lips onto his. His hands ran up your back, pulling you closer than possible. Your lips meshed as his tongue explored your mouth. “Get in the back.” He said in a husky voice. 
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darlingshane · 30 days ago
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Rocking your f-me pumps
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Shane Walsh x F!Reader
Summary: You're out on a Friday night and meet a certain deputy who can't stop flirting with you at the bar.
CW: +18, explicit, smut, pwp, p in v, flirting, dancing, horniness, drinking, semi-public sex, crack, pet names, making out, foreplay, some sort of roleplay.
Word Count: 3,1k
— Links: AO3 // Shane Masterlist
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With the impossible mission of not falling on your face in the process, your feet dangerously rush across the uneven concrete sidewalk that takes you from the parking lot to the bar. Maybe you’ve gone too far with your outfit, but it’s Friday night, after all. You’re looking to make an impression, and the dress you’ve picked to go along with the uncomfortable pair of fuck-me pumps you’re rocking for the occasion will definitely take care of that part—you’re sure.
When you cross the door into the bar, it’s as rowdy as usual on a night like this. Loud and crowded— most seats are taken, people are dancing at the back below the glow of a red neon sign, others play pool while waiters haul trays left and right. You find a few heads turning at your passing, as you expected. This is probably the wrong dress for a hole in the wall like this, but you had put it on to cause a reaction of one person in particular.
You glance around one more time to find that special someone who’s sitting at the end of the bar.
Biting your bottom lip, you stare at him like prey, sharpening your teeth and claws before approaching him with caution.
“Mind if I sit here, handsome?” you ask the man, pointing at the empty stool beside him. He’s a deputy from the Sheriff department. He’s wearing his uniform, but his tan shirt is completely unbuttoned, showing a black tee underneath.
“It’s a free country, darlin’,” he says without glancing at you.
The deputy tilts a beer bottle up to his lips, taking a generous gulp of as you study his profile and his rough, defined features. The angle of his jaw is something to admire. He’s clean-shaven, but there’s still a faint shadow of a stubble, matching the thick black of the curls that adorn the top of his well-shaped head.
“Thanks, Deputy,” you carefully take a seat on the bar stool, crossing one leg over the other, and wave at the bartender.
“Call me Shane, I’m off duty, sweetheart.”
“Thanks Deputy Shane.”
He scoffs, and it’s then that his eyes finally turn to the side to gaze at you for a split second before noticing that ridiculous dress you’re wearing.
When his neck swivels again, he darkly stares at you, head to toe, like he wanted to eat you alive. His jaw slacks, almost hitting the counter and if you look closely, you can see his mouth watering taking in the full sight of you. The cleverly exposed skin, the way that dress hugs your figure in all the right places, the sheer fabric of it revealing more than it needs to; more than you're even used to.
“Anything wrong, Deputy?”
“Hm? No. Everything’s perfect,” he drawls before tearing his eyes away from you.
Pleased with his reaction to your outfit, you bat your eyes, glancing over the subtle shrug of one of your shoulders. “That’s what I thought.”
Then, you wave your arm a second time at the new bartender, but he ignores you again. He saw you both times, and he’s not even serving other patrons, he’s just staring at the game playing on mute on the TV.
“Can you believe this fucking asshole?” You slightly bang your fist on the sticky bar counter to express your frustration. “Is this kid new here or what?”
“Hey, buddy!” Shane raises his voice over the music to call his attention. “C’mere and serve the lady.”
The guy barely nods at you to acknowledge your presence or ask what you’re having. You just order an old-fashioned cocktail and hope he doesn’t screw that up. You also order a beer for the deputy as a thank you.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“It’s fine. Next one it’s one you, Deputy.”
“Thought I said you can call me Shane.”
“I know, but the whole uniform thing is really… imposing. And I’m a good girl. I wouldn’t like to disrespect the authorities. It’s ingrained in me.”
“Good girl?” he scoffs, glancing at you sidelong, using the bottle in his hand to point at your body. “Don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but good girls don’t usually dress like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he remarks that word with a casual shrug, silently implying what you both know, that your full get-up doesn’t scream—I’m about to leave for church. It only says—I’m driving directly to hell to pay for all my sins.
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting, mister,” you mutter as the bartender finally brings your drinks.
“I’m just saying. Look around and check out the sophisticated clientele of this fine establishment.” He says with mockery. “There’s a guy by the slot machines in a greasy, leather vest that’s looking at you like you’re a porterhouse steak. He’s practically drooling all over the floor. He's one minute away from putting his hand in his pants and rubbing one to your name. I’d be careful walking to your car if I were you.”
You can’t help but snort before checking out the guy he’s referring to. The guy in question shifts on his boots and draws a lewd smile at you when you briefly look at him.
“Ugh, you're right.”
“I told ya. Nobody comes into this hellhole looking like you if you weren’t looking for trouble or soliciting, darlin’.”
“Maybe not.” You press your teeth to your bottom lip for a second. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m sitting next to a cop.”
“That's right. As long as you stay by my side, you have nothing to worry about.” Shane locks eyes with you. “You still haven’t told me your name, sweetheart.”
“You can call me whatever you want, darlin’.” Your eye flirts with a cheeky wink.
“Yeah?” He pauses for a second to think. He glances at the cherry adorning your drink and asks, “how about Sherry? Would you like that?”
“Sure, I like that. “You lift the glass in your hand to take a sip. “I’m not soliciting, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”
“Didn’t think you were. Prostitutes don’t usually take that much time and effort to fish for a client.”
“Are you talking from experience?”
“Maybe.” His lips form a downward curve as he scratches his jaw with the tip of his thumb. “So, tell me sweetheart, if you’re not soliciting, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m in a band.”
“A band, huh? Like a rock band?” His eyebrows arch a little higher.
You shake your head. “No, not a rock band. I'm in a concert band.”
“Hm, with saxophones, flutes, and all that shit?”
“Uh-huh,” you take a bigger sip of your glass.
“What instrument do you play?”
“The clarinet.”
“You any good?”
You half shrug. “Let's say I have a natural talent.”
Then, you pick up the cherry from your glass and slowly suck it between your lips as a double-entendre, putting him under a spell as you rip off the stem in one swift motion.
“You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I’d love to, Deputy.” You grin as he shifts on his seat. “That is, of course, if you have a good instrument. I won't just take the first one that comes around. I like to take my time picking a good one.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he answers quickly, boasting, “let me assure you I have a fine, tuned instrument. It has never disappointed anyone who's ever got the pleasure to play it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” With a quick flick of your tongue on your lip, you gaze shamelessly at his crotch to make an initial assessment. It's hard to tell by the way he is sitting. The folds of his pants makes it harder to see an outline.
“Can I ask you something now, Deputy?”
“Shoot.” He tilts his beer to his lips.
“Let’s say, hypothetically, if I was a prostitute, would you arrest me?”
“Told you I’m off duty.”
“So… If I were to do something illegal right now, would you turn a blind eye? Is that what you’re implying?”
Pausing, Shane puts down the bottle, sending his opposite hand to land in the middle of your thigh as his face leans in closer.
“For you? I’d do anything you want, darlin’. Even turn a blind eye or both. I'd even turn in my badge if you asked me to. I'd kill any guy who'd dare to look at you with so much of a stink eye.”
“Interesting…” You shorten the distance to his face, your nose nudges the tip of his own, “who’s the bad boy now, huh?”
“I never claimed I was a good boy.”
“Hmm, no, I suppose you didn’t.” The tip of your tongue juts out, and you slowly lick his bottom lip before firmly planting your lips against his mouth.
When you can’t hold up the charade any longer, you laugh against his lips and pull back slightly as Shane laughs along with you.
“Hey, baby,” you reach with your hand to cup his jaw, and wipe the spit you left on his lip with your thumb.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You finally greet each other as usual. You’ve been going out for a while, but from time to time, you like to play a little and pretend you don’t know each other. You’re not sure how it started, all you know is that you both clearly enjoy this pretense as a form of foreplay, even if it’s a little silly at times. The only downside is that neither of you can hold the fantasy for too long. Eventually you always start laughing, but you're getting better at it. And it doesn't matter if it's not perfect, cause it works like a charm.
“You’re late,” he says, his warm hand squeezing your leg.
“I know, I’m sorry. My car was acting up again. I could’ve texted you, but I didn’t wanna mess up our pregame”
“It’s alright. I’ll check it out this weekend, yeah?” He brings his face closer so he can kiss your lips again. “You know, next time… do call me. It’d be fun to do this on the road. You could be a damsel in distress and me, an asshole who would only help you in exchange for certain favors.”
“That sounds kinky. I love it.” Scrunching your nose, you seize his mouth once again. This time, your lips part, and you invite him for a deeper dive into your mouth that he quickly takes over with the delicious swirl of his tongue that firmly plays with yours.
The hue of your advertised make-out proof lipstick ends up smudged on his lips when he pulls back.
“You know, that color looks good on you. It brings out your eyes.” You use your thumb to wipe the stain from his mouth.
“I should kiss you more often then.”
“I’m not opposed to that,” you pull his face closer so you can continue peppering his mouth with an endless amount of kisses. It’s hard to stop. He tastes and smells so good you can’t help yourself.
With music playing in the background, when the mood shifts to something slower, Shane drags you to the dance floor. You anchor your arms to him, trying to balance yourself on your impossible heels as you sway together to the melody of the song playing. You adore the way he stares at you when his forehead leans on top of yours. One of his fingers traces the shape of your jaw. A second later, your face is held inside his palm as an inescapable wave of desire forces him to conquer your lips again, as if his life was on the line and the only safe haven was your mouth. Your head spins with the dizzying swirl of his tongue that leaves you breathless over and over. The tone of the music changes to something sexier, and so does the rhythm of your bodies that follow suit. You part from his kiss as the heat rises, and spin around in his hold to press your ass against his bulge. His mouth latches at the crook of your neck, viciously printing a love bite as a reaction to the sensual swaying of your hips, making him harden behind his uniform slacks. You throw an arm back and place your hand blindly on the back of his head, making a fist with his curls.
“Everyone is looking at you, darling’” he purrs in your ear, clutching his hands to your waist, following your moves.
“Yeah? Let ‘em.” Your cheeks feel like burning when you say that. You avoid at all costs looking around to see anyone staring. Instead, you gaze over your shoulder to focus solely on him. “Bet they're jealous I've already picked my guy for the night.”
“You bet this sweet ass they are,” he squeezes your backside firmly as you find the soft skin of his earlobe and suck it between your teeth. It makes him lose his mind when you do that, but not as much as when you're sucking his cock. He becomes a feral creature when you take him fully between your lips.
You press your teeth a tad harder on his lobe, and he pulls back at once. He retaliates by biting your neck with the same force.
Letting out a gasp, you close your eyes and let Shane and the music take over your body. His hands roam your body anxiously to touch every part of your skin, covered or not. The sultry neon lighting of the dance floor acts as cover for you and other couples around.
There's something that has risen to rock-hard perfection, rubbing at the curve of your hips as the song comes to an end. During that transition, you suddenly feel your hands propped against the paneling of the wall, and him completely pressed against your back. One of his hands slips under the hem of your skirt at the front as he drags his hardness over your ass while his fingers play over the thin lacy fabric of your underwear, stirring your arousal.
Your panties are soaked by the time he manhandles your body so you're facing him again.
With glaring lust spilling out of the wildness of his gaze, he now shoves your back against the wall with little care. He's the hunter now, and you're the prey, and you can tell he's not looking to go easy on you.
Shane licks his lips, and without warning, he seizes your mouth once more with such vehemence, it makes your center send a jolt of electricity across every cell of your body. With teeth, tongue, and hands, he devours every bit of you as if you were made out of his favorite food. It's violent and delightful to have him all over you like that. It’s easy to get lost in that cloud of ecstasy when all your body craves nothing but being taken by him. Shane is firmly pressed against you. His rough hand lifts one of your thighs over his hip, forcing the skirt of your dress to fold up your leg, so you can feel the outline of his erection when he fits his crotch between your legs.
“Shane… Shane, baby,” you moan unintelligibly in his mouth, slightly coming to your senses. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else?”
“Hm? I thought Sherry was more adventurous.” His lips are automatically drawn to your neck once again.
“She is.” You hold his head between your palms and straighten his neck so you can look at his eyes.” But that doesn't mean she wants to basically copulate in front of all these people like fucking animals.”
“I don't think they’d mind.” Shaking his head, amused, he nudges the tip of this nose against yours. “It would be the first time these walls have seen some copulation happening.”
“Well, I do mind.”
When you're done protesting, you head out the bar to drive home, but you don't make it farther than the parking lot.
Unable to keep his hands off you, by the time you've reached his truck, he's practically ripped off your panties. There's barely a thread holding them together when your favorite deputy opens the door to the passenger seat to his truck. Without bothering with climbing inside, he bends you over that same seat, removing the remains of your underwear completely so he can collect your arousal in his fingers.
Much like the inside of the bar, there’s no doubt the parking lot at the back has seen its fair share of action, but out here, the difference is that there's practically anybody.
Either way, you leave the car door open to shield your dirty deeds. While Shane stands behind you, you look over your shoulder after hearing the clinking sound of his belt unbuckling, just in time to see his raging erection being released. Biting your lip, you watch him spit on his hand and spread it all over his shaft to have an extra layer of lubrication. He leans forwards and whispers in your ear to stay quiet before shoving his cock bluntly into your dripping cunt. You gasp and close your eyes, feeling every thick inch of him stretching you up nicely. His warmth breath bathes the back of your neck while he quickly picks up the pace. Right off the bat, his thrusts come sharp and hard to have you clenching around him before everyone even notices what you’re up to. This is about a fix, a quick release to quench that fire burning at your core. Pleasure ripples through your body with each push. You have to press your teeth harder on your lip to keep you from crying out. Shane coos your ear with encouragements mixed with a fair share of fucks and other curse words.
The grip of his hands tightens at your hips when he’s about to come. You can tell by the way his cock throbs and the erratic push of his hips searching for that sweet release. Your legs are about to give up when you feel the fire in your center expanding outwards, making you contract harder around him in one tight squeeze that earns you a good grunt out of him. A second later, his warm, sticky substance comes out in quick spurts, coating your walls, filling you up like a cream puff.
“Fuck, Deputy, you really know how to make a girl's legs shake.”
“You're not the only one with a natural talent, darlin’.”
