#I was drawing the first one and then I thought. huh no angst?

[shadowlinktheshadow]

What if i said fortuna with with with vidow

-z

anything for you 💜

"I'm serious, Vio. For the first time, I feel like I have a real friend.."

"..Someone I can trust.."

@vio-starzz

(palette for requests)

[naniwatig3r]

CONTOUR LINES (18+)

Mingyu x artstudent!Femreader

Summary: You’ve finally broken up with your boyfriend Mingyu. Ignoring him has been hard, but you were finally at peace. But he had other plans, as he shows up to the figure drawing class you T.A…. And as the model.

Warnings: Unexplained breakup (im lazy lol), angst, cute fluff sometimes, art school stress, public nudity, public unprotected penetrative sex (no one is around though!), quickie

a/n: this was a idea i got while messing around with my friend who has a thing for mingyu, lol.

Word count: uhhh, around 7k ? I can’t remember 😅

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Another miss call.

Great, you thought, the tenth missed call from your ex boyfriend Mingyu this week.

It’s been about a month since you broke up with your ex, Kim Mingyu. It was an odd pairing in the first place. You met him coincidentally in the quad the beginning of the year, as you sat at the edge of the school fountain. Your sketchbook open, as you drew the scenery and people around you. A normal activity you did as an arts student.

You were clearly in the zone, drawing the fold in a random college student’s arm, before a voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Whoa, you can draw.”

Your eyes snap up, seeing a towering figure, completely blocking your view. No shit, you thought.

“Yeah, I guess.” You say plainly, hoping your short answer would deter this guy. But then the sunlight is back on the page you’re drawing, and you feel his warm presence sit right next to you. Maybe he’s just sitting down to sit down, so you try and finish your life drawing of the current student, but they were gone. Probably going to their next class.

Huffing, you still for a moment to put your pencil down.

“I wish I could draw like that,” You hear, as you glance to your side. Furrowing your eyebrows in irritation as the man leans over to stare directly into your sketchbook. “You’re a really good drawer.” He says in awe.

“Yeah, uh, thanks.” You say curtly, as he continues to stare at your sketches like he’s at a museum. These sketches were nothing compared to a Degas or something, yet he stared at them like it was, his brown eyes flickering around in interest.

He clears his throat, as he looks up to meet your eyes. He smiles, a toothy one where you notice how sharp his canines were. Cute.

He pulls his sleeve up from his wrist to his elbow, holding his large hand out, “Mingyu. Kim Mingyu.” He says, introducing himself. You nod, reluctantly shaking his hand, his grip tight and strong.

“Y/n.” You say back shortly, eyeing him, wondering how long this tall man was going to bother you.

He lets go of your hand, as he adjusts his position to turn more towards you. One leg over the other, leaning forward. His bangs falling so perfectly across his eyebrow, that it made you narrow your eyes. It’s crazy, people like this seriously exist huh?

“Do you do art or something?” No shit.

You nod, “Yeah, I’m a fine arts major.” You respond, giving him a strained polite smile. It felt like you had to, the way this guy has been beaming at you like a puppy as you give the driest replies.

He grins, “Whoa, no way. Thats cool,” He praises, “I’m—“

The rest of the meet cute didn’t matter.

After this, you kept bumping into him, coincidence you thought at first, but thinking back… he had no reason to be near the art school area of the campus.

He always asked to see your sketchbook, or whatever was in your portfolio folder as you tried to get to your studio. Even helping you carry your supplies and folders inside, and once he learned where you worked he came with iced coffee when he could.

At 3 am, he’d lay on the floor of your messy studio, watching you as you mix another color on your palette. Your sweatshirt pushed to your elbows, paint on your hands and face as you work on the gigantic canvas for your final.

“You don’t have to be here, you know,” You say a bit softly, your eyes tired despite your multiple energy drinks. “It must be boring to watch me throw paint for the last few hours.”

He shakes his head, sitting up as he looks at you with his puppy like eyes. “No, I like it. You’re so focused…” He trails, “I didn’t think art would be this hard.”

You glare at him for that remark, making him immediately tread back. His mouth gaping open and closing like a fish, “Ah! Not like that it’s easy — just that you’re so passionate you know?” He explains, throwing his hands around.

Rolling your eyes, you put your brush back into the muddy cup of water. “Why? Engineering not doing it for you?” You ask lazily, as you pull your claw clip out of your hair. Massaging your scalp from the tension.

Mingyu’s eyes focused on you, his cheeks slightly flushing. Eyes roving over how strands of your hair effortlessly frame your face. He clears his throat, “Uh, no. I like it. I’ve always been good at studying, and I get the material so,” He says, as he scratches his head.

“But I guess, it’s different watching you. Your eyes are different when you’re drawing, painting, sculpting. Whatever.” He says quietly.

“Different?” You muse, standing up to stretch your legs. Mingyu following instinctively, his tall frame dwarfing you.

He nods, “Mhm, yeah. I thought art was just a major for people who didn’t want to do anything, but getting to know you…” he says, as he follows you to your studio table. As you open the most recent energy drink you got from the vending machine. “You just don’t stop. Like you’re meant to do it.” He breathes.

His genuine words make you raise an eyebrow, turning to him. You give him a small smile, making his heart rate jump. “Yeah? It’s like you, I think.” You say, taking a sip of that battery acid of a drink. “I’ve just been doing this since forever. Natural to keep going.” You say nonchalantly, but Mingyu looks at you like you’re a living genius.

“Thats whats so cool,” He gushes, “You’re just made to do this.” He says, as he glances at your current work in progress. A large canvas with pleasing colors, his eye being drawn to the right areas. The beautifully rendered figure, framed with all the right strokes.

He looks back at you, with such an adoration you think it’s hallucinations from doing so many allnighters.

“Ah,” he starts, as he moves his long legs to shuffle through his bag, pulling out some tupperware. “I forgot, I was making uh, some dinner earlier and I had leftovers.” He lies, knowing full well he made it for you. He turns around, opening the tupperware to reveal a lunch box of different side dishes and protein. It could rival any meal inspo on pinterest, as he even carefully cut out seaweed to make cute faces.

You snicker, making Mingyu’s cheeks pink. “Leftovers huh?” You say, as you grab the lunchbox from him. Your fingers brushing over his, a welcome warmth from the cold air conditioning of the studio. “Thanks, I appreciate it. I was just gonna make some ramen.”

“Yeah no problem,” He strains, smiling. “You need energy to keep on going right? At least eat well if you’re gonna sacrifice your sleep.”

You take a bite, and even though it was cold, you nod in approval at the taste. The annoyingly large man could cook. Your reaction makes Mingyu grin, as you can see shamelessly how much that did to his ego.

“Still, you should go you know?” You say, as you remember Mingyu talking about his week a few days ago as you painted. “Don’t you have an exam tomorrow?”

Oh? He doesn’t focus on the fact that you’re asking him to go. Only that you remembered his schedule. He grins, “You remembered huh?”

You roll your eyes, “Of course I did. You told me.” You say, your own cheeks reddening from how embarrassed you felt from Mingyu’s reaction. Why was he so excited?

He shakes his head, “It’s fine, I was reviewing earlier. It’s in the afternoon anyways.”

You finish the lunchbox, washing it down with your energy drink before going to pick up a new large paint brush. “Fine by me then,” you sigh, not bothering to argue with him. It was weird the first time he accompanied you on an allnighter, but Mingyu’s presence became a normal occurrence since then.

And there he was, sitting obediently like a dog next to you as you continued painting. Your playlist ending hours ago, as the only sounds are the strokes of your brush, and the breathing of both of you.

It was like this for a while, until near the end of the year. This time, you were running out of steam.

Maybe it was all the all nighters the whole year, or the fact you got sick right before finals, but you were stuck in your studio once more. Slaving away as you work on your third painting of the night, trying to get your exhibition finished before sunlight.

You hear the sound of the door opening. He had his own key now — you copied one at one point since he always was knocking. Mingyu coming in with late night take out in one hand, clad in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, ready to tackle the night with you.

You don’t even bother looking behind you, his familiar presence and cologne already telling you who it is. “Hey,” He says softly, putting the food down as he notices your tired state. It was like you were running on fumes, the amount of empty redbulls and monsters around your studio telling him all he needed to know.

You grunt, “Yeah, hey.” You say tiredly, as you wipe your face with the back of your hand. Paint smearing on your cheek. Mingyu comes over with a napkin from the takeout container, huffing as he wipes your cheek with it.

“Whens the last time you took a break?” He asks, a bit worried. Despite hanging out with you for so long, he wouldn’t say he knew anything about art. But he knew you. And the way your wrist movements against the canvas were sluggish, and the way your eyebrows furrowed as the strokes didn’t land and look the way you wanted… he knew you were at your limit.

“Doesn’t matter, I have another painting after this.” You say roughly, “Fuck, I’m such an idiot. I should have painted when I was sick. At least worked on the concepts and colors so I didn’t have to figure it out right now.” You rant, sucking your bottom lip into your teeth.

Mingyu frowns, “No, y/n. What about a fifteen minute break? I got burgers, it’ll help.” He says, but your face isn’t budging, like the strict deadlines for the paintings.

You curse, “God, Mingyu, I can’t stop. All the fucking pieces look like shit, if I stall any longer I’ll never finish this ass of an exhibition.” You say shakily, as you haphazardly throw your brush into the water cup, the muddy water splashing out. You grab another brush to pick up a new color.

He looks around the 10 other pieces littered around the room drying, he doesn’t get it, and he never would. They all looked great, cohesive despite your protests. “Y/n, they look great. You gotta take a break you know? Maybe it’ll help. Maybe your eyes will like, reset or something. You’ve been looking at this painting for hours.” He says, trying to reason.

You don’t listen, as you flick your wrist harshly to create a quick line of color.

clack!

You wince, dropping your brush to clatter on the floor. Your wrist acting up at the worst time, as you curse under your breath. Mingyu’s hands go up instinctively to hold your wrist, holding it still.

“God, now my wrist is flaring up too. Great, just what I need!” You curse bitterly, your head down.

Mingyu holds your wrist gently, despite your angry state you don’t push him away as he gingerly inspects your wrist. “Hey, come on. Lets take a break, and then we can wrap your hand alright?” He says softly, trying to coax you.

He leans down to see your hidden face, and it breaks his heart. Hot tears welling in your eyes from stress, frustration, and the impending deadline.

He doesn’t think twice, leaning down to hold you into an embrace, pulling you off your stool into his arms. Tight, the tips of your shoes barely grazing the floor. You can’t help but cry into his shoulder, “God, why am I so bad? I can’t show anyone any of this,” You sob, as Mingyu rubs your back. His grip tightening around you, holding you close as you basically collapse into his arms.

“Hey, y/n, you’ve just been working too long. Lets take a break alright? It’ll look better once you rest your eyes a bit, I promise.” He coos, “I’ve got some burgers and sweet potato fries, even convinced them to give me extra —“

“Mingyu, why are you always here?” You ask bluntly, choking back your tears. Through the whole year you’ve been tolerating him getting closer. First, random conversations when you bumped into each other on campus, then visiting the art school, coming to your studio, staying to keep you company. You never once tried to push him away, but you didn’t understand how he hasn’t been turned off yet. Your all nighters, your insecurities, the way you reject his invitations to campus parties and events to work. It was all a mystery, especially as you crash out in his arms, over some acrylic and oil on canvas. This must look pathetic to him.

His eyes are a bit panicked at the question, “I uh, do you not want me to be?” He asks reluctantly, still holding you close.

You sniff, your hand against his chest, gripping the fabric of his hoodie into your fist.

“No, I just... Thank you.” You say quietly into his chest, and Mingyu felt his head spin. You could definitely hear it, he thought, the way his heart was pounding out his chest. How you relied on him, telling him to stay. If it wasn’t for the fact you were leaning on him to stay up, he’d probably melt into a puddle on the floor.

Mingyu takes you to the table, helping you sit down on one of the comfier chairs. A foldable one with a pillow he brought at one point, so he could watch you comfortably. He boasted once — y/n look! Found this by the dumpster!

You let out a deep sigh as you sit down, Mingyu bending down to his knees to look at you eye level. A hand to your cheek as you close your eyes tiredly. “Hey, you okay?” He asks, searching your face.

You nod, “Yeah, um, sorry,” You sigh, “I’m just — I’m just stressed. I didn’t mean to have a breakdown in front of you.” You say apologetically, embarrassed by it. But he shakes his head, not affected by it. In fact, it probably caused him to fall harder, seeing how hard you work.

“Don’t apologize,” He says, pushing strands of your hair back. You look up at him, straight into his brown eyes. The way he looks at you so fondly, worried, that his bottom lip juts out slightly as he observes you. The way his fingers felt along your cheek, how he’s warmed you up in the cold room, brought takeout for you.

Fuck, how his hair is tousled under the hood, and the fact his face was a sight for sore eyes after looking at your paintings all day. Something with actual 3d planes staring at you, instead of flat canvas. Maybe it was the all nighters, the fact you’re on multiple energy drinks on an empty stomach, or that Mingyu is there for you.

You lean forward, shutting your eyes shut as you push your lips against his.

It’s warm, soft… might even get lost in it if—

You pull back after a second, as you see Mingyu’s wide eyes.

Oh fuck, did you read this wrong? Shit, at least you can blame it on lack of sleep—

A pair of lips crash into yours again, this time, you part yours as Mingyu’s warm lips mold into yours. Its warm, and comforting and everything nice, as you grab his collar to pull him closer. Making him stumble forward as he holds onto the edge of the chair to steady himself close to you.

You let out a soft breath as Mingyu snakes his free hand around to the small or your back, pushing you close as possible to him. Mingyu compensating for your lack of energy with his, as he kisses you deeply, something he’s always wanted to do. Every since he watched you draw random people at that campus fountain.

He pulls back as you pathetically try to chase his lips, as he kisses you chastely before speaking. “Y/n,” He breathes, “Fuck, you don’t know how long I wanted to do that.” He confesses, as he holds your face in his large hands.

You smile softly, “Mingyu, I—“

The box of charcoals clatter, as you accidentally drop it right next to the table of supplies. Sheepishly you bow at the students in class, not meaning to disrupt their focus.

You bend down to pick up the charcoal. What are you doing? It may be the third figure drawing class today, but dropping a box of pencils as you recount your days with Mingyu was horrible. Terrible.

Especially when you boasted to one of your friends as you shared a meal, Ah, Kim Mingyu? Thats over. Lets just focus on grad review.

You sigh, standing back up as you slide the box of art supplies on the table. Checking the time, you slide the notifications of Mingyu’s missed calls away. It was five minutes before class started, where the hell was the model?

And as if on cue, the other T.A. comes skitting towards you, pushing her glasses up as she avoids the boxes of supplies around the room. “Ah, Y/n—“ She starts, talking quietly to not cause alarm.

She stops in front of you, as you furrow your brows. Today the professor wasn’t in. As the consistent T.A., she trusted you to handle today with no substitutes. It wasn’t anything hard. You just helped set up the drawing horses and supplies, adjusted the lights and made sure the models were comfortable. It was easier especially when another T.A. was assigned to assist you today.

“Hm? What?” You ask, as you dust your hands.

She takes a deep breath, “Um, well, the model got food poisoning.” She starts. Leaning in so other students didn’t hear. “I just learned this right now, she’s like in the bathroom in the main hall throwing up like crazy.”

You frown, “What? Is she okay?” You say, straightening up, walking towards the front door grabbing your jacket off one of the stray art horse chairs.

She follows clumsily, “She’s fine! But she can’t model for this class. I know you’re in charge, but I panicked and just called whoever was on the emergency model list.”

You stop, causing the other T.A. to bump into your back, with a little squeak. A small what should have been insignificant memory flooding back.

“You’re TAing now? Seriously?” Mingyu asks lightly, as he fiddles with a loose strand of your sweater, the rough pads of his fingers pulling on it.

You slap his hand away disapprovingly, causing him to pout. “Yeah, just for figure drawing. I want to make a little money anyways, but working at the campus cafe is too time consuming.” You respond, as you continue to draw in your sketchbook. Outlining the foliage in front of you with your pen.

“Hm, what would that mean?” He asks, leaning forward to wrap an arm around your shoulder. Careful not to disturb your drawing, as he rests his chin on your closer shoulder. Watching you draw was his favorite past time nowadays.

“Just like, setting up, taking care of the figure drawing models. Things like that.” You respond absentmindedly.

“Models? Like, thats a job?” He asks, making you crack a smile. You forget how normal people knew nothing about art. You’re just glad he was openminded about basically everything.

You turn to look at him, “Yeah, the school hires people to pose for drawing. Its for studying.” You respond, as you tap your pen against the tip of his nose, where his beloved mole resided. Making him scrunch his nose, the corners of his lips turning up.

“Actually, I should write the emergency contact list. The professor updates every semester of models to contact if theres no shows, and the et cetera. I should just do it now so I don’t forget —“

“Add me on there then.”

You blink.

“Huh, what?” You say confused, looking at him with raised brows.

He straightens up, “You heard me. Add my number to that list. It sounds interesting,” He defends, his tone light.

You shake your head, smiling. “Mingyu, you don’t get it. You have to stand there naked, and do different poses every five to thirty minutes. Its not an easy thing to do.” You say, dismissing his words as nonsense. Sometimes he was too eager to try things just because they existed in your world.

Mingyu doesn’t falter. “Yeah I know. I just, it sounds cool. Also having a bunch of people drawing me, I don’t know… sounds nice. Also its like emergency contact right?” He says shrugging, “It’s not like it’ll actually happen. I know you’d never call me if it was an emergency, but just add me on it. If all models decide they’re not feeling it that day.” He suggests lightly.

You stare at him still in disbelief, narrowing your eyes. He scoffs, leaning forward to lean his forehead against yours as a challenge. A little goofy smile on his face, “What? Come on. Just add me to the list.”

The rational side of you knew this would never actually happen. Mingyu had no qualifications, and besides, there was a dozen other numbers to call before him. So you suck it up, sighing, writing his name down. Just for the sake that he’d shut up about it.

“Okay, fine.”

Your heart beats, eyes wide as you try to calm yourself. You didn’t want to release your anger against this girl for trying to fix the situation. It was your fault, really, in the first place to put his number on there. But this never was something that has happened before.

“Which number picked up?” You ask calmly, clasping your hands together as you focus on not exploding on your fellow T.A.

“Uh, just called the first one. He said he was on campus so he was down, and we only have five minutes till class—“

“Jesus, his name please?”

“Kim Mingyu.”

Oh fuck. Fuuuucckkkkk.

Mouth wide, and panicked eyes, you start to speak, before you hear the opening of the classroom door. You turn, and your face practically goes pale.

There he was — Kim Mingyu, just in a simple coat and pants. His eyes immediately landing on you. Its only been a month, but he cut his hair. Slightly shorter than you remember, as you tilt your head.

Stop it. You have to act normal.

You take a deep breath, trying to act professional. There was no time to question why the hell he’d even pick up and walk all the way here. Or why your heart was beating so fast, just looking at him.

“Um, escort him to the dressing room area.” You start, prying your eyes from Mingyu to the other T.A. “There should be a clean robe there too.” You inform, patting her arm as you beeline straight away from them.

You find a haphazardly stacked amount of newsprint, focusing on making all the edges match as you calm your heart. It’s fine, it really is.

For some reason Mingyu was interested in figure drawing modeling before. Maybe he just wanted to cross that off his bucket list, and had nothing to do with you.

The other T.A. comes back to stand beside you, “Is he comfortable?” You ask.

“Yeah, he’s fine. Just seems a little inexperienced,” She responds, scratching her cheek. “He asked if he had to take all his clothes off, and I was like, huh? Yeah? But other that that—“

“Yeah, alright.” You interrupt dryly. “Thank you. I’ll just take over after this.” You say, as you grab the timer from the table.

You walk towards the center, clearing your throat as the art students look up. “Right, hi. Professor Kang isn’t here today, but don’t mind. Today will be quite an easy day.” You start, crossing your arms.

Your eyes immediately follow to the ruffle of the dressing curtain, as Mingyu walks out in a fluffy robe. Brown eyes meet yours, and for a second you think this will be fine. Until the corners of his lips turn up, into a toothy grin only you knew so well.

That motherfucker. Bucket list my ass, he said yes just to mess with you!

You turn away sharply, focusing back on the class. “The model today is Kim Mingyu.” You say shortly, before stepping off the small platform.

You gesture for Mingyu to walk to the center, your face stone cold as you watch him step onto the platform.

He clears his throat, “Do I take the robe off now?” He asks cluelessly.

Great, just show everyone you have no clue what you’re doing. If this was a few months ago, it’d be cute. But Mingyu standing hopelessly waiting for instructions was annoying you, to say the least.

You nod, and immediately, he undoes his robe and lets it fall to the floor.

You can’t help but stare. Your lips pressed into a thin line, your body tense. Stop stop stop! You couldn’t give him a reaction. As an artist, it was normal to see naked bodies. It wasn’t a sexual thing, especially in figure drawing. But Mingyu wasn’t just an old man or something. He was a conventionally attractive, tall, well built man. In more places than one.

“Oh shit, he’s hot.” The other T.A. whispers to you, covering her mouth. You bite back your embarrassment, as you just send her a glare for her unprofessional reaction.

It doesn’t help that other people around the room are pleasantly surprised by Mingyu, as I see pink dusting around people’s cheeks. It was infuriating, to say the least.

“Holy shit, a hot model. Is this real?”

“I thought we had a middle aged woman today. Bro… score!”

“I’ve never stared so closely.”

“Alright, warm ups. Ten one minute poses.” You say plainly, holding up the timer and pressing down on it. Immediately, Mingyu nods, springing into action.

His poses were something else. They were a bit awkward, as he stood there. First putting his hands on his hips, staring at the ground.

But he started getting more comfortable. After the ten one minute poses were up, the other T.A. Adds a stool to the platform for Mingyu to sit on.

“One pose, 15 minutes.” You say, setting the timer again.

This time instead of looking at the ground, wall, or ceiling, he stared straight at you. His eyes unwavering. The sight makes your mouth go dry, as the studio lights enhance Mingyu’s features perfectly.

His face framed by the little curl of his bang, light bouncing off his tanned skin as the definition of his muscles are on display. The way his large shoulders balance his proportions, and his skin smooth and tightly wrapped around his toned torso. He always was working out, and it seemed like he kept that up, as your eyes trail from his abs to his bottom half. Your cheeks flushing as he’s so unabashedly bare in front of the whole room.

But it only propelled your anger. How could he? Just step into your domain — the art school wing — and just come here? Posing like a gangly weirdo, riding on his looks so none of the students complained. Staring straight into your eyes as a confrontation. So much it felt like he was telepathically speaking to you.

Why aren’t you returning my calls? Or, how does this make you feel? It was infuriating.

And as if satisfied in your attention on him, he smirks, like he won some imaginary battle. This idiot.

The timer rings, making you flinch against the supply table. Your cheeks flush slightly, as you clear your throat. “Another 6 poses, each 2 minutes.” You manage to choke out, pressing the timer.

As the figure session goes on for the next hour, Mingyu’s confidence was starting to irritate you to no end. At first what was awkward, was now overtly dramatic. His poses of showing off his muscles, flexing his back, it was too much. People were here to draw, not ogle.

You decided to play, not wanting Mingyu to have the upper hand. As Mingyu goes to pick up the robe off the ground, you yell, “Stop right there!”

Mingyu freezes immediately, mainly out of confusion. His eyes drifting to you, a slight furrow of his brows.

“Now, the model will stay still. Do you see how the arm connects to the shoulder blades? Please turn to a new paper and start focusing on that area.” You say, stopping Mingyu in an uncomfortable position in the name of education.

You eye how his leg starts to shake from holding it, but it only fuels you. “Now focus on the thigh muscle, we’ll hold this pose for another 3 minutes.” You say, a little glee seeping into your voice.

Mingyu’s eyes shooting up to glare at you, as you cock your head and smile.

You push Mingyu to do crazy things, like pretending to do a lay up for 10 minutes to talk about line of action. Or when you asked the students to move in closer to draw his face, having twenty people at once hyper fixate on his expression. Now, the class was fun. You completely turned it around.

The timer rings. “Alright, lunch break.” You say, as it’s half way through the 6 hour class.

Theres a collective sigh of relief, as students massage their wrists, and Mingyu putting his robe back on, but loosely. Letting his chest peek out through the fabric, as he walks around the room.

You watch as he circles, smiling and complimenting others.

“Wow, thats really good.”

“Whoa, really love how you drew that one.”

“Is that how I look? I’m flattered! Thanks.”

You huff, looking away as you catch a glimpse of him leaning over a pretty girl’s shoulder as she shows her sketches. Purposefully letting the loose robe drape his exposed chest as he examines the drawings.

Students get up to stretch their bones outside, getting lunch during the break. The other T.A. goes to check on something, leaving only you and Mingyu in the figure drawing room.

You stand, ignoring him as you walk towards the platform, readjusting the power of the studio lights. “Next part of the class is long poses,” You say, twisting the knob. “So it’ll be harsh lights. you just have to sit there, it’ll easy.”

You turn back around, Mingyu looking at you with a small smile, barely a yard away. His hands on his hips, as he looks down at you. “You know,” He drawls, his voice low. “This was a lot more fun than I thought.”

“Is it?” You respond bitterly, “Well I’m glad. Because you’re not gonna be paid for this.” You inform him, as Mingyu isn’t a real model signed with the school.

“Thats okay, I’m getting what I wanted anyways.”

You sigh, as you cross your arms. Deciding not to beat around the bush.

“What are you doing here, Mingyu?” You ask tiredly, finally looking at him straight, your brows furrowed. You boldly looking into his playful eyes.

His smug expression softens, almost reminiscent to how he would look at you before everything. He takes his bottom lip under his teeth, chewing as he looks at you.

“You seriously need me to answer that? Like always?” He says quietly, but with only you two in the studio, he could whisper from across the room and you’d still catch it.

“What, like you actually answer me with anything that makes sense?” You respond back tightly. Sighing, you relax your shoulders, biting your cheek as you glance away from him. A student’s messy pencil case catching your attention, albeit forced.

A deafening silence falls. Mingyu never really liked to fight anyways.

“You’re, you’re difficult, you know that?” He starts, as he ruffles his hair with his hand, as if that would release his pent up frustration. “When I got the random phone call that you guys needed a last minute model, I thought for a second it was intentional.”

He takes a step closer, “But of course not. You looked like you saw a ghost when I walked in.”

You gulp, “Well, to be fair, thats what you are now.” You say quietly. Avoiding his eyes.

“Oh? So I’m just dead to you?”

“No, that would be easier.” You snap, finally looking back to face his eyes. Mingyu’s jaw clenched, his eyebrows knitted, trying to figure you out like an abstract art piece.

He swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as he lets out a disappointed huff. “y/n.” He starts firmly, in a tone he barely used.

But of course, directed to you, making your skin crawl in the overly air conditioned room.

Hands on his hips, as he takes a long breath, his head facing down as he hides his expression. “For an artist, you’re really shit at expressing your feelings.” He sighs, his bangs hiding whatever you could gather from him.

“Fine.” He concludes, looking up, his shoulders more relaxed. “I’ll stop bothering you about it, since you’re so sure.” He says throwing his arms out. “On one condition.”

You furrow your brows in confusion, wary of whatever condition he was gonna propose. Mingyu could be unpredictable when you pushed him, making the hair at the back of your neck stand.

“Draw me.” He says finally. He glances at the clock on the wall, “They still have that lunch break. So just draw me at least once, before everyone comes back.” He proposes, turning around to walk casually to the platform, as if he’s assuming you would just do it.

Is he serious? You weren’t even together anymore, and yet he wants a free commission from you? Thats crazy, like you’d ever —

“Fine.” You say curtly, “Since you’re so desperate for my attention anyways.” You quip, walking over to the supply table, making sure your shoes stomp against the hard floor. You swipe some spare paper, clipboard, and some charcoal.

The second you were at an art horse in front of Mingyu though, your fire waned slightly. The dead silence of the room was deafening, as you adjust your clipboard. The sound of the metal clips thumping against the paper, the feet of the art horse squeaking as you adjust sitting on the worn wood.

When you gaze up at Mingyu, it was obvious. He really was getting what he wanted, and it was your undivided attention.

