#That includes wild ones too(this is a joke)

[tubbytarchia]

So I think my perception of Grian's reasoning for enabling the horrible Jimmy ecosystem and also my perception of his character as a whole has been turned on its head completely and I feel really bad for him after watching Kingdom of Valor and it's like bad roleplay but it's. it's done things to me and I've never ever felt this much for Grian not even in my sadboy Grian Desert Duo phase. I don't know what to do about this

SA word under cut

Episodes 6 and 10 (like the entirety of it) for context. :( . :(. But like major warning if you watch those episodes, especially 10, because um they didn't use any disclaimers

[skywalkr-nberrie]

One of the biggest arguments I’ve seen used by the Ob*d*l*s against Anidala, is that scene in the ROTS novel where Padmé says she could trust OW with the secret of the rebellion and was hesitant to tell Anakin and I just wanna say:

Padmé wasn't an idiot. She was an extremely intelligent and competent woman, perfectly able to understand that loving Anakin and thinking that he could be trusted with a certain politic-related matter were two very different things and reducing her choice regarding who to trust with an important political matter only on the basis of her feelings of romantic love diminishes her professionalism, and this is why I say y'all could never understand her.

Padmé didn’t have to "love" OW or even like him at all to know he was the perfect Jedi to ask for help in a secret political matter.

That's the point being made in the novel, she’s hit with the realization that Anakin in this particular moment could not be told this piece of info because of his relationship with Palpatine, and Padmé specifically mentions in the Junior ROTS novel that she didn't want to make Anakin “keep a secret” if he didn’t agree with their stance because it’d be “unfair.” So this also played a part in why Padmé didn’t think it best to inform Anakin about the Rebellion. It honestly had little to do with her actually lacking trust in him, and more to do with the circumstances she was in not allowing her to be open with her husband and her not wanting to make him choose between his wife and his “father figure.”

However, Padmé knows OW’s political ideas aren't tied to ONE particular person but to a philosophy, one which is closer to her own, at that point. None of this was ever meant to be hinted as “romantic” or even remotely insinuated as romantic. It’s strictly professional and even the tone of the scene makes that so abundantly clear.

All I’m saying is that, some of these proshippers are doing the most out here to try and prove their ship, like my loves? You forgot a very important thing called ✨ context ✨ and regardless of her rational thinking, Padmé still went out of her way to try and talk out all of this Rebellion secrecy stuff with Anakin when she confronted him in the scene where she asks if he ever thought they were “fighting on the wrong side.” Padmé didn’t trust OW in the same way she trusted Anakin (with her entire self and being) she had the level of trust and love for Anakin that was only meant for him.

Mixing up her unwavering faith in Anakin as her husband with her trust in OW’s devotion to duty as her comrade/ally is purposely deluding yourself, because the two aren’t the same and therefore can’t be compared. An example of this is: Padmé constantly putting more value to Anakin’s words over OW’s in the end of ROTS when he came to tell her of Anakin’s “crimes”. She completely disregarded what OW had claimed about her husband and instead made her way to where Anakin was herself, to ask him directly. Despite what the truth was, this is proof of her trusting Anakin unconditionally, and I didn’t even think I had to spell that out because it’s as clear as day.

In conclusion, Padmé didn’t trust OW more than Anakin, she just knew the circumstances she was in didn’t exactly make it easy for her to openly talk with her husband about these matters and that’s part of what played into the issues they had in ROTS, it’s exactly what Sidious wanted. This scene in the novel doesn’t exist to imply some hidden romantic undertone that George was intending all along. No, far from that. George was always an “open, , clear and easy to understand” type of storyteller, so if the former was the case, this scene wouldn’t be any different if there was some hidden message or subtext the reader should be made aware of, George would make it obvious. Fact of the matter is, the one and only reason for this scene in the novel to exist is only to show to us as the “reader” that the narrative is tearing apart the Star-Crossed-lovers (Anakin and Padmé.) and visibly putting the two of them on different sides in the story because the consequences of this narrative choice is what will foreshadow and play into the inevitable and great fall of the couple and character in the future. Even the novel makes a very purposeful and clear distinction between “love and trust” in this chapter where all this occurs. Padmé loves Anakin, but knew she had to trust OW with the situation at hand. And if you want to talk “narratively” Padmé needed a reason to keep the Rebellion a secret from Anakin, thus leading to Palpatine to sense “betrayal” in Padmé later on, and using that to his advantage to manipulate Anakin even more into getting him to “suspect” her. It’s all spelt out for us and it’s not hard to miss. All it takes is a little media literacy and understanding context.

(Mind you, hypothetically, if this scene existed for literally any other reason, it would’ve been brought up again, but it wasn’t. It’s only mentioned once and exists for only one moment which was meant to serve a certain narrative and then it was done. There’s not much to make of it since the context of the scene is so clear.)

[elftwink]

obviously theres no way to make tumblr polls statistically sound in any way and it's a fool's errand to try. that said can we stop making polls with answer distributions like this

this is what we in the biz call "non-exhaustive poll options" and what the layperson would call "why the fuck are you asking a yes/no question and then providing only one of the two possible answers" and it makes your response data ten times more meaningless than it already is. the rule of thumb for survey design is you never want a situation where your respondent looks at your question and says "well what the hell am i supposed to respond here" <- voice of someone who is about to fuck up your survey results supremely. sorry i know i said that it's impossible to make tumblr polls statistically sound so it doesn't really matter i just really love survey design

[s4pphoiduser]

in a world with an aftg show (because it Has to be a show, not a movie) seth would have a Pretty Guy actor playing him who looked even prettier when he was sneering or scowling and people would make edits of him with the velocity + slo-mo effects and be like "i can fix him"

[divineyetinpain]

Sunshine Avenue Valentines art!

Magnolia wishes you all a Happy Valentines Day!💗🌸

I was scared I wouldn't finish this before the great hearts day, but here we are! Remember valentines day isn't only for couples, give your beloved parental figure a hug and/or beloved siblings one! Tell your friend you appreciate them! Its a day of love!

As a side note, I started watching Nana recently and that anime stressed me out during the beginning. I'm in the middle I believe?? I think I finished episode 25.

[ariestrxsh]

❆ content warning: smut, use of toys, oral (f! & m!receiving), masturbation, cheating (kinda), getting caught, praise/degradation, voyeurism/exhibitionism, cuckold behavior, unprotected sex, threesome (ish), bf!chris, pervy!matt, gf!reader

❆ summary: chris buys you a dildo for christmas, and his brother matt, who has always had a thing for you stumbles upon you using it

Merry Chrattmas! 🤍 Sorry it's a little late. Inspired/requested by this ask.

Voyeur

"Alright, which one of you bought a sex toy?" Matt laughed after tearing open the package that had been left on the doorstep that morning without even bothering to look at the name of the recipient. He was holding up a glass dildo for the whole house to see. Nick's eyebrows flew up and his jaw dropped as his gaze meandered over to Chris from across the room.

"Give me that, asshole! What are you doing opening mail that isn't yours? What if it had been a gift for you?" Chris snarked, ripping the box and the toy out of Matt's hand. "Then I would have kindly asked you to return it," Matt chuckled, poking Chris in the side. Chris rolled his eyes.

"It's for my girlfriend, okay? Don't let her know that you've seen it, because she'd be really embarrassed," Chris responded, blushing. "I bet she'll look so good using it," Matt smirked, his imagination running wild.

It was no secret that Matt had always found you attractive. Everyone knew it. Chris knew it, Nick knew it, and even you knew it, but you'd oftentimes joke around, even to Matt's face, that you were a loyal Chris girl and that nothing could ever sway you.

Of course, Matt took this as a challenge and caused him to pine after you even more. You'd never admit to it, but you did secretly like the attention your boyfriend's brother gave you.

"Too bad you'll never know," Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's out-of-pocket comment and rushed off to his room to wrap the gift in private along with the pink Fresh Love hoodie he'd designed for you. He included a card in the gift that read:

"I hope you wear this hoodie and think of me the next time you get off without me. Merry Christmas, baby. I love you. Xoxo, Chris."

He scribbled in a poorly drawn heart at the bottom of the card. He swathed the box in gift wrap, tying a sparkly, pink bow around it and placing it under the tree.

It was only a few days later that you went over to your boyfriend's house to spend the night, and luckily, Nick was out for the evening, and Matt was on his way out, so the two of you were going to have the house to yourselves. It was the perfect opportunity for Chris to give you your present.

"You're going to love the gift my brother got you. It's gonna make you scream," Matt whispered into your ear and winked as he was getting ready to walk out the door. You rolled your eyes and scoffed at him, but your curiosity was sparked.

After he left, you and Chris sat in front of the fireplace in the glow of the burning wood and twinkling Christmas lights that were strewn around the tree. The scent of the sugar cookie candle that was burning down to the wick wafted through the air. Chris delicately placed the neatly-wrapped gift in your hand.

"I know it's not Christmas yet," Chris said with a warm smile, knowing you were the type of person who liked to wait until Christmas morning to open your gifts. You smiled back at him, fiddling with the pretty ribbon wrapped around it. "But?" You asked, waiting for him to finish his sentence.

"It's the kind of gift I want you to open alone," Chris responded, nervously biting his lip. You wrinkled your nose at him. Open alone? Too bad Matt knew what it was for whatever reason, you thought to yourself. You weren't sure where he was going with this, but that made it even harder to resist tearing open the gift.

"I'll make an exception. Just for you," you rolled your eyes in an endearing manner and began to tear off the wrap, revealing an unmarked box beneath the paper. You slowly removed the lid, and you gasped at the Fresh Love hoodie that was neatly folded on top.

It was your favorite color, and you clutched it close to your chest and gave your boyfriend an exhilarated smile. "Chris, I love it!" You glanced back down into the box where a card lay on top of some sparkly tissue paper. He'd made it himself, which made it that much more special. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you read the card aloud.

"Chris, what else is in here?" You wondered as you started rifling through the box. Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped as you examined the glass toy, and you picked it up by the pink heart-shaped handle. "Chris.. it's so pretty," you whispered.

"Not as pretty as you using it, though, I'm sure," he gave you a cheeky grin and nudged you. "I don't know how. You should show me," you gave him a fake pout and batted your eyelashes at him. You did know how to use it, but you wanted Chris to be the first one to use it on you.

"Take off your clothes," he lustfully whispered as you handed off the dildo to him, a smirk playing in the corner of your lip. You pulled off your sweater, revealing that you had nothing on underneath, and you took down the waistband of your pajama pants and your underwear.

"Fuck, you're already wet," Chris noticed aloud as you slowly spread open your legs, his fingertips lightly grazing your skin. He leaned down and started trailing kisses up your inner thighs while you gently combed through his hair with your fingers as he neared your heat.

He licked a long stripe up your slit, subtly flicking his tongue across your clit once he got to it. He placed your toy at your entrance and slowly pushed it in. You squealed and clamped your legs down around Chris' head as you stretched around the glass dildo.

He began to gently fuck you with it, listening to the pretty sounds that fell from your lips as you threw your head back. You gripped his hair, tugging on it as he picked up the pace of his tongue, quickly flitting it over your bundle of nerves. He closed his lips down around it, humming against your clit, your legs shaking at the sensation.

The dildo didn't feel quite as good as having sex with Chris, but it was good enough that you knew it would satisfy you the next time you were turned on and missing him. He worked the toy in and out of you at a gradually quickening pace, and your hips started to move in unison with it.

"Chris, you're amazing," you breathlessly purred, and he chuckled with your pussy in his mouth. He could tell you were getting close. He didn't fluctuate, his motions remaining constant while his pretty blue eyes flicked up to meet yours. You rested your hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to keep eating you as your whole body started to tremble.

"Yes.. please.. just like that.. mmm.. gonna cum," you said in a series of broken moans. You felt yourself squeezing around the toy the same way your thighs were squeezing around Chris' ears, and before you knew it, you were coming undone at the seams.

The pressure that had spent so much time building in your core finally reached its breaking point. You bucked your hips, riding the toy and grinding against Chris' face as you finished. Your broken moans turned to fervent whimpers, and your whimpers turned to desperate screams, just like Matt had predicted. Your eyes wandered towards the back of your head.

Chris didn't take his gaze off you. He loved making you feel good, and he relished in the way your body reacted to orgasm. He thrust the toy in and out of you and licked your sensitive button until you were completely finished and pushing his head away.

"Oh my god," you said, trying to catch your breath and recover from the intensity of your climax. Chris came up for air, his lips and chin glistening in your fluids. "That was so hot," he said in a low, sexy voice. You took the toy from him and leaned in to kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue as the two of you passionately made out.

"You're so good at giving," you told him. "Gifts, I mean." The two of you laughed at your play on words. You both spent the rest of the night watching Christmas movies cuddled up on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa while the fire burned through the rest of the wood.

You and Chris eventually found your way to his bedroom where the two of you fell asleep in each other's arms tangled in the sheets. The warmth of his body wrapped around you and the comforting feeling of his hot breath on your neck was the last thing you remembered before you drifted off...

You awoke the next morning to Chris shifting around on the bed, and after you rubbed your eyes, you realized he was getting dressed to go somewhere. "Where are you going?" You asked in your sleepy voice.

"I'm going to go pick us up coffee and bagels. Just keep sleeping like a little angel, and I'll be back soon. I love you," Chris whispered, leaning down to kiss you and ruffle your hair.