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— Credits: stunning divider by @firefly-graphics
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atomicladytimetravel · 1 year ago
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Employees Only
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Summary: No outbreak AU. Joel Miller owns Miller Contracting and you are his assistant. When Joel gets the bid from a huge client, he celebrates by doing what any sane man would do…banging the assistant.
Warnings: Porn with very little plot. Drug use (marijuana), Boss/Employee relations, Smut/Explicit. Contains sex under the influence of marijuana, nipple play/stimulation, oral (f and m receiving) light gagging, fingering, Joel’s a little cocky about his dick (pun intended). Joel is a simp for you. No physical description of reader, other than female.
18+ only - MDNI
Friday. Fucking finally. Not only is it the end of your work week, but it’s also the end of you spending longer evenings than usual helping your boss put together a bid for one of the biggest clients he could ever hope to acquire. You can’t do any real complaining though - Joel made sure you were well compensated for your extra time and (let’s just face it) he sure is fun to look at. Not to mention the, you know, huge fucking crush you’ve had on the man for…well, for probably about as long as you’ve worked for him. Suffice to say, you’d do juuuuust about anything Joel asked you to do.
You’re making your way to your favorite hole-in-the-wall Chinese restaurant, the air conditioning in your car blasting to combat the sweltering Texas heat. You have to pass the small office building that houses Miller Contracting on your way to get to the Chinese place and, even though it’s damn near ten o’clock, Joel’s old pickup truck still sits in its usual parking space. Curious, you pull out your phone and select his name from your recent call log. He answers on the first ring.
“Now why are you callin’ me this late darlin’?” he drawls. His speech is raspy and a little slow; he sounds so fucking sexy.
“Oh no reason really, just wondering why I see your truck parked at the office,” you respond. He chuckles a little.
“You stalkin’ me or something?”
You smile and roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.
“In your dreams, Miller,” you retort playfully. “I’m on my way to get some food and I just so happened to pass by.”
“Well, I was gonna wait until Monday and tell you in person, but…Avalon Premier Hotels accepted our bid.”
You can hear the grin in his voice and you hear yourself gasp.
“Joel, oh my god! That’s incredible news!” you squeal excitedly. On the other end of the call, Joel thinks to himself that he would very much like to hear those first four words again in a much different context.
Unbeknownst to you, Joel has been smitten since you stepped foot in his office for the first time. He internally cursed his HR department that day for hiring the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But they had done just as he’d asked and hired the best damn person for the job. Joel has told you on more than one occasion that he has no idea how he made it without you.
“I’m just over here celebrating a little. The sound system Tommy insisted we put in the employee lounge outdoes mine by a long shot and I wanted to hear some music,” he explains further. “You should come join me. You know I couldn’t have done this without you.”
You look down at your outfit - a tank top, no bra and a pair of what are quite possibly the shortest shorts you own - and contemplate the offer. You remember you’re off the clock and think, “the hell with it, he can’t dress code me now.”
“Sure,” you accept. “You want some Chinese food?”
——————
When you open the front door to the office, you’re immediately hit by the pungent aroma of marijuana. Ah, now his slow, raspy speech makes sense. When you enter the employee lounge, you find Joel manspread on the couch, a fat blunt dangling from his lips. He’s changed out of the button up you had drooled over all day and into a Miller Contracting t-shirt that hugged his delicious biceps. Nirvana is playing loudly over the sound system and he doesn’t realize you’re there until you plop the food down on the coffee table. His eyes rake over your body unashamedly and you find yourself blushing under his gaze. He reaches for the remote and turns the music down.
“God damn sugar, I didn’t realize I’d be gettin’ dinner and a show.”
“It’s like 103 degrees right now Joel. Besides, I’m off the clock,” you remind him, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Hey, ain’t sayin’ it’s a bad thing,” he winks. You eye him suspiciously, but he just smiles innocently. He pats the couch cushion next to him and when you sit down, he holds the blunt to your lips. “You deserve t’relax a little, too.”
You take the blunt between your lips and inhale the smoke, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling through your nose. You’re not exactly a stranger to pot, but it has been a while since you’ve smoked any. It doesn’t take long at all for the foggy feeling to take over, your body feeling weightless. The munchies kick in soon after, and you and Joel practically inhale the Chinese food. As you eat, another blunt is passed back and forth and you’re soon the highest you can ever remember being.
Joel cleans up the remnants of your dinner and you sink into the couch cushions, your fuzzy brain content to just stare at nothing. When he returns, he sits so close to you that your thighs touch. He leans back and throws his arm around the cushion behind you. You’re close enough to smell his cologne and that plus the fact that he’s so close makes you want him, bad.
“This may have been a bad idea. Weed makes me so horny,” you say. You had wholeheartedly intended for that to be a thought and not something you said aloud to your boss. You’re mortified when you realize that the words actually came out of your mouth. Before you can even attempt to apologize, though, Joel responds.
“Oh yeah? You want some help with that?” He looks down at you expectantly and you stare back at him blankly for a moment before answering.
“I…y-yeah, yes,” you stammer. The next thing you know, you’re being pulled onto his lap; the fabric of your shorts is thin and you can feel just how hard he already is beneath the denim of his jeans. He kisses you with the passion of someone who’s been starved of affection. He holds you tightly close to his body, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t.
“Please tell me this is real,” he murmurs into the kiss.
“It’s real,” you giggle, resting your forehead against his.
“You are so pretty. Absolutely fuckin’ gorgeous,” he says softly. You kiss again, open mouthed and tongues swirling together. You grind your hips onto him, trying to relieve the aching between your thighs. He puts his hands on your hips to stop them.
“Ain’t gotta do all that now. I’ll take care of ya soon, understand?” he says sternly. You let out a tiny, pathetic whimper but nod in agreement. He shakes his head and uses his pointer finger to tap your lips.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, I understand,” you tell him.
“Yes what?” he asks, eyebrows raised expectantly.
“Yes sir.”
“That’s a good girl. Fuck, I just knew you would be. You want to be my good girl, hm?”
The whole time he’s been talking, his hands have been roaming farther and farther under your tank top. His fingertips brushing against your skin makes a shiver run down your spine.
“Yes sir,” you reply in a voice barely above a whisper.
He’s cupping your breasts now, thumbs swiping repeatedly over your nipples. The urge to grind on him again is overwhelming, but you hold still. You whine softly when he removes his hands and he shushes you.
“Relax sweet thing. I just want to get this shirt off of ya is all.”
He pushes the shirt up your torso and you raise your arms to let him pull it over your head. He groans appreciatively at the sight of your breasts and pushes them together before burying his face between them.
“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbles against your skin. He puts his mouth all over your breasts, sucking and nibbling and making you want to rock your hips so badly you can hardly stand it. You gasp softly when he latches on to your nipple, sucking until the bud has hardened. When he switches to the other side, you can’t help but roll your hips, craving some sort of relief.
“Ah, ah,” he admonishes, his hands holding onto your hips firmly. “What did I say?”
“I’m sorry,” you pout. “I just need you to touch me so bad sir.”
“Oh, is that all?” he teases, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. He pinches both nipples between his fingers gently. “How’s this?”
“It feels good, but I need more sir.”
“Hmmm…no, I think I’ll see if I can make you cum like this first.”
No one has ever tried to make you orgasm this way, and you’re not even sure it’s possible. You tell him this, but he just shakes his head.
“Can I try? If it doesn’t work for you, we can move on, I promise.”
“Yes sir, you can try.”
He smiles softly and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.
“I’m going to squeeze a little harder, just let me know if you start feelin’ anything besides good.”
It feels amazing. Pleasure surges through you and you tip your head back, your hands gripping onto his shoulders to keep you steady. He alternates between pinching and rolling and you concentrate on the throbbing between your legs. He squeezes just a bit harder and it feels so good that a drawn out moan passes through your lips.
“Yeah sugar? How’s that feel?” he asks.
“Good. R-really good,” you respond breathlessly. “Maybe a little harder.”
“How’s this baby?” he asks as he pinches a little harder. There’s a little pain this time, but it’s a delicious kind of hurt.
“Oh!” you gasp, surprised to feel the stirrings of an orgasm. “Don’t stop please, it feels so good.”
“You’re doing so good baby,” he praises, leaning forward to press a kiss to your throat. He keeps the pressure and rolls your sensitive nipples between his fingers. Your eyes flutter and your orgasm is so close you can taste it.
“You’re close aren’tcha? What a good girl; go ahead and let it go baby.”
With his encouragement, an orgasm washes over you and you hear yourself shouting his name. With one hand still tweaking a nipple, he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady as you shake above him. When you come down, your eyes open to see Joel looking at you with a mix of awe and adoration.
“That was the most beautiful god damn thing I’ve ever seen,” he says before capturing your lips in a needy kiss. He sets you gently back on the couch and stands above you, squeezing the length of his cock through his jeans.
“God damn, I swear I stay hard for you,” he groans. “You know how many times I’ve shot my load thinkin’ ‘bout you?”
“Probably as many times as I’ve made myself cum thinking about you.”
“You mean we coulda been doin’ this all along?” he asks, still palming himself through his jeans. You lean back into the corner of the couch and press your middle finger to your clit over your shorts while you watch him; something about the action turns you on so much.
“You’re my boss Joel,” you point out.
“I also own this company doll. I can do whatever I want,” he reminds you. He pulls his shirt over his head and you finally get to see the body you’ve been fantasizing about for so long. His shoulders are broad and his arms are thick. His midsection is soft, but you can still see v-lines disappearing into his jeans. He undresses down to his boxer briefs and you watch, mesmerized, when he slowly pulls his belt through its loops. You’re not sure if you’ve ever been more turned on. He kneels in front of you and taps your hip, signaling for you to lift them.
“Up,” he commands. You lift your hips and he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts. He drags them down your legs and is pleasantly surprised to see your lack of panties.
“No bra, no panties? What a naughty girl,” he tuts.
“Told ya I was dressed for comfort.”
He doesn’t respond, just tosses the shorts aside and admires your naked form.
“I can’t get over how gorgeous you are,” he says, shaking his head. He showers your body with kisses, sucking occasionally on your most sensitive places. You’ll be covered in hickeys later, splotchy red and purple reminders of how Joel worships your body. He places his palms on the insides of your knees and spreads them, giving himself a view of your glistening pussy. He spreads your lips with his first two fingers to admire what he considers a work of art.
“Look how pretty,” he murmurs. Before you can utter a response, he leans in and licks you from opening to clit. He alternates between this and kitten licking your clit and you have to fight yourself to not start riding his face.
“Fuck, you got the sweetest little pussy darlin’,” he groans into your center. He hooks his arms behind your knees and begins to eat you out with fervor. He swirls patterns on your clit with his tongue, dipping it into your entrance every now and then. You’re enjoying it too much to notice that he spells “J O E L” on your clit with his tongue, silently claiming your pussy as his.
“Mmm, fuck Joel, it feels so good,” you whine. You feel two thick fingers slide into your entrance and you buck your hips at the sensation. He flattens his free hand over your belly and pins you to the couch cushions. He curls his fingers into your g-spot as his tongue continues to flick over your clit and your moans mix with the wet squelching sounds of your pussy.
“Joel, oh my god!” you shout, your head falling back onto the arm of the couch. And there they were, those four words he’d wished to hear just over an hour ago. He’s never heard anything so beautiful in his life. You hear him moan and you lift your head to watch him. His eyes are hooded and his free hand is in his boxers stroking his cock. It’s undoubtedly one of the hottest things you’ve ever witnessed.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Oh god I’m so close,” you moan. He sucks your clit once, twice and on the third time, you come apart for him. He can’t help the satisfied smile on his face as he watches you tremble, his name tumbling from your lips like a chant. When he pulls his fingers out, they’re shiny with your spend. He spreads them apart and a string of fluid connects them.
“Look at the mess you made for me baby,” he marvels. He brings his fingers to your lips and you open for him; you suck his fingers clean, never breaking eye contact. You hear him moan softly when you swirl your tongue around the digits. He stands and you can see how painfully hard he is through his boxer briefs. You can’t help but stare at the outline of his cock, wondering how he walks around with that thing between his legs. He sees you staring and smirks.
“You wanna see my cock baby?” he asks.
“Yes sir,” you nod, blushing a little at being caught staring. You watch in anticipation as he pulls his underwear down, cock springing free and practically smacking him in the stomach. Your eyes widen when you see his size. He’s thick and probably around eight or nine inches. He wraps a hand around it and strokes a few times.
“Think you can put it in your mouth for me? I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock,” he says, smoothing his other hand over your hair.
“Yes sir, wanna make you feel good,” you respond obediently, sitting up from your reclined position.
“Oh, what a good girl,” he praises. You wrap your lips around his tip and suck the precum seeping out.
“Oh fuuuuuck baby girl,” he rasps. You hollow out your cheeks and slowly inch him in your mouth. You put your hands on his hips as you bob your head back and forth. His hand flies to your hair when you pull all the way back to his tip before plunging him down your throat. You gag a little bit and pull back some, tears prickling at your eyes. You repeat the process until there are tears trickling down your cheeks.
“Shit baby, you give such good fuckin’ head,” he says through gritted teeth. “Look at ya, chokin’ on my cock.”
He lets you gag a few more times before he pulls your head back gently. He looks down at you sweetly and wipes the tears from your cheeks before offering his hand to help you up.
“You did so good f’me baby, gaggin’ on this big cock like a pro. I wanna stuff that pretty pussy now, though. Get on your knees f’me.”
You settle onto your knees, resting your palms on the back of the couch. A stinging smack lands on your right ass cheek and you moan.
“There’s that gorgeous ass I love to look at,” he says, squeezing it appreciatively. He lays his palm flat on your lower back, his other hand wrapping around the base of his cock. He pushes the tip into your entrance and your walls stretch around him. He’s a bit bigger than anything you’ve taken before and it stings for just a moment, making you whimper.
“I know it’s big baby girl. I’m gonna go slow,” he coos. He rubs his thumbs in soothing circles on your hips as he inches himself inside.
“You’re doin’ so good, takin’ me so well,” he praises.
“Oh fuck, I’m so full,” you moan when he’s fully sheathed inside you.
“Yeah baby? You like bein’ full of my big cock?”
“God yeah, it feels so good.”
He squeezes your hips affectionately as he sets a languid pace. He’s only been inside you for a minute and you know that no other man will be good enough ever again.
“Fuck, this is the best god damn pussy I’ve ever had,” he says, as if reading your mind. “Like it was made just for me.”
You begin to push back and meet his thrusts, your bodies moving in sync. His grip on your ass is so tight that you’re sure half moon shaped indentions will be left behind from his fingernails.