Once ready, the charcoal in your hand, Mingyu sits down on the stool, eyes steady on you as he grips the already loose tie around his robe with his large hand. Letting it fall, as he exposes himself once more in the bright lights you set up yourself. He kicks the robe away off the platform, set on you drawing him like this.

You blink back any feelings that threaten to show on your face, readjusting the charcoal in your hand as you avoid Mingyu’s eyes, pressing down to finally start a line.

Its been a while since you last drew figures, and it usually took an hour of continuous drawing before you really found your pace in figure drawing sessions. But it was different this time.

Your heart beats in your ears, a silence of the room highlighting the sound of your charcoal smearing against the newsprint — the sounds of your breathing and of Mingyu’s, as time passes. Agonizingly slowly, yet a focus every artist aches for.

Your hand moves accordingly. Outlining the contour of his silhouette, the way his neck slopes, the soft lines that shape his abs he always was working on. Pressing for pressure with your charcoal as you indicate the weight of him sitting on the stool, hands in his laps loose as you capture his likeness with ease.

But the focus doesn’t last for long, especially when you flicker your eyes back to his. Already flicking a stroke to mimic his right eyelid, before you still. Pressing the tip of your charcoal into the paper, crumbling against the grain as you stare into his large brown eyes.

Fuck. What are you even doing?

Why are you drawing him so intently, when you vowed just a while ago that you never wanted to see Mingyu again?

Your breath hitches, as you raise your arm, flickering back to your drawing. Charcoal in the air, swinging to run a huge line through your figure of him, to smear it, to destroy it, to —

Your wrist stops mid air, as you feel a warm grip tightening around you. Eyes wide, you unfocus on the paper, to look up. Somehow in your tiny melt down Mingyu got down from the platform.

He looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. Jaw tense, “You were just gonna ruin it, weren’t you?” He asks you quietly.

You can’t help but knit your brows, a pained expression forming that matches the one in his eyes.

The charcoal clatters out of your hand, landing on the floor in broken pieces.

Tears start welling in your eyes, your bottom lip trembling. “You’re right,” You start shakily, “I don’t know… how to address anything unless I’m drawing.” You say weakly.

Mingyu’s eyes soften slightly, swallowing hard as the bright lights highlight the contour of throat bobbing. “Yeah, seems like it.” He replies carefully. You expected him to use this as a told you so, maybe give you a smug smile, like, I knew you weren’t over me.

But Mingyu was never like that anyways. No matter how much he craved your attention, he also wanted your peace of mind. A hard thing to ask from an artist like you.

His grip on your wrist softens, as he kneels down, getting eye level with you as you still sit on the art horse. Holding your hand in his, rubbing a thumb over the veins on the back of your hand gently.

“I miss you.” You finally muster, your eyes focused on his.

“I miss you too.” He responds back, before cracking a small smile.

You strain your brows into a furrow, blinking back the warm tears you naturally formed from the vulnerable moment. A shaky huff also coming out of you, as you decide to lean forward.

Inching your face closer, until the tip of your noses brush, Mingyu stiffening slightly as you shyly graze your lips against his lips. A small breath escaping his lips, fanning over yours before you finally part them.

Your lips against his — it was like home. Finding your way back after such a tumultuous and useless road. The warmth of his lips seeping into you, Mingyu as relieved as you are. His hands finding its way to the sides of your face, pulling you impossibly closer.

It only escalates, as you open your mouth wider to push your tongue against his, making Mingyu groan out as he meets you with similar enthusiasm.

He pulls you forward, off the art horse. Taking you down to the ground, maneuvering you until your back is against the hard floor. Covering you with his large frame, his weight pressing down on you in ways you were having such a hard time admitting you missed.

It was fast, and albeit messy and rushed. Like trying to make up for wasted time as you pull him close, hands wrapped around the back of his neck as your lips go numb, your teeth clashing.

You let out a whine, when Mingyu pulls away with a heavy breath, fighting against your attempts to pull him back for a kiss.

“Y/n — fuck, can we?” He asks hurriedly, his voice breathless. A look of want in his big eyes, but there was also a little responsibility.

First of all — anyone could walk into the studio any second. There was only a lunch break, sure, an hour. But at least half of it has passed.

As you take your bottom lip under your teeth, chewing at your swollen lip as you think. And Mingyu knows exactly what look you were giving him, and he wasn’t going to reject you. Not now.

He leans back in, crashing his lips against yours in a sloppy kiss, breath hot against yours, before moving to your jaw. Leaving open mouthed rushed kisses down your neck, as you move your hands down his back. Feeling the muscles you were forcing yourself to look away from during the whole first half of class.

Touching Mingyu was way better than just drawing him from afar. You’re sure on that.

He moves his hand down, to push your midi skirt up, bunching the fabric to your hips. Your legs exposed to the cold air of the studio, as he wastes no time to slide your panties to the side. Already wet and damp from the heavy making out, and partially to the adrenaline of being in such a risky place.

“Damn, already?” He says, with a slight tease to his voice, making you pinch his arm. He lets out a pained chuckle, before placing his thick fingers against yours core, a gasp escaping your lips.

It helped that he knew you so well already, your legs squirming around the sides of him as he runs his fingers through yours wet folds, his thumb circling your clit as he inserts two fingers in, stretching you out as you gasp, Mingyu attacking your neck with messy kisses as he gets you ready for him.

“Fuck, Gyu,” You whine, your eyes rolling back in pleasure as he curls his fingers, hitting the spongy flesh that makes you arch your back off of the floor.

You weren’t the only one worked up, Mingyu being bare this entire time. His dick pressing up against the inner of your thigh, hardening at the sounds of your pleasure.

Your hand shoots down to grab hold of him, helping him get hard as he lets out a moan, as you tighten your grip. Pumping him a few times, lining him up to you as he removes his hand from your entrance.

You both let out soft gasps as you hold his dick to swipe against you, coating him in your arousal, his tip leaking with precum.

He doesn’t even ask, he just knows, as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch. The friction from your pulled to the side panties, to the tight warm walls of your pussy, making him feel lightheaded with pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight baby,” He breathes, without even adjusting, he ruts into you roughly. Bottoming out as he knocks the wind out of you.

A whine escapes your throat, as you hold tightly around his shoulders, as Mingyu doesn’t slow his pace.

Its rough, its fast, and overall — desperate. The lewd sounds of flesh colliding echoing in the empty studio. Your mind going dumb at his fast pace, only focused on how he goes in, out. In, out.

The smell of his sweat, the way your hands run down his exposed body, all for you. He did this all for you. To get your attention, to get you back. God, does he even know how that makes you feel?

“Fuck, fuck,” He whines, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Already feeling a little fatigued from abusing your pussy so fast. But it was just too good, he missed it so much. So, so much. And he made it evident, as he pushes the back of your thighs higher to your chest, getting deep as he can. And fucking you like his life counted on it.

You feel the familiar build up of your orgasm, your walls tightening as you grip Mingyu’s shoulders. “Gyu, Gyu, I’m —“ You manage to choke out, as he moves his face from your neck to yours. Catching your cry with his mouth, drowning it as he kisses you messily.

You shudder, squirming under him as you feel the familiar high. Your body tingling with sensitivity and pleasure, as he overwhelms you with what can only be love.

He follows soon after, not being able to maintain his mouth to yours as he lets out a shaky grunt. Spilling inside you, his cum warm and filling, making your cheeks flush in contentment and relief.

He slows, stilling as you both catch your breaths. Pulling out of you with a reluctance. Pushing himself up, to lean back to sit. You follow as well, adjusting your skirt back as you push yourself up to your elbows.

Mingyu was a sight, as he always is. His tan skin glowing with a layer of sweat. The way his toned chest rises from catching his breath. The way his bangs are sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with a rush of blood. A satisfied look on his face, as he sighs, licking his bottom lip as he looks at you.

You can’t help but smile, a warm one. As you gather yourself.

“Lets get you cleaned up before the second half. Where did you throw your robe?”

“Oh fuck. I don’t know. You got any other ones?”

[cbeargyu]

WISHES COME TRUE

SUMMARY: you’ve always been the quiet, bookish type — hidden behind oversized sweaters and your secret smut blog. yeonjun, the golden boy of the dance department, was supposed to be just a harmless crush... until a steamy story accidentally lands in his hands. now, your fantasies are no longer just fiction.

PAIRING: soft dom!yeonjun x fem!reader

GENRE: slow burn, smutty tension, university!au, angst, fluff, eventual nsfw (suggestive)

WARNINGS: suggestive themes, language, emotional tension, power dynamics, accidental exposure of private writing, crying, emotional vulnerability, soft dominance, yeonjun being too hot to handle, loss of virginity, unprotected sex.

WC: 4,8k

NOTES: i wish yeonjun would make my fantasies come true too...😞

you were a literature major at university—one of those girls who always seemed quiet, thoughtful, always with a book tucked under her arm or a notebook filled with scribbled ideas. you had chosen literature because, for as long as you could remember, stories had been your whole world. fairy tales, classic novels, poetry, fanfiction—especially fanfiction.

it had started innocently enough in your early teens: writing about your favorite movie characters falling in love. but as you got older, so did your stories. they evolved—bolder, darker, more explicit. the kind of scenes that made your cheeks flush even though you were the one writing them. you never said it out loud, of course. no one would ever imagine it of you.

you were the quiet girl in class, after all. the one with oversized sweaters, round glasses slipping down your nose, a soft voice, and a shy smile that made people underestimate you. but at night, in the glow of your laptop screen, you were someone else. your blog had grown into something much bigger than you'd anticipated. a loyal following of readers eagerly awaited your weekly updates, devouring every steamy, forbidden chapter you posted—always right on schedule, even with your hectic academic life.

and then there was choi yeonjun.

he was in the contemporary dance program—effortlessly popular, magnetic in every sense. tall, with dark hair that curled slightly when he sweat after practice, his ears lined with silver piercings, his eyes sharp but kind. he had a way of walking into a room and drawing attention without even trying.

you’d met him in a way that was both perfectly ordinary and somehow surreal. he’d started showing up at your department’s literature fairs. it surprised you the first time—someone like him, flipping through romance novels with genuine interest, not just killing time. but there he was, every time, stopping by the table you were in charge of, smiling that easy, sunlit smile that made your stomach twist in quiet panic.

“any recommendations today?” he’d ask casually, leaning over the table just close enough to make you forget how to breathe.

you tried to keep your voice steady. “uh—if you like slow burn… this one’s pretty good.”

he grinned. “you always know the good ones. you read a lot, huh?”

you’d just nod, cheeks warm, heart sprinting. he didn’t know. god, he couldn’t know.

your conversations never lasted long, but they left you dizzy every time. he’d wave at you in the halls with that same bright energy, calling your name like you were already friends. you weren’t, not really. but you liked pretending.

and when you were alone, writing late into the night, your mind would wander. you’d think about him—his hands, his voice, that little smirk when he caught you staring too long.

you knew exactly what kind of character he’d be in one of your stories. and you had plenty of ideas.

it all started when yeonjun announced that he was planning a showcase for the contemporary dance department—an open performance where students could display their personal choreographies. he needed help designing the pamphlets that would be handed out to the audience, and for some reason, you were the first person he thought of.

“you made those posters for the lit fair, right?” he asked one afternoon, catching you off guard in the hallway. his voice was casual, but his smile was bright, genuine. “i really liked the way you put them together. they had this… soft, poetic vibe. it matched the theme perfectly.”

you blinked up at him, heart stuttering. he remembered that? “i– yeah! i did,” you mumbled, trying to keep the surprise out of your voice. “i’d love to help.”

he grinned, like it was no big deal. “awesome. can i get your number? i’ll text you the details.”

you handed him your phone before you could overthink it. and when he tapped in his contact info, you felt a strange flutter in your chest. he told you he’d need it by next wednesday. today was friday—plenty of time.

saturday came, and as usual, it was supposed to be your sacred writing day. the day you sat down with your laptop and your coffee and let your imagination spill into a new chapter for your loyal readers. but today... you couldn’t focus. yeonjun’s face kept flashing behind your eyes. his voice, the way he smiled, the soft dip of his collarbone when he leaned in closer than he needed to.

so, instead of working on your usual story, you opened a new document. just a little spin-off, you told yourself. a character named yejun, inspired by him, paired with your unnamed female lead. it didn’t mean anything. it was just for fun.

your fingers moved quickly over the keys, each word making your face burn a little hotter. you described him in detail—his body, his voice, the way he would whisper dirty things between soft kisses. it escalated fast. soon, the bed sheets were tangled, the clothes gone, and “yejun” was doing things to the protagonist that made your thighs clench under the desk.

you bit your lip, trying to suppress the heat pooling low in your stomach. your skin was flushed, breath a little too fast. god, it was just a story. just fiction.

but every line felt real.

too real.

when you finally finished, you closed the file with shaky fingers and stared at the screen, guilt washing over you like cold water. you’d just written a full-blown smut piece about your classmate. someone you knew. someone who’d smiled at you in the hallway just days ago.

he’s never going to know, you told yourself, shutting the thought down. your blog was anonymous. your secret was safe.

you shifted gears, finally starting your actual chapter for the week. when it was done and posted, the familiar flood of comments poured in. the joy from your readers was like a warm blanket, grounding you again. they loved it, as always. you loved them. they were the reason you kept writing.

by the time sunday night rolled around, the guilt had faded into the background, replaced by the sudden panic of realization—you still hadn’t started yeonjun’s pamphlet. you checked your phone. a new story on his profile. something about drinks with friends. he was still out, probably.

you rushed to open your design program, pulling up the notes you’d made. soft color palettes, modern typography, minimalistic but expressive—something that reflected the rhythm and movement of contemporary dance. you made one version. then another. kept tweaking the alignment, changing fonts, shifting images.

finally, at 2:34 a.m., you saved both files. sleepy, but satisfied. you dragged the two pdfs into your chat with him, barely thinking. you typed out the message:

“hi yeonjun! i made two versions, choose whichever you like best :)”

and hit send.

except… you hadn’t just selected the two designs.

your stomach dropped as you saw the third file still hanging in the message bubble. the one labeled: “yejun_x_fmc_draft01.docx”

it sent.

you stared at the message for a second, read it over just to make sure it sounded polite enough, and then closed the chat. satisfied, you shut your laptop, stretched your sore arms above your head, and let out a sleepy sigh. it was late. too late. your body ached from sitting in one spot too long, your eyes heavy. slipping under your blanket, you let your head hit the pillow, completely unaware of the very wrong file you’d just sent to yeonjun.

you fell asleep thinking about fonts and color palettes—clueless to the chaos waiting in your inbox.

yeonjun had been scrolling through his phone lazily that night, the apartment quiet except for the occasional hum of cars outside. it was past two in the morning, and most of his friends were either out partying or already passed out drunk. he, on the other hand, was comfortably sprawled out on his bed, hoodie thrown somewhere on the floor, phone in hand and thumbs working through unread messages. when your name popped up with a new chat, he blinked sleepily, expecting a simple "here are the flyers" type of thing.

maybe a couple of PDFs, a casual "let me know which one you like better." he smiled a little to himself. you were cute, in that quiet, bookish way. sweet. unassuming. kind of awkward, but endearing.

he tapped on the files without thinking.

the first opened fine—bright colors, clean design, silhouettes of dancers mid-pose, your signature soft aesthetic all over it. he liked it. clean, expressive. you were talented.

he clicked the second, expecting more of the same.

but then he saw… text. not a flyer. a story. his brow furrowed as he scrolled further. the format was familiar. narrative, dialogue. descriptive paragraphs. curiosity sparked, and his eyes began to scan the words.

“yejun’s fingers traced slow, burning lines down the curve of her waist, his voice low and thick in her ear. ‘you’re so quiet during the day,’ he murmured. ‘but in my bed? you’re a fucking mess.’”

his heart stopped.

his mouth went dry.

at first, he thought it was just a coincidence. a character named "yejun"—close, but not quite. but as he kept reading, the illusion crumbled. the description was too specific. too detailed. tall, black hair, piercings decorating both ears, cocky smile, flirty attitude, reads romance novels like a secret guilty pleasure—fuck, it was him. it was him on those pages. and you? the girl in the story? that was clearly you. no question.

his stomach twisted into knots.

his brain screamed that this was wrong, that he should stop reading, that this was invasive and inappropriate and god, disgusting. this was a violation of boundaries, wasn’t it? some kind of parasocial delusion—was this how you saw him?

but his eyes wouldn’t stop.

line after line, paragraph after paragraph, you painted a vivid, searing image of the two of you tangled in sheets, dripping with heat and tension. “yejun” had you beneath him, fingers curled into your thighs, lips murmuring filth against your throat while you begged for more. he could hear your voice in the words—he could see the way you might look, squirming beneath him, wide eyes glassy and pleading.

his hand gripped the phone tighter. he didn’t notice how his breath had gotten shallow. he didn’t notice how hard he’d gotten, straining against the loose fabric of his pants.

“she moaned when he spread her open, kissed the inside of her thighs like she was something sacred. ‘i wanna ruin you,’ he growled. ‘wanna fuck you so deep you forget your own damn name.’”

he hissed through his teeth, biting down on the inside of his cheek. fuck. fuck. fuck.

he shouldn’t be aroused by this. this was someone else’s fantasy. someone he barely knew. someone who wore glasses too big for her face and oversized cardigans and always tucked her hair behind her ears when she got nervous. someone shy and innocent and sweet.

except—no. apparently not. not so innocent.

his cock throbbed against the inside of his waistband. his face was flushed deep red, part shock, part guilt, part something far more primal. and still, he couldn’t look away.

you thought about him like that.

you imagined him taking you apart, fucking you senseless, making you cry with pleasure.

and now… he couldn’t stop picturing it either.

you didn’t realize a thing.

monday came and went, and you went about your routine like always—classes, notes, reading during lunch, replying to your blog comments in quiet corners of the library. the only thing different was that yeonjun hadn’t replied to your message. not even a “thanks.” he’d left you on read. that was unusual for him.

you saw him in the cafeteria once—just once. he was walking with some friends, laughing at something, tray in hand. you smiled instinctively, raising your hand in a little wave like you always did.

but he didn’t wave back.

he didn’t even look at you.

he walked right past, as if you weren’t even there.

you froze, hand mid-air, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. something was wrong. you could feel it in your gut.

and yet… you said nothing. you told yourself maybe he was just busy. maybe you were reading too much into it. but your heart ached anyway.

by wednesday, you couldn’t take it anymore.

you saw him sitting alone inside the dance studio, stretching, sweat-dampened hair clinging to his forehead. the doors were unlocked. you hesitated only a moment before stepping inside, chest tight, hands balled into anxious fists.

"yeonjun," you called softly, walking toward him.

he looked up, his face unreadable.

your heart dropped.

no warmth. no smile. no teasing glint in his eyes.

"why have you been ignoring me?" your voice cracked, but you kept going. "if you only needed the pamphlet, you could’ve just said so. you didn’t have to pretend like you liked talking to me."

he didn’t answer at first.

he stood up slowly, towering over you, and for the first time you felt… small.

not just in height. in everything.

he pulled his phone from his pocket.

"what's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice low. "shouldn’t i be asking you that?"

you blinked in confusion, taking a step back. “w-what are you talking about?”

he held the phone up to you.

and there it was.

your story.

the wrong file.

your face went completely cold.

your mouth opened, but no words came out. panic flooded you, head spinning, knees weak.

"this character,” he said calmly, almost cruelly. “it's me, isn’t it? same build. same personality. even the name.”

his voice wasn't angry—no, it was too calm. too quiet. too dangerous. your eyes flicked to the screen he held in his hand, your own words staring back at you with damning clarity. you couldn’t lie, couldn’t explain this away as coincidence. it was him. everything from the raven hair to the pierced ears, to the soft but commanding energy—the character had always been him.

"i... i can explain," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper, raw from emotion. "i didn’t mean for you to read it. it was a mistake, i—"

"it was meant to be private?" he cut in, taking another step toward you. "so private that you decided to send it directly to me?"

you flinched, your body screaming for you to run but your legs rooted to the floor. tears prickled your eyes, shame wrapping around your throat like a chokehold. your fingers curled into fists at your sides, not in anger, but in a desperate attempt to hold yourself together.

"i didn’t know i sent it. please, yeonjun, i didn’t want you to see that. i never would've wanted you to think—"

he stared down at you, his gaze dark. dangerous.

“you pretend to be so sweet. so quiet. like some shy little bookworm,” he murmured. “but you write about me like i’m your personal sex toy. like you wanna use me. ride me. make me beg.”

you whimpered, barely able to breathe, your eyes wide with horror.

you wanted to die.

you wanted to disappear.

his fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. his thumb grazed your bottom lip.

but then his eyes darkened, jaw tightening, and he leaned in slightly. "the problem is," he said, voice low, "i can’t stop thinking about what you wrote. how detailed it was. how vividly you described it—me."

your breath caught. "yeonjun..."

"you wrote that you wanted me to hold you down," he whispered, his gaze dropping to your lips. "that you wanted to ride me until you couldn’t walk straight. that you dreamed of me moaning your name while you begged for more. and all that... from the quiet girl who blushes when someone says 'kiss' in class?"

your knees nearly gave out. your skin burned with humiliation and something else—something terrifyingly warm spreading low in your belly. you shook your head again, but there were no words left to give him. no excuses. you were caught. exposed. and he was standing there, looking at you like he was reading every single fantasy straight from your soul.

“you’re disgusting,” he said, voice low and rough.

your eyes welled with tears.

but then he leaned closer, and his breath ghosted over your cheek. his voice dropped even lower, thick with something dangerous.

“but the worst part?” he smirked. “the more i think about it, the more i want to make it real." he murmured. 

you gasped, a whimper escaping your lips before you could stop it. it was wrong. it was insane. and yet... the tension between you crackled like a live wire.

"yeonjun, i..." your voice trembled.

"you don’t have to say anything," he said quietly, his thumb brushing away a tear on your cheek. "but if you really meant what you wrote... i will make your first time unforgettable, better than your story, better than many stories, i will fuck you as hard as you ask."

your heartbeat stuttered. your mind screamed for you to step away—but your body leaned into him, trembling from something far deeper than fear.

“so this is what you think about when you see me?” his voice is low, controlled, almost amused. but there’s something dark swimming beneath it. something hungry.

you’re frozen in front of him, face hot and eyes watery with humiliation. your vision blurs as the tears start spilling over your cheeks.

“fuck,” he mutters, stepping closer, eyes flicking over your trembling frame. “you’re crying.”

you nod, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“you’re embarrassed?”

another nod.

and then he laughs. it’s not cruel—no, it’s worse. it’s knowing. it's the sound of someone who's seen through every layer you tried to hide.

you whimper, thighs squeezing together at his words. that ache between your legs intensifies, shame curling up with desire in your belly like a knot pulling tighter and tighter.

he’s in front of you now, towering over you, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek—thumb brushing away a tear, so gently it makes your breath catch.

“and this part—” he whispers, pulling his phone from his pocket. “this part right here... where you wrote that he ‘pinned her against the mirror and kissed her until she forgot her own name, one hand gripping her thigh, the other buried in her hair, making her moan before he even touched her pussy.’”

you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block it all out.

“open your eyes.”

you do.

he leans in, lips ghosting over your ear.

“do you want me to do that to you?”

you pause. swallow hard. your silence is answer enough.

he chuckles again. “fuck, you’re cute when you pretend to be innocent. but now i know what’s under that little act. now i know what kind of slut you really are.”

your knees weaken. your panties are soaked.

“take it off,” he murmured.

your throat went dry. “w-what?”

he stepped closer, towering over you. the scent of his cologne and sweat from practice clung to him, heavy and dizzying.

“don’t make me repeat myself.” his voice dropped, gravelly. “hoodie. now.”

you hesitated, fingers curling at the hem.

your body moved before your brain could catch up. trembling fingers pulled your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest underneath—no bra, just skin, soft and warm and exposed to him.

“fuck, no bra? you were walking around like this, waiting for me to notice?”

he growled. actually growled.

“you walked in here looking like this…” his eyes roamed again, hungry. “thinking i wouldn’t notice the way your nipples get hard through your hoodie?

your stomach twisted, heat rushing between your legs.

“you act so innocent, baby, but that little mind of yours?” he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “filthy.”

your cheeks burned. your thighs squeezed together.

“take off the pants too, those fucking pants hiding the slut you really are” he added, voice darker now.

you obeyed slowly, pushing down the waistband of your sweatpants, revealing your thin white panties already soaked through. the air hit your thighs and you shivered—whether from the cold or the anticipation, you weren’t sure.

yeonjun sat down on the bench behind him, legs spread wide, cock hard and pressing visibly against his sweats.

“come here.”

you stepped between his legs, every nerve in your body lit on fire.

his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer until your soaked panties brushed against the bulge in his pants. he hissed at the contact.

“you’re wet already?” he whispered, almost mocking. “just from me talking to you like this?”

you nodded, lips parted in a silent gasp as he rubbed his nose along the curve of your breast, not kissing—just inhaling you. savoring.

“you know what’s crazy?” he murmured. “i remember every single thing you wrote. every moan, every word you gave that version of me… and now i wanna hear them come out of your mouth.”

his hand slid under the band of your panties, fingers slipping between your folds.

“fuck—so wet for me. untouched, huh? this little cunt’s never been filled?”

you whimpered, nodding, nails digging into his shoulders.

“good,” he groaned, pulling your panties down your legs. “i wanna be the only one who gets to ruin this pussy.”

he hooked your thighs over his, adjusting your body until you were hovering over his clothed cock, dripping against the fabric.

“say it,” he ordered.

“say what?”

his eyes locked with yours, deadly calm.

“tell me you want to sit on it.”

your chest rose and fell fast, lips trembling. “i… i want to ride you.”

“that’s not what i said, baby.”

you swallowed. heat flooded your cheeks, but your hips instinctively rolled against him.

“i want to sit on your cock,” you breathed, voice shaky. “please, let me ride you”

his head tilted slightly, lips curling into a smirk as he pulled his sweats down, cock springing free. thick. veined. already leaking.

“then prove it,” he rasped.

you didn’t even hesitate. you gripped his shoulders and lined yourself up, your slick dripping down the tip. his hands gripped your hips, steadying you.

“this might hurt, baby,” he whispers, brushing his lips against yours, “but i’ll be gentle. i’ll make it feel so fucking good you’ll beg me never to stop.”

he pushes in slowly, his cock splitting you open inch by inch. you gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders. he’s big—so much bigger than you imagined—and your body clenches tight around him.

“that’s it, princess. take it. let me feel that pretty little virgin pussy.”

you whimper, burying your face in his neck as he bottoms out, letting you adjust. he doesn’t move right away—just holds you, one hand cradling your back, the other gripping your thigh.

“you’re doing so good for me. so fucking tight.”

he let you sink down inch by inch, until you were fully seated on him, legs shaking. your head fell onto his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

he starts to move, slow at first, dragging you up and down on his cock with gentle rolls of his hips. you gasp again, tears springing to your eyes from the overwhelming stretch and pleasure.

“slow, baby,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer—but his eyes still burned with control. “i’ll go slow. i’ll stretch you out nice and easy, okay?”

you nodded, barely breathing.

“fuck, you’re tight,” he groaned. “so fucking perfect. this little pussy was made for me.”

you moaned totally lost in desire, little by little the pain disappeared and turned into pleasure.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he whispered against your neck, kissing you there. “being such a good girl while i ruin your first time.”

you whimpered, rocking your hips slowly, gasping at the overwhelming fullness. he filled every part of you—stretching, claiming, owning.

“don’t stop,” you breathed. “please, don’t stop.”

“fuck, you’re even better than i imagined. so warm. so wet. so fucking mine.”

his hands slid up your back, gripping your hair, pulling your head back just enough for your eyes to meet.

“then ride me, baby. ride me like you fucking mean it.”

his grip on your hips tightens as you start to move—slow, uncertain rolls of your body at first, each one drawing a sharp inhale from you and a low, rumbling groan from him.

his cock feels impossibly thick inside you, the stretch dragging along every nerve ending. your thighs shake from the pressure, the burn, the pleasure that's building fast and overwhelming.

“that’s it, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face as you try to ride him, “you’re doing so fucking good. taking me so well… fuck, this tight little pussy was starving for cock, huh?”

you cry out when he shifts his hips up, thrusting deeper. your walls clench around him, and the reaction makes his head fall back against the mirror, a hiss leaving his lips.