You were hoping to sneak in a little early morning sex with him, but he was already putting his shoes on, and you figured you could just use the new toy he bought you while he was gone. "I love you, too," you responded in a sweet voice.

You watched him from your foggy window, flakes of snow starting to slowly fall from the sky. Your face lit up, excited that you were going to get your White Christmas after all. Chris blew you a kiss before he got into his car and sped off.

You sauntered over to the pretty box that held your gifts. You changed into the pink Fresh Love hoodie Chris had designed for you, and you twirled around in front of his big mirror, admiring how perfectly it fit you.

You reached for the phallic-shaped glass and held it in your hands, contemplating whether to wait until Chris got back or to use it. You decided on the latter, unable to contain yourself any longer.

While Chris was still out getting the two of you breakfast, Matt wandered in through the front door. He set his keys down, let out a sigh, and started off down the hall, completely unaware of what he was about to stumble upon.

He walked past Chris' room, but some movement out of the corner of his eyes caused him to stop dead in his tracks and take a couple steps back. He was surprised to find you there, considering he didn't think anyone was home.

What surprised him even more was what you were doing. You were laying on your back on Chris' bed in nothing but your pink hoodie, legs spread, and your pussy wrapped around the toy he'd accidentally opened in the mail a couple days earlier.

You were so enthralled with what you were doing that you didn't even hear him come in or see him as he leaned up against your door frame with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He raised an eyebrow as he studied the view, wetting his lips. It was everything he hoped it would be.

Your facial expressions were steeped in desire, ethereal moans rolling off your tongue, and your cunt stretching around the toy as you worked it back and forth. He immediately grew hard, watching you and imagining it was his cock pumping in and out of you.

Your eyes flickered up, realizing he was in the room with you. You gasped and shut your legs, holding the toy still inside of you as you clenched around it. "Please. Don't stop," Matt begged, reaching for the bulge in his pants and gently running his hand over it. "Keep going. Please. I just wanna watch," he softly begged.

It was so hard to see him stroke himself through his sweatpants and not do the same. You knew it was wrong to be feeling this way about your boyfriend's brother, but you felt your stomach drop as your eyes landed on the outline of his hard cock and before you knew it, you were spreading your legs back open and continuing to fuck yourself with your dildo.

"Does that feel good?" He asked you, and you timidly nodded at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. He walked forward a few feet, coming around to the side of the bed to watch you more closely. He reached out and lightly brushed your cheek with the back of his hand.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you quietly told him, but you couldn't help the way you relaxed into his touch as he caressed your face. "It's not like I'm fucking you," Matt smirked, and as he said it, your mind was immediately filled with ideas about what it would be like to get fucked by him.

Matt brushed his thumb against your bottom lip and gently pushed it into your mouth. You accepted it and started lightly sucking on it while Matt reached into his sweats and pulled out his pretty cock. You were shocked at how similar it looked to Chris', and it made it even easier for you to justify to yourself that you weren't technically doing anything wrong.

You sped up the toy thrusting into you as Matt continued to poke and prod your mouth with his fingers while he fervently jerked off at eye-level with you. "Good girl," Matt whispered as he ran his other thumb over his tip, coaxing a shiny fluid to leak from it. You sped up the pace as you watched him.

You knew the two of you were crossing a line, but you couldn't help yourself. Matt was too busy watching your toy glide in and out of your hole, and you were too busy watching Matt fist his cock that neither one of you saw Chris standing in the doorway with bagels and coffee as he stumbled upon the two of you and the way you were each hungrily looking at one another.

"Oh yeah? So I'm out getting you breakfast and you're using the toy I got you in front of my brother?" He scoffed, breaking the two of you out of your trance and making each of you jump.

He expected this from Matt, but he was shocked to see this kind of behavior from you. Matt pulled his thumb out from between your lips, and you each brought your movements to a standstill.

The longer Chris fixed his eyes on the scene in front of him, the more he found himself getting turned on by you playing with yourself in front of his brother. "Don't let me stop you. At least let me enjoy the show," Chris said, setting down the bagels and coffee on his dresser as he made his way to the foot of the bed and sat down.

You and Matt were dumbfounded, wondering if this was some kind of test. You halfway expected Chris to get angry, break up with you, or even physically fight his own brother. Yet, he was calm, and he seemed like he might have even liked it.

"Come on. Keep going," Chris demanded, and after a moment of hesitation, you continued to pump your toy into your drooling hole. Matt stuck his pointer finger into your mouth, and you started lightly sucking on it. A soft sigh left Matt's lips as he imagined you sucking on a different appendage, and he went back to stroking his pretty cock.

As if Chris could read Matt's thoughts, he flicked his gaze over at you, "Why don't you help him out?" He asked, a smirk playing in the corner of his mouth. You nodded and then looked back over at Matt who was putting his dick in your face that was silently begging to be sucked on.

You accepted him, wrapping your lips around his thickness as he started rocking his hips back and forth. He emitted a moan and his hand flew up to tangle itself in your hair. "Good girl," he softly purred, grabbing onto a fistful of your locks and pushing it further into your mouth.

He wasn't sure how far Chris would let him go with it, but he figured he'd test the boundaries until either one of you told him he was taking it too far. His other hand wandered between your legs. He started rubbing your clit, eliciting a moan from you that reverberated against his cock, leaving him with a lovely sensation.

"You're such a shameless little slut, aren't you? Letting my brother touch you in front of me as if I'm not your boyfriend?" Chris snarked at you, but you could tell by the luscious tone of his voice and the way he was stroking himself through his pants that he was getting off on what he saw.

"Come on, Matt. Fuck her pretty little face. She can take it. I promise," Chris encouraged him. He tightened his grip on your hair and did as Chris told him, jerking his hips forward triggering your gag reflex.

Matt continued drawing circles on your clit with the pad of his fingers as he stared into your watering eyes. His cock twitched against the back of your throat as he listened to the sound of you choking on him.

"Good girl. You take it so well. I wish I could fuck you," Matt purred. You moaned against Matt's length at the idea of him plowing you while your boyfriend watched. Chris was still gently rubbing his tip through the fabric of his pants as he watched the way you and Matt interacted with another.

"Merry Christmas, Matt. You can do whatever you want to her," Chris told him, getting harder and harder as his eyes flickered back and forth between the two of you. Matt's eyes twinkled as those words left Chris' lips.

"Oh, don't tell me that. I won't be able to control myself," Matt smirked, pulling his dick out from behind your lips with a pop. Matt grabbed the handle of your toy and slowly removed it from you and placed it on your nightstand.

"Go crazy. Can't you see how bad the little slut wants it?" Chris asked, staring down at the fucked out expression on your face and your pussy that was clenching around nothing.

Matt positioned himself between your legs, the tip of his cock teasing your hole. "You want it, don't you? You like the idea of getting fucked in front of your boyfriend?" Matt chuckled, breaching your entrance and beginning to gently rock his hips back and forth with only the first few inches of him inside you.

You slowly nodded, screwing your eyes shut as your jaw dropped at the change in sensation of Matt replacing your toy with his throbbing phallus. With every thrust, he pushed it in a little deeper until he was completely bottomed out inside of you, hitting the perfect spot.

The sounds of each of your moans dragging out and becoming louder as Matt pumped away. He placed your legs on his shoulders, fucking you harder and faster as you felt the pressure in your core building and building.

He pushed up your pink hoodie, revealing your perfect tits to him, and he gently squeezed one as he admired them. "Fuck, look at these," Matt whispered, pinching your nipple between the pads of his fingers, eliciting a soft mewl from you.

You could see Chris out of the corner of your eye moving towards you and coming around to the side of the bed. He took your hand in his and started caressing the back of it with his thumb. "Is he making you feel good?" He whispered into your ear before kissing your forehead. "Mhmm," you hummed delightfully.

It was always a fantasy of his to watch you get fucked by someone else, and although this wasn't exactly how he pictured it, he figured he couldn't let the opportunity go to waste.

"You take it like a little slut, you know that?" Chris cooed in your ear before latching onto your neck. You nodded, relishing in the way he spoke to you and the way his lips felt as he sucked on your sensitive flesh.

Matt loved the way it felt to be inside of you. He'd been fantasizing about it forever. He'd never admit it, but he'd stayed awake many nights, ear pressed up against Chris' door with his hand in his pants, listening to the sound of you getting fucked. He'd memorized the way your sweet little moans would slowly morph into seductive screams every time Chris would bring you to orgasm.

Now he was the reason pleasured noises were cascading from your lips, and he couldn't get enough. He knew you were getting close. "Oh, that's it," Matt grunted as he threw his head back, feeling you squeeze around his cock.

"Are you gonna cum for my brother?" Chris purred in your ear, recognizing the way your body was reacting and knowing you were about to finish. You looked into Chris' eyes and slowly nodded as the knot in your stomach came unraveled, your pussy rhythmically clenching around him.

"Good girl," Matt breathlessly whispered, pounding into you as hard as he could. Your pleasure reached a crescendo, and you heard a ringing in your ears and a strong buzzing throughout your body as you came undone on Matt's cock.

You couldn't see or think straight. All you could feel was an intense surge of pleasure followed by a wave of calmness washing over you as Matt's dick started to throb inside of you. He pulled out at the last second, painting your stomach in his load and pumping his cock back and forth with his fist until he had milked himself dry.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and his moans filled the room as he finished all over you. "Oh my god," he breathlessly whimpered, wiping beads of sweat from his forehead. Chris' eyes followed the mess he made, his cock jerking at the sight.

"Hey, Matt. Just letting you know, this was a one-time thing, and if you're not out of here by the time I come to my senses, I might fucking kill you," Chris said sternly. Matt nodded, quickly pulling himself to his feet and tucking himself back into his pants before darting out of the room.

"Loyal Chris girl, huh?" Chris snarked at you, using your own words against you. "Chris.." you started to say, expecting him to get angry with you next. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I'm not mad at Matt either. I just wanted to see him run away like a little bitch," he told you, his lips curling into a devious smile.

"I actually really liked watching you two together," he admitted, biting his lip. Your eyebrows flew up in a look of surprise. You could tell he liked it, but you didn't think he'd confess to it. "Come on. Your coffee's probably cold by now."

taglist: @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @slutforsturniolosss @sturniolosweets @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts @smt-obsessed @sturnioloxlver @that1fangirll @hrtz4alex2211 @luvhsien @sp3ncerslvt @sturniolo-munch44 @jakewebberswifee @ssturniolooss @thenickgurl @sturniolo-fann @sst7niolo @babysturniolo @chestersturniolo @riowritesitall @camzeecorner @mattsturnixlo @annedebeijer @scorpioosworld @mattlover-00 @sweetlikesug4rvenom @m11rx @sturniolocharms @mickelodeon-2003 @sigmarizzler1 @chrislova @stellarsturns @lelesturniolo @sturniolodoll @ilovemattsturn @blahbel668 @fratboychrisera

[mv1simp]

Vegas, Baby (I Wanna Ride) ♥️

Max Verstappen x Friend!Reader

welcome to vegas baby, give me money, give me diamonds, give me rubies baby (get on your knees and beg me please to let you in me)

Tonight's a big night for the Redbull team in Las Vegas. Max Verstappen just won his 4th WDC, and you, his good friend, just won your first F2 race. After months of rising sexual tension, the line between you and Max starts blurring during a wild Vegas afterparty. Nothing beats crowning a 4th championship than passionate celebration sex, right?

Content includes: 18+ MDNI, smut, dom! Max, sub! Reader who’s playing mind games to seduce him, size kink, praise kink, cream pie, morally dubious relationship status but no cheating, drunk passionate sex with max post WDC is literally the epitome of my dreams, 5.3k WC

Max! The blonde Dutchman’s concentration shifts from one of the many post Las Vegas Grand Prix interviews he’s been coerced into to hear your familiar voice excitedly calling for him. His cute smile turns into an even more gorgeous grin as he spots you making a beeline across the media pen, long curls flying behind you. The cameras rapidly start stuttering as you practically leap into Max’s arms when he tightly hugs you back, lifting you up off the ground easily. Congratulations, Maxie! you gush excitedly, beaming up at him with genuine emotion. I’m so happy for you, you deserve this win so much!

Pink dusts the cheeks of the now 4 time world champion from your attention as he looks down at your shorter frame, his muscular arms snugly around your waist. You couldn’t care less about the sticky champagne drenching his suit, because your own RB suit is wet from your celebration of winning the F2 race earlier that day. You too, schatje, Max returns warmly, the paparazzi completely ignored. Winning your first race, in Las Vegas too, from P11? I’m so proud of you! Now you're blushing as he tousles your hair affectionately. You two are just good friends, of course, and Max is in a relationship with a model - even though it's a rather turbulent one. But the F1 gossip mill is always running rampant with rumours about your relationship with Max - especially with the overfamiliar touches you're both now leaving with lingering hands on each other.

The interviewers flock at the chance to interview the F1 and F2 champions together, who provide them with entertaining answers fueled by the 3rd G&T that Max has already started drinking from his Redbull bottle. You smirk and raise your own bottle to cheers against his, making Max’s icy blue eyes twinkle with amusement as he realises you’re very much on the same wavelength of starting celebrations early. Great minds think alike, right Maxie? you wink conspiratorially, making him laugh. The media reps are basically forgotten as the pair of you end up in your own conversation of excited yapping about adrenaline fueled moments from your races, littered with inside jokes lost to the viewers.