“That’s it baby, bounce back on my dick,” he grits out. He smacks your ass and groans appreciatively as it ripples underneath his palm. “Does it feel good baby, hmm? Tell me how good it feels, lemme hear you.”
“F-feels so good. You’re making my little pussy feel s-so fucking good.”
He grabs your shoulder and pulls you up so that your bodies are flush; he moves your hair aside and puts his lips to your ear as his thrusts become faster and more aggressive.
“I’m gonna destroy your pussy this weekend baby,” he says in a gravelly whisper. “I’ve been waitin’ so long. Might have to carry you into work Monday.”
“Oh god, please,” you mewl in response.
“Yeah baby? You’d like that huh, takin’ this cock all weekend?”
“Yes, oh god yes, your cock feels so good!”
He reaches around to toy with your clit and your head falls back onto his shoulder.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you pant. He rubs your clit faster, pressing a frenzied kiss to your lips.
“That’s it, give it to me baby girl. Cum all over my cock.”
You grab onto his forearm to steady yourself as you cum hard around him. He talks you through it, whispering lowly in your ear.
“There ya go baby, let it go. Doing so good f’me darlin’.”
Once you’ve come back to earth, he pulls out gently and sits down on the couch. He takes you by the hand and guides you to straddle him again.
“I wanna see you baby,” he explains. “You’re a fuckin’ goddess.”
You sink onto his cock and he rests his hands on your hips. He guides your hips back and forth slowly and it feels so good that you attempt to speed up.
“No baby, let’s go slow,” he says, looking into your eyes. “Just enjoy this with me, yeah?”
You smile softly, saying, “yes sir” before grabbing his face and kissing him. His arms wrap around your torso and he holds you close, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck.
“I want you to be my girl. Tell me you’ll be my girl baby.”
You respond without hesitation, “I’m yours Joel, all yours.”
The two of you share another kiss; Joel can no longer hold back and he plants his feet firmly on the ground so that he can thrust up into you.
“Can’t believe I get to call you mine,” he pants. “My pretty fuckin’ girl.”
“Oh god,” you whimper as he pounds into your g-spot. “Joel, fuck baby, I’m so close.”
“Me too baby girl. Should I pull out?”
“No! I want you inside me. Fuck, I want to feel you cum inside me so bad.”
“God damn, dirty little thing,” he grunts. “Gonna fill this little pussy so much.”
“Oh god, I’m cumming,” you announce, clenching around his cock. A chorus of, “fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck YES,” comes from your mouth. Joel makes a deep, guttural sound and spills inside of you, hugging your trembling body tight.
“Shit,” you giggle breathlessly.
“Yeah? Good?” he asks hopefully, just as breathless as you are.
“Good? Amazing. Incredible.”
He grins and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I could actually go again. How about you let me take you back to my place and I’ll put you in my jetted tub, hm? We’ll take a nice bath, maybe smoke a little more and then I’ll fuck you to sleep. How’s that sound?”
It’s your turn to grin and you give him a long, burning kiss.
“Sounds like an offer I can’t pass up.”
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seventeenytiny · 1 year ago
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♡ Stray Kids as Dads ♡
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Word Count: 637 Author's Note: As always this is just for funsies, feel free to add on your own ideas ♡
Bang Chan
He's such a girl dad and I don't think anyone will disagree with this. His daughter is the apple of his eye, the most precious thing he has ever seen. Everything he does in life is for his daughter and family. He will always do his best to take time off work to not miss big milestones and events. I can imagine him smiling ear to ear watching his child's first choir concert, even if it sounds bad he is still so proud of his baby girl.
Lee Know
I can't quite explain why I view him as a father of twins but I just do, it'll be one boy and one girl. When the two of you found out you were having twins his immediate excitement for it took away all your anxiety. If you choose to breast feed he will do everything he can to help you such as cleaning your pumps and changing diapers so you can rest. When the kids get older he will take great pride in making them healthy and yummy homecooked meals.
Changbin
Girl dad 100%, you can't convince me otherwise. He became very protective of his baby girl the second he saw the ultrasound. He does as much as he can while the baby is a newborn to help develop a bond. This includes things like skin-to-skin cuddles, diaper changes, and baths. When his daughter gets older he will always be picking out the cutest outfits for her.
Hyunjin
Honestly, I could see him as both a girl and boy dad but I think his first might be a girl. I can see him as the dad who plays dress-up with his daughter. He'd let his girl paint his nails, do his hair, and put makeup on him and he'd do the same to her. They'd also do crafts together, once his daughter develops better motor skills he will definitely teach her how to paint.
Han
Baby girl is the father of a baby girl. He loves spending one-on-one time with his daughter. He will take her to the park to play while also allowing his partner to have some quiet time to themselves. When his daughter is a little bit older he will take her on "dates" so she can learn how a man should treat her. By dates, I mean things like daddy-daughter dances where he will bring her flowers, open car doors for her, and treat her to dinner.
Felix
I have a feeling if he decides to have kids he would like to settle back down in Australia. He would love to take his son to all of the places he has fond memories of in his hometown. I'm sure he would be thrilled if his child showed interest in doing taekwondo as well. Everyone will be wondering if his son will have that same signature deep voice he has.
Seungmin
I think he would really like having a child he can play sports with and roughhouse with. Obviously, he can do that with either a girl or a boy but I think he ultimately would like a mini him to play with. He'd love playing catch with his boy and taking him out to sports games. They'd probably play outside all day, rain or sunshine, and always come back in covered in mud and ravenously hungry.
I.N
Like Seungmin, he also can't wait to have a mini him. He and his child will be so mischievous together, they will always be doing stuff like playing pranks on each other. Jeongin also has two brothers so I could see him and his bros taking his son on a classic boy's trip. He will also teach his son how to be the perfect gentleman, the two of them will always come back with flowers for mom.
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wynnyfryd · 11 months ago
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Trailer park Steve AU pt 44
part 1 | part 43 | ao3
cw: recreational drinking
“You’re just…” Robin looks at him sideways, her face doing something quivery and weird that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic concern but mostly looks like she stubbed her toe right after smelling microwaved fish. “You’re sure it’s not too soon?” 
It is. 
It definitely is too soon.
Steve’s pleasantly buzzed at a New Year’s Eve party — some random rich kid’s house, loitering in the space between the living room and kitchen so he and Robin can properly people watch (see also: be hugely judgmental bitches about the fashion sense of the girls on the dance floor and the sloppy form of the guys doing keg stands on the back deck) — and Steve just opened his fat, drunk mouth and casually admitted to being in love with Eddie. 
Eddie, the guy who hated him for years. The guy who tried to knife him the first time they interacted as neighbors. 
The guy whose silhouette has started to fill the passenger seat in Steve's Winnebago dreams. 
Eddie’s here, but he’s not here; probably posted up somewhere in the basement so he can deal to the stoners and the horny kids playing Spin the Bottle, and Steve— 
Steve knows he falls too fast. Always has, but especially now. Steve fell for Eddie like a gunshot going off: a deafening bang, gurgling fish sounds, blood all over the floor. He kinda thinks he couldn’t help it. Kinda thinks he’d do it again. 
And how could he not, when Eddie smiles at him like that? When he takes him apart so sweetly with his words, his lips, his tongue? When he dragged Steve by the hand into the back pew of a midnight mass on Christmas Eve, giggling about how he was shocked his satanic worship hadn’t set the bench aflame? 
Yeah. 
Steve totally understood why Jesus got up on that cross. 
“Oh, my god,” Robin rolls her eyes with a strangled huff. “Are you seriously just—? You’re fucking hopeless.” 
Yeah, he is, and yes, he is. “No,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like a defiant kid who got caught lying to his mother, because yeah, he totally is spacing out into lovesick La La Land while being actively accused of spending too much time there lately. “I’m not fucking hopeless, and it’s not too soon.”
Robin gapes at him like 'are you kidding me right now?' “Steve!”
“Robin!” he answers, mimicking her tone. Wow. Vodka makes him petulant. 
It makes Robin stubborn as hell. She juts her chin out and hollers over the music, gesturing so aggressively she almost spills her drink, “Admit that it’s too soon!”
“It isn’t!” Steve shouts back; digs his heels in and refuses to budge, never mind the fact that it’s only been, like, three weeks since Eddie fingered him for the first time oh, god, don’t think about Eddie’s fingers right now.
They stare at each other for a second, Robin’s nostrils flaring with the words she so clearly wants to yell at him, her breaths coming hot and harsh, and then, with a long sigh, her shoulders deflate. Her chin comes down. She bites her lip again, teeth turning the skin white as her eyes go big and sad. Worried. She's worried for him because she loved him first. 
Steve smiles at her, a quick, closed-lip thing that feels more like shrugging with his mouth, and he leans into her space; pats her cheek and thumbs her chin until she stomps chomping on her lip.
“You’re gonna get it all chapped,” he says in a hush, hoping her Steve translator is still intact after a couple drinks. Hopes she knows that he’s really saying ‘I hear you’ and ‘I love you, too; I love that you care’ because they're at a party and god does he not feel like saying sappy friendship shit out loud. 
Robin’s eyes get misty. Just for a second — message received; copy that — and she clears her throat and shakes it off. Points at something over Steve’s shoulder and drags him to the other side of the room.
part 45
tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)
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riririnnnn · 28 days ago
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I have this foreboding feeling that while we are prepared for Sae's and Shidou's backstory, Nagi's backstory is going to sneak from behind and punch us in the gut.
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No, I don't think it's going to be straight up depression like Kaiser's, but I do think that it'll hit close to home.
You see, Nagi got Laissez-faire parents which means they never really interfered with his life. Like, these type of parents—as I have read on some websites—will basically set their child free and let them do whatever they want with no or very few rules/restrictions. They will not tell you, "Oh! You should do this!" or "Oh! You shouldn't do this!" They will simply let you figure out your life all by yourself.
I'm not an expert on this and I'm not calling this type of parenting bad in any way. Every child is different with different needs, and I'm sure there are many who grew up in this kinda family and liked this parenting method. However, I do think that Nagi didn't like it that much, and I got two reasons to think this way:
1. "That's nice."
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When Reo said that his family constantly meddles in his life, Nagi's immediate reaction was, "That's nice" instead of being surprised or disgruntled. If Nagi really liked his parents NOT meddling in his life, then he should've said something like, "Really!? Sucks to be you, Reo. I can't imagine living a life like that!"
You getting me?
Also, we all know how Nagi is—he definitely feels that telling someone to do or not to do something is a hassle, so he, probably, feels that if someone is doing all this for you, then you are important for them.
And before any one says, no, I don't think Nagi was tying up his tongue thinking, "They are his parents. They wouldn't want anything bad for their own child, right? I shouldn't say anything against them and should say good things about them just to be safe." I don't think he has this kind of filter in him.
2. "Don't die ."
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So, why would you not want someone to die? Of course, because you care for them and want them to be with you.
"Want"
That's really what I'm tryna highlight.
It's a pretty common knowledge that some children are just naturally more independent while others are a bit more dependent and seek guidance from the elders. Considering Nagi's first reaction to knowing about Reo's parents' meddling, I think that Kiddo!Nagi falls into the latter category—someone who likes to be guided and helped by the adults. Now, place Kiddo!Nagi with his Laissez-faire parents... You are getting where I'm going with this one?
That's why I think that Kiddo!Nagi, probably, thought that his parents didn't love him/care for him. And what happens if someone doesn't love you or care for you? Yeah, they don't care if you die which, somewhat, explains why Older!Nagi was happy to hear, "Don't die [before us (probably)]" from his parents.
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I have already talked about his potential backstory before too, so it was actually when I heard he had longer bangs as a child that made my head turn to him again—something felt odd.
I understand that having long bangs is not a big deal—Niko's bangs literally cover his eyes, but having it as a kid is way different, y'know. Once you are like 12-13, you somewhat become capable of doing your own hair and clothes by yourself, so you can manage whatever aesthetics you prefer. However, for a kid younger than that, it's the parents' responsibility to look after his/her hair and clothes, and we all know that long bangs are quite bothersome—blocks our vision, sometimes stabs the eyes, and even irritatingly itches the nose.
All in all, till his backstory drops, I'd firmly believe that he was, though unintentionally, a neglected kid—at least, emotionally.
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Now I can't get this image out of my head where Kiddo!Nagi is longingly staring at other kids in a park where everyone is learning things like riding a bicycle or maybe playing baseball and stuff with their parents while he is just.. there, probably, all alone.
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en-geneisaxx · 6 months ago
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𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞
𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝/𝐨𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝! (𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫, 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐨 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫)
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“Hey daddy, I love you!” Says a young voice through the speakers of his phone. He looks at his child blowing kisses through the phone while his hand gently closes as if he’s received the love from his daughter. His breath hitched as he heard your voice, a song he’ll always love to hear.
“Haha, say that again baby,” You laughed, smiling at your daughter’s sentence. You look through the screen to Sunghoon, “I love you too, daddy.” And the video cuts off there. Sunghoon’s fingers taps the play button immediately, wanting to watch the video again and again,
Because he couldn’t watch it before his eyes ever again.
“Hoon, I was busy washing Jin-Ae, how could I also clean up the house? If you’re so triggered by seeing her toys on the floor, why not pick them up yourself?” 
It was a stupid argument, one that somehow brought all the things you two have hated within your 2 year relationship with each other. 
“Babe, I’m so fucking tired, we had to practise more than usual since it was a big comeback.” He reasoned, flopping down on the couch as he massages his head with one hand, the other dangling off the arm rest. 
“Wow, so all you had to do was dance for some slutty bitches in revealing clothes?” You raised your voice higher, “Fucking thrusting your hips in the air as if it were their cunts?” 
“Don’t talk to my fans like that,” Irritation was evident in his tone, “They’re everything to me, you got that?” 
Your arms flap in the air in disbelief, “OH, WOW. SO, YOU’RE TELLING ME YOUR FAMILY FALLS SHORT TO THOSE SQUEALING PIGS? SUNGHOON, YOU’RE GETTING REALLY PATHETIC.” You cried, eyes widened in anger.
“PATHETIC? YOU’RE CALLING ME PATHETIC? WHAT ABOUT YOU NOT PICKING UP SOME DAMN TOYS ON THE FLOOR?” He bellowed, jumping off the couch as pointing at the group of toys on the ground.