“fuck—don’t do that unless you wanna make me cum already.”

his hands slide from your waist to your ass, grabbing handfuls of soft skin as he starts to guide you himself—lifting you, lowering you, bouncing you gently on his cock. your hands fly to his shoulders for balance, mouth open in a silent moan as he hits a new spot inside you.

“right there, huh?” he growls, pulling your hips down harder. “you like that, baby? you like being stuffed full of your senior’s cock in the fucking practice room?”

you nod frantically, tears stinging the corners of your eyes, not from pain anymore—but from the pressure building deep in your core, the knot tightening fast.

“say it.”

“i love it,” you gasp, rolling your hips now with purpose. “i love your cock—fuck—it’s so deep, i can’t—”

“yes you can,” he grunts, meeting your movements with rougher thrusts now, fucking up into you while holding you down. “you will. be a good girl and take it.”

you sob, pleasure tearing through you, sharp and desperate. your nipples brush his chest, slick skin against skin, sweat dripping down your spine.

“you’re such a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” he pants, dragging his tongue along your collarbone, biting down just enough to leave a mark. “acting shy in front of the others, but here you are—riding me like a fucking whore.”

you moan loudly, the sound echoing in the studio, your voice bouncing off the mirrors, filling the space. his hand slips between your bodies, thumb pressing hard against your clit.

“don’t hold back, baby. cum on my cock. i wanna feel this pussy squeeze me while you fall apart.”

your eyes flutter shut, and your whole body tenses as his thumb moves in tight circles, the thick drag of his cock hitting all the right places.

then everything snaps.

your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, stealing the breath from your lungs. your moan breaks into a cry as your walls pulse around him, milking his cock, your thighs trembling uncontrollably.

“that’s it, baby—fuck, that’s it, just like that,” he growls, holding you tight as your cunt grips him, hot and wet and spasming. “so fucking good for me.”

his rhythm falters, his breaths sharp.

“you’re gonna make me cum—fuck—where do you want it?”

you barely manage to speak, drunk on the high.

“inside,” you whisper. “please, fill me up.”

his hips snap up one last time, deep and hard. he buries himself to the hilt, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless.

you both go still—bodies pressed together, hearts racing. his arms wrap around your waist, holding you to him like he never wants to let go. your walls flutter around his softening cock, the mix of your release leaking down your thighs.

he kisses your shoulder, slow and soft now, grounding you.

“you okay, baby?” he murmurs against your skin.

you nod, voice weak. “yeah… i’ve never felt anything like that.”

he chuckles gently, kissing your jaw.

“can i—can i ride you at your place next time?” you pant, nails raking down his arms.

he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“you wanna sit on daddy’s cock at home, baby? ride me like a good little slut while i fuck your brains out?”

you nod frantically, eyes hazy with lust.

“please… dominate me. make me yours.”

his grin is wicked. his thrusts grow rougher. deeper. the sound of skin slapping fills the mirrored room.

“you are mine, baby. every fucking inch of you.”

you sat there, still straddling him, your thighs shaking against his hips, skin flushed and slick with sweat. your fingers dug into his chest, trying to steady your breath, but the heat between your legs pulsed with every heartbeat — a reminder of what had just happened. he looked up at you with that same wicked smile, the one you once only imagined while typing your dirtiest fantasies late at night. except now, it wasn’t fiction. it was real. your filthy little story had come to life, every word, every whimper, every shameless desire — all of it played out on the floor of the dance studio, with yeonjun underneath you, hard and breathless. he had read your mind… and fucked it into reality.

[ssahotchnerr]

girl!dad aaron reading to his daughter over the phone while on a case! 🥹 just like that one episode of jj and henry 😭🥰

nightmares

i will sob. 🥺 i'm also setting this in ellie's bad dreams era :( cw; fem!reader, girl dad!aaron, slight angst, fluff <3

"It looks like this is his comfort zone." Using a red marker, Spencer circled an area on the map. "If we pinpoint-"

As he was continuing his thought, Aaron's phone rang. He fully expected to see Penelope's name, anticipating her call as she was working her magic to narrow down a pool of potential unsubs. However, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he saw it was from you instead.

"Excuse me." He spoke lowly yet urgently, keeping his eyes on his screen and hurrying away with no hesitation, missing the team's concerned glances.

"Hey," he answered, closing the door to the empty conference room behind him. There was knowing feeling deep in his chest - and a grim one at that. "Everything alright?"

"Kinda... no." You switched up quickly with a sigh, slight distress in your voice. "I'm sorry, I know you're busy. But can you spare a minute or two?"

"Another nightmare?" Aaron's eyes shot to the clock perched on the wall. While it was somewhat early for him, it was getting late back home, timezones to thank. And doing the math quickly, bedtime for the kids had been about two hours ago. So sadly this - right on schedule.

You hummed in confirmation, beginning with the positive first. "She fell asleep in her bed tonight, actually. Went down easy, not much protest. But then woke up crying, and was nearly inconsolable for a while. She's with me now." Your eyes shifted down to your frightened daughter besides you, who was inching closer and closer to seemingly making herself smaller. "And keeps asking for you."

Aaron glanced out; the team was still preoccupied, discussing the geographical profile amongst themselves, and could definitely manage without him for a while longer. "Yeah, I have some time."

There was a quick rustle as you set your phone down, placing it on speaker. Your voice was farther now, not by much, but it felt treacherously distant, as if more miles had been added. "It's Daddy, honey."

"Hey Ellie Bellie." Aaron's tone quieted, his face softening as he spoke. "What's the matter?"

A light sniffle came from the other end. "I had a scary dream."

"A scary dream, huh?" He repeated, an achy pang producing in his chest. Ellie's nightmares have been occurring for a while now, and indubitably becoming a problem. You both expected the dreams to run their course, eventually pass, and things would return to normal. But as time moved forward, it was becoming clear it was well beyond that as they worsened. "It's okay, you're safe with Mom now, right?"

Ellie nodded, unknowingly to him. Her small voice cracked, laced with tears. "I want you."

"I know, and I'll be home when work lets me, I promise. You can even use my pillow tonight too, if you want." He bit down onto his lip as Ellie mumbled a small 'okay' in response. Hard. "Or how about a story? Would that help you feel better?"

Her head rose up and down again, prompting you to speak up as Aaron was met with only her silence.

"We have a few right here." You reached across her, grabbing the few storybooks that frequented Aaron's nightstand and settling back against your own pillow.

"Your pick sweetheart." Aaron pulled a chair from the table, sitting down and making himself comfortable momentarily.

"Goodnight Moon?"

Goodnight Moon, also one of Jack's favorites when he was younger. Between him and Ellie, Aaron's read it so many times, he had the entirety of the book memorized. In addition, Ellie's other, more lengthy favorites - he had gone through and cleverly taken a picture of each page, all stored safely in his camera roll for instances such as tonight. No matter where he happened to be, he could read the text, while also drawing attention to and discussing the images with her.

"Sure. Get all comfy and cozy up to Mom, yeah?"

Ellie nestled herself more into your side, her head resting on your arm as she death-gripped onto her plush bunny. You adjusted the duvet to adequately cover the two of you, scooting down and propping the book up for the two of you to see.

"We're ready when you are." You told Aaron, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from Ellie's face.

As your brief sentence concluded, a harsh pinch formed behind Aaron's eyes, the guilt creeping in as he pictured the two of you laid together, where he also should've been. His little girl was beside herself in fear, wanted him, and yet here he was. Far away on the other side of the country. He felt as if he were failing her; letting her down.

Aaron swallowed to even out his voice, to sound as cheery as he possibly could, and to refrain any agony from being heard. He took a deep, yet small guttural breath.

"In the great green room..."

[critterbitter]

It’s everybody’s favorite lantern! Ingo's partner pokemon's very chaos incorporated. Inspired by the very enthusiastic asks in my inbox, which I’ll be responding to under this cut ;0 Wanna see more? Check out this submas masterlist.

@euos-the-cat AAA thank you! I took one look at that waxy gremlin and thought "huh. I can do something with this."

@eventhetiniestbugs Yo. YO. HEADCANNON ACCEPTED. Litwick really is sort of a beatrice, isn't she? Being Ingo (and in part, Emmet's) unwilling guide. Reluctant friend. Best found family.

@answrs Thanks!!! I love sneasler and I need to draw her more. It wasn't on purpose, but it seems I've accidentally wrote myself into a Sort Of chronological posting (oops!) But sneasler WILL appear later (hopefully BEFORE my hyperfixation fizzles out haha)

@raynavan AhHEhEHEHEH. I usually don't dabble with too much angst, but yeah. On the plus side, uh, more chandelure emmet interactions! On the down side, well.

@blueisquitetired You learn to like rice. It's a staple in your diet, and while you may think its bland and boring, it becomes something you can always rely on during meal time when things get dicey. Or, well. It was.

@moothebloo ...DEFINITELY SAVING THAT FOR LATER. CHANDELURE ANGRY SHARPIE BROWS LETS GOO. (Idk if you're into rottmnt, but uh that's some donnie behaviors that I definitely approve of.)

@gender-nuteral-nut-boy First of all, amazing user name. you get all the gender. second of all (points at picture) she's doing finnee! She's doing So Great. Don't Worry About It. ((She has emmet, and later the gear station, and even later maybe even elesa. But Ingo's Hers, and that's a wound that can't be easily staunched.)) @ghostlykryptonitenight Ah,, you see, your first mistake is thinking she'll Remember. : )

Head cannon: ghost pokemon are not a direct reincarnation of a dead soul, and are more like… say, the mold that grows from a coffee mug left out for too long. But they have fragments of memories and dreams of cherished ones. Chandelure knows Ingo’s alive thanks to their bond. She vaguely knows her propagator probably knew Ingo’s identical great uncle or something. But those pieces don’t really connect until Emmet’s research, and she’s tired and faded and the simple act of trying hurts.

(She would leap through space and time for ingo. Chandelure and Emmet would do anything to get their muppet back, even if it means to salt the earth and unearth gods.)

[sglossmin]

Muse | MYG

Plot: What happens when the man you practically simp over in high school, is right now, sitting across you after almost 10 years of not seeing him? Worse? You're here for an appointment for therapy and he's your psychologist.

Available on WATTPAD (click here)

Pairing: SeniorStudent!Yoongi x JuniorStudent!Reader ---> Psychologist! Yoongi x Artist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, slight age gap, slice of life, a bit of angst, schoolmates to lovers(?)

Warnings: talks about mental and death...erm lemme know if you found any disturbing heh

Word count: dunno

A/N: This is...actually some sort of based irl looll (only the high school scenes, most of it) This is my first one shot work! Let me know if I'm lacking something. The current series that I'm still working rn is still not even half finished T_T T_T So I thought I might give it a try---write a oneshot heh I just started here to write in tumblr so I still don't know that much stuff. Feel free to comment so I can improve!! Ik some of those thing weren't even a thing at that time...

"Shit..." I muttered right as I saw the man in a white coat, a clipboard in his arms while his hair softly falls down in his brows, reading his next patient's data. Just like the last time I saw him. Weird, huh? It's been years, yet... he still looks just the same.

Our eyes met, for the first time in a while. He frowned, it was so subtle and fast, no one would even know. But I did. Every little actions that he did, I always notice it. No matter what. I keep saying that the Y/n who just hit her puberty is no longer me, yet with my emotions right now, I can feel like my hormones are all over the place.

"Sit down," he smiled, gesturing the seat across him.

His voice so deep it sounds like soothing lullaby... Eyes so tired that I can tell he works so well... The warmth in his smile makes my heart skip a beat, forgetting why am I here in the first place...

Snap of it!

It took me a second to realize that I stared at him for too long. I cleared my throat, wishing my embarrassment would also go away. I smiled as I took the seat.

Our session ended without him saying that he at least recognize me. Did it made me upset? Yeah... sort of. I mean, I didn't go there and paid him to reminisce our high school days, but still...

I huffed as I crumpled a paper.

"Ugh! Really? Y/n? Still drawing him?"

I uncrumpled it and stared at the newly drawing for a while. I leaned back in my chair and sighed... "I'll give it to him. He looks hot in that coat." I chuckled and stuck the paper back in my notebook. "I'm keeping it because I drew him too good, not that I still like him or anything. That would be just so stupid."

Ha! Right! Nothing else. I smiled, pleased with how I gaslight myself.

I stretched my back and arms. My body ached for having a shrimp position for a long time.

And before I know it, I fell asleep (again) in my studio.

Summer 2010

Our last subject just finished and it's still raining heavily. I have no umbrella so my friends and I were forced to run. Reaching the covered court, I groaned. "Why call it summer when it rains this heavy??"

"Do they really think—us—high school students are waterproof?" Exclaimed by Sana while Chaeyoung just chuckled beside us. Our clothes were pretty wet but not that drenched.

We went upstage since there's some chair in there. Putting our bags down, we wait for the rain to stop. Us juniors only have to spend half day in the campus. Lucky, huh?

"Stay here, hm? You both can't leave me just because you guys have umbrella to share and your house are close." I glared at the both of them while they just snickered. They won't leave me otherwise, I know that.

It's been an hour, yet the rain don't seem to plan on stopping. It's about 1 now, we think. Seems like we're the only junior students in the campus. Suddenly, the seniors from the front building went outside. They went in the cover court. They were wearing some sort of costumes. It was ridiculous—Okay, not really. They seemed like they're going to dance.

We sat still from above across them and watch them prepare.

"Hey, Chae, wanna play?" I grinned as I whispered. Sana was too occupied with her phone that's why it was just the two of us who played.

We played Smash or Pass with every senior guy that I pointed. Until finally, I pointed it to the guy who's wearing a Thai hat(?) The gold ones, it seems like part of their costume.

"Hm... Smash!" Chaeyoung laughed and I did too. Cause miraculously, SAME.

We had a great laugh realizing we'd say smash.

We watched them dance and sing along with the music that were playing. Thinking about it, we might actually look like idiots. They can practically see us sing and dance with them since we're upstage.

After a while, I asked Chae, "What nickname should we give him?" It's our thing. Giving nicknames to people whether they look good or annoying. I think it's every friend groups should do.

"He looks like a cat and his eyes disappear too when he smiles... Kitty?"

"Kitty...?" Sounds weird so I proposed to change it. "What about Neko? Same meaning but doesn't sound weird." She agreed and since then, we called him Neko. With his sharp eyes and pale tone, he does looks like a kitty.

Few moments after, we planned a scheme. We went down to compare our height to his. We walked towards him as if we were just passing by and about to go to the canteen instead.

My and Chae's eyes went wide open. Gasping and staring at each other, the signal were sent.

Gosh, he's tall.

Oh gosh, he is.

A day or two passed since that. We randomly saw him when we went to buy in the canteen.

Then again.

And again.

And again.

Untill a few days have been passed and I keep on seeing him. To the point that... maybe... just maybe, it wasn't really a coincidence anymore.

New character unlocked?

When we were about to go back in our room, we met Hani. My bestfriend in elementary days.

"Y/n! Come here! Imma show you something. Actually—no—It's a someone." Hani dragged me and Chae went along with me.

Hani rant about how this guy looks so good, that in the first time in a while, they found someone who actually looks good in this campus.

Chae and I eyed each other. Were we thinking who we're thinking?

As we reached the third floor of the first year's building, across it was the senior's building. We stopped our track right in front of the exact room. The windows were open and from our spot, we can literally see him studying.

"Neko?"

"You know him?" Hani asked in which I nod.

I think we just found our sweet spot.

Chae and I sometimes went up there just to catch a glimpse of him. It was stupid and fun.

Until that day came.

As usual, Chae and I went to the third floor once again. We stayed in the balcony that faces their room. It was break time so everyone was all over the place. Then I felt it. Chae poked my side and pointed my front. I frowned and followed her finger. There was it, his teacher raising her brow at me. Then his classmates turned their heads toward me... 'till lastly, he did. Everyone was looking at ME. I noticed Chae was hiding on the wall divider of the balcony. I looked back at the teacher who's still looking at me.

"Do you need anything, Ms?" We were quite far but it was still audible.

"H-huh..?" That was all I could muster. It was even barely a whisper. My mouth was slightly open due to not knowing what to do nor say. It lasted like that for a few more seconds. Until I mustered all the courage and pride I have left in my body and shrugged it off and walked away. Frowning as if they got it wrong and I was simply hanging out there.

Walk

Walk

RUN

I went back to our room as soon as I noticed Chae was following me. When we get back, we were panting and sweating. Our classmates looked at us with weird looks. Not that I can blame them. One of our classmate asked us and we did tell the story.

It was our last time going in there.

I felt someone flick my head. I groaned in annoyance.

"Noona, wake up!"

I grumbled as I sit up straight, realizing I fell asleep in the studio again.

"You know you don't have to flick me. Between the two of us, I'm the light sleeper." I mumbled while my eyes were focusing on the big guy in front of me.

He rolled his eyes at me. Up to this day, I wondered who did he got it from. "Eomma wants you to eat lunch with us."

I chuckled. "Your mother did? Wow, what a pleasure." I sassed.

He groaned and plopped himself at the couch. "Can't believe you still resent her."

"Kook, what kind of a daughter am I if I don't?"

Jungkook threw a pillow to me as he stood up. "Still. Eat with us."

And just like that, he walked away.

Life goes on, that's what they say.

I must've been nuts for going to therapy yesterday. It's not like, I'm seriously depressed.

Right..?

Living alone in the house that came from the paycheck of my drawings must be really the best accomplishment I've had. Who would've thought the high achieving in academics girl would end up in this job. It was pure mystery.

I stared at my empty fridge. I smiled. The only thing that kept me sane nowadays is this...

"Looks like, I need to go... shopping."

I grinned ear to ear while I spent my fortune.

"Who needs therapy, when you can go and do your grocery."

I picked out the foods I knew I'd eat while I finish the new dramas. I was about to get the last stock of my fave gummies until someone practically snatched it. Fast.

"H-hey-" I cut off myself from shouting when I realized who it was.

It was him. In normal clothes. Am I dreaming? Impossible. He wouldn't have clothes in the first place if I am.

"Oh, Ms Jeon." He smiled.

Smiled?

He has the nerve to smile after taking that gummy?

But... then again, who need those gummy bears when his gummy smile is practically the sweetest.

He cleared his throat. "Seems like we'll be seeing each other more often."

Uh...what? Is he trying to say that I have a severe mental illness so we'll literally see each other more?? This fucker...

He probably noticed my frown as he chuckled and shook his head. "Uhm, that might've come off the wrong way. I meant, I just moved in in this neighborhood."

Sorry, what..?

I laughed my nervousness away. It's not like we'll be neighbors. This neighborhood is way too big for us to see each other.

Is that why it was my first time seeing him in this grocery store?

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood." I chuckled, probably awkwardly and excused myself.

Damn it. It could've been my chance for us to talk and stuff, but I refused. I mean, with my looks right now? No thanks.

I skipped my lunch and didn't go to our family's house. I plopped myself on my bed and took out my old sketchbook.

Staring at my old drawings of him, it sure did bring back of the memories.

2010

It's been a month yet we still don't know his name. We already did a lot of different shenanigans just to know it. He must be really like having a low profile. We found his classmate's account yet his are nowhere to be found. Maybe he doesn't go online...

I was staring at my computer, scrolling on whatever stuff pop up, then it hits me. Her sister. Hani's sister!

They're in the same year, so maybe, just maybe, she knows his name.

I quickly typed in to ask her. A girl from our year had a picture with him posted. I sent it to her.

"Hi eonni, can I ask u a question? Is there a chance that you know him?"

*Photo sent*

It took a while for her to respond.

"Uhm yeah, he's from our year"

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Min Yoongi"

"I think that's his name"

Min Yoongi... cute. It suits him.

Hours and hours later, I still couldn't find his account. Then as I was searching, there was this account, he was friends with Hani.

My eyes widen. "Min Suga? Could it be?"

I stalked the account and it was really him. No wonder I couldn't find his account—he wasn't using his real name! Likes to keep a low profile? Bullshit. He has more than 5k followers!

Moreover...he really...looks good.

I wonder if his face reflects his personality.

I added him as a friend and waited for the request to be accepted. I told Chae that if he didn't accepted it within 24 hours, I'll delete my request. I still have pride you know. Don't want to be one of those girls in his inbox.

It hasn't even been an hour and I got the notification. He accepted it! I squealed and danced in my room.

This is what being a youth, right?

I clicked my tongue as I chuckled bitterly. "Youth is never coming back."

As I turn the pages more, my bell ringed. Jungkook never ring first, he just comes in whenever he wants to. I should really change the passcode. As for my mom, she never really bother coming here.

Expecting no one, I opened the door, only to gape at the man in front of me.

"You...like pies?"

Min Yoongi, in front of me, holding a pie, not just holding, but giving..?

"Uh...how close is your house exactly?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but rather genuinely curious.

He hesitatingly pointed the house across me.

The Kim's house?

"It was my friend's grandparents who lived there. He took them to take care of them and then he sold this house to me." Yoongi explained. His face going like this :]

"So you really did mean that we'll see each other more often..." I mumbled in which he caught. He laughed and gave me the pie.

"My mom kept on nagging me on giving pies. She really worked hard on it. Hope you like it!"

She's here?

I nodded and thanked him. He went back and I did too. The smell of the freshly baked peach mango pie really did things to my stomach.

For the first time, Min Yoongi gave me something.

Spring 2011

"Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I murmured while we wait in the senior's balcony. A few steps away from him, we waited. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him." I mumbled. "He didn't even read my text..." I mumbled. Chaeyoung was practically dragging me. "Look, he seems busy too."

"Would you rather let your drawing and efforts be wasted then?" Chayoung argued.

Then for the meantime, we waited. We walked towards his classroom but he was nowhere. He was just right there few seconds earlier.

"Stupid text."

A week ago...*

Should I really text him? The classes have been cancelled. I'm not sure whether it's a good idea to do it now. Should I make myself known? Or should I keep it anonymous? But I really wanna take a picture with him...

Ugh! My head hurts. Forget it, I'm just gonna do it.

"Hi uhm... So I just randomly draw one of my mutuals and it happened to be you.."

*Photo sent*

"Perhaps you like it?

"I was about to give you this at school tomorrow but they cancelled the classes so... Hope you like it<3

Was I too formal?

It took him hours to reply.

"Oh wow, what a nice piece!"

"Yes I like it, thanks!"

HE REPLIED!!! I muffled my squeal with my pillow as I looked back at his text. It took me hours to see the message and reply too.

"Guess... I'll just give it to you when we bump into each other, maybe(?)"

"Ugh goshhh how am I going to give you this at schoolT^T"

"Just don't give it yet if you're still not ready^^"

End*

I went home feeling defeated. Not able to give him the drawing.

I stared at my bedroom's ceiling before deciding to go online.

2+messages

It was sent an hour ago. I quickly opened the message. He replied to my text earlier in the morning, when I told him to meet up.

"Sorry, I just saw your text message"

"I don't have an internet at school, that's why"

"It's fine, so,I'll just give it to you tomorrow?"

"Okay, sure"

Saying it was fine when I was literally sulking in my room like a child. But that's when I haven't read his message.

Min Yoongi apologized to me.

I giggled like an idiot in my room as I stared at the text messages we shared.

The next day...

"AAHHHH! Let's go hoomeee. Forget it! I'm not going to give it to him!" I whined, it wasn't just Chae and Sana was there for me, but some of my classmates too. They were waiting for me—like usual, we go home altogether. "I knew it I shouldn't have contact him. This is really a stupid stupid idea!!" I ran around the court in attempt to go home.

We're here, in front of the senior's building. Waiting...again.

One of my classmate proposed that they'll just call him to go down. Two of them went upstairs to his room.

Why does he always keeping me on waiting. Does he think he's some sort of a king?

I huffed and were literally losing all my shits. Till I heard them.

"He's here!!" They squealed. Too much of an opposite, I composed myself and cleared my throat. Thank God he's tall so when I'm looking forward all I can see is his chest. I gave it to him and our hands brushed. It was so quick and subtle, yet it already made my heart warm.

As practiced, Chaeyoung smoothly asked him if we can take a picture—for business purposes. I felt too stiff. This is too good to be true. Then I felt it, he leaned closer. Our arms touching, he smiled to the pic.

My heart was about to get off my rib cage. My insides were going crazy, yet, thankfully, I look completely normal outside.

When I got home, he texted me, thanking and saying that he really appreciates it. A warm feeling spread across my whole body.

The next day, my classmates and I talked about the event yesterday. They were bitching about how Yoongi didn't even thanked me and just left. I laughed so hard when I heard that. Because he did. Yoongi did thanked me before leaving, it just happened that it was loud enough for only me to hear it. Now, it felt more special.

"Have you ever thought of the probable major reason for what you're feeling?"

Here we go again.

How can I focus on what's wrong with me, when you're right here? Worse, as my doctor.

3 more appointments with him. I paid for this, I should at least gain something.

"Maybe... because up to this day, I still blame myself for his death." My head hung low as I mumbled it.

Why do you always have to see my flaw, Min Yoongi?

This infatuation is slowly turning to hatred...

"You know it wasn't your fault."

I turned my head to him with a frown. So, he does remember me?

A tear fell from my cheek. I wiped it before he can even notice. I turned my hands into fist. 6 words. It was only 6 words yet he can already open my bare self.

"I-if I wasn't stubborn. He'd still be here. He followed me. You saw that. If only he didn't. He'd still be here."

I felt a lump in my throat. Those memories. It was too vivid as if it just happened yesterday.

Spring 2012

"I told you, I don't want to!"

Another day, another argument to have with my mother.

Why is she so pushy on making me go to states?

"It's for your own sake! Studying here at this campus will let you go nowhere."

"What? So eager to get rid of me?!" I yelled while we drive to campus.

"Jeon Y/n! Don't you dare shout at your mother." My father said sternly as he drives.

As we were near the campus, I lost it.

"Drop me off." 1.. 2.. 3... "I said, drop me off, dad." Keeping my voice low yet so stern it could cut apples.

My father stopped the car and I get out of it.

I was mindlessly crossing the road that I didn't notice a four wheeler truck coming at me.

Then I felt a pair of hands pushed me hard, and before I knew it, screams were heard. My mom's loud cries were ringing in my ears. Tears were coming out of me uncontrollably. Blood all over him. I crawled, oh so slowly and trembling. Before I could even reach him, my mom pushed me aside and called for help.

Minutes later, I heard the sirens of the ambulance. I was just there. Staring at him. No words coming out.

It started raining. It was a light rain, yet even with those subtle touch, it made my whole body flinch and freeze.

Till I felt someone's embrace. Someone was covering me with their jacket. Who could possibly care for me if it wasn't my father.

Slowly, I turned my head towards the person.

Why it has to be you?

"Everything's gonna be okay. The ambulance is taking your father already."

He spoke in a soothing tone. Yet no matter how warm or soft his voice is, I can't somehow get out the ice cage I'm in.

"Do you think your father would want you to think that way? It's been years Y/n, what happened that you're back at this again?"

part 2 read here^^

A/N: okay, I lied. Maybe this isn't gonna be a oneshot... maybe I'll have 2 parts? 3 maybe? I just cut this off here cause I think it was too long. So readers can have breaks hehe. Gonna post the next part tomorrow maybe...

Comment your @ if u guys wants to be added on the taglist^^

[miumura]

ᯓ VILLAIN NEVER DIES — HEESEUNG FIC ๋࣭

SYNOPSIS Heeseung was great at his job—you knew that as one of the biggest villains. So, without a doubt, he was going to have you cornered. At a weakened state, Heeseung tried to save you, rather than killing you. Why? Because he loves you.

PAIRING hero!heeseung x villain-gn!reader

𓍼 WARNINGS profanity, violence, quite graphic? ( blood /cuts / blade ; just more detailed ), both are in visible pain

GENRE a little enemies to lovers action, forbidden love, betrayal, angst, comfort (?) — WORD COUNT 1.8K+ ( 1855 )

NOTE no joke i woke up from a nap and started writing away 😅 BUT WOOOO FIRST HERO X VILLAIN FIC 🗣️ i actually had fun writing this one 🫡 !! maybe i should write more stuff like this … thinking about it !

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, taking a look at your surroundings once again. You took the wrong exit out of the building, feeling yourself panic. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Placing your hand over the fresh wound on your arm, you winced, uttering a series of curses under your breath. The footsteps drew nearer, and you found yourself trapped. "Oh, is our most dangerous and scary villain stuck?" You turned to see the city's proclaimed "best" hero, Lee Heeseung.