When his PR manager calls Max's name, trying to prevent anymore dubious scandals, the blonde looks apologetically towards you, promising that the two of you would have to celebrate properly tonight, okay? You nod eagerly as you watch him go for the rest of his media duties, your smile so wide that your cheeks almost hurt. You’re still buzzing with adrenaline of your own win, and know that your own manager won’t be happy with the pictures of you practically climbing Max to hug him, not an inch of space between you as he pulls you against him. After all, the tabloids love to speculate that there’s something more between the Redbull 3 time - now 4! - world champion and you, the rising talent in F2 with your Redbull Academy seat, and one of the very few women on the grid.

That’s how you and Max had met - on the Redbull practice circuit, the two of you the only ones wanting to practise in horrific conditions of rain and hail. He’d been curious to see another car with the familiar Bull logo out on the track, and then found himself even more curious when the helmet came off to reveal your cutely flushed face and pretty curls that fell down your back. You became fast friends, after you got along your initial awe of 3x WDC Max Verstappen casually giving you driving pointers. He was actually an incredibly humble and loyal friend, and you appreciated how much time he'd spent out of his busy schedule to help you. Meanwhile, Max found your conversation and humour so refreshing compared to other junior drivers who would suck up to him, and you were never afraid to give Max a piece of your mind with your fiery, passionate personality - similar to his. For the first time in months since he'd started dating his demanding girlfriend, who always told Max off for being too loud or making immature jokes, Max found himself genuinely relaxing and speaking freely.

So with all the time on the practise track, and then off the track when you moved to Monaco and began attending the same parties, padel games and hungover brunches with Max, it was no surprise the two of you had become good friends - with a lot of speculation from the public. Many of his fans and friends disliked his current relationship with the pretty model who constantly used Max's name for her own clout with little interest in his passion for racing and e-sim gaming. In comparison, the easy laughs and witty banter seen frequently between you and Max had many conspiring that you'd be a far better match for the F1 champion. Especially in today's Las Vegas interviews, where the growing electric chemistry was palpable to viewers even through the screen.

Of course, you'd never admit to anyone that you secretly agreed with all the gossip columns. You and Max were perfectly suited for each other - but you would never be able to tell him, especially as you didn't have the slightest idea if Max liked you back or even found you attractive since he was so outgoing and touchy with all his close friends. For the past couple of months you'd been secretly pining for him, eyeing his moody girlfriend jealously as she yanked him from celebrations to go home early. You'd starting catching yourself staring up at the gorgeous blonde with heart eyes when he'd patiently explain some new racing tactic to you. No guy could come close to Max in your mind, and you're becoming increasingly sexually frustrated as the object of your desires stayed out of your reach but you aren't hook up with anyone else. So much so that in the week before Las Vegas, you'd started having some very dirty dreams involving a tall, muscular, blonde ending training early and bending you over the hood of his car as he whispered accented Dutch in your ear. Gonna let me fuck you now, baby? You'll take all of my cock, just like I taught you, right?

You knew it was so, so wrong to secretly lust after your friend and teammate like this - especially since he was taken. But tonight, with the thrill of winning your first ever F2 race in frickin' Vegas of all places, at the same time as Max taking his 4th WDC...Well, let's just say you were feeling especially wild tonight. Taking another shot of gin as you got ready in your spacious hotel bathroom, you admire the sight of yourself in the mirror. You're lot more dressed up than usual, out of your racing suit for once . Smokey eyeshadow compliments your wide, doe eyes and long hair you’d blown out in loose curls, all to show off the main view of a tight, sparkly red minidress that pushed up your tits perfectly. You certainly looked the part of a winner out on a hunt for the best way to celebrate tonight, and your best friend agreed as she whistled when walking into the bathroom. Girl, goddamn, that dress looks insanely sexy on you! she gushed, making you shoot her a pleased smile. Trying to catch a certain someone’s attention tonight? she added with a teasing look. Don’t worry, Max won’t be able to keep his eyes off you!

You let out an embarrassed yelp and tell her to shut up, you were not into him like that! Used to your denials, your friend rolls her eyes fondly and tells you you’d been practically moaning his name when you’d been napping earlier, you little slut! She puts you out of your misery when your face goes as red as your dress by adding in that she’d heard his girlfriend wasn’t here tonight to celebrate - apparently, she was pissed he hadn’t flown her out on his private jet and he’d decided to take a break. Winking, she tells you that Max is all yours tonight! You shoo her away but your heart’s nervously skipping a beat with the news. Slipping on your impressive six inch stilettos with glittery straps circling around your legs, you make your way to the after party downstairs.

The bass is thumping, drinks easily flowing and the crowded hotel nightclub buzzing with energy tonight where many of the racing drivers and fans have come to celebrate tonight. You’d meant to go find Max when you got there, but are pulled into excited hugs by lots of your own friends and team members to congratulate you. Soon enough, a few hours have passed and you’re very pleasantly tipsy, giggling and twirling around on the dance floor with your girlfriends and quite a few guys who are running appreciative looks over your pretty figure. But when your wide doe eyes finally meet icy blue across the room, all other men are forgotten and you're making your way over in a heartbeat.

Schatje, Max greets you easily, interrupting the conversations people crowding around him were trying to start. You give him an adoring smile as you wrap your arms around those ridiculously wide shoulders of his when he pulls you into him. The alcohol you’ve both been drinking lowers your boundaries as you giggle into his ears you’ve been looking everywhere for him! He chuckles, telling you that he’d been right here, but you’d been too popular with everyone else tonight. Too busy for me now that you’re a F2 winner? he teases. You playfully push his broad chest, admiring how toned his muscles are under your freshly manicured palm. Maybe, you tease back. I only enjoy the company of drivers who are five time world champions, at least. Seen Lewis anywhere?

Max’s gorgeous blue eyes crinkle in amusement as he tips his head back to laugh, and you're staring up his thick neck, enjoying the sight of his angular jaw and plush lips with a cute freckle you wanted so desperately to kiss. Reminding yourself not to get too carried away until you had some idea how Max felt, you tugged at his biceps to indicate you wanted him to follow you. He easily took your hand in his, intertwining your fingers together as you pull him towards the second floor. This was a pretty frequent for you two, breaking off from a crowded party to yap and gossip about some drama or catch up without all eyes on you. Just as you reach the stairs, one of your team’s engineers calls out to you, giving you a tight embrace that lasts a few seconds too long to be a friendly congratulations. You don’t really notice though, too relaxed and happy, and gush your thank you’s to him as he compliments how well you drove today. He’s pretty cute, and you’re starting to get carried away in the conversation until a warm, large palm curls possessively around your curvy hips. A shiver runs up your spine as Max’s deep voice drawls out behind you that he was bored, can you two go upstairs now?

You immediately turn your focus back onto the attractive blonde, assuring him Of course, Maxie! Your arm wraps around his bicep to steady yourself as you two walk upstairs, your high heels clicking against the marble floor. Your abruptly forgotten engineer receives a rather smug smirk from Max. When you’re finally alone in a tiny powder room, small enough that you have to stand close together with the locked door but well lit by an illuminated mirror atop the counter, Max can’t resist a snarky that engineer seemed very into you.

You dismiss Max’s claims, telling him to stop joking around as you leaned into the mirror to repply your lip gloss. No, he was definitely checking you out, Max responds behind you. His already deep accent you’d always had a thing for turns even huskier. Can’t blame him though…you look fucking incredible tonight.

Desire curls in your gut as you gasp at his unexpected compliment, glancing to see Max’s blue eyes locked onto you through the mirror. The Dutchman’s gaze is sharp despite the tipsy flush on his cheeks as it wanders up your lush thighs, accentuated by your stilettos, over your juicy ass and hips before coming to meet your pretty eyes. There’s no denying the hungry expression he wears, especially as you slowly finish applying your lip gloss, drawing his attention to your tempting pink lips. He looks like a lion starving to sink his fangs into his next meal.

You swallow, suddenly feeling a little shy as you avoid his gaze, even though you'd dolled up tonight just for him. You should be saying something like that to your girlfriend, you say suddenly. Where is she, anyways? Max rolls his eyes at the reminder, unamused with the change of topic. Fuck knows, he says exasperatedly. I don’t care anymore, we’re taking a break. You turn to face him, raising an eyebrow as you coyly ask Just a break? What, she’s trying to find a billionaire because a F1 millionaire just isn’t cutting it?

Max chuckles at your not so subtle dig, knowing how you felt about his rather superficial girlfriend. But instead of letting it go, tonight you decide to continue and ask him why he was still with her? He shrugs, telling you it was just easier at this point to stay with her instead of the drama of a messy breakup, and dating hot but 2D models was what everyone expected of F1 drivers anyway.

You narrow your eyes, a little annoyed now, and step closer to Max to announce that’s stupid, since when did he do what others expect of him instead of what he wanted? Besides, he deserved a girlfriend who actually cared for him as a person, who celebrated each of his wins and losses, and on a night like tonight - well, he should be getting whatever he wanted from her, you added playfully. You’ve ended up so close that Max can feel the warmth of your soft tits pressed up against his chest, the heels you’re wearing helping your height. He can't resist admiring at the way your cleavage bounces every time you passionately speak.

Whatever I want, huh? Max murmurs lowly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he suddenly leans down, making your eyes widen and thick lashes flutter. His thumb softly brushes across your cheeks to press against your lower lip, parting your mouth slightly. He’s silent for a moment, choosing his next words carefully, and then - What if all I want is you?

You gasp, both with excitement and shock at the realisation that Max returned your feelings. A coy smile appears on your lips as you press your hands to his firm chest, leaning up to whisper into his ear that he was lucky, then, because you'd been looking for a way to congratulate him properly.

He grins wickedly as you return his hungry look, your normally sparkling eyes now sultry with desire. Oh yeah? he says lowly, large palms skimming your waist. And what were you thinking would be the proper way to say congratulations?

There’s no going back to friendship after this, the blurred line well and truly vanishing. Thank god, because you couldn’t take the sexual frustration any longer. You’d heard that the sex after winning in Vegas is really good…and since he’d ended up winning the championship, he deserved to fuck you long and hard, right?

Max’s breath hitches at your offer, his already semi erect cock hardening. Fuck, schatje, he breathes, his lips so close to yours they’re almost touching. That mouth of yours…I didn’t know it could be so dirty. Makes me want to ruin it. You smile with faux innocence, batting your lashes up at him. Why don’t you, Max? Ruin me, then.

That’s all it takes for his lips to lock into yours, a gentle first kiss between friends quickly turning into a sloppy, heated make out that has you drooling against him. Been wanting to do this forever, Max groans in between deep kisses. You giggle, asking him what his girlfriend would think of that. Who? Max says, looking genuinely confused as he leans in again to slide his tongue in to explore your mouth. Oh, the ex? You laugh into the kiss, knowing any other woman would be out of the picture by the time you’ve shown Max just how he deserved to be treated tonight.

Suddenly you’re being lifted up easily to sit on the marble counter, squealing at his impressive strength. He greedily presses against you, your lush thighs parting easily around his narrow waist. It’s a good thing the club’s bass is so loud, otherwise any passerbys would hear the wet, sensual moans of you passionately making out. Max’s bear paws of hands squeeze your thighs and plump ass firmly, making your minidress ride up so he could feel your dampening panties as you start grinding against his impressive bulge through his jeans. Fuck, schatje, you’re already this wet? Max breathes, blue eyes blown with desire when he pulls back for a second as you both pant. Only for you, Maxie you say adoringly, running manicured hands along his broad shoulders and into his soft, blonde locks. Whatever you want tonight, remember? So tell me, what would the world champion like next?

Max inhales sharply at your obedient words, at how you’re looking up at his darkened blue eyes with so much devotion. It fills him with an inexplicable need to have you all to himself, not just tonight but every night from now. You decide to give him a gentle nudge, guiding his large palms to cup your full breasts through your dress. You keep looking at my chest, Maxie. Do you want to see what’s underneath my dress? Max’s jaw drops open as you help his fingers tug down your neckline, letting it fall to your waist and leaving you half dressed in a lacy navy blue bra.

My favourite colour, Max says absentmindedly, too distracted with the heavenly vision in front of him. When you giggle and tell him you know, that’s why you wore it! he groans lowly, yanking the lace down so your full breasts lay exposed to his hungry gaze. So fucking pretty, he breathes, you look so good in my colours, schatje.

You can’t respond because you’re moaning again from his thick fingers squeezing your bouncing tits, circling your sensitive, hard nipples before latching his mouth over your areolas. Oh, Maxie! Mmm, feels so good! He hums with your tits inside his talented mouth, enjoying your sweet moans in his ears as he leaves a trail of hickeys over your chest and neck. You’re getting wetter by the second, and judging from the large, hard bulge you’re desperately humping, you’re certain Max is just as turned on as you are. But tonight’s about congratulating him, and you can’t get too distracted, tugging at the white t-shirt he’s wearing. Your turn!

Max smirks, and yanks his shirt off in half a second. Now you’re temporarily short circuiting at his broad pecs, ogling his thick upper arms and shoulders that taper down to his slim hips. You can’t resist tracing a path down his defined abs with your manicured fingers, making Max tease you with like what you see, schatje?