“YOU KNOW WHAT, LOGICAL THINKING IS JUST SOMETHING THAT YOU LACK. I ALREADY EXPLAINED, I WAS BUSY LOOKING AFTER OUR DAUGHTER.” There was a heavy emphasis on ‘daughter’ as you pointed to the ceiling. 
“What you're even mad for, looking like a stick up in your asshole.” He mutters, but loud enough for you to hear. Your eyes glaze over as you register those words. 
“You’re the one to talk,”
“What have you even done for our family?” He starts, a scowl on his face as he starts, “Because every single fucking time I come home, the first thing I see is a mess and you lounging about on the couch.” 
It hurt. It fucking hurts. 
“OH WELL I DON’T KNOW,” You say exasperatedly, “MAYBE WATCHING OVER OUR DAUGHTER WHILE YOU ENTERTAIN SLUTS, COOKING FOOD FOR YOU SO THAT YOU WON’T FEEL STARVED, MOVING TO THIS HOUSE JUST SO YOU WON’T BE ALONE, STAYING UP UNTIL YOU SLEPT ON CALL WHILE YOU DID TOURS, MARRYING YOU EVEN IF WE WOULD BECOME ALL THE TALK,”
“Hold on,” He raises a hand in the air while he looks at the ground, “are you implying that our marriage was a mistake? That it was bad?”
“Are you trying to put me in the wrong?” You mocked his high-pitched voice.
“You know what, if you’re so done with me, how about we just divorce?” He shouts, opening his eyes only to see his devoted wife in tears. Only then did he understand the damage he had caused.
“Baby…I didn’t mean that…” He was about to apologise before you shake your head, rushing up stairs as you left a wrongful Sunghoon banging his head on the wall. He raises his head as he sees you and his sleeping daughter in your arms with her bag, and he tries to stop you.
“Y/n, please, I’m sorry.” He weeps, holding your arm tightly as you let out a choked sob.
“I’m done, Sunghoon,” You take out your arm from his grasp, a gasp leaving his lips as he sees your wedding ring drop to the floor,
“I’m done being Mrs. Park.” 
And that was it, for his family disappeared through the door. He clutches his chest tightly as he struggles to breathe, hiccups ongoing as he continues to cry. 
Now, all he had was videos taken on his phone to see. You had blocked his contact, said farewell to his friends as you got on with your life. Sunghoon will forever be stuck in the past, dwelling over his mistakes as he looks at the pixelated screen. 
“Please come back, Y/n,
I’m so sorry,” He pleads before he falls back into the darkness, haunted by the nightmare that changed everything.
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Tagging: @pockettwinzz @diorsyun @slickchickchocolatier @heeslomll @sungvrhs @emi-en @potatohoon @velvetkisscs @dr0wnme0ut @reesareads @jaylaxies @dollyyun
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writella · 1 year ago
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hi, sweetie! Hope you’re doing well. I just had the cutest thought that I wanted to share. And maybe if you want to add on to it as a drabble or something please feel free:) if not, then please just enjoy todays shower thoughts lol.
I’m thinking about a friends with benefits! reader and Daryl who find themselves travelling by canoe for whatever reason. And how they might get into some petty argument or even play fight that ends with them flipping the boat and the two of them just stand in the water, soaking wet and staring blankly at eachother with disappointment. Bangs sticking to your both your foreheads as the canoe slowly floats down the river along with all your dignity.
Take care! xoxo
Rocking the Boat
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Synopsis: Daryl has been back home for weeks; the first attack against the Sanctuary is complete; Alexandria, the Kingdom, and the Hilltop are on their way to freedom; but nothing is the same as it was, especially not with you and Daryl. Maybe a house boat side quest will break the ice, or really, make some waves.
Details: This is set during the beginning of season 8, it includes violence, smut, a fwb relationship but feelings are involved, mutual pining, a little bit of switch Daryl and reader, and some sweetness because I think it’s just my thing at this point. ♡
A/N + Response: Hello, lovely miss T ♡ what a fun idea!! I love the imagery you set with the canoe tipping over, especially the bangs so cute— it was one of my favorite parts to write here! This is probably a bit unrealistic and much longer than I intended, so I think I might consider this a full one-shot as well as a concept, and… it’s also a bit sad? Just a little until we get to the good stuff, I promise ;) Anyway I hope you like it; let me know what you think!!
Daryl sat on Rick’s porch, his back against the poles, reloading his guns as you sped up the steps, “I think we should go back to the boats. Now.” Your voice was hurried, you had run all the way from your house, but he didn't even look up at you.
“Why would we do somethin’ stupid like that?” His voice was low, and annoyed. You didn’t expect to be greeted kindly, but at least he sounded like anything other than emotionless to you since the first time you saw him again; since the time he escaped the Sanctuary.
“There’s no one there. I saw it before I got back home. There were people with guns sitting outside the first time we saw it, but now there aren't.”
“A couple of guns ain’t gonna help us.”
“There had to have been a reason they were guarding it before.” Your words were urgent and your eyes pleaded for him to look up. “Any amount of guns could make the difference, Daryl. You know that.” You stare at him, waiting for nothing as he doesn’t respond. “Did you and Rick even find anything before you got back?” You cross your arms, “Cause it doesn’t look like it. And I think I just did.”
You had gotten separated from the group after the first attack against the Sanctuary: you ran without thinking, just trying to get away from the army of walkers stampeding the place. Straying off the usual path to Alexandria, you accidentally reencountered a place you and Daryl only saw once before. It was a time before Negan, before the Saviors. But now, remembering their jackets, and their weapons, and how their bikes looked parked at the shore, you realized those were three Savior cabin boats— fairly sized, a bit rusty, they had a shack like feel, but it was big enough to stand and sleep in. Maybe something of use could be in there, and at least it was something to do while you waited for the final attack.
Similar to Rosita and Michonne, you also got hurt by the scavengers— day zero of the war, when Sasha died— but the girls left you here, they didn’t even tell you they were going, you didn’t even see them leave. But you needed to get out too; you needed to help. “I’m going with or without you.” Your anger started bubbling at his indifference, “And I saw you talking to Tara, I know you’re planning something, so if you want to go off with her and complete your idiot side plan-”
“You’re the one with the dumbass plan.”
“- then that’s fine!” You glare at him, his eyes still so evasive, it infuriates you. “My objective is to find more weapons, before the final attack.” You lied, you both knew your objective was to rest before the final attack, “So I’m gonna go do that.”
You begin to walk briskly. You knew he was going to try to stop you. You knew he was going to come with you when he realized, yet again, he couldn’t stop you, or… you hoped he couldn’t… Sometimes you forget how much stronger he is than you. You had a smart mouth and you knew how to get a reaction out of him, or at least you did in the past, but he could pinned you down with one hand, making you completely immobile— it’s happened before. The thought makes you walk faster, heading for the nearest car. You were trying to make a point although you weren’t sure what it was. You were just tired of sitting around, tired of his treatment— mistreatment, actually. You knew he had reason to act curtly, what he went through was unspeakable, but you were still there for him, waiting, but he never came to you. Not even late at night. Not even to simply sleep.
Just as you’re about to reach the car you feel his hand wrap around your arm, you almost let it yank you. Your breath is a heavy mix of fear and excitement as he does so. Maybe you finally got something out of him. Maybe you still have it. Maybe you still have him. “We don’t got time for this,” he hissed. Then his jaw clenched, it almost looked like he was chewing on something, “but you’re forgetting the boat.”
“It’s a canoe.” You were pushing it with the retort, he was coming.
He grunts as he lets go of your arm, it slapping down to your side. You wait for him by the car as he retrieves the canoe and paddles from one of the house garages. You guys had found it a long while ago, never knowing when it would be of use. That time was now.
The ride toward the waterfront was irritable and depressing to say the least. You wanted to be around Daryl, you wanted to stop him from going off plan with Tara, but most importantly, you just wanted to talk to him; finally and for once. You all were on the biggest missions of your life, in the biggest war of your life… who knows where your fates would lie after this, but he has yet to say anything to you that didn’t involve fighting the Saviors, and even with that, he didn’t say much. He wanted to win. He was ready to do it fast. Whatever it took. That was all.
He kept shifting in his seat, short, low grunts coming out of the side of his mouth— he didn’t want to do this right now, but he knew you were just as stubborn as him, especially when it came to him. As dumb as he felt this was, it wasn’t time for another person he cares about to get hurt.
“Stop fuming,” you muttered.
He snapped back, barking your name, “We’re in a war! We could be doin’ better things right now and got me here for what?”
“Maybe so you don’t kill people we need alive right now?” You were talking about Dwight, you did more than just see Daryl talking to Tara.
His following grunt truly said typical. “You always got your nose where it don’t belong.”
You ignore him, “We should follow Rick’s plan.”
He shakes his head, ignoring you this time. He’s tired of talking about this. He’s going to go on the boat, see if there’s weapons, get Tara, and use whatever you two find to complete his own plan at the Sanctuary. This needs to be done.
“At least it’s a little over 5 miles off the out-post the Kingdom took out,” you reason, “that must be why no one is there anymore.”
Still no response. Typical, it’s your turn to think it. You let go of talking to him for now. The rest of the drive was silent as well as when you get to your destination, starting to put the canoe on water.
You look at the three small, now unguarded, boats. Only one bike was by the land and there was blood splattered on the middle house, the biggest one. Maybe the Kingdom took out the guy that was there, but there were no boats or canoes around, no way for someone to get close enough inside.
You two get in, starting to row. “There better be somethin’ good in there,” Daryl huffed. You hoped so too. Uncertainty started filling in with the reality of your awful plan. There really could be nothing in there and you really could have spent your day doing something that mattered to the cause. If these boats held anything important, why wasn’t a Savior there already? But even worse, the realization that you were acting out of desperation just because Daryl had been acting so cold… felt even more terrible.
You knew Daryl was scarred, far more than before and you were trying to be patient. You were going to let him come to you. You knew he needed time, and he was at the Kingdom for a little bit anyway, hiding out from Negan. You couldn’t even talk to him if you wanted to because of that. But now you had been planning that first attack for weeks, you were sleeping in the same place together again, but not in the same room, not touching. And again, you understood why, but then again… you didn’t. It was so hard to gain his trust, for him to open up to you, you thought that was something you gained for keeps; but now he wasn’t even allowing you to have a friendship anymore, let alone this in-between relationship you used to have. It made you upset how much power you realized you let him have over you. You missed him so much, and now you weren’t even sure if he missed you back, or if he had reason to. Maybe it was just a fling after all.
War feels long, but it’s only a short time in truth. Nonetheless, a short time that can define who you are thereafter. This could be him, and maybe it always was. And this could be how you two will always be. Forever.
You decide to break the silence again as you row, your thoughts becoming insufferable: “That’s actually not the right technique,” you stutter, “if- if you’re curious.” You start to row based on what you taught yourself, the canoe going just a bit faster now, “I read it in a book from Deana’s old library.”
“So you read somethin’ in a book and now you think you know everything?” His eyes were annoyed. “Hmph.”
Your voice raises, “Well just because you’re so experienced in the wilderness or whatever doesn’t mean you know everything either.”
“I’m doin’ it fine.” He wasn’t. “You don’t even know how to swim.” You didn’t. “So maybe just be glad you ain’t dying today.”
You repeat yourself, “Still- doesn’t- mean- you know how to do everything… You expect me to think Merle took you canoeing? Of all things?” You cock your head, “Pretty sure he was out finding the next score.” You knew it was a low blow to bring up the dead brother, but you were upset. No talking and now insults? You could be cold too, even colder, even if you didn’t like it.
“Shut up.”
“You shut up!”
Then you screamed. A walker with gills, swimming in the water approached your boat behind Daryl. Your voice made him turn around to see it. You take your paddle to try to stab it in the head, but the walker’s hands are along the canoe rim, coming closer to you, it makes you accidently hit Daryl with your swing. “Oh- Sorry!”
“Fuck!” He yelled.
“I’m sorry!” A realization comes, “Is this the guy?”
“If it was he’s been dead for a while.” Daryl shouts, taking out his gun and you take out your knife. He’s trying to shoot the walker in the head, it’s closer to your side now. But you’re thrashing and water is flying while you try to jab them in the head with your knife. The walker has one of your arms and you’re trying to pry it away with the hand that has the knife. Neither of you have a clear shot at getting the thing, all three of you rocking the canoe far too much.
“Stay still!” He yells at you.
“Im trying!” You shout with the same force, the same annoyance, “He’s not making it easy, Daryl!”
Daryl has a chance to shoot the walker in the stomach, and he takes it, but it does nothing. The walker’s hands on you do not quit. The two of you just keep yelling at each other, riling the walker up. You can hear the biting sounds they’re making near your arm.
He shoots again, but you and the walker are still moving too much and Daryl’s loosing balance. The walker is tipping the canoe with their hands, water splashing inside. The next bullet goes into the wood, making a hole.
Their starving mouth continues to try to bite at you. You pull using all your strength to get their mouth away, trying to use your other hand to slice into their head. You two have never seen a walker like this: they can swim and they’re so strong.
Water now fills the boat from the hole as Daryl moves forward on the canoe, pushing your head, his hand quite literally covering your whole face to shove you out of the way, getting a clear shot at the walker and firing at their head. He clicks twice: Boom. Boom. Guts and water fly everywhere.
The splashing of the water and the firing of his gun overwhelms all your senses. The weight of Daryl is on your side now, neither of you have balance; both your weights pull the canoe over the edge as it flips over entirely with you under it.
You scream, but your voice is muffled. You thrash around, trying to use what little experience you have. You come above water for a few seconds, wailing, and Daryl grabs you.
“Hey- Hey- Hey!” his words snap, rough like barks until he gets you to look at him, gripping your face so it’s forward. “It’s okay,” he’s breathing almost as heavy as you are. His voice becomes even now, “It’s okay.” You realize he has you in his arms— it really was okay.
Feeling he might make a comment about you almost drowning, you force yourself to speak through water filled lungs, “Don’t. Say it.”
So he didn’t. He just holds you tight, you even feel his thumbs squeezing into you at the waist now, and through half lidded eyes, you see his arms tense, working hard to make sure you never fall, but it’s at a half arm's length, his elbows bent. You blink rapidly, your wet eyelashes still flapping shut until you’re able to open them better. You can see Daryl more clearly now.
You try to swipe some of the hair out of your face. The baby hairs at the crown of your forehead stayed slick in place while some parts of your hair started to lightly form your wave or curl pattern, but in all, you were absolutely drenched.