“Fucking hell,” you whispered, but it was loud enough for Heeseung to hear, making him break into a smirk. You backed away—only to fall onto the boxes behind you, making you close your eyes due to the stinging pain.

“You’re weaker than I thought,” You hear Heeseung’s footsteps approaching you, and you flutter your eyes open, only to see him with a huge smirk while holding a blade to your throat. “This is the villain everyone in the city fears about?”

"You're quite the cocky hero, huh?" You retort, maintaining unwavering eye contact. In response, he just offers a serene smile, seemingly unruffled by the exchange.

“Not cocky, just simply telling the truth. You’re less stronger than the other villains I’ve been able to take out myself.”

Now that pissed you off. Just as you were about to grab his arm, he pushed you down again, making you wince one more time. The pain from you colliding with the wall during the chase was coming back to you again.

You glanced at him, breathing heavily after your rough collision with the boxes behind you. The unmistakable sting of glass shards embedded in your skin added to your discomfort, each movement sending sharp jolts of pain through your body. “What makes me so different from the other villains?” you demanded, locking eyes with Heeseung as he stood over you.

Seizing the moment, you grabbed onto his arm with all the strength you could muster, pulling the blade he wielded closer to your shoulder. The sharp point of the weapon had already pierced your skin, drawing a thin line of blood. You pressed his hand down harder, feeling the cold steel bite deeper. Despite your effort to provoke him, Heeseung resisted, his grip tightening as he fought to stop you.

"Stop this," Heeseung said, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. His eyes searched yours, looking for something beyond the rage and defiance.

“I think we both know the answer to that, don’t we?” you said, pushing the blade even deeper into your shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but you refused to drop this act. “You love me.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung snapped, his voice filled with a mix of anger and desperation.

But you could see the truth in his eyes. Despite the pain and the blood, you pressed on, your voice trembling. “Admit it, Heeseung. You can’t stand the thought of losing me.”

“Stop it,” he snarled, trying to pull the blade away, but you held firm, forcing him to face the reality he was denying. “I can easily take you out now.”

His voice was filled with frustration, but also filled with conflict. You clearly knew he was faltering, he just didn’t want to admit it as the supposed hero he was.

"Then why don't you?" you shot back, your voice steady despite the searing pain. "You already have me here, clearly at a weak point."

Heeseung's grip on the blade tightened momentarily, his knuckles white. But instead of pressing forward, he hesitated, his eyes searching yours.

"Because," he finally said, his voice low and filled with emotion, "I can't bring myself to do it. No matter how much I try, I can't see you as just a villain. You're more than that to me."

"You're weak," you taunted, though your words lacked the usual venom. You needed to understand his hesitance, to push him to reveal the truth.

"The most wanted villain is in your hands, and yet you can’t take them out because of your feelings?" You scoffed, incredulous at how he continued to play the hero. "I didn’t know you were such a softie."

"Call me a softie then," Heeseung replied, his voice steady but filled with earnestness. "Throw all the insults you want at me—just remove the blade, please. I beg of you."

You hesitated, your grip on the blade faltering. His plea caught you off guard, the raw emotion in his eyes breaking through your defenses. For a moment, the lines between hero and villain blurred, leaving just two people caught in a complex web of emotions.

"Why should I?" you challenged, trying to regain control of the situation. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because this isn't who you are," Heeseung said softly, his eyes searching for yours. "You’re not just a villain. I see the conflict in you, the struggle. You don’t want to hurt people. And deep down, I think you don’t want to hurt me."

“Yeah right,” you said with a shaky breath, you slowly released the blade, the weight of it falling from your hand. The pain in your shoulder was still there, but the intensity of the moment overshadowed it. “As if you can change me.”

Heeseung immediately tended to your wound, tearing another strip from his clothing to staunch the bleeding. His touch was tender, careful not to cause you more pain. "Thank you," he murmured, relief evident in his voice.

"You keep letting me off easy. I know you’re a better hero than this," you said, your voice edged with frustration and disbelief.

Heeseung sighed, his expression conflicted. "Maybe I’m not the hero you think I am," he admitted, his eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions. "Maybe it’s my tendency of wanting to save all kinds of people. Good or not."

You stared at him, caught off guard by his words. "What are you saying, Heeseung? That you think I can be saved?"

"I know you can be," he replied, his voice firm with conviction. "I've seen the good in you, and we both know that. You can keep lying to yourself, but we both feel something for each other.”

“Shut up,” you managed to wince as he wrapped your arm, the pain from your injury mingling with the turmoil of your emotions.

Heeseung paused for a moment, his fingers gentle but steady as he continued to bandage your wound. "Deny it all you want," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "But it’s the truth. And deep down, you know it too."

You clenched your jaw, trying to ignore the warmth of his touch, the sincerity in his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" you asked, your voice strained. "Why not just kill me, end this once and for all?"

"Because I can’t," Heeseung said, his voice breaking with the weight of his emotions.

"Then you’ll fail your mission. Your main goal," you coughed out, the effort sending a jolt of pain through your shoulder. "Getting rid of me."

Heeseung’s grip tightened slightly on the bandage, his eyes hardening with resolve. "No," he said firmly, shaking his head. "My mission is to protect this city, to save lives. And that includes you."

You scoffed, "You can’t save everyone, Heeseung. Sometimes, you have to let go."

"I’m not letting go of you," he replied, his voice fierce. "Not now, not ever."

"Why?" you demanded, frustration and confusion mingling with the pain. "Why can’t you just do your job and get rid of me?"

"Because," Heeseung said, his voice softening, "you’re not just a mission to me. You’re someone I care about. And I refuse to believe that you’re beyond saving."

Your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his eyes almost too much to bear. "You’re risking everything for me," you whispered. "For what? A chance that I might change?"

"Yes," Heeseung said without hesitation. "I believe in that chance. I believe in you."

You shut your eyes, refusing to speak anymore. You knew if you continued, your facade would crumble, and you wouldn’t want to appear weak in front of a hero who claimed to have so much faith in you.

"You sure have some nerve to have faith in someone like me," you muttered bitterly, keeping your eyes closed.

"So what?" Heeseung replied, his voice unwavering. "Everyone deserves a chance at redemption, regardless of their past."

"A villain never dies," you retorted, your tone laced with defiance.

"What—" Heeseung started, but you cut him off before he could finish his thought. Without hesitation, you seized the blade he had discarded on the side and lunged at him, stabbing him in the side. He gasped in shock and pain, his eyes widening with betrayal as he stumbled back, clutching his wound.

For a moment, you stood frozen, watching as the reality of what you had done sank in. Heeseung’s expression was a mixture of shock, hurt, and disbelief, and each emotion felt like a dagger to your own heart.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. But your apology fell on deaf ears as Heeseung staggered backwards, his eyes never leaving yours.

You knew you felt terrible, and you usually don’t.

You can’t.

Emotions were supposed to be reserved for the weak, for those who had the luxury of feeling. All you had left in you was hatred. And you knew Heeseung didn’t believe that though. He just had seen you like everyone else, a person with emotions and feelings.

But you can’t listen to him. You’ve already fallen so deep in your ways. You couldn’t allow yourself to believe in that possibility. You had fallen too deep into your ways, too far gone to be saved, even if he claimed otherwise.

"YN, why?" Heeseung's voice rang out behind you, filled with hurt and confusion.

"A villain never dies, Heeseung," you replied coldly, steeling yourself against the emotions threatening to surface. You reverted to the persona you had carefully crafted. “Did I just not tell you that?”

"Next time, get me with no intentions to keep me alive," you added, your voice devoid of any warmth or remorse.

"But—" Heeseung started, but you cut him off, your frustration bubbling to the surface.

"Heeseung, you’re smarter than this," you said sharply, your tone cutting through the night air like a knife. Before you could lose your resolve, you turned away, the pain of your actions heavy in your heart.

But before you could disappear into the darkness, you paused, turning back to face him one last time. "You’ve built up this fantasy, thinking we could make things work just because I’ve opened up to you a couple of times," you said, your voice tinged with bitterness. "And even if you want to change things, no one can approve of us. I’ve done too much harm, and you have to stop me from hurting your people."

You looked at him, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. "Villains and heroes are never meant to be together," you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “You know that very well.”

💬 : too much angst lately sorry guys ive been going thru it 😣 fluff soon !!!! (maybe)

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ breaking the ice - p.sh }

pairing: closed off! sunghoon x f. reader

contents: somewhat reserved sunghoon (at first), lowk down bad sunghoon, jake is an extra in this, kind of typical guy saves girl party scene, smut at the end, dry humping, making out, a little fluff, mostly just sappy romance, maybe slight angst if you squint

based off this request here

a.n: tysm anon for the request!! i hope i did it justice. i focused a lot on the plot and dialogue in this one, w.c. 2.6k

MINORS DNI

sunghoon had always been the silent anchor of his friend group, the one who seemed to glide through life with an effortless coldness that both intrigued and confused those around him. He rarely piped up, preferring to observe from the background, his thoughts hidden behind a mask of nonchalance. it wasn’t that he didn't care; rather, he found solace in the quietude of his own company.

up until you entered the scene, invited by his friend jake for a casual lunch that would unknowingly disrupt his carefully maintained solitude. at first, sunghoon regarded you with mild indifference, his responses curt as you attempted to chip away at his icy exterior. but as the days stretched on, you began to see each other more often, and your laughter filled the spaces he had always left empty. something in him began to shift, tugging at the corners of his guarded heart.

——

flash forward to a couple weeks later, jake was throwing an afterparty for some event he held previously that had to do with his band. he held the party at his house, as it was big enough to withstand the amount of people he invited. sunghoon was standing, leaning against the wall of the crowded abode, his drink in his hand as he scanned the room. laughter and music mingled in the air, but his focus was solely on you. you were standing by the kitchen island, chatting animatedly, a bright smile lighting up your face. but it wasn’t just your smile that held his attention; it was also the guy next to you.

“come on, just a little more fun, right?” the guy said, his fingers brushing against your arm in a way that made sunghoon’s blood boil. sunghoon recognized this guy, everyone knew he had a reputation as a smooth talker and troublemaker. the kind of guy who toyed with people like you for fun. “maybe we should just stay here?” you replied, your tone playful but laced with uncertainty. sunghoon’s heart raced at the sight of you inching away from the kitchen. “aw, don't be like that,” the guy laughed, leaning in closer. “i promise it’ll be worth it.”

sunghoon could see you visibly stiffen, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, and he couldn’t take it anymore. ‘hey!” he pushed off the wall, his legs carrying him across the room with determination. “what’s going on here?” you turned, surprise flickering in your eyes. how long had he been watching you? “sunghoon! we were just—“ “just what?” he interrupted, trying to keep his voice steady. “you were about to go... where?”

“just to the bathroom,” the guy interrupted with a smirk. “no harm done.” “yeah, well, its not a good idea,” sunghoon shot back, stepping between you and the guy. “you don't need to follow her, man. she can find it on her own.” “relax, it’s just a quick walk,” the guy said, crossing his arms, his bravado oozing. sunghoon felt the heat rise to his cheeks. “not with you. not ever,” he spewed. you looked between the two, confusion mixing with concern. “sunghoon, it’s fine. really,” you say, seemingly trying to ease his growing frustration.

“no, its not fine,” he insisted, his voice rising slightly. this is probably the most you’d ever heard him talk. “you don’t know what they say about this guy; he’s bad news y/n.” sunghoon pleads with you. the guy chuckled, but it was an empty sound. “a little jealous, huh? cute."  “call it what you want,” sunghoon said, his gaze locked on you. “but im not letting you walk away with him. not like this.” your expression shifted, realization drawing. “sunghoon, i appreciate it, but i can handle myself.”

“maybe you can, but i don't trust him.” the words spilled out, raw and desperate. “you deserve better than some guy who only sees you as a piece of meat.” a silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. sunghoon took a breath, his heart racing. “i want to be the one who gets to know you. not him.  you’re worth more than this.” your gaze softened, and for the first time, sunghoon saw something flicker in your eyes—maybe understanding, maybe something more.

“okay,” you said softly. “let’s stay here, then.” sunghoon exhaled, relief flooding his body, but he didn’t take his eyes off the guy who was still lingering around. “and you can back off.” his gaze stern as he looked him in the eyes. the guy rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of wariness now. “fine, whatever. your loss."  he spoke childishly as he walked away. sunghoon turned to you, searching your face. “i meant what i said,” he said softly. “i know,” you replied, a hint of a smile creeping in on your face. “thank you for stepping in.”

“i just—“ he hesitated, heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. “i don't want to lose you to guys like him. i want to be the one you trust.” your expression shifted again, this time filled with something deeper. “then show me. show me you’re the one.” sunghoon nodded, feeling a spark of courage ignite within him. “i will. just give me a chance.” he took your hands in his as he spoke, his gaze softening as he looked you in the eyes.

“i never dubbed you as the jealous type,” you giggled, eyes gleaming up at sunghoon. one of his hands reached behind his neck to scratch nervously. “me neither,” he laughs with you. silence falls upon you two, awkwardness suddenly seeping in. you take a sip of your drink, and look around the room. not quite sure what to do next. sunghoon rocks on the balls of his feet, also unsure of the next move he should make. suddenly, a very tipsy jake stumbles his way over to the two of you. “hey guys! what’re you up toooo,” his words slur slightly as he speaks, placing himself in between the two of you, an arm thrown around each of your shoulders. you and sunghoon glance at each other nervously, not sure what to say. “uh, i think we’re actually about to head out!” sunghoon says quickly, pursing his lips afterwards. you nod in agreement as jake lets out a loud whine. “alreadyyyyy?!” he pouts. sunghoon laughs at his friend before pulling him off of your shoulders. he looks him in the face and grabs the red solo cup in his hand, and setting it on the counter. “i think you should call it a night too,” he says. jake shakes his head no before stumbling off again.

sunghoon pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, clearly disappointed in his friend. “he’ll crash eventually,” you snicker. sunghoon laughs with you before reaching out and grabbing your hand in his. “so, about heading out?” he asks, and all you have to do is nod before he’s pulling you through the sea of people and out the front door. “did you drive?” he asks. you shake your head no. “i took an uber,” you reply. sunghoon nods in satisfaction. he rocks on the balls of his feet again, suddenly becoming hyperaware of the fact that you are alone together right now. “do you maybe wanna come back to mine?” he asks, his voice shaking with nerves. “i’d very much like that, yes,” you beam up at him. he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding before beckoning you to follow him to his car. he opens the passenger door for you, letting you sit down before leaning across you to buckle you in. your breath hitches in your throat at the proximity, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils as he stands back up. “t-thank you,” you say coyly, toying with the hem of your skirt. sunghoon nods a quick no problem before shutting the door and walking around to get in the driver's seat.

the ride to sunghoons apartment is quiet. sunghoon focused on the road in front of him while you watched the night sky out of the window. once pulled up to his place, he unbuckles and gets out of the car, headed over to the passenger side. you unbuckle your seatbelt before he even opens the door, afraid his smell in such close proximity to you will drive you wild. once the door is open, you scurry out of the car, almost tripping in the process, but luckily sunghoon was able to grab your arm, steadying you. “easy there; don't want you getting hurt,” he says, playfulness in his tone. you curse yourself for immediately blushing at his words. he closes the car door before heading into the main doors of his apartment building. you follow along closely behind him. he stopped in front of the elevator, pressing the up button. now its your turn to sway on the balls of your feet. after what feels like forever, the elevator finally dings, and you both enter. you watch sunghoon as he presses the number three button. the doors close, and here you guys are again, in awkward silence.

you stand next to each other as the elevator moves between floors, and you let your gaze fall upon the boy next to you. you had always found sunghoon attractive, but that attraction has skyrocketed since his whole hero moment at the party. the elevator dinging pulls you out of your trance, head snapping forward. sunghoon let you step out first; your heart was racing. you walked beside him as he guided you to his apartment, his casual confidence making your pulse quicken even more. “so, this is your place?” you ask, glancing around as you approached the door. “yeah, just a simple apartment,’ he replied, smiling. he opens the door and gestures for you to enter. “make yourself at home,” he beams, following in behind you.

you looked around the place in front of you, taking in the modern decor and the faint woodsy scent that lingered in the air. “it’s nice. cozy,” you breathed. sunghoon chuckled, closing the door behind him. “cozy is the goal. would you like something to drink?” he asks. “water is fine,” you smiled to him, watching as he moved around the kitchen. as he filled two glasses, you couldn’t help but admire the way he moved with ease, letting your gaze fall to the way his back muscles tensed as he moved. he turned to face you, leaning against the counter, a playful smile on his lips. “so, where should we start?” he trails off nervously. “well, what do you wanna know?” you reply. his eyes shine as he looks at you, “anything. everything.” heat rushes to your cheeks as you look at him, his desire to know more about you sending butterflies straight to your tummy. 

“well… one time i tripped and fell into a fountain during a school trip,” sunghoons laughter echoed through the room. “oh no! did you get wet?” he questioned through his chuckles. “absolutely drenched, i had to walk around the rest of the day in a soggy shirt.” he leaned closer, his eyes sparkling. “i think that’s hilarious; i wish i could’ve seen it.” you both laugh for a moment before silence falls upon you again. you look at him, “aren’t you gonna tell me one of your embarrassing moments?” a nervous chuckle leaves his lips, a sheepish grin forming on his face. “once i thought i was being smooth at a party and accidentally spilled my drink all over someone. turns out, it was the birthday girl.” your laughter floods sunghoons ears, his heart swelling at the sight of the smile on your face. “that’s definitely pretty embarrassing!” you continue to giggle, teasing him slightly.

he begins to move closer as you laugh, the air between you two shifting. “yeah, i wasn’t very popular that night,” he says, his voice softening. “but i guess i can be a little clumsy.” “maybe it’s just because you’re too busy being charming,” you say to him, meeting his gaze. he took another step towards you, his expression suddenly serious. “i don’t want to mess this up, you know?” desperation in his voice. “mess what up?” the sudden topic change is confusing you. “this,” he says, glancing at the space between you two, then back to your eyes. “us.” the weight of his words hung in the air, and you could feel a thrill run through you. “i don’t think you could mess it up.” your chest heaves as you look up at him. anticipation is coursing through your bones. “really?” he asks, stepping even closer, your breaths mingling. “what if i wanted to kiss you right now?” your pulse quickened. you contemplate for a second on what to do, but quickly come up with an answer. “then you should.”

sunghoon hesitated for a moment, searching your eyes for reassurance. then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and pressed his lips against yours. the kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration that quickly turned heated. you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his hair as his fell to your waist. his tongue swiped along your bottom lip, asking for entry, which you granted. your saliva mixing as you moaned into his mouth. the two of you shuffled around the room as you kissed. finding yourself in front of his couch, he goes to sit down, and you follow, only breaking away for a split second as you straddle his lap before connecting your lips again. his hands are resting on your hips, and you lightly grind down on his lap, earning a groan from him. you bite at his bottom lip, pulling slightly before letting go, breaking the kiss, but only so you could continue to pepper kisses down his jaw and neck.

he moved his neck, giving you more access as you bit and sucked slightly on the skin. small groans left his mouth, his hands beginning to guide your body on his clothed erection. a moan fell past your lips at the sensation, your assault to his neck stopping as you focused on the pleasure you’re feeling between your legs. you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your forehead against his as he continues to grind you on his lap. small pants are coming from your mouth, as well as groans from his. he drops his head down, taking his turn to trail kisses along the exposed skin of your collarbones and chest. you roll your head back, a moan leaving your lips. one of sunghoons hands travels up to your face, bringing you back to lean against him, fingers caressing your cheek ever so slightly. you lean into his touch, whines leaving your lips as you chase your high. his hand falls back down to your hip, helping you in quickening your pace. the texture of his jeans hitting your clit in just the right spot to send you over the edge, your body trembles as your high washes over you, head thrown back as sunghoon helps you ride it out. his own orgasm followed shortly after.

both of you are a panting mess, and sunghoon can’t help but hold you tight against him, hugging you gently. you tighten your arms around him, enjoying the comfort of the boy in front of you. you pull away for a moment to look eachother in the eyes. a smile forms on both of your lips as you chuckle breathlessly. sunghoon is the first to speak. “that was. wow” you giggle at his words, fingertips fiddling with the hairs at the base of his neck. “i think we need to do that again sometime, maybe with less clothes,” you joke. sunghoon is smiling from ear to ear, thinking about how lucky he is to have you here right now. “maybe so. but how about a proper date first?” he says. and you nod eagerly.

“i’d like that.”

.

..

…

[rafecameronssl4t]

can u do dcc!reader x Rafe where they’re both at like an event, obvs reader w the other cheerleaders and Rafe with his other teammates and he sees when a man touches your waist even tho they aren’t allowed to bc of the no touching rule and the security guard doesn’t notice until you tell him to get his hands off of you. maybe the guy even goes up to Rafe to ask for a photo but he’s rude to him bc he was touching her girl

Hands off || nfl player!Rafe Cameron x dcc!reader

A/n: so creative anon! thank you :)

Warnings: unwanted touching from stranger, lil bit of angst at end if you squint

Word count: 1,973

MASTERLIST (nfl!rafe x dcc!reader au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

The "no touch" policy was quite simple: fans were not allowed to touch the cheerleaders. Footballs were brought to every stand and pose event. This gave fans something to hold during photos, making the interaction less awkward and minimising any potential for psychical contact.

Not everyone knew the rule, though, and some would instinctively try to put their arms around the cheerleaders for a photo. Thankfully, security was always on hand, watching and ready to step in, instructing fans to keep their distance.

Over the three years you've been a dcc, you’ve never had a bad experience with this policy. It’s become second nature, and you trust the system. So when you and a few of the other girls arrive at the event, where fans will be meeting you and taking photos, you think little of it.

The familiar buzz of excitement fills the room, and as you scan the crowd, your eyes land on Rafe. He’s on the other side of the room, already engaged in conversation with a fan. A small smile tugs at your lips as you take in his casual outfit: a pair of well-worn jeans, a black shirt that fits him just right, and a green baseball hat.

Before you can admire him any longer, Kelcey pulls you along to start taking photos. The first few interactions go smoothly, with fans smiling as they pose beside you, football in hand. Of course, there are always a few who try to get a little too close, but security is quick to intervene, keeping everything under control.

As you smile for the camera, you’re completely unaware of Rafe’s gaze locked on you from across the room. His eyes trail over your figure, captivated by your appearance. Your radiant smile, the way you carry yourself—everything about you seems to draw him in. He watches intently, his attention fixed solely on you, as if nothing else in the room matters.

“Watcha lookin’ at?” Chris asks, nudging Rafe’s shoulder with a playful grin. He follows Rafe’s line of sight, his curiosity piqued. It doesn’t take long for Chris to figure out what—or rather, who—has captured Rafe’s attention. A knowing smirk spreads across his face as he spots you across the room. “Coach’s daughter, huh?” he chuckles, turning back to Rafe, who still hasn’t torn his eyes away from you.

Chris can’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Heard from a few fans ‘round here that she’s their favourite,” he comments, watching Rafe’s expression carefully. Rafe scoffs, but the amusement is clear in his eyes. “Too bad. It’s not like it’s my name she’s—” “Woah there, bud. Too much info. Jesus,” Chris interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t need to hear all that.”

As Chris walks back to the others, still chuckling to himself, Rafe remains rooted to the spot, his gaze never straying from you. The smirk on his lips only deepens as he watches you, the teasing from Chris barely registering in his mind.

His thoughts are entirely occupied by you—your smile, the way you move, the effortless way you light up the room. Even from across the room, it’s clear that you have a magnetic pull on him, one that he has no desire to resist.

Rafe’s gaze narrows as he notices a man approach you and the other cheerleaders. Even from a distance, it’s clear that this guy’s attention is solely on you. The way he barely acknowledges the others, his focus only really locking on you when it’s his turn for a photo, makes it obvious to anyone paying attention—this man has a particular interest in you.

Rafe watches intently, a sense of unease creeping in as the man lingers around you. Something about him doesn’t sit right. The usual football, meant to occupy fans' hands and prevent unwanted contact, has somehow gone missing, and security is scrambling to find a replacement. In that brief moment of chaos, the man sees his opportunity.

Rafe’s muscles tense as he watches the man discreetly slide his hand around your back. His fingers hover just above your exposed skin, as if hesitating, before finally making contact with your waist and smoothly resting on your hip. It’s a subtle move, but to Rafe, it’s glaringly inappropriate.

His jaw clenches tightly, frustration bubbling up as he realises the sea of fans between you and him would make it impossible to reach you in time. He feels a surge of protectiveness and helplessness all at once.

But then, he notices your reaction. You don’t hesitate—your hand quickly grabs his, pulling it firmly away from your body. Your expression is unreadable from where Rafe stands, but he can see that you’re saying something to the man, your words lost in the noise of the crowd. Fortunately, before the situation escalates further, the security guard steps in. His large frame moves between you and the man, effectively blocking any further contact.

Rafe exhales, tension still coiled in his muscles, but relieved that you handled the situation with the confidence and poise he’s come to admire in you. Even from across the room, he can see that you’re okay, but that doesn’t stop the protective instinct from simmering just beneath the surface.

~

The moment you make eye contact with the fan, a strange vibe settles over you. There’s something off about the way he looks at you, his gaze intense and fixated. Still, you smile at him, greeting him politely even as he barely acknowledges the other girls.

His focus is entirely on you, and you can feel the discomfort creeping in. A quick glance at Kelcey and Reece confirms they feel it too, their eyes mirroring your unease. "Hi, how are you?" you ask, maintaining your practiced smile as the man approaches. You guide him to the center, between you and Kelcey, trying to keep things professional.

"I'm so great," he replies, grinning at you in a way that makes your skin crawl. You nod, forcing a smile, though the unease gnaws at you. "You're even more gorgeous up close," he comments, his voice laced with something that makes you nervously chuckle.

"Thank you..." you reply, your voice trailing off as you notice the security guards in conversation. Concern flickers in your eyes, and you glance at Kelcey for confirmation. "They lost the football," she whispers, and you nod in understanding, trying to keep your composure.

"Did the other guy maybe take it with him—" Before you can finish your sentence, you feel it—a hand sliding onto your waist, then resting on your hip bone. Your body tenses, and without hesitation, you step away, firmly pulling his hand off of you.

"Please do not touch me," you say, your voice steady and commanding. The firmness of your tone catches the attention of everyone around you. The man’s bravado crumbles in an instant, replaced by nervousness as all eyes turn on him. "I didn’t mean to—sorry," he stammers, but the lie is obvious, his excuse flimsy.

You narrow your eyes slightly, your patience wearing thin. "You didn’t mean to feel up my waist and hip?" you challenge, your voice tinged with defensiveness. Before the situation can escalate further, a security guard steps in, his imposing presence effectively cutting off the interaction.

"Okay, that’s enough," the guard says firmly, positioning himself between you and the man. "Sir, were you aware that there is a strictly no-touching rule when it comes to taking pictures with the cheerleaders?" The man gulps, his earlier confidence evaporating. "No—no, I had no idea—"

The guard raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "You’re telling me you haven’t seen the signs that are everywhere informing you about this?" His tone leaves no room for argument. "Move along, please," the guard instructs, gesturing with a dismissive wave of his hand. As the man sheepishly slinks away, the guard turns to you, his voice softening. "Miss, are you okay?"

You nod, your pulse still racing but your composure intact. "I’m fine, thank you," you reply, your voice steady. Kelcey and Reece quickly move to your side, their concern evident as they guide you away from the scene.

"Let’s get to the changing rooms," Kelcey murmurs, her arm around your shoulder as the next group of cheerleaders takes over. You allow yourself to be led away, grateful for the support, but also determined not to let the incident shake you.

~

Rafe watches intently as you disappear from view with the other girls, a tightness in his chest gradually loosening as you’re led safely away. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, turning back to face the next round of fans lining up for pictures. His mind is still half on you, replaying the scene over in his head, but he forces himself to focus on the task at hand.

A few more fans pass by, offering handshakes and snapping photos, but then something catches Rafe’s eye—a familiar face in the crowd. It’s him. The same guy who had touched you earlier. Rafe’s entire body stiffens, his muscles tensing as a wave of anger surges through him.

His glare sharpens, eyes narrowing on the man who seems completely oblivious to the fury directed his way. The guy casually makes his way down the line of players, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in Rafe’s eyes.