You shut him up as your hand comes to rest just above his belt buckle, brushing his blonde happy trail but going no further. Hmm, I’ve seen better, you tease back coyly. His jaw hardens as you come tantalisingly close to where he really wants to feel you. When he wraps his hand around yours to stop your games, you surprise him again when you bring your joined hands up to your lips. Curiosity piqued, he watched you intently as you press the pad of his pointer finger onto your swollen lips like he’d done earlier…and then part your lips to slide him inside till the knuckle. Oh, fucking hell, Max hisses lowly.

You don’t miss a beat, staring right into his eyes sultrily as you swirl your tongue around his thick finger, letting him imagine what else your drooling, wet mouth could do. He swallows when you release him with a pop, only to oh so innocently bat your lashes at him to say did he have anything bigger for you to lick?

Max has a hand tangled in your curls instantly, pushing your all too willing body down onto your knees as he swears, saying if he’d known you were going to be such a good girl for him he’d have fucked you months ago. You whine desperately, making him completely entranced as you press soft kisses to his clothed erection. He unbuckles himself for you, the small room silent except for the clinking of metal making both of you impatient. You gasp when his generously sized cock emerges from his Calvin Klein boxers, his pink tip resting right in front of you. He almost cums right there when you look up at him with those wide doe eyes, the very picture of innocence but your filthy words anything but. It-it’s so big, Maxie. Even larger than what I’d dreamed about.

And then you’re messily kissing up and down his engorged shaft, smearing your lipgloss all over as you pant and drool over his length. Oh my fucking god, Max groans, head slamming into the door behind him. That mouth of yours, baby- Jesus fucking Christ.

He’s rendereded speechless when you begin suckling on his hypersensitive tip, circling it with full concentration just like you’d done with his finger. You don’t break eye contact, pulling back slightly to pump his base with two hands and blow air over his angry, swollen cockhead. Tastes so good, Maxie. ‘M gonna worship your cock tonight, just like my world champion deserves. Your throat goes completely lax as you take his impressive length all the way to the base, gurgling and drooling messily as you hollow your cheeks to suck firmly.

Fuck! Jesus, schat, baby, I’m gonna - Max is panting heavily, cheeks adorably red and flushed as he tangles his large palms into your curls. Go-gonna fuck that insane mouth of yours now, okay?

You hum in agreement, sending vibrations running down his shaft. He doesn’t waste any time then, dragging your face forward and roughly thrusting himself into your wet, slack mouth. Loud, obscene sounds of the dirty blowjob you’re performing for him are filling the air, and there’s no doubt anyone listening in the hallway would be able to tell exactly what going on behind the door. But the both of you couldn’t care less, too far gone. And if your mindblowing deepthroat hadn’t been enough, you’re whimpering in between thrusts that he’s so big, you bet he could fuck your tits at the same time as your mouth-

He doesn’t even need to process that sexy mental image because you’re now using your free hands to cup your bouncing breasts and wrap them snugly around the base of his cock, his leaking tip still thrusting in and out of your mouth. Like this, see Maxie?

Max roars in approval at the filthy display, the warmth of your soft tits sending him over the edge. Gonna cum now, he pants breathlessly. Open your mouth for me, baby, you’ll swallow it all, right?

You follow his command immediately, desperately saying please, please Maxie, wanna taste you so bad, you can cum wherever you want-

He slaps his heavy cockhead against your chubby cheeks first, and then onto your pink tongue as you poke it out, collecting drops of precum from his angry red tip. He’s meanly chuckling as you go cross eyed from his cock whacking your face, squealing with excitement. Guess the only thing that shuts you up is my cock in your mouth.

You nod eagerly, panting with your lips wide open expectantly as you stare up at him, your pretty makeup completely destroyed from the messy blowjob. The sight of you so desperate for him is what tips him over, and with a silent moan he jerks himself off to flood your mouth with a generous, creamy load. So much that you struggle to swallow it, some of it leaking out the corners of your lips to drip onto your heaving tits. But you take most of it just like you promised him, licking your lips rather sluttily before opening your mouth to show him. See, Maxie? Drank it all for you.

He yanks you up off the floor, pressing your soft jiggling chest up against his hard pecs as he rewards you with a deep kiss. Did fucking amazing, sweetheart, he sighs into you. That was definitely the best head I’ve ever gotten. You flush from his compliment, sultry eyes turning shy now from his praise. But the Dutch Lion’s appetite isn’t satiated tonight. He pulls your dress back up, wiping away your smeared gloss and smudged mascara before redressing himself. But we aren’t finished just yet, schatje, he croons as he gently untangles your curls from your dangly earrings. You bite your lip, hanging onto his each word as he says After all, you’d won in Vegas too. He’ll have to show you how good the sex is, now.

Desire darkens your bright, dazed eyes at the thought of Max finally fucking you. You bury your face in his thick neck, wrapping your arms around him as you plead for him to please take you upstairs, you needed him so bad, you couldn’t take it anymore.

He chuckles at your cute begging, discreetly leading you down the hallway that’s thankfully empty while keeping you firmly pressed to his chest. As much as he’d wiped away the streaks of mascara, any of your friends would only have to take one look to know what you’d been upto. The ride up the discreet service elevator is another test of self restraint, the camera in the corner stopping the both of you from outright debauchery. But you can’t stop weakly grinding against Max’s muscular thigh that separates your plush legs, clinging onto him as he whispers dirty things in your ear with that Dutch voice you loved. Tell me what kind of naughty dreams you’ve been having about me, he demands. And of course, you oblige, turning his ears pink and voice huskier when he finds out just what you’d been secretly pining for.

He lifts you up, your legs straddling his waist easily when you finally reach your floor, an carried you down the hallway. After you’re clumsily swiping your room card with Max’s very distracting lips leaving kisses to your throat, you find yourself inside your dark hotel room at last. The Vegas city lights stream in from the floor to ceiling windows, illuminating Max’s handsome form as he looks down to drink in the pretty sight of you. Fucking finally, Max groans, ripping his shirt and pants off in one go and kicking his shoes to the side. He wraps an arm around your waist to pick you up again and gently toss you onto the king sized bed, making you giggle excitedly as you land with a bounce. And then he’s on top of you, eyes dark and a cocky smirk on his face as he presses his warm length against your soaked panties. See what you’ve done to me, schatje? I’m already hard again. Completely ruined me for anyone else with this perfect body. He finishes his sentence with a slow roll of his hips, making you moan breathily at the contact, with your panties so wet they’re practically stuck to you and you can feel all of him.

He unzips you out of your dress, leaving heated kisses all over your body as he admires the sight of your navy lingerie set, telling you he’d buy you ten more so you could wear them for him after every race when he fucked you. You keen at his attention, at the thought that Max wants you again and again, eyes teary as you start to try and grind your hips against him. You’ll have to be patient, schatje Max says in an amused tone, sounding much more in control than the moaning, dripping mess he’s turned you into. You teased me so much after all, it’s only fair that it’s my turn now, right? He kisses your ankles softly as he unties your strappy heels, letting them fall to the floor. And then, with a strong hand on each of your delicate ankles, he hungrily takes in the sight of your dripping pussy. Your tummy flutters almost nervously in anticipation of what’s coming.

Turns out Max, just like you, always held true to his promises. You’d had to be very patient as he had his turn of teasing you mercilessly, making you cum all over his thick fingers that stretched you out and skilled tongue that found your sensitive clit almost immediately. And when he’s finally ripping the condom packet open and slapping your core with his heavy cock, you’re practically crying.Your aching pussy finally gets what she needs when you’re stuffed impossibly full as he slides in to the hilt.

The sight of you completely ruined underneath him, tits bouncing with each powerful thrust he delivers, your nails burying into his strong arms to steady yourself, unlocks a carnal desire in Max. Whatever I want, right schatje? He hums, bending down so your sweaty foreheads touch, and you nod quickly through your deep pants. Even if I wanted to fuck you raw? You’ll let me cum inside your tight little pussy, hmm?

He knows he has you right where he wants as you squeeze down on him instinctively when you imagine him inside you with no protection. Ohmygod Maxie, yes, please, fuck your cum into me, please! The Dutchman’s outright filthy request has your head spinning with desire and you’re babbling half incoherently. Pulling out momentarily and making you whine, he yanks the condom off before sinking back into your creamy hole. You both moan in pure ecstasy at the euphoric feeling of skin to skin sex.

Max fucks you in multiple positions that night, passionately into the soft mattress, meanly up against the cold window, and roughly on the plush sofa chaise with your face buried in the cushions and your red asscheeks up in the air for him to slap. Next time I win you’ll let me fuck you here, too, okay baby? he demands as he fingers your winking back hole while still thrusting into your dripping cunny. You can only let out a high pitched whine, jiggling your hips back onto his cock in approval, too fucked out to respond with words at this point. And when he finally cums, his impressive stamina outlasting yours on his second orgasm, he makes sure to sink in deep and flood your heavenly walls with his thick white release. You give him an open mouthed lazy kiss as a silent thank you for the best fuck of your entire life, hoping he got the message.

You’re pretty certain he did, because the next morning you’re awoken by a heavy length pressed up against your ass. You’d both passed out in the (thankfully clean) spare second bed after running through the shower together for five minutes to clean up the sticky mess last night. The 4th championship celebration sex was definitely record breaking , Max murmurs into your ear playfully. But it’s not complete without the slow morning after sex. You’ll let me show you now, right schat?

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A/N: WAR IS OVER THE CHILDREN ARE OUT, BIRDS SINGING CAUSE MAX IS RIGHTFULLY 4 X WDC 😭😭😭 the way all the haters were silenced. Everyone’s trying ride his dick now including skysports I love to see it, as they should

Also guys 10 followers away from 2k?!? Wtaf 😳 I’m so sorry for the delayed post, thank you for being so patient. Work has been really busy this month but going on Xmas break in a couple weeks so will have more time to post!!!! Keep sending me ur saucy asks yall I love reading them <3

[thehappyvet]

Just a reminder if you decide to illegally take a wild animal from the wild for yourself, even if you have the best interests at heart, you could be killing it.

If you feed it the wrong diet you can cause it's bones to break or other diseases associated with mineral imbalances. If you feed it too much you could cause issues associated with obesity including excessive fat stores.

If you aren't a trained wildlife rehabilitator you won't understand the importance of preventing imprinting or humanising. So you'll cuddle it, play with it, and let your pets play with it. So it will think it can only get food from humans, and that humans and domestic pets are part of its family.

If you take it while it's still young it won't learn the necessary foraging and social skills from its parents to survive in the wild. You might joke you don't even need a cage for it, but it isn't able to go anywhere because you've made it dependant on you.

If you aren't a wildlife carer or in the animal health industry you might not realise it's injured and needs treatment. This could lead to broken bones setting in ways that the animal can't perform normal functions and suffering from a life of chronic pain. Or it could lead to it suffering a slow and agonising death.

You might also not be aware that wildlife can contain diseases that can make you sick or even kill you. You could put yourself and your loved ones at risk of serious zoonotic diseases by bringing it home.

And, if you are found to be illegally holding a wild animal without the intention of rehabilitating and releasing it, the authorities are stuck. They can't release the animal because it thinks humans and domestic pets are friends. It can't forage for itself. It can't socialise with its own kind. It could have injuries or diet associated diseases that mean it can't perform normal functions, or is suffering from chronic pain. If they released it, it would die.

Is it fair for that animal that your choices have led to it not being able to experience its life in the wild as it should?

If you take something from the wild and intend to keep it, I hope this makes you think twice.

These kinds of stories are all over social media now, but none of them tell this side. They normalise putting a wild animal though an incredibly stressful experience purely for likes and engagement.

If you want to be a hero, get accredited to be a wildlife rehabilitator. Join an amazing network of compassionate humans just like you who understand that wild things should be wild, and do everything they can to get them back there.

If you find a wild animal and you're not sure what to do, call your local veterinary clinic or wildlife rehabilitation group. Trust that we have the knowledge to make the best choices for that animal. And if you want to make those choices, join us.