Your hands now hold onto his forearms just as tight as his below. It was one of those rare moments where you remember just how blue his eyes are. Their narrow shape and the way his hair lays always hides them away. But the sun was behind you, casting its light directly on him and his hair was now slick to his head as well: only some of it resting on his forehead.
If someone were to describe Daryl’s looks, they would probably say something typical like dark and rugged. They don’t see what you see. God, you forgot how uniquely handsome he was.
His hair changed colors in the light, it wasn’t as dark brown anymore, flecks of it were a more golden brown in the sun. And you loved the mole that was just above his lip and facial hair. Almost no one else in the group had something like that. And now, there was the way his button down stuck onto his skin. The color was dark enough that it wasn’t see-through, but you saw every indent, every line of his bicep and tricep as you looked at his arms, trying to avoid his face, trying to avoid his chest or anywhere lower.
On the other hand, Daryl was trying even harder to avoid looking at your soaked body, failing even worse. His eyes couldn’t help but linger on how your chest huffed as you tried to catch your breath. Your collarbones are now exposed as your shirt slides down just a bit further, the light color almost see through because of the water, and your bra didn’t help much either. It was one of those without the padding, it was the only one that fit— your supplies, food and wearable, clean clothing, were running dangerously low at home. The thin material of both top garments showed how your nipples perked up now. And the way he had to grasp tightly on the smalls of your waist, feeling your stomach inhale and exhale as you calmed yourself down didn’t help either. It was like he felt your hold body moving… similar to a way he used to feel it.
It all makes him realize now how he hasn’t gotten the courage to look at you directly in the longest. God, he forgot how pretty you are. How lovely it was to hold you. Even if it was to escape death.
Your eyes are so big as you hold on tightly to his arms, you’re still shaken up. Trying to paddle your feet like you’ve seen on tv and in videos in the past. It’s adorable.
He didn’t dare look any longer, but part of him wondered if you were looking at him the same way. And you were. Specifically, the way you could see every line and ripple of his abdomen with his button up now glued to his body. As you let your eyes trail just a bit more form his arms, you noticed how magnified his chest looked, how his nipples were just as pert as yours.
It all made you feel something warm down below and it made something inside him twitch, but this wasn’t the time. He had been feeling so many things since he returned that he didn’t even know which ones to act upon first, so he reverted back to saying nothing, or at least nothing that had to do with how he really felt, how he really felt about you that is.
In the end, “You better hope I can make one of those shits run or we’re fucked,” was all he decided to say.
He moves your hands onto the back sides of his waist and he starts to swim. Your legs are off to the sides and he tells you to kick as he is and hold on tight as he swims you both to the middle boathouse, the one with the blood.
You hold onto the ledge as you finally arrive, allowing Daryl to go in first, checking for walkers at each boat. He does the side ones first. No one is there. Finally, he goes to the middle house: out of all of them, it’s the biggest wreck. The place is filled with pictures, Polaroids, scattered all over the place. It’s of the Saviors. And there’s all kinds of guns scattered on the floor, but he can’t help but to stare at the faces. He knew some of those faces.
You call his name, but he doesn’t respond. “What was in the other two?” You yell for him again, but nothing. You decide to go in the middle one as well, your eyes are amazed by the mess of guns on the floor. There were even ones still hooked up to the wall. There were knives and daggers too. Even glass cases with various bullets, you wondered what they did. Was this the emergency weapons stash? Had you reached it before a Savior could? “Why aren’t you picking this stuff up?” You look up at him impatiently, shaking your head and huffing, you’ll do it yourself you guess.
Daryl continues to look around, picking up a frame. The only framed picture in the boat. It was cracked on the ground: A Polaroid of Negan.
He takes the picture out of the broken glass to look at it closer. As if this wasn’t already the attitude of much of the Saviors, whoever lived and protected this place must have worshiped him. Negan stood proudly in it, his bat on the side of his shoulders, a big rifle strapped around his back on the other. His hair and beard was all black, and that notorious, all encompassing grin plastered his face from ear to ear. Daryl turned the picture over: the words, ‘Negan — The First Savior. My Savior,’ was written on the back.
It fired him up. It made him think of the dark, of that cell, of the food that probably wasn’t even food, when he was kicked and jumped by those Saviors in the parking lot, and that damn song— the saccharine melody would live on in his brain like a siren. There would never be silence inside him again. In fact, there never was. It was only louder now. So loud and so angry he feels it in his throat, traveling to his tongue, beneath his eyes, as he can no longer keep it in anymore; but he tries, and tries, and tries, quietly holding everything in while you keep collecting weapons, putting them in bags you find. The picture crumples in his closing hand, his fist turning red as he grips tightly, ruining the shining paper.
He slides down against the boat wall, sitting on the ground biting his tongue, stopping the feelings until you're done; until you two can leave and he can do what he needs to do. It’ll be without you, without Rick, without anyone. This needs to be done. He’ll do it.
“Daryl,” you call out, not facing him, collecting the bags. “I think I counted 32, but it could be 40… I think there’s smaller ones by the wheel and I didn’t even get the swords yet. If there's about the same number on the other two, there could be maybe over 100 new weapons,” you gasp with disbelief. “Were the other two like this?“
You we’re relieved, you knew it was a dumb plan, but you came out of it with a win; it was worth it. “Daryl, come on-” you turn to him now, “oh.”
You almost couldn’t see his eyes with how much more narrow he made them, they were practically closed and his face was down. You wondered if this was the moment you would first see him cry: his lip quivered, his face was as red as his fists, and he wouldn’t look in your direction, his head was basically to the wall as you started to walk to him.
Your movements are slow as you kneel down to the corner in which he sat. You place fingers along his jaw until your whole hand wraps around the area. Your strokes are gentle, feeling the bristles of his beard on your palm. He had been so angry since he returned, hell bent on war and death, but you remembered… he must have also been so sad, so depressed too. Poor boy, you thought. Poor boy, you forgot; in some ways, he still was just a boy.
You turn his cheek to face you, but his eyes don’t dare meet yours as a few tears start rolling out. Your own emerge too. It’s heartbreaking to see him like this.
You put your forehead to his, your nose rubbing against his own, “I’m so sorry,” you whisper.
You come even closer. Your lips lightly touch his, you’re tentative at first, not knowing if it was right, but then you feel his brush against yours just as light. You decide to move in, your lips parting his own as you kiss him.
Your tongue goes into his mouth, your hand raising his chin, you’re so delicate. He holds your shoulder, you lean into his bent body and your other hand slides against his chest. You’re both still wet and cold, but his heart beats warmly.
His head leans up against the wall as you push yourself further onto his lips. You hold his shoulders and he allows you to slide him down.
You look up at him, your hands on his shirt. This is not how you expected today to go. “Is this okay?” You ask softly. His nod is just as soft, you almost don’t see it, but his hands are lightly on top of your own as you unbutton his shirt, he lets you. It’s okay.
He’s unbuckling his belt now, pushing his pants down and your top goes over your head. He starts to unbutton your own jeans. It’s quiet except for your breaths, and the clinking of belts, and the undoing of zippers.
You pull him out a little more from the corner so you can straddle him. You start grinding your hips down into him and he pushes into your clit with his finger, circling it. The bit of warmness you felt below before is now almost pooling out instantly from just the littlest touches. Your back arches, you haven’t felt him in so, so long. You gasp and it accidentally turns into a moan. You’re so needy for it, but you remember: you want to help him.
Your hands move down to his stomach, your lips kiss his neck as your hands travels up to his chest and then back down, you start kissing him everywhere there as you do so, breathing him in, it makes him fidgety, little gruff sounds irruption from his throat, he’s trying to keep it in. Then you got even lower: you kiss down his cock until you’re at the tip. You lick at the pre-cum there. You put just a little bit of him inside your mouth, sucking, stroking the rest of it. His exhale comes out as a shaky gasp, he whimpers slightly.
Finally, you move back up and line yourself up with him, sinking down slowly as you look him in the eyes. You can’t help it, you start to ride him immediately thereafter. The stretch feels so good and so big and full as if you’ve never felt him before. Your moan is light and airy, you missed him. And he groans, “-ugh, fuck” and moans, “uh- mm- argh,” right after you do so. He missed you. You know that now, it makes you smile.
You lean up against him slightly. His mouth parted and you speak into it, your breast brushing against him as you rolled onto him, your stomached touching a bit. “I’ve got you,” you pant into his mouth, he’s panting too, “always.”
He holds onto your hips as you go faster, you’re holding onto his shoulders. “Does it feel good?” You kiss him right after you ask, his tongue going to the top of your mouth, sliding in wet and deliciously, it’s everything you’ve waited for. He hums into you as a response. You feel his dick twitch as your pussy grips on him tighter.
You feel like you both could be close until he starts kissing you more fiercely. His tongue only slipping in slightly as he pecks your lips, he bites down slightly, then kissing you deeply again. Then he turns you over. You’re under him now. His hands go right by your ears, flat on the ground and he thrusts into you. Hard. It almost hurts, you can’t lie. He’s grunting, short and quick, but his rasp, and his hair flying as he quickens the pace, and the fact that pain is slowly turning into pleasure… you’re fine with it. If this is what he needs, you’re fine with it.
His next grunt is almost a yell, it’s like a battle cry. He’s angry and you know it. You hold onto his flex arms tenderly, caressing him, silently telling him you’re there, but you allow him to continue.
His movements are faster now. More irate. His body comes closer to yours, but his movements do not stop their force. His thrusts feels like poundings, you feel like the floor is moving, maybe the boat is rocking, the bags jump with it.
He looks at your screwed shut eyes as one of his hands comes to touch your chest. Trailing your breast, then to the bottom of your stomach, staying there, pressing down, feeling himself inside of you has he shoves himself up and in, he’s deep, so deep. “Mmm,” You’re whining now, “-uuh.” It makes his eyes lighten, he’s humming, low and gruff and continuous, stuttering into you, eyes open waiting to see you come so then he can. It’s right there for him, but he wants to see you, he needs it.
Your moan mixes into a whine, “Daryl please,” you beg, “Daryl please- it’s- it’s too much, it hurts,” it makes him go even faster, and he can’t help himself as he comes in you first, sighing as he does so, but it’s exactly what you need to come undone yourself.
You grab the back of his neck, holding it close to you as you squeeze your arms around him and he does the same to your waist.
You both try to calm your breaths, “Never leave me again,” you say into his ear, breathing roughly. “Please.”
“Never.” He looks at you right in the eye when repeats it, “Never.” He wipes the tears from your face as you both nod, affirming a new promise to each other. “We’ll win. Together.”
After laying for a few moments, just looking at each other, he goes to the bathroom to find a washcloth, warming it with water, helping you clean up. He takes your hand so you can start doing it yourself and he kisses your forehead before he starts to get dressed. “I’ll be back.”
Soon enough, you hear the engine in the front start to rev up. He got it to work.
“You can drive a boat?”
“Gonna learn.” He turns to you, pulling you in front resting your hands on the wheel while he stands behind, his arms over your own. “We both are.”
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otakubimbo · 11 months ago
Text
Checkmate.
MafiaBoss Sukuna x F!Reader
You had a routine. You had a life. You had plans. Is your association with someone you hate going to change everything for you?
Sticky: I was asked to make it into a series so this is the prequel to this! It will be an on going series. I don't know how many chapters yet.
UPDATED STICKY: hi yes, you may be seeing this thinking 'OB this definitely doesn't look like what you wrote before.' and you would be right, i hated it so i changed it. Sorry, love yall, bye T-T
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The activity at the Zenin compound was raising suspicion from their enemies, especially their biggest one The King of Curses. The two yakuza families had been cordial for the most part through the decades, but lately, the hot-headed Naoya Zenin was pushing his way into the King of Curses territory and that would not do, not at all. So, on top of the brazen acts by the end of that family, the activity coming from the compound DAILY was raising all alarms for Ryomen Sukuna.  And the activity? It was you, coming in and out the front gates of the compound almost daily, always bringing something with you, always leaving without anything. The biggest issue, no one had any information on you and yet you were casually coming in and out of the compound as if you were an important member of the Zenin’s. The King of Curses needed to know your role with them and how to use it to his advantage to get Naoya out of his hair for good.
That’s what led to one of the King of Curses disgruntled underlings following you around for the last two weeks. Nothing you did was of interest; you were actually quite boring. Your day consisted of leaving your condo with a bag of who knows what to the Zenin compound, spending a few hours there, and leaving to go to the park not far from the compound to play chess? With old people? It was strange, and then after that, you would leave after seemingly beating every old man who would sit with you and play to go to a café or library to work away at something on your computer.
Sukuna’s face was twisted into a scowl as he read over the report of your day.
“What the fuck is this?” His voice made the men under his command shrink into themselves and back down.
“Sir, that’s all we have. That’s all she does.” One of them spoke up not meeting Sukuna’s glare. The man before them flexes his fingers in an attempt to quell his rage from snapping either of their necks.
“Do you at least have a name; do you have anything?”
The silence from their lack of response was louder than anything they could have said. Sukuna crumbles the report in his hand, balling his fist and banging it against the sturdy wooden desk. He had to think of something. There had to be something he could think of because surprisingly enough despite how arrogant and boisterous Naoya was, the boy kept his circle tight and private. Nothing that the boy doesn’t want out, never gets out. You truly seemed nothing of interest but then no one and he knew NO ONE was allowed to freely walk in and out of that compound so casually without significance. Also, there was something about you that he couldn’t figure out and it was driving him almost insane. He had seen videos in the reports he was being sent of you and the way you walked and carried yourself had him in thought. In thought of what? He really didn’t know but he knew he needed to figure out what your connections with all of this were. Just before he was truly about to lose his temper, he did have an idea. After all, you were a woman so this should at least get a little information out of you.
“Bring me Fushiguro .”
Fushiguro, Toji Fushiguro, was one of Sukuna’s subordinates who would be considered a ‘ladies man’ and you were a lady. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. He would use Toji to sway you into giving up some type of information or at the very least gain a bit of your trust to get you here to interrogate that wouldn’t draw any suspicions from the Zenin’s. It was a good plan that has worked on more than one occasion. Well, that was what Sukuna assumed until Toji actually met you.
There you were, right on schedule, as usual, laughing at the older man who sat across from you. It seemed that you had been beating him at a round of chess and the old man was being grumpy about it. Toji walked up with his casual nonchalant attitude toward the bench you were sitting on.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” Toji commented as he walked up to you. You look up at him, a slight scowl on your face that he wasn’t expecting. Women usually fawn over him always immediately, but you looked almost disgusted. The glares he was getting from the older men around you didn’t help his circumstance either.