When the man finally reaches Rafe, he extends his hand with the same nonchalant attitude, expecting another casual greeting. But Rafe has no intention of letting this slide. He grasps the man’s hand in a firm, vice-like grip, squeezing just hard enough to send a clear message.

The man’s expression shifts from easygoing to startled as he looks up at Rafe, his brows furrowing in confusion. Rafe meets his gaze head-on, his eyes cold and unyielding. There’s no need for words; the intensity of Rafe’s stare says it all. The man fidgets slightly, trying to mask his discomfort, but it’s clear he’s rattled by the unexpected show of strength and the silent warning in Rafe’s eyes.

The handshake lingers a beat too long, the tension thick in the air, before the man awkwardly pulls his hand back, mumbling something under his breath as he moves on to the next player. Rafe watches him go, his jaw still clenched. He takes a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, but the anger simmering beneath the surface remains.

When it came time for the group photo, Rafe made sure his smile was practiced, not genuine, his eyes cold as the man stood at the center of the group. The man's audacity to remain at the event after what he had done gnawed at Rafe, his mind replaying the earlier scene with a growing sense of disbelief and anger.

As soon as the photo was taken and the man left, Rafe rolled his eyes and shook his head, barely able to contain his frustration. "I need to take five. Gotta hit the bathroom," Rafe said to the event coordinator, his tone controlled but urgent. "Yeah, sure, go ahead," she replied, barely glancing up as she continued to redirect the flow of fans.

Without wasting another second, Rafe made his way to the girls' changing room, his heart pounding with concern. He knocked in a familiar rhythmic pattern, the signal you both had used before to let each other know it was safe to open up.

You opened the door, and before you could say a word, Rafe swept you off your feet, pulling you into a tight embrace. The door clicked shut behind him as he nudged it closed with his foot, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The tension you’d been holding onto melted away the moment you felt his warmth, your own arms sliding around his waist.

"I saw what happened," he murmured against your hair, his voice soft but filled with concern. "You okay?" You let out a shaky breath, your face buried in his chest as you absorbed the comfort he offered. "Not really," you admitted quietly, the vulnerability in your voice evident. "But I'll be fine."

Rafe’s arms tightened around you, his grip steady and reassuring. He didn’t say anything, just held you close, letting the silence speak for the care he felt. He knew you were strong, that you could handle yourself, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to shield you from every bad moment, every unsettling experience. He couldn’t change what had happened, but he could be there for you now, and that was enough.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, just holding onto each other as the world outside faded into the background. Rafe’s presence was a balm to your frayed nerves, grounding you in a way that made the fear and unease dissipate, if only for a little while.

Finally, Rafe leaned back just enough to look at you, his hand gently cupping your face. "If you need anything, you tell me, alright? You don’t have to go through this alone." You nodded, your heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Rafe. I’m glad you’re here."

His gaze softened, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than necessary. "Always," he whispered, the promise clear in his voice.

[lila-lou]

✨Fucking Brats - 2/3✨

Summary: You and Ben have two teenage daughters, and lately, they’ve been nothing short of awful. With Ben away on missions, you've been taking the heat. But when he finally steps back through that door and sees how they’ve been treating you? Hell breaks loose. Because no one—not even his own brats—messes with his girl.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst

Word Count: 8942

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The next morning, you woke up to warmth. Soft, lingering kisses trailing down your skin, slow and deliberate, pulling you from the edges of sleep. Ben.

Your breath hitched as his mouth moved lower, his lips brushing along the swell of your breast, his rough, calloused hands skimming over your waist, holding you close beneath the sheets. For the first time in months, you had actually slept. No stress weighing you down, no fights to break up, no constant edge of exhaustion clawing at your bones. Just him, his solid, steady presence beside you, his body wrapped around yours, keeping you tethered to something warm, something safe.

A soft hum slipped from your lips as you blinked your eyes open, sunlight spilling through the curtains, illuminating Ben’s messy hair, his sharp jawline, his dark lashes against his cheeks. “Morning”, he murmured against your skin, his voice low, rough, pressing another slow, wet kiss just above your nipple. You shivered.

His lips curved against you, his breath warm, teasing. “You’re already starting shit?”, you whispered, fingers threading through his thick hair, tugging just slightly.

Ben let out a low chuckle, his mouth dragging lower, his stubble scratching lightly against your skin. “Woke up, saw my girl laying here all soft and warm, tits out—”. He flicked his tongue over your nipple, smirking when you gasped. “What the fuck did you think was gonna happen?”.

You let out a breathy laugh, squirming slightly beneath him, but his grip tightened on your waist, keeping you still.

“You gonna let me take care of you, baby?”, he murmured, his voice dipping lower, sending a shiver straight down your spine. “Been too long since I had my hands on you”.

Your stomach tightened, your thighs pressing together instinctively. Ben noticed. His smirk widened. “Oh”, he muttered, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss between your breasts. “You missed me, huh?”.

You rolled your eyes, but your breath stuttered as he sucked, teeth grazing lightly over your nipple before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. Ben grinned when you arched slightly into him. “Yeah”, he muttered, dragging his mouth lower, his breath hot against your ribs. “I thought so”.

Ben didn’t waste a second. One moment, he was teasing, kissing, drawing soft sounds from your lips, and the next, he was on top of you. His broad, bare chest pressed against yours, the weight of him sinking you deeper into the mattress. He was everywhere. His hands gripping your waist, his thighs spreading yours, his hardness pressing insistently against your stomach.

Your breath hitched, your fingers threading through his damp hair as he kissed you, really kissed you this time. Deep, slow, and possessive, like he was making up for every second he had been away.

A low growl rumbled from his chest as he rocked against you, the heat of his length dragging against your skin, making you ache. “Fuck”, he muttered against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours, his breath coming out heavy, ragged. “Missed you so goddamn much”.

His hips rolled again, and you felt it, how hard he was, how desperate. It made something inside you tighten, made your nails dig into his back, made you whimper just slightly. But Ben heard it. Felt it. And it wrecked him.

His hand gripped your thigh, pulling it up to wrap around his waist as he settled even deeper between your legs. His lips trailed down your throat, over your collarbone, his voice thick with hunger. “You gonna let me fuck you, baby?”, he murmured, dragging his teeth along your pulse. “Gonna let me take my time with you?”.

You nodded, already breathless, already dizzy with the heat of him.

Ben smirked against your skin, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, as he pressed another kiss just between your breasts. “Good”, he muttered, his voice dipping lower. “‘Cause I’m not fucking stopping until you’re screaming my name”.

Ben groaned as he eased inside you, the thick, hot stretch making you gasp, your nails digging into his biceps so hard he actually raised an eyebrow. “Shit, baby”, he muttered, his voice low, gritted, his forehead pressing against yours. “It’s been too long, huh?”.

You nodded breathlessly, your thighs trembling slightly around his waist. Even after all these years, after all the times you’d had him like this, Ben was big. Always a stretch, always pushing you to the edge of what you could take.

His smirk was lazy, teasing, but his eyes were dark, hungry. “You’re gripping me so fuckin’ tight”m he murmured, shifting his hips just slightly, making you whimper. “You really missed me, huh?”.

You didn’t answer—couldn’t.

Ben chuckled, low and rough, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw as he thrust just a little deeper.

You gasped, arching against him, your fingers tightening around his arms.

Ben groaned, his own body shuddering slightly as he held himself back, giving you time to adjust. “Relax for me, baby”, he muttered against your ear, his breath hot, his hands running soothingly along your sides. “Let me in”.

You let out a shaky breath, your legs loosening around him slightly, your body finally relaxing enough for him to sink the rest of the way inside.

Ben groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder, his fingers gripping your hips tight. “Fuck”, he rasped. “You feel so goddamn good”. He pulled back, just slightly, before rolling his hips forward again, dragging another gasp from your lips, making your back arch. Ben grinned. “Oh yeah”, he muttered, his voice rough, gravelly. “I’m not stoppin’ ‘til you can’t even fuckin’ walk”.

Ben pulled back, just enough for you to feel every inch of him drag against your walls before he slammed forward again, making your breath hitch, your fingers clawing at his biceps. “Fuck, baby”, he growled, his breath hot against your throat. “You feel that?”.

You whimpered, your back arching against the bed as he set a steady, brutal pace. His hips driving into you with purpose, filling you up so deep it made your head spin. Ben grinned at your reaction, his teeth grazing your jaw before he sank his lips against your neck, sucking a deep, possessive mark into your skin. “Mine”, he muttered against your pulse, his grip on your waist tightening. “You know that, right?”.

Your thighs clenched around his hips, your breath ragged, pleasure coiling hot in your stomach. “Ben—”.

He groaned at the way you said his name, his hips snapping forward even harder.

You gasped, your nails digging into his back, your entire body shaking beneath him.

“Say it again”, he rasped, his voice almost desperate now, his forehead pressed against yours. “Say my name, baby”.

You barely managed to choke it out before he thrust again, pulling a sharp, broken moan from your lips.

Ben grinned, pure pride burning in his eyes, his breath hot against your face.

“That’s right”, he muttered, his rhythm relentless, his body moving against yours like he owned you. “You take what I give you. You take it ‘cause you fuckin’ love it”.

You did. You fucking did. And Ben knew it, too. Knew it from the way you clenched around him, from the way you could barely breathe, from the way your body trembled every time he drove himself deeper inside you.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure. You cried out, your body arching, your head tipping back against the pillows. “That’s it”, he muttered, his voice rough, almost wrecked. “Give me everything”.

You were close, so close, and Ben could feel it, could see it in the way you fell apart beneath him. And he fucking loved it.

“C’mon, baby”, he growled, his thrusts turning desperate now, ragged. “Let me feel it. Let me feel you cum on my cock”.

And when you did, when your body clenched tight around him, your mouth falling open, a sharp, breathless moan ripping from your lips, Ben lost it. He groaned deep in his throat, his rhythm stuttering, his grip tightening as he buried himself inside you, his body shaking with the force of his release.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just harsh, heavy breathing, tangled limbs, sweat-slicked skin pressed together.

Then, after a moment, Ben chuckled breathlessly, his forehead resting against your shoulder. “Yeah”, he muttered, pressing a slow, lazy kiss against your collarbone. “That’s more like it”.

Ben was still buried inside you, his body warm, solid, his breath hot against your skin. His lips ghosted over your collarbone, slow and lazy, like he wasn’t in any hurry to move. His palm slid over your chest, down to your stomach, his rough fingertips tracing absentminded circles against your soft skin.

Then, he paused.

Something pulsed beneath his palm, faint but distinct, like a low hum thrumming just beneath the surface.

Ben’s brows furrowed slightly, his hand pressing just a little firmer, testing, but then, before he could focus, before he could ask, there was a knock on the door. Ben stiffened immediately, his jaw clenching, his head dropping against your shoulder with a groan.

“Dad?”, Ava’s voice came through the door. “The kitchen’s done. Can you come check?”. She sounded nervous.

Ben exhaled sharply, rolling his head back against the pillow, muttering a quiet “Fucking cockblock”, under his breath before shifting slightly, finally pulling out of you.

You winced at the sudden loss, still dazed, still warm, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure. Then, your eyes flickered toward the door, and a thought crossed your mind.Your stomach dropped. You turned to Ben, your voice barely above a whisper. “…You think she heard something?”.

Ben’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t even waver. Then, after a beat, he let out a deep, exhausted sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Baby”, he muttered, voice gruff, deadpan, “you forget about supe hearing every single fucking time”.

Ava let out a loud, dramatic groan from behind the door. “Oh my god”, she muttered. “Why do you always do this?”.

You gasped, clutching the blanket higher around your chest, your face going hot. “Ava!”.

“What?”, Ava grumbled. “It’s so much worse when you talk about it afterward”.

Ben let out a low, amused chuckle, shaking his head. You, on the other hand, were dying. “Ava”, you called, voice still mortified. “Go away”.

“Gladly!”, she shot back. “Just—come check the kitchen when you’re… decent”.

You groaned, burying your face into Ben’s shoulder, wishing for death.

Ben, meanwhile, was clearly enjoying himself, his smirk pure arrogance as he dragged his fingers up and down your spine. “Told you”, he murmured against your ear. “Super hearing, baby”. You smacked his chest, making him chuckle even more.

Ava’s footsteps retreated down the hall, her annoyed muttering barely audible as she left.

By the time you and Ben made it downstairs, clean, dressed, and mostly recovered, the smell of breakfast filled the kitchen. It was a shock, really.

Liv and Ava, standing by the stove, actually cooking instead of trying to kill each other. The counters were repaired, the floors scrubbed, and, shockingly, the entire kitchen looked normal again.

You paused in the doorway, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, still raw from last night, still unsure of how to face them after everything. You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even meet their eyes. Instead, you quietly made your way to the table, keeping your gaze fixed on the steaming cup of coffee waiting for you, clearly placed there with an attempt at peace.

Ben, however, didn’t hesitate. He strode in like he owned the place (which, technically, he did), grabbing a piece of bacon straight from the plate Liv was arranging, ignoring the way she scowled at him. “Kitchen looks good”, he muttered, chewing, before glancing at Ava. “Took you long enough”. Ava rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

You sat down at the table, wrapping your hands around the warm coffee mug, hoping the heat would ground you. You were exhausted, emotionally drained, and still not sure how to process the fact that Liv and Ava had actually cleaned up their mess, not just physically, but also by trying to make breakfast as some kind of peace offering. But the second you caught a whiff of the eggs sitting in front of you, your stomach turned.

The greasy, sulfuric scent hit your nose all at once, making your throat clench, your body rejecting it immediately. You quickly pushed the plate away, wrinkling your nose, doing your best not to gag in front of everyone.

Liv’s head snapped toward you instantly. “Oh my god”, she muttered, arms crossing over her chest, already defensive. “I try to do something nice, and you don’t even pretend to appreciate it?”.

You barely had time to process her words, still trying to breathe through the nausea.

Ava shot her sister a warning glance. “Liv—”.

“No, seriously”, Liv scoffed, clearly not done. “I cook one goddamn meal, and suddenly it’s not good enough?”.

Ben, who had been casually munching on his stolen piece of bacon, suddenly stilled. His sharp green eyes flickered toward you, narrowing slightly, his entire demeanor shifting from amused to calculating. Because he knew you. He knew you better than anyone. And, more importantly, he remembered.

The last time you couldn’t stomach the smell of eggs, you had been pregnant with the twins.

Ben didn’t say anything at first, just tilted his head slightly, watching the way your throat tightened, the way your fingers trembled slightly against the coffee mug, the way you refused to look at the food in front of you. His jaw ticked.

Liv, still completely oblivious, groaned loudly, throwing up her hands. “Great. Awesome. Love this fucking family”.

Ben ignored her. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his voice suddenly low. “Baby”.

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him, your stomach still turning. “What?”.

Ben’s eyes flickered toward the plate, then back to you. “You feel sick?”.

You hesitated. That alone was enough of an answer.

Ben exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand down his face, his lips pressing into a firm line. “Oh, fuck me”, he muttered.

Liv blinked. “What?”.

Ben didn’t answer.

Instead, he just looked at you, really looked at you, like everything was suddenly clicking into place.

You bit your lip, staring at Ben, your heart pounding. He already knew. It was written all over his face. The sharp calculation in his eyes was gone, replaced by something entirely different, a slow-spreading grin that took over his entire face, his green eyes gleaming with something wild, something excited. “When did you find out?”, he asked, already standing from his chair, already moving toward you. His voice was lower now, rougher, but it wasn’t sharp, wasn’t demanding, it was something else entirely. Something thrilled. Something almost soft.

You exhaled slowly, gripping the edge of the table as he loomed over you, towering, broad, his hand resting against the back of your chair, caging you in. “Two weeks ago”, you admitted quietly, your voice almost hesitant.

Ben let out a low chuckle, shaking his head, running a hand down his face like he couldn’t believe it. “Jesus”, he muttered. Then he looked back down at you, his grin widening. “You serious?”.

You nodded, still watching him carefully, waiting for the full impact of your words to hit.

Ben let out a short, breathless laugh, his eyes flickering down to your stomach, like he was already imagining what you would look like round with his kid again. His palm immediately smoothed over your belly, pressing just slightly, like he was trying to feel something that wasn’t there yet. It sent a shiver through you, his touch warm, possessive, grounding.

Ava and Liv just sat there, staring, completely fucking lost. “…What the fuck is going on?”, Liv finally blurted.

Ben ignored her, still grinning, still pressing his palm against your stomach like he was trying to make the reality sink in. His thumb traced slow circles over your stomach, his eyes still locked onto the spot like he was seeing something no one else could. “I knew I felt something this morning”, he muttered, more to himself than to you, his voice low, almost in awe. “My kid”.

Your breath hitched. The way he said it, like the idea of another child, of another part of him growing inside you, was the most incredible thing he had ever heard. It made something inside you melt, made your fingers reach up to brush over his jaw, your touch hesitant, grounding him just as much as he was grounding you. Ben sighed into it, turning his head slightly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against your palm before leaning in closer, his forehead brushing against your stomach again.

Ava and Liv were still sitting there, staring. Still completely fucking lost. Liv’s brows furrowed, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the scene in front of her. “Wait”, She pointed between you and Ben. “Wait, wait, wait-”.

Ava’s face slowly shifted from confusion to something horrified. “Oh my god”, she muttered, eyes widening.

Liv stared at you like she had just been hit by a truck. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again before she finally blurted out, “You’re pregnant?”. Her voice wasn’t teasing anymore. Wasn’t sharp or smug or filled with her usual attitude. She sounded… shocked. And then, almost immediately, something else flickered across her face, something you hadn’t seen in weeks, months. Guilt. Real, heavy, gut-punching guilt.

Ava had gone silent beside her, her lips pressing into a thin line, her expression unreadable, but Liv, Liv looked sick. Because now it was all clicking into place. Now she was realizing. You had been dealing with them, with their bullshit, with their screaming, with their destruction, while secretly carrying another life inside you. You had been breaking down, begging them to stop, and they had done nothing but push you further. And now? Now, Liv was realizing just how much worse she had made things.

Your lips parted, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to fix the emotions that were now flickering across her face. But before you could speak, she suddenly stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as she backed away, her hands shaking. “I—”, she started, voice tight, barely above a whisper. She shook her head, her throat bobbing, her breath quickening. “I need a second”. And then she turned and walked out.

Ben sighed deeply, rubbing a hand down his face, clearly not in the mood to go running after her. “For fuck’s sake—”.

“I’ll go”, Ava muttered quickly, standing up, her tone surprisingly gentle for once. She followed after her sister, disappearing into the hallway, leaving you and Ben alone in the quiet kitchen.

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping your coffee mug, your stomach still queasy. “…That could’ve gone worse”, you muttered.

Ben scoffed, pulling out a chair and dropping into it beside you. “Give her a minute. She’s just realizing she’s been a massive fucking asshole for the last few months”.

You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head. “They both have”.

Ben grunted, stealing another piece of bacon off Liv’s abandoned plate, biting into it with a smirk. “Good thing they take after you then”, he muttered. “Otherwise, I’d have killed them already”.

You laughed softly, exhaling slowly, some of the tension leaving your body.

Ben glanced at you, his green eyes softer now, more focused. His hand reached under the table, smoothing over your thigh, grounding you.

“You okay?”, he asked, voice quieter now.

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah”, you murmured. “I think so”.

Ben hummed, squeezing your thigh gently before leaning back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a shit-eating smirk. “You know what this means, right?”.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Ben’s smirk widened. “This kid’s gonna be your favorite”, he teased. “No way they’ll be as much of a pain in the ass as the first two”.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile. "Let me check on them", you whispered to Ben, barely glancing at him before making your way toward the stairs.

He didn’t argue. Didn’t tell you to let them stew in their guilt. Didn’t tell you they deserved to sit in their regret for a while. Because, deep down, Ben understood. So, without a word, he followed.

The walk to Liv’s room felt longer than it should have. Your stomach was still unsettled, your emotions still raw from everything that had unfolded in the past twenty-four hours. When you reached her door, you hesitated for only a second before pushing it open. Inside, Liv sat on the edge of her bed, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands clenched together tightly. Ava sat beside her, her posture slightly more relaxed, but still tense, like she wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to comfort Liv or just sit there in silence.

As soon as they noticed you standing in the doorway, both of their heads snapped up. Liv’s face was tight, her brows furrowed, like she was still processing everything.

Ben stepped in behind you, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, his presence heavy but not threatening.

You took a slow breath before stepping further inside, lowering yourself to sit on the other side of Liv. For a long moment, no one spoke.

"How long have you known?", Liv finally asked, her voice quiet, almost small.

You sighed, resting your hands over your stomach, over your child. "Two weeks".

Liv inhaled sharply through her nose, nodding, her jaw clenched. She didn’t look at you, just stared down at her hands, fingers twisting together like she didn’t know what to do with them.

Ava exhaled, rubbing at her forehead before shaking her head. “Shit”, she muttered. “We were awful”.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. Because the silence was enough.

Liv let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I was such an asshole”, she muttered, finally looking up at you. Her eyes were red-rimmed, guilt clouding every inch of her face. “To you”.

Your chest tightened. You swallowed, your hand reaching out, covering hers gently. “Yeah”, you murmured, your voice soft, honest. “You were”.

Liv’s breath hitched slightly. Ava sighed, shaking her head again, her voice quieter this time. “We didn’t know”.

“You should have”, Ben muttered from the doorway, his voice firm but not harsh.

Both girls looked at him.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. “You should have noticed”, he muttered. “You should have listened when she said she was tired. When she begged you two to stop fighting. When she tried to keep this family from falling apart”.

Liv swallowed hard, looking away. Ava just nodded, her throat bobbing as she sat a little straighter. "We're sorry", Liv muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. "For everything".

Your breath caught slightly, your fingers tightening around hers. It wasn’t everything. It wasn’t a magic fix. But it was something.

Ben let out a slow exhale, shaking his head before pushing off the doorframe and stepping forward. “Well”, he muttered, his voice lighter now, a teasing smirk curling at his lips. “You better be, ‘cause now you two little shits gotta help take care of a baby”.

Liv groaned immediately, Ava snorted, and just like that, the weight in the room started to lift.

“A baby”, Liv muttered, shaking her head like she was physically trying to process the reality of it. “Another sibling”. Ava just exhaled, leaning back on her palms, her lips twitching slightly. “Jesus. Mom, you’re insane”.

Ben grinned, clearly loving every second of their reactions. “You should’ve figured that out years ago”, he muttered, arms crossing over his chest. “She chose to have you two, didn’t she?”.

Liv shot him a glare. “Oh, shut up”.

Ben chuckled, shaking his head, but his sharp green eyes flickered toward you, watching you closely.

You could still see the concern there, the way he was carefully making sure you weren’t pushing yourself too hard, that you were okay with this, that you weren’t still drowning in the exhaustion and heartbreak that had nearly broken you yesterday. And… you weren’t. Not fully. But right now, sitting beside Liv, watching Ava roll her eyes at Ben’s teasing, seeing them actually acknowledge their actions, their mistakes, it was better.

You exhaled softly, rubbing your hand over your stomach absentmindedly. Ava noticed, her eyes flickering downward, something unreadable crossing her expression. “What’s it feel like?”, she asked, her voice quieter now.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly. “What?”.

Ava gestured vaguely toward your stomach. “Being pregnant. What’s it feel like?”. Liv scoffed beside her. “Yeah, do you just know there’s something in there? Or is it, like… weird?”.

Ben chuckled from behind you, shaking his head. “The fuck kinda question is that?”.

“I wanna know”, Liv shot back.

You smiled softly, running a hand over your stomach. “It’s… different every time”, you admitted, voice gentle. “At first, you don’t feel much. Just little things, like being extra tired, or certain smells making you sick”. You chuckled lightly, shaking your head. “And then, one day, you know. You feel something shift inside you, and it’s… surreal”.

Ava tilted her head, her brows furrowing slightly as she processed your words. Liv, however, just wrinkled her nose. “Gross”, she muttered, crossing her arms. “Glad I’ll never have to deal with that”.

Ben, who had been standing behind you, stiffened immediately. His entire body tensed, his sharp green eyes locking onto her with an intensity that made you straighten up. “The fuck you won’t”, he muttered, his voice low, dangerous, dead serious.

Liv blinked. “What?”.

Ben’s jaw clenched. “Yeah”, he muttered, running a hand through his hair, suddenly looking deeply troubled. “You got her DNA”. He gestured toward you, his voice gruff. “Which means you don’t just get my supe genes, you get hers too”.

Liv’s eyes widened. Ava’s lips parted. The realization hit both of them at the same time. “You’re saying—”, Ava started. "You’re telling me—”, Liv spoke over her, her voice getting louder.

“You two can get pregnant”, Ben muttered bluntly, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

Liv gasped dramatically, her face twisting in horror. “Oh my god”. Ava looked sick. “No, no, that’s— that can’t be right—”.

Ben tensed. His arms crossed tighter over his chest, his entire body going rigid, his green eyes narrowing with a mix of deep fatherly dread and paranoia. And then, he spoke, just a bit too high, just a bit too forced. “…So”, he muttered, shifting his weight slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Neither of you… uh…”. He cleared his throat. “You two aren’t, uh—”.

Liv’s expression immediately shifted into pure disgust. “Oh my god, no”, she groaned, throwing a pillow at him, which he easily caught, his face still deeply troubled. Ava made a face. “Dad, seriously?”.

Ben exhaled sharply, his jaw tight, clearly not convinced. “Just checking”, he muttered, rolling his shoulders. “You never fucking tell me shit, so how the hell am I supposed to know?”.

Liv scoffed, shaking her head aggressively. “Because I would rather die than talk about my sex life with you”.

Ben grunted, shifting uncomfortably, his fingers twitching like he wanted to punch something.

You, meanwhile, were desperately trying not to laugh at the absolute mess unfolding in front of you.

Liv still looked outraged. “Also, gross! Why are we even talking about this?”. Ava sighed, rubbing her temples. “Mom, please make him stop”.

You tried to suppress your amusement, shaking your head. “Ben…”.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before pointing a very serious finger at both of them. “Listen to me”, he said, his voice deadly serious. “If I ever hear about either of you doing anything—".

“Dad—”.

“Ever”, he emphasized, his voice slightly raising, ignoring their protests. “If some punk-ass supe—”.

Liv groaned, throwing herself back onto the bed. “I hate this conversation”.

Ben kept going, completely ignoring her dramatics. “—so much as looks at you funny—”.

Ava rolled her eyes. “Dad, please”.

Ben pointed at her next. “You too! No fucking exceptions!”.

Ava just laughed, shaking her head. “Oh my god, you’re so insane”.

Ben grumbled, rubbing his face aggressively, still looking deeply, deeply troubled. “I hate this”.

Liv, still lying on the bed, let out a long, exaggerated groan. “You should”, she muttered. “Because this is your fault”.

Ben blinked. “What the fuck do you mean my fault?”.

Liv sat up, pointing at him aggressively. “You knocked Mom up again, so now we have to think about this shit!”.

Ben’s expression immediately twisted into offense. “Oh, fuck off”, he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Like I did this alone”.

Ava burst into laughter. You covered your face, dying inside. Liv just shook her head, standing up dramatically, still pointing at him. “I blame you for everything”.

Ben just snorted, crossing his arms again, his smirk lazy. “That’s funny, because last night—”.

“DAD, NO—”. Ava let out a loud groan, standing up. “I refuse to be in this room anymore”. Liv gagged. “Oh my god”.

Ben just laughed, clearly pleased with himself, as both of his daughters practically ran out of the room.

You shook your head, barely suppressing your own exhausted amusement, before turning to him.

He just grinned at you. “See?”, he muttered, smug. “Told you I’d keep ‘em in line”. Ben held out his hand, his grip firm and steady as he helped you up from the bed. His touch lingered, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand before he gently cupped your face, his calloused palms warm against your skin.

His green eyes, sharp and filled with something unreadable, searched yours, his brows furrowing slightly. "How’s that even possible?", he murmured, his voice low, rough. His thumb traced along your cheekbone, his gaze flickering down to your stomach before meeting your eyes again. "We tried for years. And now? Boom. Pregnant again?".

You swallowed, resting your hands against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your fingertips. “I don’t know”, you admitted, shaking your head. “I—I thought maybe it just wasn’t meant to happen. And then…”, Your hand instinctively drifted down to your stomach, resting over the barely-there swell of new life. “Then it did”.