[absentlyabbie]

i'll tell you what converted me to being all-in on keeping cats indoors only:

living for a year and a half in a rural area with a sudden feral cat colony explosion on the property.

i moved in with my folks for a bit and at that time, one (1) stray cat mama had taken up residence on the property, but was too feral to let my mother anywhere near her. but especially after she brought three kittens around, mom fed her and the kittens in hopes they'd grow trusting enough she could catch for spay and neuter at the minimum. momcat stayed mean and hella wary, but the kittens would hang around a little nearer and play with my mom via long stick, but still wouldn't come close enough to touch or catch.

unfortunately, two of the three kittens were girls and started having kittens of their own before further progress was made, shortly after i moved in. and that was pretty much instant doom.

there were so many kittens. SO MANY. multiple litters. every time we turned around, more kittens.

we fed them. we hunted for and located the kittens every time anywhere on the property and would move them to a repurposed doghouse anytime a mama cat had them somewhere else, so that they could grow up human-socialized and we could spay/neuter them when they were old enough. (also it was a handy tactic to push the issue of the mamas getting more used to/trusting of us themselves. only really worked with one of them, though.)

and we watched them die.

we watched litter after litter of kittens never make it to the age they could be spayed or neutered. the moms stayed, for the longest time, too skittish to more than briefly touch, much less catch and crate for a vet visit.

it sounds like a silly joke to say i have kitten-related ptsd, but i absolutely do.

too many goddamn times i'd walk out of the garage and find the carport and gravel drive strewn with tiny bodies. others simply went missing, never to be found.

one in particular, i wish i hadn't found, and the visual literally haunts me still, almost a decade later.

i saw so many kittens die of snake bite, spider bite, wild dogs, birds of prey, hit by cars, respiratory illness, covered in fleas and eyes crusted with infection.

and we loved them all. scrimped for antibiotics if the vet could be convinced to give it to us despite our being unable to bring them in. bought flea collars and ointments. we cared for them and fed them and petted them and played with them, brushed their fur and cleaned up their little faces, put ice in their water in hot summer, rigged a heating lamp in their house in the winter.

and they died. horribly. that property is pocked with unmarked graves of kittens and cats.

all the best intentions, not enough resources, and it didn't matter anyways because the population went from three to almost twenty (at times, over thirty) in the blink of an eye.

they died and died and died. our hearts broke over and over again. the stress and anxiety wore us down like sandpaper. i think, by the end of it all, we managed to find less than 10 of them all homes, including batman the disabled kitten i found a home across the country through tumblr.

it was carnage and tragedy, frankly. and we were helpless.

it only ended because they started dying faster than they could be born, and because we finally caught the two remaining mom cats in traps and got them spayed.

the points about outdoor cats being invasive predators devastating to local wildlife populations is true and valid and important.

but i know cat people, and cat people who don't know better than to let cats outdoors. what matters to you is the cat itself, generally. the cat being happy and taken care of.

keeping cats outdoors, letting them outdoors, is not taking care of the cats. it's not protecting them. it's not giving them any happiness or invigoration that couldn't be provided to them as indoor-only pets with just a little research and effort.

they die. they get ill. they get hurt. they're at risk of predators, and cars, and disease, and carelessly cruel children and deliberately cruel adults. they're at risk of disappearing on you because someone else saw a cat outdoors and intervened to give it a better, safer life not in conflict with the local environment.

and if that offends and angers you that someone would just take a cat they saw roaming outdoors, even collared, and that it sounds like i'm endorsing that, i am, but not if you intervene and be that person yourself for your own cat.

if what matters to you is doing right by your cat because it's family and a living creature whose happiness and health and safety is important to you,

keep them indoors. not part time. always. exclusively.

edit: since apparently i need to clarify this, i'm saying cats should live inside, that they should not live outdoors, even part time. visiting the outdoors supervised on a leash or in an enclosed catio is not the same as even part-time living outside, and i am certainly not advocating against it.

[hoshifighting]

Can you pleaseeee also write staff mingyu x idol reader🥹🥹

staff!mingyu

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, jealousy, suggestive. may be triggering because of; extreme diets, blackout, getting scolded by the choreographer, fingering, a bit of possessive talk, hair pulling, cock riding, devoted mingyu too.

staff!mingyu who you're in one of those tiny-ass dressing rooms with, the ones where you can barely move without smacking into a light fixture or tripping over cables, andhe's , towering over you, big frame almost making the room look even smaller. he’s your stylist-slash-PA-slash-damage-control-for-whatever-stupid-thing-you-say-in-interviews guy, which means he’s there to check every last detail on you, no matter how close he’s gotta get.

it’s day four of this overseas tour—barely halfway in, and you’re already feeling like you’re running on fumes. you’re dodging local food left and right, not ’cause it doesn’t look good, but ‘cause it’s either not on this wild diet they’ve shoved you on or it just doesn’t sit right with your stomach. for real, you didn’t think there’d be a point in your career where you'd be skipping meals, just ‘cause the food doesn’t fit some "ideal look" they cooked up for you.

and staff!mingyu... always there, at the exact moment when your stomach’s about to start an opera of complaints, hands full of grocery bags and this half-smile on his face, like he’s in on some inside joke only the two of you share.

“alright, sit down,” he says, like you’re gonna argue, and starts unloading enough ingredients to feed a small village. he moves around the hotel kitchenette—pots, pans, seasonings, a whole rotation of stuff he’s pulled outta his endless stash. he even managed to drag around a few of those little plastic spice bottles from home, ‘cause apparently, foreign supermarkets don’t stock paprika exactly how he wants it.

“didn’t know your resume included chef duties,” you joke, propping your chin on your hand as you watch him chop veggies with the same focus you’ve seen when he’s backstage, touching up your makeup or fixing your outfits.

he laughs easy. “oh, it doesn’t,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “but you looked like you were about to faint this morning, so i figured i’d make an exception.”

“what, you gonna make a whole buffet?” you tease, but the moment he sets that first plate down, you’re quiet. it’s nothing fancy, but it smells like heaven—garlic, spices, veggies mixed with something hearty, real food for the first time in days.

“look, you eat this, or i swear i’m shoving it down your throat myself,” he says, crossing his arms, and even though he’s joking, there’s this serious fringe in his eyes. like, he won’t let you get away with just picking at the food.

“alright, alright.” you dig in, taking that first bite, and it’s somehow exactly what you needed—warm, filling, like someone wrapped you in a blanket from the inside out. you’re not even halfway done, and he’s already cleaning up, telling you about how he once had to do this for himself, back when he was training and could barely afford takeout, let alone proper meals.

“so, yeah, i’ve been cooking for years,” he says, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and it hits you then, this guy, who’s supposed to be here to make sure your eyeliner doesn’t smudge, is actually going out of his way to make sure you’re not just a shell of yourself on stage.

“you know, if this whole career thing falls through, you’d make a damn good chef,” you say, and he just shakes his head, laughing.

“nah,” he says, “i think i like this job better. get to keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t faint halfway through a song.”

staff!mingyu who notices everything, who noticed how you walked into the practice room that day looking like... hell, honestly. there were bags under your eyes so dark they could’ve been bruises, and your skin was that shade of pale that came from days of no sleep, maybe a crazy diet, who knows what else. mingyu was hanging out with a bunch of the other staff in the corner, narrowly paying attention at first, but then he caught sight of you—really looked at you—and yeah, it wasn’t just fatigue. he knew what he was seeing; it was that same look he’d seen too many times in trainees and idols back in the day. the look that meant you’d been pushing way too far for way too long.

by the time you got through the first set of counts, your choreographer was already on your case, his tone sharp as knives. “again,” he snapped, crossing his arms, and you could practically hear his frustration from across the room. “you’re not even hitting the moves properly. what is this?” he scoffed, giving you that disappointed stare that always made you feel about two inches tall. “do you even want to be here right now?”

mingyu’s fists clenched a little. he’d seen you pull off that choreography a hundred times before, and he knew damn well it wasn’t that you didn’t care. it was that you literally didn’t have anything left in the tank, and this guy was still going in on you like you were some slacker.

but you didn’t argue back, didn’t defend yourself, nothing. just bowed your head, muttering, “i’m sorry,” in this tiny, defeated voice. mingyu could see the exhaustion written all over you, the way your shoulders slumped, how you couldn’t even lift your head all the way back up after bowing. you just stayed there, bent over in that apologetic pose, like maybe that was the last bit of strength you could pull together.

but then, as he watched, you didn’t straighten up at all. in fact, you didn’t move for a solid couple of seconds. and then, like you were a puppet whose strings had just been cut, you dropped. one second, you were still standing, and the next, your knees buckled, and you collapsed right there on the damn floor.

for a split second, no one reacted; it was like the room had frozen.

but then mingyu snapped out of it, his heart racing as he lunged forward. the rest of the staff started moving too, voices rising in panic, but mingyu was already at your side, leaning down and calling your name, voice barely hiding the worry.

“hey! hey, can you hear me?” he said, reaching out to gently shake your shoulder. you were breathing, but it was shallow, and your face had gone even paler than before, if that was possible. mingyu felt this pang in his chest seeing you like that. you’d been pushing so hard that your own body just gave up on you.

someone behind him was calling for water, another person was getting the choreographer to back the hell off.

jobs in general weren’t easy, he knew that. but for mingyu, there was nothing worse than watching idols, the people he was supposed to support and protect, get wrecked like this—shoving themselves into diets, swallowing the criticism like it was part of the gig, sacrificing sleep and health just to fit into a pair of jeans or to mold into some industry standard that kept shifting.

he’d been in this job for years, and he’d seen it all before. too many nights spent watching trainees lose more weight than was healthy, idols pushing themselves until they’d practically faded away. sometimes, in the back of his mind, he wondered if it’d be worth leaving, finding a path where he didn’t have to witness it all so up close. he’d think about it on those long nights when he was running on four hours of sleep and too much coffee, wondering what the hell he was doing here when he could be somewhere else, not dealing with the cycle of pushing and breaking and then pushing even harder.

but then there was you. you, with your stubborn smile and that relentless drive he couldn’t help but admire. maybe it was that same drive that had you here, running yourself down like you’d forgotten how to stop. but mingyu had felt that pang deep in his chest at the thought of not being around you—of not being there to see you through the highs and lows, to make sure you had someone who cared about more than just your stage presence.

it was that thought, that tiny, persistent ache, that kept him rooted here every damn day. even if he had to watch you crash sometimes, even if it drained him dry just trying to keep up, he’d stay. he’d be right there, whether you knew it or not, making sure that someone in your corner would be looking out for you, whether you wanted it or needed it, or not.

staff!mingyu who’d quietly made it his side mission to keep you fed, like he’d added it to his job description without anyone even asking. it started small, maybe just a little sandwich he’d stash in his bag for you after seeing you collapse that one time. but then it became routine, almost sacred, the way he’d show up like clockwork with that lunch pack in hand, looking half like your bodyguard in his all-black staff gear, half like your own personal chef with a menu that he swore changed every time he showed up.

“mingyu, what’d you make me today?” you’d ask, bouncing into the dressing room after each performance, all amped up and practically beaming because, let’s face it, you’d come to love his little surprise meals more than you’d admit.

and mingyu, with that smug but bashful little smile, would act all nonchalant. “oh, nothing much… just a little chicken and veggie stir-fry,” he’d say, but it was always something next level—some five-star recipe he’d learned just for you. and the best part? he’d make it seem like it was nothing, just a side gig he’d taken up on the fly, when really he’d been researching recipes, planning, and even practicing to make sure it came out perfect.

he’d hand you the lunch pack like he was passing off something top secret, keeping a close eye as you took that first bite, watching for any sign you didn’t like it. but, of course, you always loved it. because mingyu wasn’t just making food—he was making damn art. you’d take a bite, eyes lighting up as you hummed in appreciation, and he’d try to hold back that grin but always failed, shoulders relaxing like he’d just won something.

“you don’t get it, mingyu,” you’d say, mouth full but smiling like a kid on christmas. “i think you’re the reason my performance’s getting better. you’re, like, my actual secret weapon.”

and he’d laugh, pretending to brush it off, but inside? he was proud. because knowing you were hitting the stage with a full belly, with energy to burn and that spark back in your eyes—that meant everything. it was his way of giving back to you, even if you never asked for it, even if you didn’t realize how much he cared.

staff!mingyu who somehow became the world’s best photographer without ever meaning to, taking these casual, almost-too-good photos of you that drove your fans insane. you’d be walking through some cobblestone street in italy or leaning out of a coffee shop in tokyo, and he’d be there, catching that perfect shot with his phone. no fancy equipment, no staged poses—just mingyu, with his natural eye for what made you shine, snapping photos that were somehow intimate and made you look like everyone’s dream. fans called them “girlfriend pics,” and if only they knew the man behind the lens.

you had to admit it—he was stealing your heart a little more with every click. at first, you brushed it off as some harmless crush, a side effect of him being so damn good at his job. but then he’d do something small, like bring you soup when you were sick, or drape his coat over your shoulders when you got cold during a late-night rehearsal, and it’d hit you all over again. mingyu, with that goofy smile, the biggest heart, and hands that somehow felt gentle and grounding as he adjusted your hair or let you lean on him during those endless backstage waiting times.

it was easy to fall for him. too easy, really. and the way he cared? the way he was there for you, always? how could you not? he had this way of making you feel seen, like no matter how chaotic things got, he was your solid ground, always steady, always there to keep you safe and keep you going.

but, of course, staff!mingyu was a catch to more than just you. you’d see the way the other staff members watched him, the way some of them giggled and whispered, eyes lingering a little too long. and mingyu, ever the nice guy, didn’t even seem to notice—or maybe he did, but he didn’t really care. he’d give his number when they asked, smile back when they flirted, just being his usual, friendly self. you’d tell yourself it didn’t bother you, but the truth was, it was like a little ache in your chest every time.

after a show one night, you and the whole team went out to celebrate, and mingyu was right there, laughing, clinking glasses with everyone, in his element. when it got late, exhaustion finally started to settle in, and you decided to call it a night. you told everyone you were heading back to the hotel, hoping he’d maybe do the same.

but mingyu didn’t. he stayed behind, still chatting and laughing with a few of the girls from the staff, and you could feel it—that twinge of jealousy, the frustration, knowing they’d probably spend the rest of the night with him, hanging on his every word, maybe more.

as you looked back one last time, watching him, it hit you like a punch in the gut. maybe to him, all this was just work—a job. you were part of that, someone he cared about, but just someone in his care. and the pang of that realization stung. maybe you weren’t so special after all.

what you were about to do wasn’t right. hell, it felt downright selfish. you sat in the bathtub, hot water swirling around you, trying to drown out the nagging voice in your head that told you to just let it go, that this was a bad idea. but you couldn’t shake it off—every thought twisted into a knot in your stomach. you felt almost sick, like you had this strange, heavy weight pressing down on your chest, something that felt more like heartbreak than anything else.