“Did you need something?” Your tone is annoyed as you glare up at him. He chuckles at your hostility. That made you scowl even more; you really didn’t want to be bothered by this man especially one as seemingly cocky and self-assured as this one.
“I’ve seen you here at the park a few times and wanted to get your name.” He lied and he could tell you knew it was a lie by the way your eyes narrowed at him.
You roll your eyes, sighing going back to making a move on the board in front of you, “Well I haven’t seen you before so I would prefer not to acquaint myself with you.”
Toji could tell this was going to be a lost cause on his part. Sukuna was not going to be happy about this in the least bit but there wasn’t anything else he could do, your body language told him everything he needed to know. He raised his hands in defeat and apologized for bothering you, heading back to the car parked around the corner. If Toji was a man who didn’t value his life, he would tell the King that he should give up on seeing what you know unless he just wanted to kidnap and torture you. You didn’t seem like the kind of girl to just give in to anything easily, and these soft plans would be a waste of everyone’s time.  But Toji was a man who did value his life at least a little, so he just planned to tell him exactly what happened and that you weren’t interested in speaking to him in the least bit.
Sukuna was frustrated with Tojis report, he couldn’t help but shoot one of the lackeys he had in the room. He didn’t kill him, maybe, but this was getting on his nerves quickly. The King’s attempt at trying to be subtle for once was getting him nowhere and it was pissing him off.
You knew you had been being watched for weeks now; it was almost obvious with the way that the same men kept appearing around the same time every day. They weren’t really good at this, it seemed to you. It didn’t concern you that much though, you understood why you may have been followed but you didn’t have any information of value. Naoya allowed you into the Zenin compound and he was never shy about what he did for a living or the type of man that he was. He didn’t value you as a person, so he allowed you to go and come as you pleased, which you were grateful for. He was a man who such self-assurance, such bravado, such misogyny that he didn’t find any value in hiding anything from you or your cousin that he made his wife. Your cousin, more of a sister to you than anything, was unfortunately the now wife of Naoya Zenin and the only reason you would EVER visit his compound. You hated every single second you spent in that space, but you did it for your cousin. She was trapped in these walls and unable to go anywhere unless it was with the end of the clan himself. The only thing that man allowed was for you to see her and you took that, making it almost your job to visit her every day in order to keep her sanity. You would bring her breakfast, books, snacks, or whatever you have found that could make sure she felt connected with the outside world and connected with something else besides the Zenin’s.
Every day you had almost the same schedule, visiting your cousin for a few hours, discussing the past day’s events and anything that you had brought over. Then you would go over to this beautiful park and play chess with the elders there, they adored you so much even if you beat them every time. After that, you would go off to either the library, a café, or anywhere that you could get back to work on your dissertation. That was the reason you had so much time to visit your cousin and make sure she was alright; you were working on your dissertation and that was the only thing that truly required your focus. You came from a wealthy family that was similar to the zenin’s in the way that there was no value to a woman besides being a bride. Luckily for you, your parents had agreed to allow you to finish any education before marrying you off just like your cousin. Which is why you are currently working on your Ph.D. in comparative literature. You had hoped to continue down the path of education hoping that if you elongate your studies, your parents will focus more on your brothers and forget about you. You hoped.
It had been a while since you had been followed and since your last encounter with that handsome but strange man who attempted to flirt with you for whatever reason that you completely forgot about those interactions. This is why the confusion on your face was felt by the elders that you usually play chess with as you walk to your park in the spot where you play to see them laughing and playing with someone else who isn’t you. It took you WEEKS to have them allow you to play and now here sat a man in YOUR spot playing with them as they laugh and smile at the man.
There in your place sat a man you knew you had never seen before. There sat the King of Curses himself, Ryomen Sukuna.
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bouncybongfairy · 1 year ago
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Opposites Attract
Rodrick Heffley x Fem Reader
Summary: One Friday after school, you are trying to practice for an important audition coming up. As you start, you suddenly hear an obnoxiously loud drumming coming from next door. After arguing back and forth for a while, it becomes clear that neither of you is budging. You desperately need this rehearsal time and ask him what it will take to get the peace and quiet you need. He tells you he'll stop if you let him take you on a date tomorrow to the Drive-In tomorrow night.
Word Count: 2k+
<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
You were sitting in the last period, trying to get some homework done. It was Friday and you could tell everyone was itching for the weekend to start. Once you noticed that you only had 5 minutes until the bell rang, you started packing your bag up. Unlike most students, you had to stay after school and rehearse for your 1st chair violin position on Monday. You grabbed a tissue and cleaned your glasses, watching the clock as time dragged by. Once the bell rang, you stayed seated until most of your peers exited. You would just be waiting as kinds shoved their way through the small opening. After the doorway was less crowded you made your way to the E-wing where the music room was located. You were close with your orchestra teacher and she would let you stay after class in order to get a little practice in. It was nice to have the entire room to yourself, you took your violin out of the case and started tuning. After you had rosined your bow, you started practicing when you heard an off-rhythm drumming. At first, you were trying to ignore it, unfortunately, you would find yourself focusing on the drumming while counting rests. Eventually, you couldn’t take it so you packed your violin up and tried to find where the music was coming from. 
You went into the theater and saw someone banging away at a drum set that was placed in the middle of the stage. You immediately recognized the drummer as Rodrick Heffley. He had certainly made a reputation for himself this year, getting caught spray painting the side of the school; doing donuts in the parking lot, and of course, you knew he smoked. He was sweating and his shaggy hair was sticking to his forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed because of how much he was exerting himself. He was really lanky but his arms were toned, mostly likely due to how much he plays. He was wearing an Arctic Monkeys t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black skinny jeans. His backpack, which was covered in buttons and pins, was sitting next to the drum kit. He reached down to pull a water bottle and took a drink. His head was tilted up and a couple of water droplets were running down his throat. You walked passed the aisle of seats and approached him, when he noticed you he immediately paused. 
“I’m really trying to practice and I can barely hear myself think over your banging,” you said crossing your arms. 
“Well, what do you want me to do about that? I’m trying to practice too, you know,” he said. 
“I have an audition this Monday and I really need to be 100% focused during this practice,” you explained. 
“I have a gig next Friday and also need some quiet time,” he said. 
“If I give you 10 bucks will you please let me practice?” you proposed.
“Actually I have a better idea, what if we went out tomorrow night? We can go see the new Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie at the Drive-In,” he said. 
“Really? Do you even know my name?” you huffed. 
“Y/N. I would ask you if you know mine but I’m pretty sure you do,” he said, smirking at you.
“Well then, can I give you my number?” you asked. 
“Sure can,” he said. You climbed up on stage and grabbed a pen out of your jacket pocket. You grabbed his hand and wrote your number on his hand. 
He thanked you and then you quickly made your way back to the music room. You continued on with practicing but were now preoccupied with thinking about what you just agreed to. Not having much experience with dating, you felt a little nervous. Rodrick seemed so confident with talking to girls, that was part of the reason you liked him. You just didn’t want to come off as naive or clueless. Eventually, you come to the conclusion that you can no longer focus on the music and have your mom come to pick you up. The entire car ride and even once you got home you couldn’t get your mind off him. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find him attractive. He just had that bad-boy vibrato that only certain guys have. Not to mention you two completely and utterly fit the trope of the sweet girl with the bad boy stereotype. Most of your friends, especially the ones that you took orchestra with, always talked down on metal or angsty music. You, on the other hand, felt differently. Music that isn’t your taste isn’t bad music and most people your age couldn’t seem to grasp that. All your friends saw him as a grimy skater boy but what was wrong with that? You even asked them why they would be ashamed to be like the guys their famous idols pretend to be. Getting tired of the anxiety thinking about tomorrow was causing you to wash up and head to bed. 
The next day you start getting ready around 6:30 pm. You were sitting on the floor of your bedroom, in front of a mirror that was propped against the wall. Separating your hair into layers you slowly began flat ironing. You had gotten a text from Rodrick that said he was going to pick you up around 8. Although you still had some anxiety, you were really excited. This was going to be your first date and the fact that it was with someone you were so attracted to made it that much. It took you 10 minutes to get your left lash to stick but you were finally done with your make-up. You changed into a jean skirt, a black v-neck, and a white sweater. By the time you were fully done, he texted you that he was on the way. You practically jumped out of your skin when you read it. You felt like your blood was running hot and cold at the same time. Your mom gave you 20 dollars and a kiss on the cheek before she left. When you walked outside your house, the first thing you noticed was his van. It also smelt like his cologne but not in an overwhelming way. You knew he had a band but you didn’t realize it was named Loaded Diper. Practically skipping down the driveway you climb into the front seat. The first thing you noticed was the A.C. being on blast, you were also surprised by how clean everything was. 
“Hey,” you greeted him. 
“Hi, you look really pretty,” he said, which made you blush. 
“Thanks, so are you excited to see the new TMNT movie? I heard it got really good reviews,” you said. 
“For sure, I’ve been looking forward to it for a while,” he said. 
You drove in comfortable silence up until you got to the Drive-In. You offered to pay but he ignored you and your pleas. Once he found a spot in the back, the two of you made your way to the snack bar. It was a vintage 60’s theme which you thought was cool. There were records hung on the call, all the booths were cherry red and the floor had a checkered pattern. As you waited in line, Rodrick put his arms around your shoulder which made your stomach flip. You were surprised by how much he ordered. Seriously, you hoped he wasn’t expecting help. You helped him carry everything back: nachos, popcorn, fresh chocolate chip cookies, two slurpees, and two hotdogs. When he parked, he turned the van around so that the back doors were facing the screen. He opened the doors and you were actually surprised by how much effort he put into it. There was a thick layer of blankets stacked on the floor of the van. Several pillows lined up against the driver and passenger seats. A small battery-powered lantern was hung from the center of the ceiling. There were stickers all over the interior of the car which made you smile. It looked so cute and cozy. You slipped your shoes off and climbed into the back with him. You were nervous, to the point where your teeth were chattering a little. The trailers that played before the movie were still running; he had already eaten half his nachos. 
“Where do you put all that?” you joked. 
“We’ll never know,” he said. 
“Are you nervous?” he asked, pointing to your legs that were shaking a bit. 
“A little, I’ve never been on a date before,” you admitted, taking a sip from your Slurpee. 
“Since we’re sharing secrets, you’re the first girl that actually said yes when I asked. Even then you only did it to rehearse,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. 
“After I gave you my number, I only practiced for like 15 minutes because it was all I could think about,” you said. 
“Really?” he asked, genuinely surprised.
“What is so unbelievable?” you asked. 
“I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t think I was your type,” he confessed. 
“That’s fair, we don’t necessarily run with the same crowd. I have to admit though, usually all the guys I’m around are scared to get a bit of dirt under their fingernails. It’s not like I seek trouble but I really like you, your style, taste in music, and demeanor you know?” you said. 
He was blushing really hard, looking down so that his hair covered his eyes. You could still see his smirk though, it made you feel giddy knowing you had this effect on him. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, at first you questioned whether he should be smoking when he had to drive home. He reassured you that he had a high tolerance and that the effects would wear off by the time the movie ended. You were really nervous, especially because you’d never smoked before. He took a couple of hits to show you how to properly inhale. He also reassured you that if you didn’t want to or didn’t want him to smoke then it was okay. This warmed your heart, knowing that he didn’t want you to feel pressured. You grabbed his hand, feeling too insecure to hold it yourself. You took a big hit and then coughed it out, the smoke burning your throat. He laughed as you took a huge drink of your Slurpee to help the stinging sensation. After taking one or two more hits, you could feel it kicking in. You couldn’t stop giggling which was amusing to Rodrick.
“Now I understand how you can eat all this food,” you said while taking a big bite of a hotdog. 
“Your eyes are so red,” he laughed. 
“Really?” you asked, grabbing your phone and looking at your appearance. 
“Can we take a selfie together?” you asked, he nodded his head yes. 
You scooted closer to him and took a selfie with your back camera with flash. When you showed Rodrick he was impressed with how well they came out. After that, he started talking to you about what his plans were for his band. You were surprised with how far ahead he had thought into the future; you know, about what type of label he wanted to be signed to and merch that he wanted to design. You told him about how you wanted to make movie scores and he thought it was really cool. It was now completely dark and the movie was starting. You covered your legs with the blanket and turned to face Rodrick. He had just taken a hit and blew the small hit into your face. You playfully inhaled which made him laugh, you then kissed his cheek. He turns and smiles at you before giving you a quick peck on the lips. After you cuddle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder, and start enjoying the movie. o
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jensky2000 · 5 months ago
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In case you haven't heard, I started a new fanfic on AO3. It's a WIP. The first 5 chapters are posted. More to come in two weeks. (or less.) A wee peek below ⬇️ (Readers can attest. Nothing is what it seems in this story.)
"I Love Her First"
In a small three block radius in Glasgow, Scotland, Claire owns a flower shop and Jamie is a firefighter. Claire and Jamie are best friends and roommates. Claire is in a relationship with Frank. Jamie is happily single. Claire and Jamie's friendship is different than most, but it works for them. When things progress with her and Frank, Jamie has to admit to his real feelings before it's too late.
Chapter 1 "The Firefighter"
I set both slow cookers to low. It will be ready before dinner break with plenty of time to spare. I can see everything from the top floor of the firehouse. The sun is well over the horizon. The shops are open, and a few people meander along the street. Howie, Mr. Johnson’s son, parks in the fire lane in front of his father’s shop. He has been warned a dozen times for that. Agnes across the street waters her flower boxes. She lets them overflow while she waits to catch a glimpse of Mr. Johnson. Her neighbor will complain about the puddles on the sidewalk. It’s a very quiet and predictable neighborhood. Quiet is good and it has been all night. The rest of my crew are sleeping. I have an hour before dayshift shows up. I make myself comfortable on the couch and flip through the channels. My phone buzzes next to me. I tap on the screen. My roommate.
Claire: Sorry I used the last of the milk for my coffee. Could you maybe pick some up on your way home. Please. You know I hate shopping for food. Also Frank is picking me up at the shop for an early dinner before he leaves.
Jamie: I will pick up milk and anything else we need. Send me a list. Have fun with Frank.
Have fun with Frank. Frank and fun do not belong in the same sentence. She loves him. And she’s my best friend and roommate so of course I need to be supportive. Frank and Claire have been together since our final year at Uni. Frank is older. She met him at a party. Ironically the one party Claire went without me. I was on a date. If I was there, things would have played out differently. I would have steered Claire away from Frank. It’s not that I don’t like him. Not at all. He’s fine. He’s just Frank. She can do much better.