Ben exhaled sharply, his lips pressing into a thin line, his jaw working like he was thinking, like he was trying to make sense of it. His fingers trailed down, pressing lightly against your lower abdomen again, like he needed to feel it, like he needed proof that this was real.

For years, you had tried. Years of disappointment. Years of heartbreak. Years of watching him pretend not to care whenever another negative test stared back at you, whenever another month passed with nothing.

And now, when you had both already given up, it happened.

Ben let out a short, breathless chuckle, shaking his head. “Jesus”, he muttered. “I still can’t fucking believe it”.

You smiled softly, your fingers brushing over his arm. “You’re happy, right?”.

His head snapped up instantly. “What?”, he scowled, looking genuinely offended by the question. “Are you—of course I’m fucking happy!”.

Your chest tightened, your breath catching slightly at the sheer certainty in his voice.

Ben scoffed, shaking his head before gripping your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his. “You’re having my kid… again”, he muttered, his voice dropping lower, rougher. “What do you think that means to me?”.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding at the weight of his words. Before you could respond, before you could process the depth of it, he kissed you. Slow and deep, his hand tangling in your hair, the other still pressed against your stomach like he needed to feel both of you at the same time.

He pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm, his grip firm. “Just don’t expect me to stop after this one”, he muttered, smirking slightly. “You’re way too fucking good at makin’ my kids”.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Ben—”.

“I’m serious”, he teased, grinning. “We shoulda tried less years ago. Might’ve had a whole goddamn army by now”.

You rolled your eyes, smacking his arm lightly, but your heart was full. Because beneath all the teasing, all the cocky grins, all the Ben-ness of it all, he was happy. And that was all that mattered.

Ben meant it when he said he wasn’t leaving.

The second it sunk in that you were actually pregnant, he called up every contact he had, every mission he was scheduled for, and shut them all down. No more leaving for months at a time. No more coming home to a war zone. No more letting you deal with two super-powered teenage nightmares on your own. He was staying put.

And at first, it was good. Great, even.

He helped around the house more, not that he was any good at it. He hovered over you, making sure you weren’t lifting a single goddamn thing. He was there, present in a way he hadn’t been in years, and it was… nice.

Until you hit five months.

And suddenly, Ben remembered why he usually only stuck around in short intervals. Because Liv and Ava? Were driving him absolutely fucking insane.

It started with little things, eye rolls, snarky comments, muttering under their breath when he reminded them for the hundredth time to help their mother.

Then it escalated.

They bickered constantly, ignoring his demands to cut the shit, blasting music at full volume at all hours, testing every bit of patience he barely had left.

Until one evening, when you were trying to relax, sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over your ever-growing belly. Ben finally fucking snapped.

“That’s it!”, his voice boomed through the house, shaking the walls. Both girls froze mid-argument in the kitchen. Liv, who had just been flinging some dumb piece of furniture across the room in a fit of rage, immediately dropped it. Ava, who had been egging her on, swallowed hard.

You closed your eyes, inhaling deeply, already exhausted.

Ben stormed into the kitchen, his entire presence heavy, looming, furious. “You two little shits are the worst thing I have ever created”, he seethed, pacing in front of them like a fucking general preparing for war.

Liv scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh my god, here we go—”.

Ben spun so fast she actually flinched. “No, no, no”, he growled, pointing a sharp finger at her. “You don’t get to act like I’m being fucking unreasonable! You two have been ABSOLUTE FUCKING MENACES since the second I got back!”.

Ava muttered something under her breath.

Ben turned immediately. “What the fuck was that?”, he barked.

Ava cleared her throat, suddenly silent. Liv huffed, rolling her eyes. “Dad, we’re just—”.

“No”, Ben cut her off, his voice dangerously low now. “You are testing every fucking ounce of patience I have left”.

Liv opened her mouth, but Ben wasn’t fucking done.

“No, no, no, shut the fuck up for once and listen to me”, he snapped, his voice rising again. “Your mother is growing a goddamn human being inside her, which, by the way, means I HAVE TO DO ALL YOUR SHIT FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO FUCKING USELESS TO HELP YOUR OWN MOTHER!”.

Ava winced. Liv gaped. “We help—”.

Ben laughed, actually laughed, sharp and humorless, running a rough hand down his face before shaking his head. “Oh, yeah”, he muttered, mocking, his hands waving dramatically. “So much help, Liv. SO MUCH FUCKING HELP”.

You sighed, rubbing your temples from the couch.

Liv looked furious. “We didn’t ask for another sibling, Dad”.

Ben went dead silent.

Ava inhaled sharply, her eyes widening. And Liv? Liv immediately regretted saying it.

Ben stepped closer, his entire body coiled tight, his jaw locked. “You better hope I don’t take that personally”, he muttered, his voice low, lethal.

Liv swallowed hard, shifting slightly on her feet, her bravado faltering just slightly. Ava, sensing that this was about to go too far, quickly interjected. “Okay, maybe we’ve been… a little difficult”, she admitted, voice cautious.

Ben’s sharp green eyes snapped to her.

Ava cleared her throat. “Uh—but—”, she held up her hands. “I mean… I guess we could do more”. Liv, seeing her only way out, immediately nodded. “Yeah. Sure”.

Ben narrowed his eyes. “Yeah?”, he muttered, still not convinced.

Liv nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. Love the baby. Excited to be big sisters. Gonna start folding laundry and doing dishes right now”. Ava nodded aggressively, backing toward the stairs. “Yep. We’ll, uh… we’ll get right on that”.

Ben let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand down his face as he turned away from his daughters, his patience fully fucking drained. His footsteps were heavy as he walked back to the living room, dropping down onto the couch beside you with a deep groan, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

You hummed softly, leaning into him as his fingers traced absentminded circles on your upper arm, his body still tense as hell. “Fucking shit", he muttered, head tipping back against the couch. “I cannot wait for school to start again”.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’re awful”.

“No, I’m smart”, he grumbled, closing his eyes. “’Cause the second those little shits are outta the house for eight goddamn hours, I’m sleeping like a baby”.

You smiled, resting a hand over your belly, feeling the small movements beneath your palm. “You survived today”.

Ben let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Barely”.

You sighed, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. “They’re teenagers, Ben”.

Ben scoffed. “Teenagers are assholes”.

You smirked. “You were a teenager once”.

Ben turned to you slowly, eyes dead serious. “Yeah, and I was a fucking asshole”.

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling some of the tension in his body finally ease. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just sat there, breathing, his arm secure around you, the weight of the day finally settling in.

Eventually, Ben exhaled deeply, his voice lower, quieter. “Where the fuck did I go wrong with them?”.

Your brows furrowed slightly, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “What?”.

Ben shook his head, staring at the ceiling like he was actually trying to figure it out. “I mean, fuck, they’re mine. But they act like they run this place”. His jaw clenched. “Like they own the goddamn world”.

Your throat tightened slightly. “Ben—”.

“I fucked up somewhere”, he muttered, rubbing a rough hand over his face. “Somewhere, I did something wrong, and now they’re just—”.

He stopped abruptly, inhaling sharply. Because just beyond the doorway, Ava and Liv stood there. And they had heard everything. Liv’s arms were stiff at her sides, her eyes dark, her jaw locked tight. Ava’s mouth was slightly open, her fingers curling around the railing, like she wasn’t sure if she was pissed or hurt or both.

And Ben? Ben froze.

You straightened up immediately, eyes flickering between all of them, the thick silence stretching over the room like a storm cloud.

“You think we’re a fucking mistake?”, Liv’s voice was sharp, filled with something dangerously close to betrayal.

Ben’s head snapped up. “What?”.

Ava’s lips pressed into a tight line, her shoulders tense. “That’s what you just said”.

Ben scowled, shaking his head. “No, it’s not—”.

“That you fucked up”, Liv spat, stepping forward, her anger cracking through her voice. “That we’re what you did wrong”.

Your chest tightened.

Ben’s expression hardened immediately. “I didn’t say that”.

Liv laughed bitterly, shaking her head. “Yeah? Sure as fuck sounded like it”.

Ben’s jaw locked, his frustration growing, his patience gone. “Oh, give me a fucking break”, he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You do act like you run the fucking world, Liv”, He scoffed, shaking his head. “You and Ava. You don’t listen, you don’t respect—”.

“We didn’t ask to be like this, Dad!”, Liv snapped.

Ben’s mouth snapped shut. Your breath hitched.

Liv’s voice cracked slightly, but she didn’t back down. “You think we like being this way?”, she muttered, shaking her head. “You think we wanted to be half-supes? You think we don’t fucking hate it sometimes?”.

For the first time in months, you saw tears in Liv’s eyes.

She was angry, so angry, but beneath all that rage, beneath the fire and stubborn defiance, there was something else. Something raw. Something hurt. Ava looked exhausted too, but it was different. She always knew when to back down, when to let things go. But Liv?

Liv got so much more of Ben’s temper. So much of his fire, his stubbornness, his rage.

And right now, she looked like she was seconds away from shattering. Neither of them said anything else. They just turned on their heels, stomping up the stairs, disappearing into their rooms, doors slamming shut behind them. The house fell into a heavy silence.

Ben groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, dragging it over his jaw like he was physically trying to scrub away his frustration. “Oh, for fuck’s sake”, he grumbled.

You let out a slow breath, shaking your head, your fingers smoothing over your belly as you turned to him. “Ben…”.

He huffed, leaning back against the couch, his head tipping back, eyes shut. “What?”, he muttered.

“You hurt them”.

Ben’s jaw clenched. He didn’t respond right away, just sat there, processing, his fingers drumming against his knee.

Then, after a long pause— “They shouldn’t have heard it”, he muttered, voice rough.

You frowned, sitting up straighter. “That’s not the point”.

Ben let out a slow, sharp exhale, running both hands through his hair, gripping the back of his head. “I didn’t mean it like that”, he muttered, voice lower now, frustrated but not defensive.

“I know”, you said softly. “But they don’t”.

His jaw ticked. His fingers flexed against his scalp before dropping back into his lap. Another heavy silence settled over the room. “…You really think they hate being like this?”, he muttered.

You swallowed. “I think… they’re still figuring out what it means to be like this”.

Ben’s lips pressed into a thin line, his green eyes flickering toward the staircase, his thoughts clearly running in circles.

You sighed, reaching for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his palm, squeezing lightly. “They love you, Ben”, you murmured. “They just… don’t know how to be like you”.

Ben huffed out a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “They shouldn’t be like me”.

You tilted your head slightly. “Why not?”.

His eyes darkened slightly, his expression tightening. “Because I was a piece of shit”, he muttered. “I had nothing but my fucking rage”.

You inhaled slowly. “…And Liv?”, you asked gently.

Ben sighed, rubbing his jaw. “She’s got too much of me in her”.

You squeezed his hand again. “Then maybe she needs you to show her how to handle it”.

Ben’s throat bobbed. He thought about that for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, his frustration starting to simmer down into something else. Something guiltier. Something regretful. He sighed again, shaking his head. “Fucking kids, man".

You laughed softly, nudging his shoulder. “You made them”.

Ben grinned, finally cracking just slightly. “Yeah, well, that was your fault”.

You rolled your eyes, leaning against him, his arm automatically sliding around your waist, his hand resting over your belly. After a moment, he exhaled deeply, staring at the ceiling. “…Guess I gotta go talk to her, huh?”.

You smirked. “Yep”.

Ben groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. “Fuck me”.

You just laughed, squeezing his thigh. “Go”.

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair, giving you a long, exhausted look. And then, with another low grumble, he pushed off the couch and made his way up the stairs.

You stood up with a quiet sigh, making your way to the kitchen, letting Ben handle Liv. He was the only one who really could.

Even as a little kid, Liv had been the whole deal, tantrums, shattered glass, screaming until her throat was raw. She was fire, rage, and raw power wrapped up in a girl who had never quite known how to contain it.

Ben had trained them both for years, taught them how to fight, how to control themselves. But for the last three years, he had been gone more than he had been home, off on missions, leaving you alone with them, trying to manage their emotions, their abilities, their temper. But you weren’t a supe. You weren’t built for that. You were the part for cuddles, for singing them to sleep, for listening to them talk about school and rubbing their backs when they cried over a scraped knee. You weren’t the part for fighting. For keeping their powers and rage at bay. That was Ben’s part. And deep down, Liv knew that. So if anyone was going to get through to her, it was him.

As you moved around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients, prepping dinner, you let your mind wander, let the soft sounds of chopping vegetables and simmering oil drown out the quiet tension still lingering in the house.

But upstairs? Ben was walking straight to Liv’s room. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable as he reached her door. He didn’t knock. Didn’t ask to come in. He just pushed it open.

Liv sat on the edge of her bed, hunched over, her elbows resting on her knees, her fingers curled into fists against her thighs. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t move.

Ben exhaled through his nose, stepping inside, shutting the door behind him. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

“You think I regret having you?”.

Liv flinched. Her fingers curled tighter against her jeans, her throat bobbing slightly. Still, she didn’t look at him.

Ben sighed, running a hand through his hair before sitting down on the bed beside her. “You’re a pain in my ass”, he muttered.

Liv let out a short, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Thanks, Dad”.

Ben smirked slightly, nudging her knee with his own. “Shut up, I’m talking”.

Liv sniffed, wiping her nose quickly with the back of her hand.

Ben exhaled again, rubbing a hand down his face before looking at her properly. “You scare the shit outta me sometimes”, he admitted.

Liv blinked, finally turning to look at him.

Ben’s gaze was sharp, but honest. “You’ve got my temper”, he muttered. “And my strength”. His jaw clenched. “And I know exactly where that can lead if you don’t know how to control it”.

Liv swallowed.

Ben shook his head. “That’s why I’m so fucking hard on you”, he said. “It’s not ‘cause I don’t love you, Liv. It’s ‘cause I do”.

Liv’s throat bobbed.

Ben exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “And yeah, I fucked up”, He shrugged, leaning back against the bedpost. “Left your mom to deal with all this alone when I should’ve been here. Should’ve been training you. Should’ve been the one making sure you weren’t losing your shit every five seconds”.

Liv bit her lip.

Ben smirked slightly, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. “I ain’t perfect, kid”.

Liv huffed, crossing her arms. “No shit”.

Ben chuckled, shaking his head. “See? That—that right there? That attitude? That’s all me”.

Liv laughed, sniffing slightly, rubbing at her nose again.

Ben’s smirk softened just slightly. “You’re a pain in my ass”, he muttered again, ruffling her hair roughly.

Liv groaned, swatting his hand away. “Dad—”.

“But you ain’t a mistake”, he muttered.

Ben’s supe hearing picked it up immediately, the softest shift of weight just outside the door, the slight hitch of breath, the hesitation. Ava.

He didn’t turn toward the door, didn’t call for her in a gentle, coaxing way like you might have. No, that wasn’t how he did things. Instead, he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, before muttering- "You too, asshole. Get in here".

There was a beat of silence, before Ava grumbled something under her breath, but sure enough, the door cracked open, and she stepped inside. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her expression blank, but Ben knew her well enough to see through it. She was feeling something. Something she didn’t know how to deal with. And that was an even bigger problem than Liv’s fire.

Liv felt everything. She exploded when she got angry, she yelled, she threw things. She was the storm you could see coming from miles away. But Ava? Ava bottled it up. Ava let it simmer, let it fester, until one day it would fucking erupt.

And Ben had seen what happened to supes who let their emotions boil over. He was one of them.

So he didn’t let her stand there, pretending she wasn’t feeling something. He gestured toward the bed. "Sit down".

Ava hesitated.

Ben’s sharp green eyes narrowed. "I said sit".

Ava sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes, but she did it—plopping onto the bed next to Liv, their shoulders brushing slightly.

Ben leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his gaze flickering between them. "You two are fucking exhausting".

Ava scoffed. Liv snorted.

Ben shook his head. “No, I’m serious”, he muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “You both make me wanna put my head through a fucking wall”.

Liv chuckled under her breath, shaking her head. “Yeah, well, you’re not exactly easy either”.

Ben shot her a look. “Oh, don’t start”.

Ava smirked slightly, but her expression sobered quickly, her fingers curling slightly against the bedsheets. Ben noticed. Didn’t comment on it. But he saw it. So he sighed, leaning back, running his tongue over his teeth. “Look”, he muttered. “I ain’t gonna sit here and give you some soft-ass, sappy speech about how much I love you”.

Liv rolled her eyes. “Yeah, ‘cause that would kill you”.

Ben smirked slightly. “Fuckin’ right, it would”.

Ava let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“But you know I do”, he muttered, his voice dipping lower.

Both of them froze.

Ben tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between them.

“I love you two little shits”, he muttered, voice gruff. “I don’t say it, but I don’t have to”. His jaw clenched. “Everything I do, every time I ride your asses, every time I get in your fucking way, every time I yell at you, it’s ‘cause I give a shit".

Liv swallowed. Ava didn’t move.

Ben exhaled sharply. “And I know I wasn’t here the way I should’ve been”, he muttered. “I know I let your mom handle too much on her own”. His fingers curled into fists. “And if I could go back and fix that, I would”.

Silence.

Ava inhaled slowly. “Dad…”.

Ben shook his head. “Nah. Let me finish”.

Ava bit her lip, but nodded.

Ben ran a hand through his hair again before exhaling. “You two?”. He pointed between them. “You mean everything to your mother. And whether you fucking like it or not, that means you mean everything to me, too”.

Liv blinked rapidly, looking away, sniffing. Ava’s jaw tensed. And Ben? Ben just watched them, letting his words sink in.

Ava muttered under her breath.

Ben’s eyes snapped to her. "What was that?".

Ava groaned, running her hands down her face. “I said we know”.

Ben smirked slightly. “Yeah?”.

Liv rolled her eyes, elbowing Ava lightly. “Yeah. We know”.

Ben let out a short breath, nodding, running a hand over his jaw. “Good”. Then he grinned, ruffling both of their heads aggressively.

Liv yelped, shoving his hand away. “Dad!”. Ava groaned. “You ruined it!”.

Ben just laughed, standing up. “I ruin everything, kid. Get used to it”.

Liv shook her head, but there was a small smile at the corner of her lips. Ava sighed dramatically, but she didn’t look nearly as tense anymore.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 3

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[hockeyluvrr]

The Moment It All Began

au masterlist all other works

pairing: umich luke hughes x plus size oc

summary: the first meeting and everything after...let's just say, feelings are hard huh?

warnings: mild language, internalised fat-phobia, body image/insecurity, self-isolation, angst, self-esteem issues, unresolved tension that is eventually resolved, mutual pining, vulnerable moments, emotional vulnerability, body image issues, panic response

word count: 4,690

It started, like most disasters, with a favour.

“He’s not dumb,” Emily had insisted, propping her chin on her palm as they studied in the common area. “Just… distracted. And you’re the only one I know who can explain physics without making someone cry.”

Phoebe snorted. “So naturally you thought of me?”

“Come on. You’re good at this. You make that professor sound like a guy who actually knows what he’s talking about.” She nudged her. “It’s just one session. Two, tops.”

“Fine,” she sighed, like it wasn’t already a yes. “But he better not be an asshole.”

Emily grinned. “It’s Luke Hughes. He’s literally a golden retriever in human form.”

That should’ve been the first red flag.

———

He was ten minutes late. She was packing up her notes, already annoyed, when he stumbled into the library lounge with a lopsided smile and wind-tousled hair.

“Sorry—practice ran late.” He dropped his bag like it had personally offended him. “You’re Phoebe, right? Emily’s friend?”

“That’s me,” she said, folding her arms, trying to ignore the way he smelled like cold air and something expensive. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

Luke grinned, sheepish. “I’ll owe you big. Physics is kicking my ass.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—you missed the lecture on Newton’s Third Law because you were doing, like, a triple axel on ice or something?”

He blinked, then laughed, a full-body kind of laugh that startled her with how genuine it sounded.

“Not exactly, but close.”

It was just tutoring. A few sessions here and there. Explaining concepts like vectors and momentum and resistance, drawing diagrams in her notebook because he said it helped him to see it. He was a little scattered, sure, but not in the way she’d expected—he listened. Took notes. Asked questions. And he was funny, in a boyish, easy way. Always a little bit of a mess but never mean about it.

Which made it so much worse when she caught herself watching his hands one afternoon, pencil tapping thoughtfully against his bottom lip, and thought: God, his mouth is pretty.

The thought hit like a freight train. She blinked down at her notes, horrified.

No. Absolutely not.

She shoved the thought down hard and buried it under the safe, familiar weight of physics.

———

The sessions continued. Luke got better. She got worse.

Not at physics—never that. But worse at pretending she didn’t notice the little things.

Like the way he leaned in when he was confused, brow furrowed, lashes dark and long. Or how he laughed with his whole chest, loud and unfiltered. How he always offered to carry her bag, even when she told him not to. How he looked at her—not like she was invisible, or just another tutor-for-hire, but like he actually saw her.

And that terrified her.

Because somewhere along the line, she’d started looking forward to him. To the texts that said “u around? i have no clue what a free-body diagram is”, to the quiet walks back across campus after late-night study sessions, to the smell of cologne and coffee and cold air that followed him everywhere.

And once she’d noticed that? Everything started to unravel.

———

The breaking point was stupid.

A Thursday afternoon. Mid-March. The sky was heavy with the threat of snow, and the library was almost empty. They were hunched over her laptop, going over sample problems, when he stretched his arms above his head and said, “You know, you’re really good at this.”

She shrugged. “I like it. Explaining things helps me learn too.”

“No, I mean…” He sat back, tilting his head. “You’re smart. And you’re nice about it. Most people make me feel like an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” she said, too quickly.

He smiled at her then—soft, grateful. That smile that cracked something open inside her every time.

“I like hanging out with you.”

It was such a simple sentence. But it hit her like a punch to the chest.

She looked away. “Luke—”

“What?”

She didn’t finish the sentence. Just stood up too fast, heart hammering, stuffing her notebook into her backpack like it had personally betrayed her.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I forgot I—I have a thing. I have to go.”

“Phoebe?” His voice was puzzled, concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” she lied, already halfway to the door. “You didn’t.”

———

She didn’t cry until she was halfway home.

And when she did, it wasn’t loud or dramatic. It was the kind of quiet sobbing that felt like shame in motion—tears she didn’t want, for a truth she didn’t want to admit.

She liked him.

God, she liked him.

And how pathetic was that?

Luke Hughes: 6’2”, soft-eyed, NHL-bound, with a smile that could melt glaciers. She could already hear the voice in her head: Delusional much?

Because girls like her—soft and wide and invisible in the way society decided some bodies should be—didn’t end up with boys like that. No matter how sweet he was. No matter how many times he offered to buy her coffee or walked her home or laughed at her dumb jokes. That was just Luke being Luke.

And she—she was ridiculous for thinking it meant something.

She curled up on her bed, stared at the ceiling, and hated herself a little for hoping.

———

She avoided him for four days.

No texts. No library sessions. No walking paths that cut across the hockey facility. When she saw his name light up her phone.

Luke: hey, everything okay?

She didn’t answer.

Because she didn’t know how to explain that she wasn’t mad at him. She was mad at herself. For slipping. For letting him get too close. For thinking—hoping—that maybe she could be the exception to the rule.

By Sunday, Emily cornered her in the hallway outside their dorm.

“You ghosted him.”

She looked away. “I’ve been busy.”

Emily crossed her arms. “He asked if he did something wrong. He looked like a kicked puppy.”

Don’t say that, she wanted to snap. Don’t make him sound sweet when I’m trying to erase him.

Instead, she muttered, “He didn’t. It’s fine.”

“Then tell him that,” Emily said, gentler now. “He’s not a mind reader.”

The thing was—she wanted to. She missed him. Missed his voice, and the way he chewed his lip when he was stuck on a question, and the way his laugh made her stomach flip even when she hated herself for it. But she also knew that if she let him back in, the feelings would follow. And if he didn’t return them—if she caught a flicker of pity in his eyes—it would ruin her.

Hope was a dangerous thing. She’d spent most of her life learning how to live without it.

———

Tuesday night, he caught her.

Literally—rounded the corner outside the library and nearly walked straight into her.

“Oh shit—Phoebe?”

She froze. Too late to run. And honestly, she didn’t have the energy to pretend.

“Hey.”

Luke blinked, then gave her a cautious smile. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she lied. “Just busy.”

“Right.” He shifted his weight, awkward. “You, uh… weren’t answering my texts.”

Her stomach twisted.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

A pause. She could feel him watching her—really watching, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

“Did I do something?” he asked finally, voice quiet.

“No,” she said, then forced herself to meet his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Okay. Good. I just—I wasn’t sure. You kinda vanished.”

“I know,” she said again. Her fingers curled around the strap of her backpack. “I just needed some space.”

He nodded slowly, and something about the way he stepped back—gave her that space—made her heart ache even more.

“Well,” he said, voice lighter now, “if you ever wanna go over the review packet, I, uh… I still don’t know what the hell potential energy is.”

She almost smiled. Almost.

“I’ll think about it.”

———

She didn’t mean to let him back in. But a few days later, she found herself at their usual table, notes spread out, laptop open, when he dropped into the seat beside her like no time had passed.

No questions. No guilt. Just his usual grin and a half-empty smoothie in hand.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he said, sliding the packet over. “You’re gonna keep me from flunking.”

“God forbid you be academically ineligible,” she teased, grateful for the normalcy. “Then who would they use in every single recruiting post?”

“Exactly,” he said with mock-seriousness. “You’d be letting down the entire future of hockey.”

She rolled her eyes, but her throat felt tight.

Because he was still here. Still looking at her like she mattered.

And she still didn’t know why.

————

It happened again the next week.

They were sitting in the back corner of Bert’s Cafe, rainy afternoon light bleeding through the windows, and Luke was chewing on the sleeve of his hoodie while she tried to explain electric fields for the third time.

“Okay,” she said, tapping the diagram on his tablet. “Think of it like gravity. But instead of mass, it’s charge. Opposites attract, remember?”

“So like… if I’m positive, and you’re negative—”

She gave him a look. “You calling me negative?”

He grinned. “You said it, not me.”

She shook her head, biting back a smile—and that’s when he said it.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

The words landed with a thud in her chest. She went still.

“What?”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“You said—” Her voice caught. “Never mind.”

But he was watching her now, head tilted, brow creased. “Did that make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” she said too quickly. Then again, softer, “No. It’s fine.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else. But the moment passed. And she was already pulling the conversation back toward electric fields and potential difference and the safety of things that didn’t make her want to cry.

———

Later that night, alone in her room, she stood in front of the mirror and tried to understand what he saw.

She wasn’t soft in the way magazines liked. She wasn’t curvy in the way Instagram liked. She had thick arms, a round belly, wide hips that pulled at the seams of her jeans. Her thighs rubbed holes in leggings by week two. She knew what people like her were called. Knew the names muttered under breath in middle school, the backhanded compliments, the jokes.

And Luke—he was tall and golden and seen. He existed in a world she’d only ever watched from the outside.

So why would he look at her like that?

She squeezed her eyes shut. Swallowed down the guilt of even asking the question.

It didn’t matter. He didn’t mean it. It was just a throwaway comment. A stupid flirt without weight. A joke.

It had to be.

Because the alternative—that he saw her, wanted her—was something she didn’t know how to live with.

———

The physics midterm came and went, and Luke passed—with a B+, no less.

He texted her the second he got the grade.

Luke: ur a genius. my saviour. my queen. how do i repay u

Phoebe: one coffee and maybe a sticker that says “I’m smarter than a hockey player”

Ten minutes later, he showed up at her dorm with two lattes and a pack of glitter star stickers.

“Put one on your forehead,” he said, grinning. “It’s only fair.”

She did. She didn’t even hesitate.

———

After that, the tutoring faded into something else.

They still studied. But now he invited her to late-night diner runs. Walks after class. Study breaks where he begged her to explain memes he didn’t get or tried to teach her how to flick a mini hockey puck across a table using only a spoon.

It wasn’t tutoring anymore.

But it also wasn’t anything else.

Sometimes, she caught him looking at her when he didn’t think she’d notice. And it wasn’t like the way people looked when they were comparing sizes or judging or assessing.

It was soft. Focused.

And God, did that mess her up.

Because she wanted to believe it meant something. Wanted to let herself fall the rest of the way. But the voice in her head always pulled her back.

Don’t be stupid. Don’t embarrass yourself.

She couldn’t afford to lose him. And wanting more? Wanting him?

That was a risk she didn’t think she could take.