“god, what am i doing?” you muttered to yourself, scrubbing at your skin like it might wash away the confusion. you knew mingyu was just doing his job, that he was sweet and caring and everything you admired. but watching him flirt with those girls, knowing they’d likely take him away for the night, made you feel like you were going to hurl.

“ugh, this is so dumb,” you groaned, splashing water around, the sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. “why can’t i just be normal about this? it’s not like i’m his girlfriend or anything.”

but then the truth hit you again, a sharp stab of clarity amidst the chaos. you wanted to be.

after a few more minutes of spiraling, you said “fuck it,” feeling a rush of determination surge through you. you fished your phone out of your towel, thumb hovering over his name. your heart raced as you typed out the message.

“hey, mingyu. i know you’re probably busy, but i just wanted to say... i’m not feeling great. kind of sick, actually. do you think you could come by?”

you hit send, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter as you leaned back against the tub. was this too much? but then again, maybe it was time to stop hiding how you felt, to admit you needed him without a million excuses holding you back. it was either that or let him slip away for good, and you weren’t ready for that.

mingyu came in a rush, as if he’d been waiting for your text the entire time. you barely had time to wrap yourself in a towel before he was at your door, knocking frantically. “y/n! are you okay? open up!”

you opened the door, and the sight of him—hair a little messy, eyes wide with worry—made your heart race. “yeah, um, just feeling a bit under the weather,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered slightly. you didn’t want to come off as dramatic or needy.

he touched your forehead and you leaned into his touch without even realizing it, closing your eyes for a brief second “you don’t have a fever at all,” he said, confsed.

you pulled back abruptly, the warmth fading as reality crashed back in. clutching your towel tight around your body, you walked over to the window, pretending to be fascinated by the view outside. the city lights twinkled in the distance.

“y/n?” mingyu called, confusion clear in his voice. “what’s going on?”

you couldn’t believe you took one of his rare moments of lounge because of being selfish. mingyu leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “y/n, you were perfectly fine just a few hours ago. what’s really going on?” he asked, the suspicion creeping into his voice.

“i told you, it’s just a little... off,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. the guilt gnawed at your insides, knowing you were lying, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to come clean.

“off?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “that’s the best you can come up with? you don’t just go from fine to ‘i need my staff member to check on me’ for no reason.” he took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “you’re not actually sick, are you? what’s up?”

you shifted uncomfortably, the towel clinging to you. “seriously, mingyu, it’s nothing. maybe just a little headache or something,” you said, hoping the casual tone would brush off his concern.

he let out a huff of disbelief. “a headache? so bad that you needed me to rush in here? that doesn’t add up.” he studied you, like he was piecing together a puzzle. “just tell me the truth. are you really feeling sick, or is there something else bothering you?”

“i just thought maybe you could... keep me um... company, you know? just for a bit.”

“keep you company?” he repeated, tone incredulous. “so you fake being sick just to get me in here? you could’ve just asked! you know i’m always down to hang out.”

“mingyu—” you started.

but he cut you off, his voice firm, the playful light fading from his eyes.

“why would you do that? this isn’t some joke, y/n. my job isn’t a game. it’s serious.”

you pressed your lips together at his louder tone, the shock of it stinging more than you expected. you hadn’t meant for things to escalate this badly, and as you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, it hit you like a ton of bricks: you never thought mingyu would raise his voice at you. it felt so out of place, so foreign, and your heart sank.

“hey, hey, i’m sorry,” he said, the anger melting away as he noticed your expression. he stepped closer, the care flooding back into his eyes.

you quickly wiped your eyes before the tears could fall, you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “you know what? i hate it,! you blurted out, unable to hold back any longer. “i hate when they’re all over you, mingyu! it makes me sick to my stomach!”

his brows furrowed, clearly caught off guard. “wait, what? you hate it when who’s all over me?”

“those girls! the staff!” you said, your voice rising with every word. “the way they throw themselves at you like you’re some kind of trophy. and you smile back at them, like it’s all just a joke or something. it drives me insane!”

mingyu looked stunned, blinking at you as if he were trying to process what you were saying. “y/n, are you—are you... jealous?”

“i — well— hell yeah, i’m jealous!” you shot back, frustration spilling over. “you’re so kind and caring, and they see that. they want you, and it feels like they think they can just waltz in and take you away from me. it’s infuriating!”

“but it’s just… it’s just me being friendly,” he stammered, “i’m not trying to lead anyone on. you know that, right?”

“i know, but it doesn’t change how it makes me feel,” you replied. “it’s like you’re this perfect guy, and they all want a piece of you. and here i am, just trying to keep my head above water, feeling like i have to compete for your attention.”

mingyu shook his head, a soft smile creeping onto his face despite the tension. “you don’t have to compete for anything. you’re… you’re the one who has my heart. all those girls? they’re just… coworkers.”

you pause, processing his words, and mingyu scoffs lightly, a teasing grin on his face.

“oh please, it’s true. you think i’m not bothered when i see those idols shoving their numbers on your sandwiches?”

you blink at him, completely taken aback. “wait, sandwiches? what are you talking about? i only eat the ones that you make for me.”

he interrupts you with that signature smile of his, one that always makes your heart race a little faster. “yeah, exactly. that’s ‘cause i always give those sandwiches to someone else.”

“mingyu, what the hell?”

“y/n, what the hell?” mingyu mocks, raising an eyebrow at you, a playful smirk creeping onto his face. “you seriously thought you could pull this off? lying about being sick? that’s low, even for you.”

you roll your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of defiance. “i wasn’t lying, i just—”

“sure, sure,” he cuts you off. “and is wearing just a towel part of your grand scheme too? because if it is, you’re gonna need to step it up a bit.”

“and what if i just want you to come over… in a towel?”

“then i’ll take that as a personal invite,” he grins, his gaze flickering to your towel before meeting your eyes again. “just know, if you’re gonna pull this kind of stunt, you better be prepared for me to take advantage of the situation.”

staff!mingyu who wastes no time, pressing forward until you’re caught between his solid frame and the cold glass, as his body pins you in place.

“you really went all out for this hm?” his fingers trailing down to the knot of your towel.

staff!mingyu who tugs the fabric free, letting it drop to the floor, leaving you fully naked. his hands spreading wide over your back, fingers firm as he turns you around to face the glass. your chest presses against the cool surface making you gasp as mingyu’s hand trails up your spine, steadying you.

staff!mingyu who grips your hips, pressing you forward, and then trails his hands up over your sides, his fingers brushing along your curves until he reaches your shoulders, leaving no part of you untouched, as though he’s marking every inch of your skin as his.

staff!mingyu who leans down, one hand sneaking around to splay across your stomach, pulling you closer to him, making you feel his hard erection on you.

staff!mingyu who lets his hand slip lower, teasing over the sensitive skin of your thigh before slipping higher, his fingers skillfully finding your pussy as he watches you through the reflection, face contorting in pleasure, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“don’t look away.” he instructs, his tone a command softened by that grin of his.

staff!mingyu who keeps one hand firm on your hip, controlling your every move as he slips his fingers inside you, “all this just because you couldn’t stand seeing me with someone else, huh?” he curls the fingers, trying to pull a response form you. “admit it,” he coaxes as he presses you harder against the glass, his fingers never relenting. “tell me you wanted this—wanted me.”

staff!mingyu who doesn’t stop until he feels you melt against him, a soft, teasing chuckle escaping as he takes in your breathless state. “next time,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, “just say the word. i’ll come running.”

staff!mingyu who yanks your hair, tipping your head back to meet his lips as you twist in his grip. it’s a little clumsy, the angle throwing you off, but he holds you steady, his mouth hot and insistent on yours. you’re all melting into him, trusting the way his hands keep you secure, letting him take control as his grip on you tightens.

staff!mingyu who, somehow, maneuvers you both towards the bedd, he scoops you up with ease, laying you back as he hovers over you, he presses his hands into the mattress on either side of your head, caging you in as he dips down, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down to your shoulder, and back up to your jaw.

staff!mingyu who takes his time, exploring every part of you with slow touches, like he’s determined to map out every reaction, to memorize every place that makes you moan.

staff!mingyu who, even in bed, is all about making sure you’re comfortable, arranging the pillows just so, adjusting the blankets if they’re too rough, whispering “is this okay?” and “tell me what you need” like he’s got all the time in the world. his hands are warm, grounding you, and he never rushes, taking the time to check in, to make sure you’re exactly where you want to be, that he’s giving you what you want, down to the smallest detail.

staff!mingyu who lets you wrap yourself around him however you want, all limbs and tangled sheets, whispering soft reassurances in your ear as his hands trace your back, making sure you feel safe. he’s patient, careful, coaxing you with soft, murmured words, taking his time until you’re both lost in it, every sensation heightened.

staff!mingyu who surprises you by pulling back, catching his breath, and suddenly flipping the roles—guiding your hands to explore him, encouraging you to take control. “i’m yours too, you know,” he murmurs, watching you with that familiar smile, the one that’s equal parts playful and sincere, as he lets you explore, giving you the chance to take the lead.

staff!mingyu who’s all breathless and desperate under you from the moment you take the lead FORREAL and ride him, his hands gripping your hips, trying to guide you even when he’s struggling to keep up. soft, wet sounds filling the room as you roll your hips in slow circles, making him whine. his head tips back, eyes fluttering shut, but you bring a hand to his cheek, making him look up at you.

“tell me,” you murmur, lips brushing just against his ear, “tell me you’re mine, mingyu. that none of these hoes matter.” he looks up, his eyes hazy but still so focused on you, like he’s trying to pour everything into that gaze.

“i’m yours—yours, only yours,” he chokes out, his voice rough and pleading, like he needs you to believe it. he’s babbling now, his grip tightening on you, thumbs pressing into your skin, anchoring himself as you move, each drag pulling another whimper from his lips. “none of them—none of them mean anything,” he gasps, desperate, brows knitted together. “just you. only want you.”

staff!mingyu who’s practically begging at this point, his hands sliding up to your waist, trying to pull you down, closer, as if he could somehow get more of you. “please.” he whispers, his eyes filled with so much want it makes your heart pound.

“you’re mine, mingyu. no one else. got it?” and the way he shudders, that choked, relieved sound he lets out, is everything. he nods frantically, hands gripping you tighter as he starts to lose control, bucking up into you.

staff!mingyu who’s wholly ruined beneath you, lost in every kiss, every whispered word, clutching onto you as if he’s scared you might sneak off, even when you’re right there, telling him over and over again—“all mine.”

[dearest-nell]

charmed

e. munson x reader, 3k

summary: eddie comes home from a long day at work to discover wayne has a pretty surprise for him includes: established!eddie x reader, wayne being the sweetest paternal figure, mumblings of a found family, wayne manifesting a daughter in law by years end warnings: afab reader, non descript

a/n: writing from the boys perspective is always way more fun. i have so many thoughts about wayne and eddie's relationship.

Eddie had intended to be home earlier, a far cry earlier than the 9:30 that blinked hazily on his vans dashboard as he pulled in before the trailer. He was meant to be home hours ago, hoping to enjoy a Friday night the way that a young person ought to – out with the people he loved. Instead he sat in his driver's seat, covered in oil and grime and god knows what else from under the hood of some deadbeat richman from the other side of town. The apprentice had fucked the repair of a rather pricey car, one that was to be picked up first thing monday, and Eddie didn’t have it in him to let the little guy drown under the barrage of abuse from an intimidating customer. 

So he stayed back, and now he was paying the price. Dinner would have been long over by now, and it was unlikely that Wayne was still home at such an hour. He usually had the night shift on this pay cycle, but Eddie couldn’t tell one from another these days. The lights were still on, his indication that he’d gotten his weeks wrong. 

Worn leather boots beat against the gravel as he trekked towards the door, hand running through the curls that hung low on his forehead; wild, in desperate need of a trim. He was spent, body weary and limp from the extra strain. He wanted to call his friends, to call you, to ask for good company, but he knew even now he was too tired to go anywhere. 

The door was unlocked, so he slipped into the warmth of the trailer with an involuntary shiver, eyes blinking tiredly to spot the figure propped up on the couch. Wayne. Beer in hand, chin shadowed with stubble; Eddie’s hero, if anyone were to ever ask. The old man was his favourite person, whether he knew it or not. 

Wayne gave a gruff smile, tilting his chin up at his nephew. “Long day, boy?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie breathed, voice more gravelly than he’d realised. “Got stuck back, sorry I didn’t call.” 

Wayne shrugged. “I figured, though there’s a surprise in your room f’you.” 

A surprise? Eddie couldn’t possibly guess what. “You’re joking.” 

Wayne simply smiled in response, shaking his head. “You go have a look ‘n tell me if I’m joking. Just be quiet about it.” 

Eddie gave a quizzical sort of look, boots resounding against the floorboards as he moved towards the room, a quick mumble from Wayne catching his attention again. 

“Quieter than that.” 

Eddie scoffed, his demeanour still playful despite his disbelief. He took more careful steps this time, readjusting the band wrapped clumsily around his bound tresses, trying to alleviate the steadily subsiding headache from two hours ago. Wayne had never been much of a secret keeper, nor was he one for dramatics. He was a pragmatic, realistic, nonfrivolous sort of man, which made that excitable little sparkle in his uncle’s eyes all the more amusing. Wayne didn’t play tricks, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel he was walking into one. 