Claire: You’re the best. See you later.
Hm. I drop the phone next to me and find a mindless show to pass the time.
I must have dozed off because before I know it I hear the banging of the lockers downstairs. “Jamie, my boy. You’ve done it again. Smells incredible. What is it?” Dougal, the fire chief, deep voice echoes in the quiet lounge.
“My Ma’s beef stew. I may have tweaked the recipe. Threw in some extra spices.” I stretch and look at my watch. “In 7 hours turn the knob to ‘keep warm’. You’ll be all set to eat.”
He searches the counter. “Did you make the biscuits too?”
“Aye. They’re in the fridge with instructions.”
“Ah you’ve done good, kid. Now get out of here.” He pats me on the back. I take one step towards the door and the alarm blasts. Dougal rushes to his office. I follow him and lean against the door frame.
He looks up from the screen. “Fire at Sullivans Bakery. We got this. Go.”
“You sure?”
“Go. You need your sleep.” He waves me off. I grab my things and run down the back stairs to stay out of the way. The sirens blare loud enough to alert the whole neighborhood and surrounding ones too. I head in the direction of the flat that Claire and I have shared for the past four years. It’s three blocks from the firehouse. I stop at the corner store to pick up milk and a few other things. My phone buzzes. Another text from Claire reminding me to feed DB. Our cat. Claire named him David Beckham. I quickly shortened it to DB. I climb the stairs to our top floor flat and open the door. Immediately I feel stifled. Claire likes it a balmy 74 degrees year-round. I on the other hand prefer it frigid. I lower the temp and climb into bed with the tv remote..
Hours later, I wake to the sound of my alarm. The remote sits on the bed next to me. I was asleep before I even had a chance to watch the morning news. The tv hums quietly on the wall across from me. I scroll through the channels. Station after station no mention of the early morning fire at the bakery. It’s in the other direction of Claire’s flower shop so no worries there. I pick up my phone. A bunch of missed texts. Claire sent me a picture of a flower arrangement. She does that when she’s particularly proud of one. A text from Rupert going into great detail about the fire this morning. Electrical. Everyone is safe. That’s the important part. Another text from Chloe canceling our plans for tonight. Time to get up. I shower, throw on a t-shirt and gym shorts. DB naps comfortably on the windowsill. I order a pizza. Half pepperoni. Half plain.
I settle on the couch with the pizza on the coffee table and beer in my hand. The doorknob wiggles. Claire. She always has trouble with the lock. I hear voices. She didn’t bring Frank here, did she? She wouldn’t do that. Not since last time and that disaster. She pushes the door open and quickly closes it. She’s alone. I can relax.
She whispers, “Mrs. Cook is such a talker. I lied and said I wasn’t feeling well to get away.” She looks at the pizza then back to me. “Why are you here?”
“Pfft. Hello to you too, Claire.” I take a swig of beer and take in her outfit for the first time. Sleeveless, tight black dress emphasizing her generous curves, bare legs. I quickly focus on something else before she catches me.
She throws her bag on the counter. “Tsk. You’re cranky.”
“My date canceled.���
“What was her name again?”
I grunt. “Chloe.”
“Aw. Why did she cancel?” She sits next to me on the couch.
“She didn’t say. It was a second date. No big deal. I wasn’t that into her.”
“That’s right. She was the low talker. Played with her hair too much.”
“Mm hm.” I reach forward to take another slice of pepperoni and offer her a slice of plain. She takes it happily. Her tongue moistens her lips after the first bite. She groans and leans forward to see the top of the box. Her dress rides a little higher. Now I’m licking my lips. She hums, “Antonio’s. You went all out tonight.”
She settles in next to me. We sit shoulder to shoulder. “How’s Frank?” I ask because I should.
“Frank. He’s good.” She takes a bite and snuggles closer. I glance at the goosebumps on her thighs. The air is too cold. That will be the next thing she says. “What’s the temperature in here?”
“Don’t you worry about that.” I mumble and close the pizza box. I stretch my legs out on the coffee table, and she does the same. I follow the lines of her long legs. “Frank was ok with you wearing those?” I point to her strappy black stilettos.
“No. Of course he wasn’t. I was eyeball to eyeball with him. I might have been even a little taller. Whatever. They look cute with the dress.”
“Mm hm.” I agree and laugh at something on tv.
“Oh shit. I just remembered what I wanted to tell you!” She grabs my forearm. “Frank wants to get a tattoo. Can you believe it?”
“Uh no. Frank. Christ no. What and where?”
“The symbol for doctors. Whatever they call that…on his bicep. He’ll never go through with it.” She shrugs. “It’s a pity. I do think they’re sexy.”
“You do?”
“Oh yea. Major turn on.”
“Really? Do you think I should get one?”
She twists her body to face mine. “Hm. I think one right here would be hot.” She places her hand on my left pec and squeezes. “Your fire station number or truck. Flames. Or…” She traces a design with her fingertip. I grab her wrist and kiss the inside.
Her breath catches. “Jamie.”
“Claire.” I hold her gaze.
“What are you thinking?” She bats her lashes.
“I’m thinking my date cancelled. Frank’s gone. It’s still early.  I thought maybe we could…” I waggle my eyebrows.
She holds back a smile. “I mean we’ve already seen all the latest releases on Netflix.”
“True. And you’ve been stressed with work and such.” I toy with the hem of her skirt.
“It does relax me. Will you go down on me?”
“Aye. If you like…” My cock twitches.
“I like.” She giggles. I stretch my neck and ask for her mouth. She holds up her finger. “Ah ah. You know the rules. No kissing.”
“Claire.” She has all these stupid rules. No kissing. No sleeping in the same bed. Not during the day. She used to make me shut the lights too. I got that one overturned. I want to see her.
“Jamie.” She gives me a stern look.
“Fine. Take your panties off.”
She stands before me and raises her dress. Tiny black lace panties. A scrap of fabric. A thrill runs through me knowing Frank hadn’t a clue what his lass had on under her dress. But I do. Fuck I do. I salivate knowing what comes next. She pushes them over her hips. I slide to the floor and rest my head back on the cushions.
“Sit on my face, Claire.” My voice is hoarse with desire. She straddles me and lowers her body until she meets my mouth. I have the best view in Glasgow. No. The world. She holds onto the back of the couch and rides my face. I’m relentless. I want her to come and quick because I’m aching for my turn. I clasp onto her hips and double my efforts. She calls out. Nothing incoherent either. She’s very clear. My name followed by instructions. It’s a major turn on. I don’t care if the whole building can hear us. Yeah our neighbors suspect something. Frank doesn’t. That’s all the matters. Because if he found out I fuck his girlfriend, she would end this. And that cannot happen.
“Oh God, Jamie. Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.” She holds my head in place as she comes all over my chin. I lick up every last drop. She moans. “Christ. You’re so good at that….”
I pant, “Get down here and ride me.”
“Don’t you want me to return the favor?” She moistens her lips. I’m tempted. Very tempted.
“Next time. You’re tight and soaking wet. I want to be in you.” I push my gym shorts down. My cock springs free. “Get on.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Condom.” I open the coffee table drawer and she takes one out of the small box hidden in the back. We learned a long time ago to keep them close by. She rips the wrapper off with her teeth and covers my cock. She lowers herself down taking me whole. My head rolls back. I pull her dress off and undo her bra. She likes to stay covered. I’m not having it. I like her breasts bouncing in my face.
"Did you feed remember to feed DB?" She changes her angle. Christ.
I grunt. "Yes. I fed him."
"I'm worried about him. He's moving slower than normal." She pants as she picks up the pace.
"He seems fine to me."
“Jamie.”
“What?”
“I’m going to come again.” She bucks her hips furiously.
“Ok, so?”
“I didn’t want to catch you off guard. Then you’ll get excited and it will end too soon. You hate that.” She never stops riding me. We’ve gotten very good at having full conversations while fucking.
“I do. But contrary to what you think, I do know when you’re close. There’s no catching me off guard.”
“You know?”
“Aye. Your walls squeeze my cock so tight sometimes I think you are going to break it off.” I smirk. “There’s other signs too.”
“Like what?”
Careful. “Other stuff.”
“Tell me.”
“You make noises.” And your face has the sweetest, sexiest expression sometimes I think about it when I’m not with you, and I get hard.
“I do not.” She pouts. It’s too cute. I lift her up and slam her down. My balls are getting tight.
“Oh aye. And loud too.”
“Do I feel like I’m close now?”
“No. But I can make you.” I bite my lip and sit up straight until her legs spread wider. I take her nipple in my mouth and suck hard. She whimpers and her head rolls back. That’s it. There we go.
“Oh Jamie. Yes.”
“You’re tight and very close. Ride me and we’ll come together.” And she does. My balls ache. She’s going to have rug burn at this rate. “That’s it, lass.”
She frowns.
“I mean, Claire.” I give her a tight smile. She laughs. It does something. It vibrates through her. Through me. There we go. Her mouth pops open. I’m tempted to kiss her. As I always am. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s only natural. I slam her down one last time. We both call out. I can almost hear our neighbors cursing us out.
I rest my head on her shoulder while we catch our breath. She goes to pull away. I bite her. “Jamie! Let go.”
I release my grip. She stands and walks away still wearing her stilettos. I watch from the living room floor. She’s right. It’s never long enough and I hate it. She tosses me a box of tissues and a water bottle before she enters her bedroom. Minutes later I hear her shower running. I would join her if this was more than sex but it’s not.
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neptune-writez · 2 years ago
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kisses w/ the south park boys!
notes 🌷 gn!reader, this is js pure hcs! characters all aged up to 16+! no cartman
stan m. | kenny m. | kyle b. | craig t. | tweek t. |
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STAN M.
his kisses are fast, mostly pecks.
he prefers to kiss your cheek more than on your lips, he thinks it's much more easier ( in truth he's just flustered. )
he also likes to caress your cheek, or trace shapes on it, then surprise you with a small smooch
absolutely melts when you kiss him back, he breaks into a giddy smile. and sometimes one kiss leads to another, leading to tons of kisses on his face, accompanied with stan's dark red face.
he doesn't get a lot of kisses in public, since there's always a chance that he might puke all over you without warning.
it has happened over three times.
You don't really mind it, but Stan's reactions & apologies are the cutest.
KENNY M.
his kisses depends on his mood.
sometimes it's short but lingering kisses, to long and passionate kisses, always becoming make-out sessions.
he just can't have enough of you!
every time he kisses you, he leaves a strong scent of weed on you.
he thinks it's cool. it takes you all your might to tell him very politely that it stinks.
when he kisses you on the lips, you can clearly feel his chapped lips against yours. the texture is dry but feels heavenly in ways you can't explain.
he often swings his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.
claims it's a habit of his.
he isn't afraid to kiss you on the lips in front of his friends, especially cartman.
no bcs why should he not?
KYLE B.
his kisses are full of comfort and assurance.
very awkward at kissing, even after a long time.
his face goes a shade of pink when you kiss him back. he never succeeds at playing it cool. ( he tries to! )
but his kisses are top tier. they feel like heaven above.
he likes to kiss your forehead.
even if you have bangs, he pushes them up just to kiss you, much to your protest.
won't admit it but he loves kissing you. wants to let you know that he loves you 24/7
is a bit embarrassed about kissing you in public.
his hair sometimes gets in the way of kissing you.
it's hilarious.
TWEEK T.
his kisses are electrifying and always unexpected.
when I say he doesn't know how to kiss, I mean REALLY.
he shoves his whole face forcefully into yours when you both kiss.
sometimes he just does it out of nowhere, and it doesn't give you any time to prepare for it.
he pushes you down when he leans in, and he falls right on top of you, squishing you in the process.
he says its accidental but at some point you've gotten suspicious that he's been doing this out of fun.
another way is that he clasps your face with both his hands on either sides to keep you in place when you both kiss.
it's cute and much more safe!
there's always a 'mwah!' sound when you both part lips.
there's always a scent of coffee lingering in his mouth too.
his favorite place to kiss you are your lips, obviously.
you prefer to do the kissing.
CRAIG T.
his kisses are short but meaningful.
a hugs >> kisses kind of person.
he completely has a blank expression when he kisses you. but you can see some blush on his cheeks if you squint closely enough.
giggles like a schoolgirl when you kiss him back.
doesn't do it in front of you but waits when you leave then he starts giggling hysterically.
his lips are quite smooth.
you can feel his braces through his kisses.
he likes waiting for you at your locker and kissing you as a greeting.
it's sweet, actually.
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missvainillapudin · 21 days ago
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Will you keep the secret?:
request: @swoofllia "Need some vance angst and fluff at the same time😛"
Vance Hopper x fem!reader
Prompt: mentions of self-harm, family issues, murder, blood, verbal violence (probably anxiety too, I got really stressed writing this 😭)
but it was fun anyway!
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"Are you sure it's going to work? Because I think if you put it this way..."
"Shut the fuck up, I know how to do it."
Vance shoved you with his shoulder when you tried to put your hands over his on the mini controls of the Pinball machine, which made you take a couple of steps back and turn off all your desire to continue insisting on trying to play his "arcade game."
You let out a sigh of slight annoyance and crossed your arms as you leaned against the wall next to the Pinball machine and watched him with a frown like an angry cat that had its tail stepped on.
You saw his concentrated expression as his hands quickly moved the controls of the game machine and you thought that maybe you could give at least a small comment about it, a slight suggestion, but as soon as you opened your lips you were abruptly interrupted by his annoying bark.
At least that's what it sounded like to you, like an annoying dog that barked.
But also bit...
"I told you to shut the fuck up, keep those pretty lips shut unless you want me to rip them off!"