———

One night, late April, they found themselves sitting on the grass outside his apartment building after a study session. The air was warm and smelled like budding leaves and cheap beer from a nearby frat house. Luke had his hoodie pulled halfway over his head, eyes squinting up at the sky.

“You ever think about how dumb stars are?” he said suddenly.

She laughed. “What?”

“They’re just… balls of gas. But people write poetry about them and make wishes and shit.”

“That’s not dumb,” she said, pulling her knees to her chest. “It’s kind of beautiful. That people want to believe in something that far away.”

He turned to look at her. “You believe in stuff like that?”

She hesitated. “I want to.”

Luke was quiet for a second. “I think I do. Believe in that stuff.”

She looked over, and he was still watching her. Really watching her. Like he could see right past all the things she tried to hide behind sarcasm and notes and perfectly rehearsed explanations of Coulomb’s Law.

“Do you ever wish for anything?” she asked before she could stop herself.

His eyes dropped to her mouth, just for a second.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

The silence stretched. The air went still. She could feel the pull between them like gravity—heavy, inescapable, terrifying.

She turned away before he could see the hope in her eyes.

———

After that night, everything felt different. Closer. Louder.

He texted more. Sat closer. Let his leg press against hers and didn’t move away. He played with her pen during study sessions, let his fingers brush hers when he handed her his notebook. All little things. All nothing, probably. But to her, they felt like cracks in the dam.

And still—she didn’t say anything.

Because what if she was wrong?

What if this was just how Luke Hughes was with everyone? Warm. Open. Easy to fall for. And what if she confessed and ruined it? Lost him entirely?

She would rather take the ache than the silence of a goodbye.

———

The day it nearly all came crashing down, it was raining.

Not just drizzling—pouring. She’d left class without an umbrella, already soaked by the time she made it to the library steps.

Luke was there.

Waiting.

He was holding an extra hoodie and a coffee, like he’d known exactly how her day would go.

“Jesus,” she said, breathless. “Are you psychic now?”

He grinned. “I knew you’d forget your jacket.”

He draped the hoodie over her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was warm and smelled like him—mint and soap and something woodsy she couldn’t name.

She stared at him. Something in her chest cracked.

“Why are you so nice to me?” she asked quietly, almost too quiet to hear over the rain.

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… you don’t have to do this. Bring me coffee. Wait in the rain. Let me steal your hoodie. Why do you—” She broke off. Her throat was thick with it. “Why do you treat me like I’m—special?”

Luke was quiet for a long time.

And then, softly, he said, “Because you are.”

It felt like the world stopped spinning. Just for a second.

She stepped back. Shook her head.

“No,” she said, too fast. “Don’t—don’t say that. You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.” His brows knit, confused. “Why would I—?”

“Because I know how this works,” she snapped, voice sharp with hurt. “I’ve seen the girls you hang out with, Luke. I know what people expect you to want.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about me!” she said, voice breaking. “Look at me. I’m not—God, I’m not the girl guys like you fall for.”

Silence.

Luke looked at her like she’d said something impossible. Like she’d just told him gravity wasn’t real.

“That’s bullshit,” he said, voice low.

Her breath caught.

“You think I don’t see you?” he continued. “You think I don’t notice the way you light up when you explain something? Or how you make everything easier just by being around?”

She shook her head. “Don’t—”

“I’m not playing with you,” he said. “I don’t do that. Not with you.”

She stared at him, rain clinging to her lashes, hoodie soaked through. Her heart beat so loud she thought it might split her ribs.

“I don’t get it,” she whispered. “Why me?”

His voice cracked, just a little.

“Because you make me feel like I’m more than some dumb hockey player. Because I like you. I’ve liked you.”

The words were soft. Real. Terrifying.

She didn’t say anything.

Couldn’t.

Because if she opened her mouth, she might say I like you too—and she wasn’t ready for what came next.

So she turned.

And she ran.

———

She didn’t sleep that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Luke’s face—wet hair stuck to his forehead, eyes wide and confused and hurt. Heard his voice: Because I like you. I’ve liked you.

She pressed her palms over her ears like it would make it all go away.

It didn’t.

————

The next morning, Emily was already in their room, curled up with a blanket and laptop, when she stumbled in.

“You look like you fought God,” Emily said around a spoonful of yogurt.

She dropped onto the bed. “I ran away from Luke.”

Emily blinked. “What?”

“I mean literally ran.” She stared at the ceiling, voice hollow. “He told me he liked me. And I panicked and left him standing in the rain like a goddamn rom-com cliché.”

Emily’s spoon hovered in midair. “Wait—he said he likes you? Like, actually said it?”

She nodded.

“And you ran.”

Another nod.

“Okay. First of all, what the fuck, and second of all—WHAT THE FUCK.”

She groaned, pulling a pillow over her face.

Emily yanked it off. “Phoebe. I love you, but what the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t!” she snapped, sitting up. “I was—scared. I am scared.”

Emily’s face softened. “Hey. I get that. But you’ve been pining over him for months. And now he says he likes you back and you think what—he’s lying?”

“Not lying,” she mumbled. “Just… confused.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “You really think someone like Luke Hughes confuses liking someone with what? Friendship? Pity?”

She didn’t answer. Because that was exactly what she’d thought.

Emily sighed. “You know, just because you’ve been told you’re not the kind of girl someone could want doesn’t mean it’s true.”

She didn’t respond.

Because some truths lived too deep to root out in one morning.

———

She didn’t hear from Luke the rest of that day. Or the next.

He didn’t show up to their usual study spot. Didn’t text. Didn’t like her dumb meme about Schrödinger’s cat. His silence hurt more than anything else he could’ve said.

But she didn’t blame him.

Because she knew what it was like to reach out and get burned.

She’d just never imagined she’d be the one holding the match.

———

By Thursday, the guilt was eating her alive. So she did what she always did when she needed to think: she went to the library.

Their table was empty.

Her heart sank.

She sat down anyway, pulled out her notes, and tried to pretend she wasn’t scanning the door every five minutes.

And then—like her thoughts had summoned him—Luke walked in.

He looked tired. Not angry. Not even sad. Just… guarded.

She stood the second she saw him.

“Hey.”

He hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Hey.”

They stood there, books and silence between them, until she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice shaking. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to run like that.”

Luke didn’t say anything.

She tried again.

“I panicked. It’s not because I don’t—” She swallowed. “It’s not because I didn’t want to hear what you said.”

He looked at her then. “Then why?”

God, she didn’t want to say it. Didn’t want to lay herself bare like this. But he deserved the truth. Even if it came out ugly.

“Because I don’t understand why you’d like me,” she said, voice cracking. “I don’t look like the girls you’re supposed to want. I’m not skinny or pretty or—whatever.”

He stared at her like she’d slapped him.

“That’s what you think this is about?” he asked, low.

She blinked.

“Jesus, Phoebe.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You think I care what other people expect me to want?”

“You’re you,” she whispered. “And I’m just—me.”

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just enough to make her feel it.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything.”

She looked away. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” he said. “But I want to.”

A pause. He softened.

“Let me get it.”

She blinked fast. “I don’t want to be someone you regret.”

Luke’s jaw clenched. “I could never regret you.”

The words sat heavy between them.

He looked at her for a long moment, then said quietly, “I’m not going to push you. But I meant what I said. I like you. And not in some passing ‘oh she’s cute’ way. I like the way your brain works. The way you ramble when you’re trying not to smile. The way you take care of people even when you’re breaking.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, tears stinging behind her eyes.

“I don’t want this if it’s going to hurt you,” he added. “But if it’s just fear holding you back—please don’t let it win.”

Her heart cracked open.

“Luke…”

“I’ll wait,” he said gently. “Just tell me there’s a chance.”

She looked up at him. Really looked. Saw the honesty, the warmth, the hope he hadn’t let go of—even when she’d tried to push him away.

And for the first time, she let herself believe it.

“Okay,” she whispered. “There’s a chance.”

Luke’s shoulders dropped, like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.

“Okay,” he echoed, soft and sure.

————

They didn’t kiss that day.

He didn’t pull her into his arms or say anything grand or cinematic.

But he did sit beside her, closer than usual, and opened his notebook.

And when their hands brushed, neither of them pulled away.

—————

They didn’t define it right away.

There was no official we’re dating talk, no grand proclamations. But after that afternoon in the library, everything shifted.

Luke texted her good morning now.

He walked her to class, even when it was out of his way.

When they studied, he let his thigh press against hers like it belonged there. Sometimes he brought snacks. Sometimes she brought extra pens because he always lost his. He started saying things like missed you today or this song reminded me of you or you looked really pretty earlier, just so you know, and he said it so easily—so genuinely—that eventually, she stopped flinching when he did.

Eventually, she started believing him.

The voice in her head—the one that told her she wasn’t enough—still lingered. Some days it shouted. But when Luke looked at her like she hung constellations, it was easier to quiet it. Easier to say, Maybe he sees something I don’t. Maybe that’s okay.

————

One night in early May, he texted her.

Luke: come outside

She blinked at the message.

Phoebe: ??? it’s almost midnight

Luke: and? bring a hoodie. trust me.

She found him standing outside her dorm, hair tousled, smile soft, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms. He had a blanket tucked under one arm and two milkshakes in hand.

“You kidnapping me?” she teased.

“Nah,” he said. “Just stealing you for a bit.”

He took her to a hill just outside campus—secluded, grassy, high enough to see the city lights blur in the distance. It was quiet. Private.

He spread out the blanket. Handed her the chocolate shake. Sat so close their shoulders touched.

“Remember that dumb thing I said about stars?” he asked after a while.

She smiled. “That they’re just gas but people still write poetry about them?”

“Yeah.” He looked up. “I get it now.”

She tilted her head. “Yeah?”

Luke turned to her, and his expression made her heart stop. So open. So gentle. Like she was the only thing he saw.

“Some things are beautiful because of what they make you feel,” he said quietly. “Even if they don’t make sense. Even if they’re far away or hard to reach.”

She swallowed. “Are we still talking about stars?”

“No,” he said, soft. “We’re not.”

Silence fell again—but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was full. Buzzing. A calm before something that felt like lightning.

Luke leaned in, slow and careful.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away.

When he kissed her, it was gentle. No fireworks or fanfare. Just warm, steady lips and the feeling of finally, finally, landing somewhere safe.

Her fingers curled into the sleeve of his hoodie. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing just beneath her eye. He pulled back just enough to look at her.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She nodded, heart pounding.

“Yeah,” she said. “More than okay.”

He smiled. Pressed another kiss to her temple like he’d been waiting forever to do it.

————

After that, there were words.

He started calling her his girl.

Introduced her to his teammates—who, shockingly, didn’t bat an eye. If anything, they seemed happy to see Luke looking so settled. (One of them winked at her and said, “Thank God. He’s been unbearable. You’re doing God’s work.”)

Luke held her hand in public. Let her wear his hoodie even when he pretended to pout about it. Texted her things like thinking about you during team meetings and wanna come over and watch dumb sci-fi movies so I can pretend to understand physics.

He never made her feel small.

Never made her feel like he was hiding her, or settling, or choosing her in spite of something.

He just chose her. Over and over again.

And that did something to her.

Something healing.

————

Finals came and went in a blur of caffeine and highlighters and three a.m. breakdowns. She helped him study. He brought her snacks. 

On the last day of the semester, after they submitted their final lab report, he took her hand and said, “I think this is the first time I’ve ever liked physics.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Even after all the crying over projectile motion?”

He grinned. “Especially after that. You looked cute when you yelled at me about parabolas.”

She shoved him lightly, but she was smiling.

————

The night before she left for home, he showed up at her door with takeout and a bouquet of wildflowers.

She blinked at them.

“You know this is such a rom-com move , right?” she said.

Luke just shrugged. “You deserve rom-com shit.”

He kissed her like he meant it. Like they had all the time in the world. And when he whispered, “I’m gonna miss you like hell,” against her collarbone, she knew this wasn’t a temporary thing.

They’d figure out the summer.

Figure out everything else, too.

————

A week later, she got a text.

Luke: my mom wants to meet you. she already stalked your Instagram. she thinks you’re cute.

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone.

And for the first time, that voice in her head—the one that told her she’d never be enough—didn’t say a thing.

Because maybe she was.

Maybe she always had been.

[imliterallyf7ckin9crazy]

may i request a gi-hun x fem reader running into him after he wins the games? reader happens to be on the street they toss him onto (she’s prob getting a late night snack) she sees him and rushes to help him and invites him back to her place to wash up. maybe she could draw him a warm bath so she can wash the knots out of his hair, lends him some comfy clothes and makes him some tea uwu

(i was rewatching season 1 and i just want to tuck that man into a warm comfy bed after all the trauma)

tysm ^^ 🤍

FUCKING FIREEEEEEEEE

“𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩”

Gi-hun x f!reader

Warnings: established friend(?)ship, angst with comfort, gi-huh tells reader abt the games, f!reader, gi-hun is going through shit.

A/N: fire request. I also recently rewatched season one and my heart longs for fluffy hair gi-hun back. My shaylaa <\3 this is 4 u fine shyt.

———-

You never guessed this is where your life would have lead you. Alone in a shitty apartment. When you were younger you thought you’d be a doctor or teacher- a lawyer at least. Now you had little money and even fewer friends. The only friend you had really made was long missing. And oh did you miss him.

He was a very sweet man, he always came by the food vender with his daughter. You knew he was also poor, sometimes he wouldn’t have enough money to pay for their dinners. And you’d always cover the rest, telling him it was no huge deal. You could tell him and his daughter were thankful. He would come by without his child too sometimes. He would order something small and cheap… then chat with you the rest of the time. Telling you about all the money he won!!!… then the next day he’d tell you how he had just lost it all the same way he got it- gambling

Though it wasn’t your place, you’d tell him to relax on the gambling. He’d tell you he isn’t in too deep and can stop whenever. You hear it all the time from countless people who decide to share their life’s stories with you. But it didn’t make you see him any less, if anything it showed you why you SHOULD care. Why you should look out for those less fortunate because you never know who might need it.

After so many times of him coming in you guys shifted to a first name basis. You greet him with a smile and a “hello, gi-hun! Welcome back.” Or a “hey, it’s been a while since you’ve stopped by, gi-hun” he became a core part of your shift, you’d see him at least three times a week. And he always had some crazy story to tell you while you worked. You listened to him talk about life. His debt, his destructive habits, what happened to his family. You’d give him real advice and listen to him if he needed. Sometimes you’d even share parts of your fucked up life. How you got to where you were.

But it wasn’t always problems he came to you with

Every one in a while he would win big and come in to tell you about it. Leaving a heavy tip with a joyous smile “keep the change” he’d say as you laugh at him. You’d always get a good laugh in whenever he’s around. If not at his jokes then at his goofy situations he’d get himself in. Over all, you had felt you made a friend. You even got his number so you could reach out when needed

Only he’s been gone for a while. He stopped popping in to say hi and buy a snack, he stopped running by to tell you what he’s won and he stopped flying into your shop asking to be hidden in the back to hide from his loaners. He was just gone. And day by day you figured he either got caught up by the people he was running from or he some how moved far away. And it saddened you, you never realized how lonely you were till now. Up to this point you’ve had someone to occupy your thoughts and time, and now that it’s been gone you struggle to see how you made it without those stupid conversations over street food. And you had no clue where your gi-hun went.

You let out a very long and somber sigh, pulling yourself off your dingy discount couch and shuffle to your room before pulling on a sweater and some sweat pants. You checked yourself over once in the bathroom mirror before lazily walking out of your apartment, locking the door. You then descended down the elevator and onto the Main Street. You had a few extra dollars to spare and a rumbling stomach, so you decided to head down to your local convenience store to pick out some food.

The night air was chilly and the stars that hung in the sky were drowned out by the light pollution of the city lights. You clench your hands into fists and jam them into your pockets to protect them from the freezing cold. You picked up the pace and continued to walk, ignoring people and minding your own business the best you could. You turned down this one back street, dangerous at night but a much quicker way to your destination. That was until you were stopped dead in your tracks, mouth agape.

There he was, gi-hun! Your gi-hun!! Stood at the corner of two streets, looking very lost and confused. You could distinguish that messy hair from any distance. Your hunger was forgotten as quickly as it came, and you couldn’t stop yourself from calling out to him. “G-gi-hun?!” You yelled, waving your hands at him. His head snapped harshly in your direction, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. It seemed like he aged 20 years, he looked incredibly roughed up and exhausted. Seemed like he was barely upright, and he carried large bags with him.

It took a moment of him staring at you until it clicked. It looked like he had forgotten you for a second before it all came rushing back. You didn’t get a smile back though, and you dropped your waving hand. Your smile began to fade as you approached him, only he flinched away and took a small step back. “Gi-hun? It’s me, remember? I work down at that corner noodle stand?” You say, gesturing to the general area of your store. He nodded a bit before relaxing, looking around a bit.

“Hey, are you okay?” You ask, worry laced in your voice as you close more of the distance. He just looked at you as you inched closer and closer, this look of pain seemingly permanently etched into his face. He looked like he wanted to say a million things but couldn’t find the words. And most of all he looked like he had just crawled through the deepest pits of hell. “Do you need to sit, oh god. Come with me” you say as you lightly reach your hand out to him, beckoning him to follow. He looks at your hand distrustfully, skeptical for a reason unknown to you. “Cmon, I can help you.”

He closes his eyes and lets out a breath you didn’t know he was holding before turning to follow you silently. You were glad for that, you had no clue what the hell happened to him but it was clearly something. And he clearly needed help. Your snack venture was long forgotten as you lead him back to your place, trying to get any information out of him. You asked where he went, what happened, why he was gone for so long, how he got back… every time he tried to say he would tear up, and he’d choke the words back down. Telling you he can’t tell you yet, and even if he could he doesn’t know how.

And that was ok with you. You eventually got back, and you guided him to your couch. He analyzed basically your whole house, eyes scanning back and forth and back and forth, looking for danger. Like something could reach out from the walls and get him. You got him a glass of water which he thanked you for but didn’t drink, instead he just stared into the reflection in the water. Lost in thought. You tapped his shoulder, pulling him out of the reeling memories he can’t express.

“Hey, it’s ok. Look, do you want to take a shower or something? No offense but you look like you need one” you say, half trying to help and half trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t really work though, his lips barely twitched. He would have found that funny a few months ago. He did agree though.

The shower wasn’t long at all, maybe 10 ish minutes. You had set him up with some of the over sized things you have, including a hoodie he had bought you months ago after a winning particularly handsome prize. His gazed softened when he saw those laid out for him. He put the clothes on, happy to finally be in something clean, soft, and comfortable clothes. After taking a long, sad look at himself in the mirror he walks out to you waiting for him on the couch with a brush and some tea. “Come here” you call.

At this point in the night he’s so exhausted and shell shocked he was barely awake. The weight of whatever he experienced weighted down heavily on him and you could see it draining the life from him. He hadn’t even smiled yet, the thing you found you missed the most. He sits down next to you. You slide the cup of hot tea to him across the table with the brush in your other hand. He looks at it suspiciously before you reach your hand holding the brush up, flinching a bit before returning to normal. That’s when you noticed the slight bruising across his face.

“It’s ok if you can’t talk about it yet… I was just so worried about you” you start “I missed you coming to say hi at work” you added, chucking slightly as you moved to brush out his wet hair, careful to not rip it out. “I’m sorry” gi-hun says, voice wavering as tears prick his eyes. “I’m sorry”

Your eyes widen a bit as you rub his shoulder lightly “no no gi-hun, it’s ok. You did nothing wrong”

Though you were trying to comfort him your words of reassurance only fueled the tears to fall. You didn’t comment on them, instead you kept rubbing his shoulders, brushing his hair till it was dry, and listened to him softly cry. Cry over everything that happened, that he had to do, and that he has to do going forward. So much had happened and he’s the only one alive to tell the tale. The only one out of all those people to live. The only one…

Eventually, after much comforting, after many “shhh I know”s and “it’s ok I believe you”s gi-hun was finally able to sleep for the first time outside of the games. Games that no one knew of. But you told him that you believed every word of his story. And you did, saying you’d help him find who he was after, but only when he went to bed. That man slept in your arms, on your couch for HOURS. From the story he told you this was probably the first safe nights sleep in days, and you could tell he needed it.

And you needed him. And now he’s back. Talking about mysterious death games and a sales man with a briefcase, but back none the less. And you were grateful for that.

[theprenderelliepalace]

Invisible

Harry Potter x Reader

Summary: You're somebody Harry's never noticed before, between dragons and dark magic and Quidditch, he simply hasn't had the teenage brain power. But, when you move to number 6 Privet Drive during your 6th year summer, Harry has little choice but to notice you...

Warnings: no use of y/n, gryffindoor!reader, (Harry might be a little ooc, I'll let you decide), trauma, angst, anxiety, some actual plot, fluff, hurt/comfort, slight smut if you squint, guess the timeline this is set in you're probably right... lmk if i missed anything

Words: 1.8k

^~^~^

It was an accident really. A complete mishap in the universe, a cruel joke that made you the unavoidable punchline.

Your parents had split in December, you'd spent your January in tears, and Febuary through to your final OWL in a numb sort of trance. You'd seen Harry Potter around, watched him struggle through the mockery, the disbelieving whispers that roamed the castle halls and the danger that found him at the Ministry before the end of term. But not once had he noticed you.

Why should he? You were invisible. It didn't matter that the Sorting Hat had made Gryffindoor your home five years previously or that you had a massive crush on the Chosen One since First Year, you'd never felt like you deserved to be there anyways or have his attention.

That's why you felt your stomach drop the moment your eyes met his. You couldn't explain why, but for a moment it felt like he recognized you, until you darted behind the old bridge you'd been loitering around. Your heart was in your throat as you bashed through overgrown shrubbery. Twigs smacked against your skin, stinging your cheeks and snagging your hair. You panted against the cool evening air, trying to draw breath that wouldn't come.

You came back up the street, your house almost in view, the shining silver 6 looming over Privet Drive as you raced towards it. You were almost up the hill, hand practically reaching out for your front door, when your felt your door snag against a loose piece of gravel. Your heart lurched as you flew forwards, landing against the tarmac with a hideous, scraping thud.

You groaned as you rolled over, the cloudless sky blinking at you brightly, laughing at you. Your forearms seared with stinging pain. "Woah, wait!" A voice called from over the hill.

You blinked, "Uh, Hey?" You coughed out. Your vision was suddenly clouded with a figure. A halo of messy hair blotting out the nearby streetlight.

"Are you okay?" The voice asked.

You could look at him now, those silly round glasses falling charmingly down his nose, his mop of black hair tumbling into his eyes, those brilliant emeralds gleaming down at you with such fierce concern. Your stomach coiled for a very different reason as your eyes met again. You blushed as he offered you his hand, scolding yourself as you got shakily to your feet.

"That was a pretty epic knockout." Harry Potter teased, genuine concern bubbling behind his glasses.

"Yeah." You grumbled, finding your shoes suddenly very interesting.

"Uh, I hate to ask, but, you didn't run because of me I hope."

"What?" Your head snapped up to meet his startled gaze. "No! I-"

He laughed, the obvious tension in his shoulders falling away. "Are you sure? You kind of spooked the second you saw me-"

"Well yeah! But it's not what you think..." You said, your face flushing so bright you thought it might surpass the streetlight.

"What do I think?" He asked, a brow raising into his hairline. You noticed the subtle quirk to his lips and the glint in his eye and suddenly you were laughing.

"Sorry, that was pretty stupid, huh?" You chuckled.

"The falling and hurting yourself part maybe, the running away, surprisingly, I get." He chuckled with you.

"No! I recognized you, and obviously you're, well you, and you go to Hogwarts and I was spooked when I thought you'd recognized me! I just, I dunno, I ran." You mumbled into the pavement beneath you. Tugging at your shredded sleeves.

"I noticed." He smiled warmly at you. Suddenly he frowned. "Listen, let me help you get that cleaned up." Harry said, glancing at your arms. "I'd feel worse if you said no." He smiled again, hopeful.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage, urging you to run the last few steps up your porch and into the safety of your unfurnished home. Then you looked into his puppy dog eyes and you cracked. "I have some muggle first aid in my kitchen. Mum's at the old house packing up." You looked at him through your eyelashes, a bashful suggestion you hoped didn't sound too forward. And then you realized. "No! I didn't mean like that, Merlin, I'm so sorry."

He laughed, a youthful, boyish laugh that left you feeling weak in the knees. "I know, I know. C'mon, let's get you patched up."

The two of you walked up the steps to your new house, it was cold and vacent in the entrance hall, a narrow, bleak, little space that made you feel like you were walking into a dungeon. "Sorry, jus' moved in. Nothing special about it yet." You said humbly. You turned down the corridor into the little kitchenette. "Not sure where I put the first aid kit, uh-" you spun in a small circle, starting to panic as you realized you weren't sure where anything was really. It was all so sudden, so new, it was alarmingingly overwhelming and then...

"Here. This it?" Harry asked, a comforting air to him.

You sighed in relief. "That's the one." You leant against the counter, the lamplight casting weary shadows over your face. Harry unzipped the small case, deftly choosing the wound cleaning solution and the right amount of gauze. "You do this often?" You ask, curious, but also slightly alarmed at his confidence.

"Hah, well, often enough to let you know you're in good hands. Not that I mean, you know." He quickly corrected.

"No." You giggled. "I've got my own hands to worry about I guess." He came over to you, pouring the rubbing alcohol against the gauze.

"Sorry. Might sting a bit." He gently turned your forearm over in his hand. It was so much larger than your scraped up little palms, the thought made you scold yourself again. This was the Harry Potter, in your kitchen, cleaning your stupid wounds because of your stupid deer-in-headlights freakout. Then again, things had been worse.

"It's okay." You gave him a small smile of reassurance. He touched the alcohol to your torn skin as gingerly as he could, you noticed his eyes flickering up to your face every now and then to catch any sign of serious pain. You hissed as he reached one of the deeper cuts.

"S'rry." He grumbled, focused on the pressure he put onto the cut. With your free hand, you allowed your fingers to gently grip his wrist, he stopped, his gaze finding yours.

"It's okay." You breathed, in awe of the boy in front of you. You knew he was handsome but, Merlin. You gulped, your tongue suddenly feeling too big for your mouth.

He was staring at you, something clouded behind his eyes, like he was searching for all these words he wanted to say, instead he said, "Why'd you run, really?" He chastised, knowing you hadn't been totally honest before.

"You looked at me like you're looking at me now and it made me wonder..." He was so close to your lips, your breaths mingled in the cool summer night.

"Wonder?" He urged you to go on.

"Well, it's not possible right? I mean, Harry Potter has better things to do than know I exist." You poked fun at yourself, you didn't know why but he made you feel like you could joke about those kind of things. It felt so refreshing.

"You'd be surprised at what I know and don't know." His eyes never moved from your lips. It felt so easy.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment. "I ran because you make me nervous." So sensational.

"Why?"

"You know why." You felt so alive.

Just then his lips touched yours, uncertain at first, searching, questioning and then your hands found their way into his mussed up hair and he was yours. His body lit up like a Christmas tree at your touch, his lips on yours, electric. Harry let his hands wrap around your waist, the first aid lost to the depths of the kitchen floor. He pulled you into him, his touch so tender yet so passionate.

This was not a boy that didn't know you existed, this was a boy that imagined this moment a thousand times more than you had and he was alarmingly good at showing you as much. His eyelashes fluttered against your cheek as he deepend your kiss, his hands running up your side sending shivers across your body.

"Harry-" You whispered between breaths.

"You've no idea how long I've thought..." He smiled at you, composing himself. "How's that for knowing I exist?" You laughed.

"Wait you? But you've never even said one word to me!" You gafawed.

"Couldn't if I tried. You're always running away. Thought you hated me."

"I was terrified I'd make a fool of myself trying to put two sentences together!" You were back to laughing.

He smirked at you, that glint you couldn't explain in his eye again. "You did pretty well just now. No sentences required."

You scoffed, "Yeah, well you taught me a valuable lesson Harry Potter." You pulled him close to you again, your smiles twice as wide as each others.

"What's that? Don't run in the dark?" You shook your head at him.

"No. That I wasn't quite as invisible as I thought. And I'm glad, or tonight never would've happened."

Harry chuckled, leaning down to kiss you slowly, ages of pent up passion pooling into one lonely little kitchenette.