With a slow turn of his door handle, Eddie eased the gap open, his eyes scanning the silent dark until his gaze settled upon the mountain of blankets upon his bed. There, buried under three blankets of comfort, was you. It might have been hard to tell under any other circumstances, but even half asleep and exhausted out of his mind, Eddie knew he could recognise your silhouette anywhere. He softened instantaneously, body slackening slightly under the slow wave of adoration that overcame him. You were here to see him. Talk about a surprise, he hadn’t expected to see you today, and now he felt his ribs pressing in tightly together, chest constricting with a glad sort of giddiness. 

He was gentle in closing the door again, his smile bemused at his now grinning uncle. “And how’d my girl end up in there, hm?” 

He toed off his boots, movements suddenly precise and careful under the presence of your company. Even through the closed door, he had no desire to rouse you just yet. Not until he was ready, clean and showered and shed of all other obligations, able to dedicate himself to your company. 

“She came by at 5,” Wayne explained, turning down the quiet shout of the television set with a well worn remote, “thought you’d be home soon, wanted to surprise you. I told her she was welcome t’wait, thinkin’ you’d be round earlier. But y’weren’t, so we had some dinner.” 

Wayne paused, nudging his chin towards the fridge, which Eddie took to mean there was leftovers waiting for him inside. He began rustling through, finding what was left of a roast and vegetables wrapped up neatly in foil. It was a little more extravagant than he had expected, and Eddie chalked that up to your aid in the kitchen. He could see the container of biscuits on the counter, too, with little hearts and flowers piped onto the tops. Pinks and blues and reds and whites, this wasn’t a house for sweets and softness, though Eddie welcomed your charms in any way he could get them. He sat at the table to feast, unbothered to even reheat the feast. 

Wayne continued on. “Thought she might go lookin’ for y’, but we got a’talking. She’s a real sweet thing, y’know, made a real effort to chat. Even offered to sit down ‘n watch a game with me, thought I didn’t have the heart t’put her through it. Ended up watchin’ some Antiques Roadshow thinkin’ she’d like it better; you ever seen me watchin’ that before? I ain’t never had much care, but we had good fun.”

“No shit!” Eddie piped up, astounded by the softened edges of his Uncle. You’d charmed him, he thought, with your curious questions and kind smiles. For Wayne to sit down and talk to anyone was a miracle, one that only an angel could perform. His Angel. 

“We got guessin’ and everythin’.” Wayne added, wiping roughly at his smile. “Seemed tired, though, so I told her to crash in your room. She’s been out maybe half an hour.” 

Astounded was an understatement. Eddie had brought girls home before he met you, though none had bothered to exchange more than polite pleasantries with his Uncle. He’d never been serious about them, so he’d never thought much of it, and then came you. Three months into this new connection, a relationship born of spring flowers and whisky nights and loud music and soft touches. Eddie had never been serious until now, until you, and now he couldn’t picture being anything else but. 

He was glowing, beaming from ear to ear. “So you like her, then?” He was so hopeful in his question, a sincerity Wayne only ever saw reserved for the most heartfelt of Eddie’s dreamings. 

“I do.” Wayne announced, washing down his contentment with another swig of his beer. “I hope y’re serious ‘bout her, she’s real soft on you, and I think she’s a good one. Seems to make you happy enough, you ain’t mopin’ nearly so much these days.” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, groaning with faux annoyance, rolling foil into a tiny ball to toss across the room, missing Wayne by a good foot of space. “I don’t mope.” 

“I don’t mope my ass, kid, you mope plenty. Just not anymore.” He was laughing now, worn lines creasing at the corners of his eyes. “I said she should come back f’dinner another night, we can all eat together. She was tellin’ me ‘bout this story she was readin’, and I’ll be damned if I don’t know how it ends.” 

Eddie knew how this story ended; it ended with you. It began with you, too. It was all you, he couldn’t see any other ending for him. 

“Yeah, that sounds good, old man.” He was doing his best to stomach the meal, but his words were caught around hastily eaten mouthfuls half chewed and uneasy to swallow. He’d give himself heartburn if he wasn’t careful, and it would have been worth it. 

Eddie took a moment to pause, swallowing thickly, belching unceremoniously in a way he was glad you weren't there to witness. “I am serious, y’know, about her. Real serious. I got a good feeling.” 

“Yeah?” Wayne questioned, sinking back into the sofa. 

“Yeah. She could be the one; ain’t that somethin’? I always thought it was bull when people said you just know, but…” he laughed with astonishment, “I think I just know.” 

“Well shit,” Wayne exclaimed, clearing his throat, “that’s real good, Ed’s. You just be good and treat her nice. Be a gentleman.” 

Eddie wasn’t too sure he knew how to be a gentleman, but somehow, he knew you liked him all the same. He didn’t need to be anything but himself around you, and that was a one in a billion kind of feeling,

He was quick in his cleaning, fumbling around the kitchen to pack away a still soaking plate, his mind skating over the plastic drying rack by the sink entirely. “I’m bein’ good, I swear.” 

“Bullshit.” Wayne teased, shaking his head. He braced himself on his knees, slowly rising to his feet with a groan. “I’m goin’ to bed. Tell her she’s welcome to stay whenever she likes, okay? Show her where the spare key is.” 

“I will.” Eddie nodded, barely able to fight his slow building excitement. He could feel himself getting restless, hands flexing just at the thought of holding you. “G’night, Wayne.” 

“G’night son.” He echoed back, disappearing into the quiet of his own room. 

Eddie made sure to lock up on his way, switching off the tv and lights as his own sort of wind down ritual. They’d be on all night if he wasn’t careful, and he’d spied the last bill long enough to have a mind for the electricity now. Besides, he needed to be calm when he woke you. He’d half frightened you to death last time he came barrelling in. 

Once again, he retreated towards his room, slipping into the dark like a shadow of the night, slowly shucking his way out of his overalls to kick to the side of the room. He didn’t mind staining his sheets with oil, but not you; you were something worth caring for. He knew he should have showered, but the sweat on his skin could hardly deter him from the need he had to be close to you, to ease away the troubles of his way with the balm of your skin against his, your whispers ringing in his head. 

He fumbled his way to the edge of the mattress, your sleeping body facing away from him to the back wall of the room. He peered a little closer into the darkness, a sliver of moonlight cascading across the bare curve of your shoulder, arm wrapped around something small, something fuzzy…

“Well shit, Ted, what’re you doing in here?” Eddie hadn’t thought to consider where the ragdoll cat had scampered off to. Teddy had been adopted only a few weeks after Eddie came to live with Wayne, his Uncle’s way of easing the boy into this entirely new world together. Teddy had been his childhood companion, and by the way he was burrowed into the pudge of your stomach, purring louder than a car engine, Eddie could see you’d won him over too. 

The cat barely stirred, rather giving him a grumbled sort of chirp at being disturbed, before wriggling his way further under the blankets. You, however, made the softest of whining noises that left Eddie’s heart near strangling in his chest. He lifted a ring clad hand to that moonlight shoulder, brushing callouses across the line of freckles that dusted your skin, watching as your eyes began to flutter open, head turning slightly to face him. 

“Eddie!” No one in the world had ever been so enthusiastic to see him before, not one. His name wasn’t the kind to roll off the tongue, to be begged for or shouted out or held tenderly on someone's lips. Never before, but the way your mouth wrapped around the letters seemed to change the word entirely. Nothing had ever sounded so tender, so wanting, so pleased. You were always pleased to see him, a feeling he never had to doubt when he could see it so plainly reflected in your irises. 

“Honey.” He cooed back, tugging up the corner of the bedsheets to slip beneath them, curving his body to fit the shape of your own, nudging his knee between your two just to feel your skin pressed against his own in every possible way. The hair on his body was just as wild as the hair on his head, but nothing felt like home to him more than the brush of your skin to the mess of his. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

You exhaled a lengthy yawn, muffling the sound into his pillow with a hum. Your hair, once styled, now seemed mussed and flattened under the weight of your head. His bed linens were already tattooing precious creases into sleep warmed skin. You were too beautiful for him to even comprehend. 

You turned in his arms, careful not to disrupt the grumbling cat beside you despite your eagerness. He felt arms press their way around him, your nose nuzzling at his chin. “Wayne let me in. I hope that’s okay.” 

Literally nothing else could have been more okay in his mind. It was perfect. This was perfect; coming home to you. “Come by anytime, baby. I’m just sorry I wasn’t back sooner. I made you wait.” 

You shook your head. “I didn’t mind. Wayne’s really cool. He kept me company.”

“So I heard.” His voice was edged with an air of amusement, his hand lifting to brush back the strands of hair falling across your face, leaving his palm to cup at the plush of your cheek, his eyes admiring even in the dark. “Antiques Roadshow?”

You let out a giggle. “We panicked! I was trying to make a good impression, and he suggested it so I thought why not. Honestly it was pretty fun, I could totally watch another episode.” 

“Mm.” His lips met the button of your nose dotingly, his voice slackening to a syrupy smoothness. “He’s impressed, I’m impressed; you’ve got us Munson men wrapped around your pretty little finger. Even Teddy’s on your side.” 

“I do not!” You chided, helpless against his onslaught of affection. He left you preening and giddy, a little lightheaded when he loved on you like this, and Eddie never had any intention of stopping. “Teddy just wanted a cuddle.”

“Him and me both.” Eddie asserted, snaking his other arm beneath the arch of your waist, wrapping around the small of your back to tug you in further, his smile resoundingly bright at the way you hummed happily. “We’re not too young to be asleep by 10, are we?” 

The way you eased into the very fabric of him, your bodies so close and so connected, wrapped tightly in the warmth of his room, was enough assurance to him that you were just as content here as he was. “No. I’m not leaving this spot. You just got home, and I’m all sleepy, and Ted’s gonna get mad if we move.” 

Ted chirped an affirmative sound, leaving Eddie to rasp a laugh. “Well we can’t make Teddy mad, can we. Gotta stay here all night with my girl.” 

You chuckled softly in turn, your voice quieting under the weight of exhaustion. “I was meant to keep you company, but I’m so sleepy.” Another yawn parted your plush lips, leaving Eddie with no choice but to press his own to the corner once they came back together again. 

“You are keepin’ me company. Think I’ll sleep a bunch better with you keepin’ me warm. I’ll take you on a date tomorrow, hm? After a big sleep in?” 

“You’re so sexy when you talk like that.” You mumbled, your lashes fluttering shut to rest against your cheeks. “I’d kiss you stupid if I could move.” 

Besotted was not a strong enough word for what Eddie felt in that moment, but he was overwhelmed with the urge to litter a smattering of kisses from the edge of your cheekbone to the corners of your forehead, each one softer than the last, lulling you into that sweet place of slumber you were already drifting towards. 

“Kiss me stupid tomorrow. Sleep, sweetheart.” You didn’t need to be told twice. Within moments, Eddie watched the light in your flicker to a dim, pale glow, your breathing evening out to something unhurried. Peaceful. It didn’t matter to him that he had only had those brief moments with you tonight. Five minutes with you was enough to chase away all the strife of a day otherwise written off in his mind. And that was what his life had been missing, after all. Someone who made going to sleep at 10pm look like the greatest moment of his life. He wanted to keep you to himself, a greedy kind of possessiveness stirring in his gut, for as long as he was able, knowing full well that less than twelve hours from now, Wayne would without a doubt be waiting to make you both breakfast on his morning off. 

Like he said, you had all the Munson boys charmed.

[mssishipi]

my boyfriend's in a band - pjs

PAIRING: guitarist jay x cheerleader reader

SYNOPSIS: One second, you were telling a little lie to impress the cheerleaders, and the next, the whole school thought you were dating Park Jongseong—the cold, untouchable, and ridiculously hot guitarist. What started as a desperate move to boost your reputation took a wild turn when Jay decided to go along with it. Now, you’re caught up in nonstop gossip, awkward moments, and a fake relationship that feels a little too real—especially with Jay showing a surprisingly sweet side that no one, including you, saw coming.

contains: fake dating, lots of fluffs, comedy, slight angst, strangers to lovers, reader is in 11th grade while jay is in 12th, (but both of them are over the age of 18) reader is short, jay smokes vape in the middle of the story, jay hates everyone lol warning: profanities, mentions of sex, mild smut. WC: 14.7k

song used: same ground by kitchie nadal

A/N: thank you for the 95 followers!

You were a simple girl.

Simple, average, ordinary. Not the type to snag straight A's in every class, but not failing either. You were the kind of girl teachers barely noticed—just another name on the roll call, another face in the crowd.

You liked pink—just enough to keep it cute, but not the over-the-top glittery kind.

You didn't obsess over fandoms or have bags covered in pins and but you have figurines. Your style wasn't edgy or pastel chic or anything that made you stand out. You were... balanced. Plain. Normal.

Your high school life reflected that. Simple. Average. No exciting detours.

You weren't a sports star who got their name chanted in the bleachers. You weren't a science geek impressing everyone with your brainpower. You weren't a mean girl, a party kid, or a cheerleader.

Oh, but you wanted to be a cheerleader.

You wanted to wear that uniform, flip through the air, feel the rush of the crowd. You wanted the applause, the way everyone's eyes followed them when they walked the halls.

But no one cared about a normal girl trying out.