You watched him without being surprised or scared by his attitude, you already knew Vance, the boy was a fucking time bomb whose trigger seemed to be (honestly) everything around him
And it was only a matter of time before he let loose destroying everything and everyone in his path
Everyone but you
So you gave him an ironic smile indicating that you both knew very well that that wouldn't happen, because you wouldn't allow it and he wouldn't dare
Too bad the owner of Grab'N Go didn't know the same
"You should be nicer to your girlfriend"
Both of you turned to that female voice, you in astonishment at the same time that the red and white striped straw of your drink came loose from your lips and Vance with a frown turning his face slightly over his shoulder
"And you should learn to close your fucking mouth, you damn neglected old woman"
The woman looked at both of you in astonishment and indignation and you turned to see Vance in shock
"You- damn brats! Get out before i-"
You grabbed Vance's hand tightly and ran towards the exit of the mini store before the lady could even finish yelling at you to get out of her store
Followed by the sound of the Grab'N Go bell indicating that the doors had opened and their labored breathing, still without letting go of his hand the two of you continued running until you reached behind the small parking lot of the place
Finally you let go and both of you gasped agitatedly, you walked towards him only to push him with your hands with annoyance and force, but this only managed to make him take a few steps back
"What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you crazy? You can't just treat others like that! God, what would have happened if things escalated even more?! You're a-"
You continued to yell and insult him with all your might while he just watched you
Panting, with the bangs of his disheveled blonde hair falling over his face, and the muscles of his arms tense and marked, he looked down and clenched his fists tightly while cursing something rude under his breath
"You're the fucking crazy woman who made us run away, do you even know how to behave in a civilized manner? Crazy bitch..."
You looked at him as if he had said the biggest stupidity in the universe and you even snorted, about to laugh
"Oh, I'm the crazy one? You're the rude idiot who doesn't know how to behave!"
You yelled at him annoyed and let out a sigh with a bitter laugh
"I can't believe you kiss your mother with that mouth!"
You mocked without grace and crossed your arms looking away in annoyance, reluctant to continue fighting with him, but it seemed that Vance had other plans
You heard the sound of his footsteps walking towards you in a hurry and as soon as you looked up you already had him in front of you, cornering you against one of the bushes in the place, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans and his hard and intimidating gaze on you
"Do you really want to talk about parents?"
His words echoed through your head, you remained silent for a few moments before letting out a sigh and shaking your head
"No, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to go in that direction..."
You apologized feeling now smaller and more vulnerable as you rubbed with one of your hands the fabric of the sleeves of your clothes that covered those painful wounds on your wrists
Those wounds, the product of the hell you lived in your house and how that situation made you feel
This information was not unknown to Vance either, you had already told him and you had talked about it a couple of times
About how your father used to get violent with you after a bad day and a couple sips of beer and how your mother just limited herself to observing that scene
But none of those talks were going to be enough to make the cuts on your wrists close and the blood from your flesh stop coming out, no matter how hard Vance wanted it
His gaze fell on your hands rubbing the wounds on the fabric of your clothes and he let out a sigh as with one hand he moved yours away from your wrist and with the other he surrounded your shoulders bringing you closer to him in a hug
"It's okay, I'm sorry, just... stop doing that"
You heard him say with his face buried in the softness and comforting scent of your hair
You nodded still between his chest and his arm and looked up to stand on your tiptoes and give him a kiss on the lips
And in that moment, in that small space that the world allowed you to enjoy which involved Vance's comforting arms and the familiar body heat that radiated from his body
You felt at peace
Although you knew that after that you would have to open your eyes, get away from his arms and have to go back to your house, where that demon was waiting for you just to try to survive one more day
You couldn't help but feel this way, but you were getting tired of that shit
And you weren't the only one
It was only a matter of time before that hell It would end and your suffering would cease
But you didn't expect that it would be Vance who would make it possible for you
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Everything happened so fast
It wasn't how you both expected it to end
You, covered in blood from mouth to toe while Vance held the murder weapon in his left hand
It was a red pocket knife that his father had given him as a gift on his 16th birthday, his hands were also bloody just like that knife, his blue eyes still observed that scene he had starred in
"Why did you do it?"
Your trembling and frightened voice brought Vance out of his thoughts who looked up to look at you with a frown, he looked at the blood on your face that bathed your body and then at the man on the floor
"What are you talking about? He was going to hurt you!"
He answered with that brusque tone characteristic of his voice, he closed his eyes tightly as if he were trying to hide from that moment and he tightly squeezed the knife in his left hand...
Not more than an hour ago, when things were good you had invited Vance to your house, your father was supposed to come home later from work and you took advantage of the fact that your mother was not at home, she had told you that she would go visit your grandparents for a couple of days and that she would not know when she would return, although you asked her if you could accompany her she refused, saying that the grandmother was already too old to continue putting up with "little girls" like you
But you were no longer a little girl, you were already 17 years old and you did not need to be the smartest to realize that In reality, what your mother wanted was to escape, to escape from that house, to escape from your father, and, even though it hurt you, maybe she also wanted to escape from being a mother
To escape from you...
No matter how much you cried or begged, after 6 o'clock was marked on the big clock in your house and its loud bell resonated throughout the living room and the kitchen, with a weak smile and a weak hand that caressed your head and ruffled your hair, your mother finally put her bags in the garage of the car and left as fast as the wind that hit the window of your room
And you stayed there, with your heart in your throat and a phone number that was the only one you could dial, call and be sure that he would come for you
Without thinking too much you called Vance with your phone and in a couple of minutes he was already there
Lying down, hugging each other in your bed, with your head resting on his arm that surrounded your shoulders while his left hand took and lifted your wrist and with the other hand together with the tip of his fingers he traced the scars on them, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and enjoy his soft touch
But it didn't last long until the sound of the keys to the door of your house rang downstairs, you opened your eyes and feared the worst
"Y-you must go"
You managed to say in a nervous and scared stutter, Vance noticed your sudden change of attitude and put his hands on your shoulders in an attempt to give you some kind of comfort
"I'm with you"
It was the last thing you heard from him before you made him hide under your bed while you listened your father's steps go up the stairs and go in the direction of your room
The door opened, the creaking of it made your skin crawl and you looked up in fear
And there he was
Your father, drunk up to the ears, walked with heavy steps towards you and you just watched him, petrified with fear as he entered your room with a bottle of whiskey in one hand
Vance could see the feet of that unpleasant man enter your room
"You're early"
You managed to say in a vulnerable and fearful voice to your father who sat on the edge of your and looked at you with dizzy eyes and cheeks red from the alcohol
"Wow, not even a hello to your poor father..."
He said in a rough voice as he raised his hand and took it to your long hair to put a lock of it behind your ear
"My little girl how you have grown, you have become so beautiful..."
His words gave you a feeling of wanting to vomit and Inside you hated him, you hated every moment of it, you hated how he made you feel, like you were disgusting, his touch made you feel dirty
Everything got worse when he grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you back causing your back to hit the mattress of your bed and he stayed on top of you, trapping you under his body
"Please, no-"
It was the only thing you could say with glassy eyes in a shaky and scared tone of voice before he lunged at your neck and began to leave disgusting and clumsy kisses on it while you cried
And right at that moment the last thing you felt was a large amount of a warm liquid bathing you completely
You opened your eyes only to find your father's neck dripping with this thick and hot liquid that bathed you completely before Vance took him by the shoulders and threw him to the floor where he finally finished bleeding out
And that was how you and him ended up in that situation
You got out of bed while you still trembled and walked towards him
You saw his face
You saw his hands
He was scared too
You looked down at your father's lifeless body and took Vance's stained hands
"We have to get rid of him"
You said trying to regulate the trembling of your voice, both of you looked at each other in silence
Despite the absence of words, you two could read each other's gazes well, you were afraid, doubtful, nervous but also a hint of relief
He was never going to be able to hurt you again
Vance had saved you
While both of you mopped the bloody floor after having locked your father's body in the attic, you couldn't help but think about running away from there, it was all too much for you
Damn, they had killed a person
That thought remained present in your head when they finished mopping the floor and went to take the bloody sheets out of your room and put them in the trunk of Vance's car to go set them on fire in a remote place
It was almost 6 in the morning for all this and the sun was beginning to make itself felt all over Denver
As you watched how the bloody sheets were slowly consumed by the flames on the green grass of that lonely forest you couldn't keep it in any longer
"I can't do this"
You said with a broken voice and crystallized eyes at the same time that you looked at Vance
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair in frustration
"Fuck, and you think I want to do this? Shit! We're in this together, for fuck's sake!-"
Just as his voice began to rise he was interrupted by the sound of your crying and he let out a sigh from his lips
"Shit. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you"
He said with his calmest voice as he walked towards you with his arms open to give you a hug
You stepped back when you saw his hands full of the now dried blood and a couple of tears fell down your cheeks
"Please, please go away"
It was what came out of your lips with trembling and fear
Vance froze upon hearing you, he stopped approaching as soon as you said that and the shock was evident on his face
"Do I... scare you?"
He said with a lower and calmer voice, a tone that you would never expect to hear come out of Vance's lips
You looked at him with pursed lips which you only opened to release a sob and a choked gasp and your eyes were wet and you shook your head softly
"I'm sorry, this is too much, I need to be alone for a moment"
You said frustrated before turning around and running from that forest, you could feel your boyfriend's blue eyes watching as your figure moved away from him every time again
You wanted to escape from everything, escape from your father, from the world, from this shitty situation
But from Vance?
Whatever, you still had a lot of things to think about and surely he did too...
8:45 pm
Vance stood outside GRAB N' GO while his fingers played with slight anxiety with his car keys
His head felt saturated with so many things to process, he couldn't go back to his house nor could he go back to yours, he didn't know where the fuck you were and the only place he could think of to go was this stupid video game store
He knew that sooner or later the police would catch them, if it wasn't for the murder it would be for the disappearance of both of them since neither of them had shown up at home since 2 pm yesterday
He wondered if his mother would cry if they ended up taking him to jail
If his father would give a shit what happened to him
He thought about you
What was going to happen to you? He knew he was willing to lie to the cops so you'd be cleared of any charges
But what would you do?
He let out a sigh and looked down without knowing the answer only to bump into someone's black converse, he looked up and saw you
His eyes lit up uncontrollably and you swore you could saw the beginnings of tears in them
"Fuck you"
It was what came out of his lips, but as soon as you approached him to hug him, it was you this time who put your arm around his head
He didn't even try apart from and your body or your hug
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you there alone"
You said in a soft voice, still vulnerable, while neither of them seemed to want to break the hug
On the contrary, Vance seemed to deepen it more when he heard your words, surrounding and squeezing your body more tightly in his arms and to your surprise, in your ear you could hear coming from his lips, in a more vulnerable and affected tone that made you deduce that he was possibly crying
"Just... don't do it again, idiot"
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btw: to write this I was inspired by the relationship (and situation) between James and Alyssa from "The end of the fucking world" and the idea of this is that there is a second part, but depending on how well it goes I will see what I will do in the end in the future.
I really love that series and I think it was really fun to write this since I was able to have the opportunity to be inspired by them in some way!
thanks for the request, i hope you like it! (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)💕
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nmn-yty · 8 months ago
Text
— ๋࣭ ⭑࿐ spring basking 。o♡⋆˚。⋆.
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pairing: park sungho x reader
summary: taking care of your needy kitty sungho
tags: 「SFW! fluff! | hybrid!sungho | park sungho literally the definition of a cat | cute cat cuddles | reader has no gender!」
word count: 0.8k
a/n: more fluff!!! might just write abt all the members at this point (im the best onedoor ever). this is rlly short bc it was just an idea that came into my mind quickly and i didn't want to make it too long. also ive been writing some smut ideas but im not sure if i will release them bc smut is a little controversial from what ive seen around. anyways i hope you enjoy! also i hope writing abt hybrids isn't weird><
+ stylized lowercase, missing punctuation (not done on purpose), and minimal revisions
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he always ran up to the windowsill to bask in the sun when the light shined in. typical for a cat, he's been doing it a lot as the spring season approached. you always had the windows propped open slightly to let some fresh air in. the breeze would ruffle sungho's long brown fur while he dozed off to the birds chirping in the distance.
you walk downstairs to find him there by the window. today was extra sunny so the rays shined down on him vibrantly. his fur was almost a bright orange from the light.
"lazy kitty." you sat on the empty space next to him. his small cat body was moving up and down at a slow pace, he always seems to sleep in the sun.
you reached out to pet his back. his body twitched slightly but he was still fast asleep. you kept petting him and you could start to hear small purrs coming from him, he was waking up. one tiny movement from his head and he realized you were finally beside him. he stands up quickly and jumps into your lap.
you flinched in fear, in a second he turned into his hybrid form, his cat ears spawned out from his hair to twitch and touch your stomach. his head now rests in your lap while he has one leg perched up on the sill and one hanging off. his tail sways slowly, the tip curling from time to time.
"i told you not to do that!" you lightly scolded him. he couldn't help but transform in your presence. it's always better for the both of you to talk this way. you also got to feel like the cat when he transforms, as he engulfs your body whenever you two hug. you found it quite interesting that there was a little power imbalance in your relationship. whenever sungho is in his cat form, he can't fully express how he feels. he's limited to being a cute cozy cat, but any reciprocation at any form makes the both of you happy.
"sorry," he chuckled between syllables. he couldn't help but stare up at your face. he was begging to get more pets from you. he balled up his fists and moved them next to his cheeks, imitating paws. while in his hybrid form he loves to make you flustered at any moment. he wiggles his ear more closely to your stomach. his eyes are glowing, his pupils dilated. youve been down this road before, and you already knew not to resist. you pet his head gently, swiping his bangs to get a full view of his face. you start to play with his cat ears, scratching behind them making sungho start to purr again.
he shuts his eyes and flashes his contagious smile, "i really love spring when im with you."
you couldn't help but lean down and give him a quick kiss on his forehead. his tail started to sway happily. you loved when sungho could tell you how he's feeling. he sometimes hid away while being in his cat form. moments like these where you can make him happy were the ones you looked forward to the most.
"so you dont love me during the other seasons?" you felt a bit offended. spring can be a bit harsh at times, but each season has its pros and cons.
"no i do!" he sounded panicked at first, "i just love when i can feel the sun against my fur again, and when you sneak up on me while im sleeping."
"i love it too, i know spring is finally here when i catch you being lazy by our window."
that word made him narrow his eyes.
"youre mean," he said in a sulky tone. he got up from your lap and jumped off the sill, turning back into a cat in a flash. he quickly ran through the house up the stairs.
"hey, slow down! im sorry! come back i was just kidding!" chasing after a cat that was asleep just a few seconds ago seemed like it would be easy. sungho just loves to show off and take the upper hand.
you reached the top of the stairs trying to figure out which room he couldve gone into. your first thought was to check your room, and he didn't do a good job at avoiding you because he was in plain sight, laying on his back on your bed.
"meow!" he was waiting for you to give him attention all of a sudden.
"look who's the mean one now, hiding away in your cat form," you say while rubbing his belly. he shuts his eyes and purrs start to rise out of him again. you just have to wait for him to want to transform again, to know his true thoughts.
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© nmn-yty ★
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