You realized, suddenly, even though your family was in pieces, a piece of yourself had been unearthed again today. The emotions you had burried for someone you never thought would see you were soaring to the surface. But the funny thing was, he had always seen you, even when you hadn't seen yourself.

You weren't in number 6 Privet Drive kissing Harry Potter because the universe hated you, you were finding the pieces of yourself you'd lost to your own doubt.

Suddenly there was a commotion so loud it startled you out of your makeout reverie. "HARRY POTTER!" Came the rumbling holler from down the street.

"Oh Godric, who on earth-" You didn't even have time to finish your question before Harry was racing to the front door looking white as a sheet.

"Uncle.Curfew.Sorry.Uh," He paused rushing back to you, he gripped your cheeks in both his palms, pressing his lips to yours in a somewhat humerous goodbye.

"What was that for?" You asked, laughing as he dashed to the door again, you close at his heels.

"Uh, just being neighborly." He grinned.

"Oh, well in that case, don't be a stranger." You took a moment to take him in, his boyish grin, his whole being brimming with the energy of trouble. He was perfect.

"You had me at 'Hey'." He winked. Probably to embarrass you, at which he was succeeding. "I'm not going anywhere for long." With that, he was gone. You watched his retreating figure down the street and into that house of horrors they called number 4.

You closed the door, leaning your weight against it. "What an idiot." You grinned.

^~^~^

Let's pretend Sirius is alive and well. It is my most sacred wish.

Also, should this have been smut? I dunno. I'm a fluffy kind 'o gal, but I guess let me know?

Masterlist

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Part two to this story

After Jason's cruel display and your identity of Eddie's admirer being public knowledge, you're sure he will be disgusted. He hates you and your friends doesn't he?

Turns out you're in for a big surprise.

Minors shoo! Angst, fluff, sweet Eddie and reader taking no shit.

If you have any requests then send me an ask. My request rules are in my pinned post ❤️

🎀💌

Hellfire Slut. The words had practically burned into your brain as you tossed and turned in bed. Jason's cruelty was nothing new but you didn't think he'd ever go this far.

It was bad enough that Eddie's best friend had caught you in the act of delivering the notes and the thought he could spill all to Eddie, you didn't expect your secret to come out in such a public way.

The notes that you had poured your heart to Eddie had been clear to see by everyone and you felt sick to your stomach. You didn't care that people knew you were smitten with Eddie, it was the fact that he was probably disgusted that you had feelings for him.

You dreaded going to school but you knew you had to face Eddie and Jason at some point. It didn't stop nightmares plaguing your mind all night about what would happen come first period.

...

Homeroom was the first thing today before any other classes, you try not to draw attention to yourself as you slide into a seat at the back of class. However it feels like all eyes are on you today, Chrissy takes the seat beside you and holds your hand giving it a tight squeeze, it makes you feel a tiny bit better.

Mrs Jones isn't in class yet so chatter buzzes around you incessantly, your skin tingles as you feel Eddie's gaze on you a few times, try not to look up into those pretty brown eyes.

One of Jason's friends called Tyler smirks at you, he's sitting beside Jason and says loudly for all to hear. "So little miss perfect likes a freak in the sheets huh? Who would have thought?" there's a little ripple of laughter that's quelled by Chrissy's vicious glare. She's normally a sweetie so seeing her pissed shut everyone up.

Ignore him. Just ignore him you chant in your head but he still continues. "You know I was going to ask you out but fuck that. You're a dumb little bitch"

There's a collective silence as you hear Eddie's metal lunchbox drop to the floor. To your surprise he's glaring daggers at Tyler, you also notice that his knuckles are bruised. What the hell happened?

"Oooh you're in luck sweetcheeks, maybe Munson likes you back and the two of you can be freaks together"

You're fraying control over being calm snaps. Screw this. You weren't going to sit and let him run his mouth or let anyone like him or Jason make you cry again.

"You can admit to everyone you're jealous Tyler it's okay. We all heard about the little problem you have, Stacy told us all about how disappointing you are" you fake a sympathetic smile at him and his eyes nearly bug out of his sockets.

Jason looks ready to say something but you don't give the satisfaction of listening to the bullshit he says. "I couldn't be less interested in what you have to say Carver, you're a pathetic, nasty little worm"

While sassing Jason you miss the look of awe on Eddie's face. Gareth snorts at Eddie's stunned look.

"Dude, I really do think I'm in love" Eddie murmurs sounding almost reverent. Gareth sighs. Maybe now Eddie knew it was you that sent the notes the two of you could get together and he could get a minute of peace.

Meanwhile you lean back in your seat relieved as Mrs Jones comes in. There's still a question that's nagging at you though.

"Chrissy, why are Eddie's knuckles bruised?"and that's when Chrissy launches into the tale of how Eddie punched Jason after you left yesterday.

Hearing this makes a small bubble of hope build up inside of you. Maybe just maybe Eddie feeling the same for you might not be as hopeless as you first thought.

...

After a few fruitless attempts Eddie manages to track you down as you're coming out of cheer practice with Chrissy. She gives you an impish, knowing smile as she leaves you and Eddie to talk.

Telling Jason and Tyler what you thought about them made you feel a little bit better for a while, boosted your shattered confidence but now Eddie was around and you could feel that confidence crack.

What was he about to say? Was he going to tell you he was disgusted?

"You don't have to be nervous princess" you feel your nerves dissipate at his soothing tone.

"I know you thought the notes were a joke but they aren't Eddie, I've really fallen for you. I was crushing on you for such a long time. That's why I wrote the notes in the first place, I was worried if I told you in person that you would be disappointed" the words all come out in a rush and you feel relieved getting it all out.

He shakes his head. "I mean I would have been surprised but the way you spoke in the notes...how could you ever think I'd ever be disappointed sweetheart?" His words fill you with hope, a warm and fuzzy feeling in your chest.

"You know because I'm from the dark side" you murmur and he frowns. His hand reaches out to hold yours and you wince at the bruising on his knuckles.

"You didn't need to do that Eddie, I don't want you hurt" he shrugs as if it's no big deal.

"It was worth it. You're worth it"

Eddie gently takes your hand and kisses it, "I fell in love with you through what you said sweetheart, I want to know all about you. I don't give a fuck about who you're friends with or if you're part of the dark side. I just want to be with you".

A slow smile works it's way on your face and you lean forward and kiss him, continue kissing him until you're both a little dazed and smiling goofily at each other.

"Uh maybe we could go out for Milkshakes after school, if you want princess?" you nod feeling the bubble of excitement in your belly.

After all that worrying you were going on your first date with Eddie and you couldn't wait.

Maybe happy endings were possible after all ❤️

[kinzhae]

"I liked you back then." "I liked you too."

Kind of HC?, gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader, choso x reader, slightly angst(?), Highschool au!

Meeting with them after a long time you express your feelings out of nowhere.

Gojo Satoru

At a school reunion, Gojo is just as loud and charismatic as always, surrounded by laughter and old classmates. You watch him from a distance until he catches your eye and strolls over, that signature grin on his face.

“You know,” you say, feeling oddly brave, “I liked you in high school.”

His grin wavers for the briefest second, but he recovers quickly.

“You’re kidding,” he chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his laugh. “I liked you too.”

The room feels a little quieter, his words sinking between you like a weight. He adjusts his sunglasses, his usual confidence cracking.

“But you’re too late, huh?” he says softly, his tone bittersweet. “We were just kids back then. I wouldn’t have deserved you anyway.”

Geto Suguru

You meet by chance at a bookstore, the smell of old pages making you nostalgic. His long hair is tied back now, and he looks older, more tired but still achingly familiar.

“I had feelings for you,” you admit suddenly, unable to stop yourself. “Back in high school. Did you know?”

He sets the book he’s holding down slowly, turning to face you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I knew.”

You blink, startled. He looks down, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“I liked you too. More than I should’ve. But I was already dealing with too much back then. I couldn’t drag you into it.”

His words sting, but there’s also a deep sadness in his voice, like he’s still carrying that regret.

Nanami Kento

You meet at a mutual friend’s wedding. Nanami looks as polished and composed as ever, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he sees you. During the slow dance, you find yourselves reminiscing.

“You know,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, “you were the first person I ever really liked.”

He stops in his tracks, looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“I liked you too,” he admits, his voice low but steady.

You stare at him, tears pricking your eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask.

He sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Because I was too focused on my future,” he says bitterly. “On trying to be the perfect student, the perfect man. I thought I had all the time in the world.”

He meets your eyes again, the regret evident in his expression.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d lose by waiting.”

Toji Fushiguro

You spot him at a small bar in your hometown, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He notices you too, and for a moment, it’s like you’re both teenagers again. You approach, and the conversation drifts to the past.

“You know,” you say quietly, tracing the rim of your glass, “I liked you back then. You probably didn’t notice.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, his voice rougher than you remember.

“Didn’t notice?” he repeats, shaking his head. “You kidding me? Of course I noticed. I liked you too.”

His confession catches you off guard, but there’s a bitterness in his tone.

“But look at me,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Even now, I’m not what you deserve. I wouldn’t have been good for you back then, and I’m sure as hell not good for you now.”

Choso

You’re cleaning out your old high school desk, buried deep in your parents’ attic, when you find a folded piece of paper. It’s a sketch of you, one you recognize instantly as Choso’s work. The memory stays with you until you run into him by chance in the city weeks later.

“You used to draw me,” you say, holding the old sketch out to him. “Why?”

His cheeks flush, but his expression remains serious.

“Because I liked you,” he says simply, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You feel a pang in your chest, regret washing over you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper.

He shrugs, his hands tightening into fists.

“I was scared,” he confesses. “I didn’t think you’d feel the same. And if you didn’t… I didn’t want to lose what little I had with you.”

Ryomen Sukuna

It’s late at night, and you’re walking home when you spot him smoking under a flickering streetlight. He looks almost ghostly, the light casting sharp shadows across his face.

“I thought about telling you,” you say hesitantly, stopping a few feet away from him. “Back in high school. How I felt about you.”

He exhales slowly, the smoke curling in the air between you.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I already knew.”

The raw honesty in his tone leaves you speechless.

“I liked you too,” he admits, his eyes burning into yours. “But I was a mess. If I let you in, I’d have dragged you down with me.”

He flicks his cigarette to the ground, grinding it under his heel.

“You deserved someone better than me. You still do.”

[revasserium]

had me at hello

todoroki shouto; 4,082 words; fluff, tiny sprinkle of angst, no "y/n", summer camp, canon-divergent, domestic fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, summer-time romance, self-indulgent as all living fuck

summary: nothing lasts forever, not even goodbye. or, in which todoroki shouto discovers that summer flings really aren't his thing

a/n: chat we are SO back. back on this todoroki brain rot GRIND!!! and as opposed to posting at the last possible second for @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday like i did last time, i'm posting mine first this time to make up for it! the theme was "saying goodbye to a summer love" ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

It was to be a whirlwind summer, one that’s different from every one that came before it. Todoroki had thought, naively, that summer training camp would end up being just that — just another summer thing.

And he’d never been fond of the heat.

But you — you’d swept in like the rain, all bluster and brilliant, summer-thunder laughter. You struck across his storm-ridden skies like a spark of lightning, setting all his forests ablaze.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. Didn’t think much of the volunteers that the Pussycats had brought along to help around camp. Groupies, he’d dismissed, and thought of it no more. But the first night everyone came back, exhausted and sore and sweating in places they’d never thought could produce sweat, you’d been there along with the others (he doesn’t remember their names now, but he remembers yours), passing around cold water and setting up the food for dinner.

“Here,” you hand him a water bottle; he dips his head, his chest still heaving from exertion. He twists off the cap and gulps down half the bottle, feeling a cool trickle escape the corner of his mouth to run down his chin. He wipes at it with the back of his hand just as you cast him a grin before turning around to hand another water bottle to Kirishima.

Todoroki swallows, his palms warm, watching as you laugh at something someone says. He lingers on the gloss in your hair and the ease of your smile. He wonders what kind of quirk you might have; he catches himself wondering, and then proceeds to wonder why he’s wondering at all.

He thinks it’s the heat — fanning himself, he looks away — glancing up at the smoldering sky before sighing and capping his water bottle.

“They must love you at school, huh?” you ask, your voice jolting him out of one reverie and into another. Dinner’s almost done, and he’d wandered toward the edge of the wood for a moment of quiet, of peace or sanctity. He hadn’t noticed you following him, and that in and of itself should have set his senses on high. But, the air is tepid and the humidity heavy, and Todoroki only has time to cock a single eyebrow before you smile and continue —

“Your quirk — keeps you cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. Useful, no?”

He watches you watching him, your eyes huge and full of the dancing flames. He looks back towards the rest of his classmates, all chatting and laughing, grouped loosely with one another, Ashido flitting from one group to the other like the social butterfly she is.

“It’s alright,” Todoroki answers, surprising even himself. He drops his eyes, fixing his gaze on a point just above his own feet before you laugh, the sound drawing his attention back towards you.

“You’re not a very good liar, but that’s okay. It’s not a bad thing.”

You shoot him another grin.

“Your quirk,” he says, clearing his throat slightly as he feels a distinct heat prickling up the sides of his neck, “can I ask what it is?”

You list your head to one side, your expression curiously blank. Before you shoot him a smile that can only be called devious.

You nudge him with an arm before dancing away, but that momentary contact is all you’d needed. Todoroki feels his whole body relax, feels some of the tension drop from his shoulders, the strange nervousness that had been coiling in his stomach unclench.

“Guess!”

Someone calls your name from over your shoulder.

“Coming!”

You give him one final wink before dashing off, leaving him dazed, head reverberating as if someone had rung him through like a bell on a Sunday morning.

The weeks had passed in a strange blur after that, as if some vengeful giant had gone stomping through his memories, dragging a large hand across the vivid scenes, smearing the colors and scrambling the timelines. He remembers the ever-present ache in his muscles, the eternal shortness of breath that had accompanied the first few weeks, but he also remembers your presence in the evenings — always in the evenings, the shadow of you flickering around each and every one of his classmates, mostly asking about their days, but sometimes placing a comforting hand here or there.

He remembers your touch well, the gentle anchor of it, the immediate relief.

“Your quirk… it has something to do with feelings, doesn’t it?” he asks one night, a towel draped around his shoulders from a recent shower, his hair still damp in the early evening dark.

You flash him an enigmatic smile, swinging your feet as you turn your head back towards the liquid moonlight casting pale shadows along the edges of the summer-still leaves.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just…” Todoroki joins you, letting his arm brush along yours, his eyes following your gaze as he too sweeps the now empty campgrounds, the remnants of the barbeque fires still smoldering in their pits, the smoke twisting towards the cloudless sky like so many misty-tendrilled streams.

“Had a feeling.”

“A feeling, huh?” you echo, laughing softly, looking back down.

Todoroki doesn’t push you, but you don’t deny it either.

“You’re not wrong,” you say, after a brief moment of silence, “my quirk — it’s not offensive, or even defensive but… if I’m touching someone, I can… siphon their feelings into me,” and as if to demonstrate, you gently press your leg to his, and Todoroki feels the tired wariness drain from him, the feeling of ease trickling through him like hot water cascading down his skin.

He stifles a soft groan, feeling a blush press up against his cheeks.

You move your leg away, leaning back till your head is resting against the back of the park bench, poised at the edge of the large encampment.

“But that’s…” Todoroki searches for the right word — somehow ‘useful’ doesn’t seem quite right.

“No, you’re right,” you say, giggling even as you save him the necessity of finishing his sentence, “it’s a good quirk to have. It’s… necessary.”

But the way you say that word sounds a little too much like heartbreak for Todoroki to ignore.

“You said siphon…” he says, after a brief stretch of quiet, and he tastes the word on his tongue as if saying it for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you say, and longing is too close a friend of his for him not to notice it threaded through your voice like a secret.

“Which means… whatever you take from the person you’re touching… you have to feel it too, right?”

You lick your lips, your eyes flickering down to your hands, palms open.

“Yes.”

It’s a simple answer, but one that lands with a gut-punch of implication. Todoroki swallows, shifting ever so slightly to let his knee rest against yours. He tries his hardest to focus on calmness, to project relief. You turn to flash him a smile.

“You’re sweet,” and he hadn’t meant to blush, hadn’t meant for his heart to kick up like a drumbeat, but does. And he knows, instinctively, that you’d felt it too — passing through from his skin to yours by some strange glitch of nature.

He makes to pull away, but you reach out to rest a hand on his arm.

And almost instantly, he feels his heartbeat calm, feels the heat receding. But it isn’t like before — it isn’t the feeling of having something leave his body, but rather having something pressed in. Like a warm blanket settling over his shoulders, or a cold hand to ward off unwanted heat. Your calm seeps into him like summer rain, cooling his mind until he’s breathing steady.

He blinks down at you, startled.

“It goes both ways,” you say, and he can see the twin glow of warmth high in your cheeks. He spares a moment wondering if that blush had once belonged to him, if you were just holding onto it for a bit longer before letting it go. You move your hand away and he has to fight down the urge to pull it back.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can think of to say.

You are everywhere after that — perhaps not in the physical sense, but Todoroki seems to have lost the ability to not notice you. Or maybe he’s just gained the ability to — to what? Develop a crush? Is that even what this is? He doesn’t know — he’s never had one before to compare it to.

But he can’t help now how instantly his attention snags on the sound of your voice, like a stray thread on a mesh-wire fence, or how an unshakable shiver traces down his spine whenever you’re near. He feels childish, like he did when he was too little to control his quirk. But he’d learned since then, hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

“It’s all just hormones!” he overhears Ashido say to Uraraka one night, the girls all clustered together on a single long sofa, limbs against limbs, cheeks pillowed on shoulders, a careless sort of closeness threading them all together. Todoroki’s never thought himself a jealous person, but watching them now, he wonders what it might be like to be able to touch a person with little to no thought at all, for it all to be second nature.

Uraraka blushes something furious, crinkling her nose.

“I — I don’t know…”

“I’m pretty sure whatever Mineta-chan is feeling can’t just be explained by hormones,” Asui says, her eyes huge and dark even as Ashido rolls her eyes.

“Maybe not just hormones, but that’s a large part of it!” Ashido insists.

Dangling on the side of the sofa, one foot tapping to music only she can hear, Jiro glances over and shrugs.

“Boys are weird.”

The girls all make varying sounds of agreement, and Todoroki forces his feet to move, thankful for the thick slab of shadow that had kept him from view of the general common area. He stares ahead as he walks down the long length of hallway, wondering if hormones really are the culprit behind whatever the hell this is.

The grueling days bleed into sweat-slick weeks, and somehow, he finds himself seeking you out more and more often. Sometimes after a particularly hard training session, under the guise of needing some “help” recovering (it had come out that Recovery Girl couldn’t make it so the Pussycats had volunteered you as the next best thing), sometimes without any reason at all, other than the simple want of your company.

He finds himself laughing, finds himself reaching for you — and he blames it on the weather, blames it on the tiredness now eternally sunk into his muscles, the soreness that won’t ever quite go away. He tells himself that it’s just a summer thing, to feel so hot that he gets lightheaded, to laugh until his stomach hurts, to feel the inexplicable itch to graze your hand with his when you’re sitting too close and not nearly close enough.

Thinking back, he’d known it would never last. You’d told him early on that you don’t live in the city. But that it’s not too far, if ever he wanted to visit.

“Camp’ll be over in a few weeks,” you say, lying back on a patch of sun-dried grass, beneath a swirling canopy of stars, Todoroki sitting beside you, his arms propping up his torso as he stares up at the sky alongside you.

“Yeah. I’m surprised it’s been so peaceful,” he says.

You laugh, shooting him a curious look.

“Used to getting in trouble?”

“There… seem to be a few of my classmates that attract trouble. Of all kinds.”

“I don’t mind a bit of trouble.”

“Don’t you?”

You grin up at him as he glances down at you.

“Not one bit.”

You feel him shifting as he lies down next to you, your elbows brushing in the grass. He feels a jolt of electricity snake up his arm, coiling in the base of his belly. For a second, he wonders if its a him-feeling, or a you-feeling. And then, he realizes that it doesn’t really matter — and before he knows it, he’s twisting to his side, leaning over just far enough to press his lips to yours.

In the grand scheme of kisses, Todoroki thinks that it might not have been the most well-positioned kiss, or the most well thought-out. And for all everyone calls him genius, this is one thing he’s never really had the chance to practice. Still, by the time he realizes that he’s kissing you, he barely has the chance to reconcile with the fact that you’re kissing him too. You, pressing up against him and pulling him down all at once.

His lips on yours, and yours on his — an endless echo of this kiss, and this kiss, and just this kiss. He feels his heartbeat like a reverberation, because he thinks he can feel yours too. He loses feeling in all his limbs, and wonders briefly if this is what free-falling might be like — to feel weightless, to be lifted outside of yourself.

You reach up to press a hand to his cheek, and he feels himself being shunted back into his body. He feels each of his limbs like discovering them for the very first time — his fingers tangled in your hair, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in, holding you close. He does not remember pulling away. But he must have, because he remembers gasping for a breath he’s long since lost to the heave of your lungs.

He feels fire, and ice, and the spinning song of a million overhead stars.

“Is this — are you —” he struggles for words but you just smile.

“I don’t know — sometimes when I’m too —” you swallow, a bit breathless yourself, the head-thrumming heat of it all passing between the pair of you like a whisper, or a secret, “when I’m too excited I — I’ll accidentally make someone else feel it too but —”

You look back up to catch his eyes, and he finds himself smiling.

“It’s not just you,” he says, quiet and sure. Because this, whatever this is, is more than just a quirk — more than just the accidental bleeding of feelings from one body to another. More than simple empathy — it’s entropy.

A chaos of feelings.

Because he’d felt it bubbling inside him, alone at night, staring up at the moon-slatted ceiling. Wondering what it might be like to hold your hand.

And maybe this is what Ashido had been talking about — with hormones and urges and all the woes that come with being a teenage boy. But he doesn’t care; there’s time to worry about that later. For now, he thinks he’d just like to kiss you again.

And so, he does.

Time passes by strangely after that — and though neither of you had intended on it, the budding relationship between the pair of you had become a known secret. No one had ever called it out by name, but no one questions Todoroki either when he wanders off after dinner. No one blinks twice when you press a hand to the back of his neck after morning drills, smiling when he lets out a soft, pleased sigh.

Even years later, Todoroki can’t quite piece together the exact timeline of things. He remembers the late nights, staying up just to talk to you, wandering through the woods, you jumping at a rabbit or a squirrel, and him slipping his hand through yours with a silent reassurance. He remembers telling you about himself — even though he doesn’t remember you asking. About his father, his mother, his siblings, his scar.

He remembers how you’d reached out and held his anger and sorrow and resentment in your upturned palms, how you cradled them like bruised fruit, with delicate fingers and a smile that looked not one bit like pity. How you did not run.

He remembers you telling him about your childhood too, of your quirk being used and abused by careless adults and ruthless children alike. Of how your parents had used you as one might use a bad therapist, like a dumping ground for unwanted emotions. Of how you learnt to deal with the unbearable weight of all those feelings — things that a little girl should never have to learn how to deal with on her own.

He remembers how you held him and he held you, and how you both had allowed yourselves to hold and be held by each other.

But what he remembers most is the ending — the last night of camp, when he knew he’d be leaving the next morning. All the bags are packed, and they’d all come out stronger. It had been an uneventful, tiring sort of camp, where nothing happened except daily training, but for a class full of teens with super-human powers and the uncanny ability to attract life-threatening situations, it could be called a resounding success.

“Excited to be going back to school?” you ask.

He watches you drag a pale pink nail polish over your fingers, one by one, blowing on each finger as you smooth out the color with steady swipes.

“I guess so. We have provisional license exams coming up, so I doubt we’ll get much rest after this.”

“Aww… but I guess no one ever said becoming a hero was an easy thing, right?” you laugh, tossing him a good-natured wink.

He sighs, leaning back against the wall of your camp room.

“Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

“Hm…” you hum, finishing off your manicure and carefully screwing the brush back into the nail polish bottle.

Todoroki turns to find you frowning slightly at your nails.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just…” you press your hands carefully into your lap, “it got me thinking — this was… easy, wasn’t it?”

And he doesn’t have to ask what you’d meant by this. Because he knows. And with a jolt, he realizes that yes. This was easy. It was so easy, being with you, in this secluded place. So easy to laugh without worrying about the outside world, to forget, if only for a while.

Easy to kiss you, to hold you, to push away the thoughts of tomorrows and endings until — well.

“Yeah…” Todoroki breathes, “I guess… I guess it was.”

Silence blooms between you like a plume of smoke.

“But… I mean,” you say, waving your hands through the air to help your nails along, before slumping back into your pillows, “it was never going to be forever, right?”

And this time, Todoroki can’t quite tell if you’re talking about this or perhaps — he can’t help the tiny bead of hope coalescing in his chest — a future where your goodbye is the thing that doesn’t last forever.

“No,” he answers, allowing himself a small smile as he looks down at his own hands, “nothing really ever is.”

You giggle, rolling over to peer at him from your stomach, “You’re so serious.”

But by the time he lifts his head, you’d already crawled over to press your lips to his. It’s a sweet kiss, a simple kiss, and Todoroki feels his chest seize inside him, his arms going heavy with a liquid weight. When you pull away, he notices your eyes are fractured with tears. You wipe them away with a laugh.

“Look at me — I’m so silly.”

Todoroki shakes his head, reaching out to cup your cheeks gently between his hands, the way you’d taught him to with his own jagged emotions. And he feels it then, your sadness, your uncertainty, the stomach-twisting knowledge of endings.

“The beginning might’ve been easy but… this isn’t.”

You hiccup, going still as he holds you.

“So… I guess we were worth it after all, huh,” you say, looking down at the space between you.

Todoroki nods, leaning forward just enough to press his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his for a second before bringing you in for yet another kiss. He pulls away and tastes salt on his lips.

“That’s how we know — because the ending is hard. That’s how we know it was worth it.”

When the next morning comes, you don’t cry when you wave them all off, though many of the girls are. You catch his gaze and hold it for just a second longer than you’d done with anyone else. Beside him on the bus, Aoyama makes a soft, knowing kind of noise.

“Ah… first love is always such sweet despair,” he says, twinkling in his usual way.

Todoroki clears his throat, leaning back in his seat, a strange stillness settling over him as he thinks about the days ahead.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Todoroki says, to Aoyama’s dramatic surprise. But he recovers quickly and begins a soliloquy about something or other that carries them all the way back into the city, and to their assigned dorms.

He never forgets you, though there are moments when he’d wonder if that summer had really happened. Years later, when the memories have all gone watercolor-pale, and the edges blurred with time, he’ll still find himself reaching into the part of his mind that feels like the soft, steady weight of your hand on the back of his neck to calm him down, the smooth of your skin as you’d pressed against him and held him close.

And then, the year that he turns 24, it happens — he’d been called out into a small town just outside Shizuoka, for some kind of event that Fuyumi swears would be good for his publicity (as if he needed any more). Even after all these years, it still unsettles him to travel alone to these places, and he subconsciously reaches for the feeling of your palm pressing to his skin.

“Shouto?”

He turns at the sound of his name, and though a part of him assumes it’s yet another adoring fan, the deepest, most honest part of him whispers that it isn’t — that he knows this voice.

“Oh… its you,” the words slip from him like pebbles into a thawing stream.

And there you are, standing feet from him, your arms full of groceries, a red and white muffler strung around your shoulders, looking every bit as brilliant as the you from his memories.

The smile that splits your face is beautiful as heartbreak.

“Well, someone very wise once did tell me that nothing lasts forever… not even goodbyes.”

Todoroki takes half a step closer to you, a smile spreading across his own lips as he reaches out to help you with your groceries, taking the bags into his arms. The movement as natural as coming home.

“Yes but… I was thinking about it the other day and —”

“Oh? Just the other day?” you tease, bumping him slightly with your elbow was you set off down the half-empty street. It’s almost sundown, and the days are getting shorter again. Your breath fogs up the air before you and Todoroki suddenly thinks that winter looks good on you.

Even better than summer had.

“Yeah, but I realized…” he says, casting his eyes up at the cloud-strewn sky, the colors fading fast, the thick velvet of night inching up across the world like a curtain being drawn.

He turns his eyes back towards you, only to find you watching him with an indulgent smile on your face.

Todoroki blushes, feeling suddenly bashful, like the teenage boy he was when you two first met.

“I realized,” he says again, determined to finish his thought this time, “that when we first met… we never really said hello.”

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