Reputation was everything in high school, and yours? Too simple. Too... forgettable.

You could cheer. You could dance. You could pull off a backflip, a split, the whole routine. You had the skills. What you didn't have was the image.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" one of the cheerleaders asked, her voice dismissive as you landed your final jump during tryouts. You stood there, panting, sweat dripping down your face after nailing the routine.

"A boyfriend?" you repeated, blinking, stunned. What did that have to do with anything?

"From football? Hockey? Maybe Math Olympiad?" she continued, her smirk curling like she already knew the answer.

You froze. Of course you didn't have a boyfriend. You were an NBSB—No Boyfriend Since Birth kind of girl. But how was that even relevant? You were here to cheer, not audition for a dating show.

"We'll let you know if you're accepted... or not," another cheerleader chimed in, her voice dripping with boredom. She wasn't even pretending to care about your performance.

You stood there for a moment, trying to steady your breathing, gripping your bag so tight your knuckles turned white. The sting of their indifference burned in your chest as you turned and walked out of the gym, sweaty and defeated.

Reputation doesn't matter, they always said. What a joke. High school was all about reputation—who you dated, who you were seen with, who you weren't.

And being a simple, average, normal girl? That just wasn't good enough.

It was a warm afternoon when you found yourself face-to-face with them again—the cheerleader tryouts.

So, before you could stop yourself, the words slipped out:

"My boyfriend is Park Jongseong."

The world seemed to stop for a second. All the cheerleaders froze, wide-eyed, jaws dropping like a scene from a poorly-scripted teen drama.

"Wait—Park Jongseong?!" one of them shrieked, her voice climbing several octaves. "The hot guitarist in the band?"

You nodded, keeping your expression sweet and innocent, careful not to let your fabricated lie crumble.

"Oh my god!" Another cheerleader nearly jumped out of her skin. "He's, like, the hottest guy in school! And so... mysterious."

"He's so cold, though," another chimed in, tilting her head suspiciously. "How did you even—"

You cut her off, spinning your web of lies before she could unravel it. "Oh, it just... happened," you said with a casual shrug, as if it were no big deal.

"We met at this café off campus. He asked me about my drink order, and, well..." You let out a dreamy sigh, painting a picture so vivid you could almost convince yourself it was real.

"He's so sweet. He cares about me so much. Like, he cooks for me when I'm tired, aftercare after sex, kisses me goodbye every morning, and—" You leaned in conspiratorially, lowering your voice to a whisper. "He even lets me touch his guitar."

The gasps that followed were almost deafening.

"No way!" one of them shrieked, clutching her chest in disbelief. "Park Jongseong doesn't let anyone touch his guitar!"

You nodded solemnly, as if sharing a sacred truth. "Well, he lets me."

For a moment, you thought you'd pulled it off. You were a star in their eyes, a girl who'd managed to capture the unattainable Park Jongseong's heart.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Park Jongseong hate everyone, especially you. And honestly? You didn't blame him.

The first time you'd crossed paths, it had been a disaster.

You'd been drinking water at your locker when he appeared out of nowhere, walking right past you. Startled by his sudden presence, you'd choked, spraying water directly into his face.

His jaw had clenched, his eyes shutting as he took a deep breath, clearly fighting the urge to lose his temper.

"Sorry!" you'd squeaked, your face burning with humiliation.

And then, like the socially awkward creature you were, you'd bolted down the hallway, leaving him dripping and furious.

Then there was the incident in the music room.

You'd been poking around the instruments out of boredom, your fingers grazing the strings of a random guitar when—CRASH. Your foot caught on something, and the stand holding his prized guitar tipped over, sending it sprawling to the floor.

Right at that moment, the door swung open, and in walked Park Jongseong.

You froze like a deer in headlights, your heart dropping to your stomach as his gaze landed on his guitar, then on you. His face was unreadable, but the tightness in his jaw told you everything you needed to know.

"Uh... sorry?" you muttered, holding up your hands in a weak peace sign. Before he could say anything, you darted out of the room. You ran away, again.

And who could forget the volleyball incident?

You'd been practicing serves in the gym when he and his friends walked in. Your focus wavered for a split second, and the ball sailed in the wrong direction—straight into his face.

You gasped as blood began dripping from his nose. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" you stammered, panicking as he grabbed his face, clearly in pain.

Without thinking (or, honestly, with too much thinking), you did what you always did. You ran, again.

And now, standing here, spinning lies about a romance that didn't exist, you had to fight to keep your composure.

"Wow," one of the cheerleaders gushed. "I can't believe you and Jongseong are, like... a thing!"

"Yeah," you said with a forced laugh, clutching your bag tightly to hide how sweaty your palms were. "He's... amazing."

But in the back of your mind, all you could think about was how Park Jongseong would react if he ever found out about this.

And...The story spread faster than you could have ever imagined.

One second, you were fabricating a harmless little lie to impress the cheerleaders, and the next, the entire school seemed to think you and Park Jongseong were soulmates—or worse, a thing.

And not just any kind of "thing." No. The rumors had grown legs, arms, and a whole personality.

"Is it true that Park Jongseong is... like, huge in bed?" one girl whispered as you passed her in the hallway, her eyes wide with curiosity.

You choked on absolutely nothing, gripping your bag as if it might save you from spontaneously combusting.

Another girl caught up to you, practically skipping alongside you. "Oh my God, how was it? You know, with him? Is he all intense and broody like he looks, or does he have a soft side?"

You stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

"He's... uh... great?" you stammered, mentally slapping yourself for sounding so unconvincing.

Her jaw dropped, and before you knew it, a crowd of girls—yes, the famous girls—was swarming you, each one louder and more persistent than the last.

"I can't believe you got him to date you!"

"Wait, wait, wait—did he really let you touch his guitar? Because I heard he doesn't even let his bandmates touch it."

"What's his favorite food? Does he let you steal his hoodies? Is he ticklish?"

"Is he actually the silent-in-public, wild-in-private type? Tell us everything!"

Your head was spinning. They were everywhere, and you couldn't escape. You tried smiling naturally, nodding here and there, but the panic bubbling inside you was threatening to explode.

"Oh my God, you're not even in the cheerleading pep squad yet? How dare they still not accept you!" one girl exclaimed dramatically. She flipped her hair with a loud scoff. "I mean, I saw your audition, and it was fucking amazing."

You blinked. She definitely had not seen your audition.

"Y-yeah, um... thanks," you muttered, clutching your bag tighter and taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

It was still early, but the hallway was packed. The questions kept coming, the voices growing louder, and you were just about ready to melt into the floor.

And then it happened.

You let out a tiny squeak as someone grabbed your arm, yanking you out of the circle of girls. You stumbled, blinking in shock, and turned to see who your savior—or captor—was.

Your heart nearly stopped.

It was him.

Park Jongseong!

Jaw sharp enough to cut glass, eyes darker than your worst nightmares, and hair falling messily across his forehead like he just stepped out of a photoshoot.

Except he didn't look like a model. No. He looked angry.

Like, furious.

Oh, you were so, so dead.

"S-see you later, girls!" you called out, your voice cracking as you tried to sound cheerful. You gripped his arm like your life depended on it, forcing a smile as he dragged you through the hallway.

The crowd erupted behind you.

"Oh my God, they're really together!"

"I knew it!"

"They're so cute! Look at how she holds onto him!"

Your face felt like it was on fire. You could feel every pair of eyes in the hallway locked on you as Jongseong stormed forward, his grip firm but not painful. You tried to match his pace, but his legs were longer, and you were practically jogging to keep up.

You tried to focus on breathing, but the more they talked, the more you wanted to just curl up and disappear.

Meanwhile, Jongseong hadn't said a single word. His jaw clenched, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

"Uh, Jongseong—"

Before you could finish, he yanked open the door to a small storage room, pulling you inside and shutting the door behind you with a loud click.

"Hey—what are you—"

"Shut up," he muttered, his voice low and sharp.

You blinked, startled. The room was small, cramped, and dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Shelves stacked with cleaning supplies and dusty boxes surrounded you, and the air smelled faintly of bleach.

Jongseong leaned against the door, running a hand through his messy hair and letting out a frustrated sigh.

"What the hell?" he said finally, his voice laced with irritation.

You swallowed hard, gripping your bag like a shield. "I... I can explain?"

"Yeah, you'd better," he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes locked onto yours, and the intensity of his gaze made your knees feel like jelly.

"Why is everyone in this school convinced we're dating? And why," his voice dropped lower, "did I just hear someone asking if I'm good in bed?"

You winced. "Okay, so... it might've gotten a little out of hand."

He let out a bitter laugh, raising an eyebrow. "A little?"

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. "Look, I was just trying to impress the cheerleaders! They don't think I'm cool enough to make the squad, so I might've... um... made up a story."

His jaw tightened. "A story? About me?"

You gave him a weak, apologetic smile. "I didn't think it would blow up like this! I thought they'd just forget about it after tryouts!"

"Oh, yeah, because rumors about me always disappear quietly," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bit your lip, your embarrassment growing by the second. "I'm really sorry. I'll fix it. I promise."

He scoffed, shaking his head. "How exactly do you plan to fix this? Everyone already thinks we're a couple. You should've thought about that before you opened your mouth."

"I know, I know!" you said, your voice rising slightly. "But I didn't think people would actually believe me! I mean, look at you! You're, like... you, and I'm just... me."

He stared at you, one eyebrow twitching. "What does that even mean?"

"It means no one would ever think you would date someone like me!" you blurted out.

There was a brief silence, Jongseong blinked, his expression unreadable.

"Wow," he said finally, his tone flat. "That's... depressing."

You buried your face in your hands, groaning. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"Yeah," he said bluntly.

You peeked at him through your fingers, your voice small. "Can you... just not kill me, though?"

He rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. For a moment, he looked like he was considering throwing you out the door, but instead, he leaned back against it, running a hand down his face.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said finally. "You're going to go out there, tell everyone you lied, and make sure my name is out of their mouths by the end of the day."

Your eyes widened. "I can't do that! If I tell them the truth, I'll look like a total loser! They'll never let me on the squad!"

"Not my problem," he shot back.

"Please!" you pleaded, grabbing his arm in desperation. "Just... let me ride this out a little longer. I'll figure out a way to fix it without dragging your name through the mud, I promise!"

He stared at you for a long moment. He let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do whatever you want," he said finally.

Your eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Don't make me regret this," he added,

"I'll do anything!" you said quickly, your relief overwhelming your sense of pride.

His eyes flicked back to yours, and you swore you saw a flicker of amusement in his expression. "Anything?"

You hesitated. "Uh... within reason?"

He smirked, shaking his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered, pushing off the door and opening it.

"Wait, where are you going?" you asked, panicked.

"Class," he said simply, walking out and leaving you standing there, still clutching your bag like it might protect you from the fallout.

"Oh my God, they just came out of the storage room together!" someone squealed.

Your blood froze as a wave of gasps and murmurs rippled down the hallway.

"No way! They're so freaky!"

"They couldn't even wait until after school? A quickie in the storage room?!"

"That's so wild!"

You bolted out of the storage room, your face burning so hot it was probably visible from space. "It's not what you think!" you stammered, waving your hands frantically. "Nothing happened! I swear!"

But your protests only seemed to make things worse.

"Did you see her face? She's totally guilty!"

"God, no wonder he's so obsessed with her. She's probably insane in bed."

"Wait, so does this mean she's, like, not lying about them being a couple?"

The crowd erupted into a chorus of giggles, whispers, and scandalized gasps, and you felt your soul leave your body.

At the end of the day, you got the news: you were officially part of the cheerleading pep squad.

This wasn't exactly how you pictured it, but hey, you'd finally made it. You thought practice would be all about jumps, flips, and cheers, but instead, it was questions. Endless questions.

All about your "boyfriend."

By the time practice ended, you were convinced the squad cared more about Park Jongseong than they cared about cheerleading. It was exhausting. They made him your whole personality.

Now, you stood outside the music room, foot tapping nervously as you psyched yourself up. You needed to talk to him. Jongseong—Jay—walked out with his guitar slung over his back, his expression colder than a freezer. His eyes landed on you, sharp and annoyed.

"Why are you here?" he asked, as blunt as ever.

You forced an awkward smile. "Hi! Because... you're my boyfriend?"

Jay scoffed, walking past you like you didn't exist. Panicked, you scrambled to catch up, nearly tripping over your own feet.

"H-hey! Wait!" you called, gripping the edge of his jacket. "I'm Y/N! Please, for the second time, just hear me out!"

He stopped, turned, and stared at you with the kind of look that could burn holes in concrete. "What do you want now?"

You fumbled with your bag, your cheeks burning. "I just... I wanted to talk about—"

"Fuck off," he snapped, making you flinch and throw your hands up like you were bracing for impact.

"I'm sorry!" you squeaked, your voice small.

Jay sighed, running a hand through his hair as he shifted his weight. For a second, his eyes softened—but not enough to let you relax.

"I already let you use my name. What else do you want from me?" he asked, voice low and sharp.

You bit your lip, tapping your foot nervously. You'd practiced this speech in your head a hundred times, but the words suddenly felt scrambled.

"I just... I got into the cheerleading squad, but they keep asking me questions about you, and—"

His glare deepened. "After you spilled water on me, crashed my guitar, and hit me in the face with a volleyball, what more do you want?"

You gasped, offended. "E-excuse me?! Those were accidents!" you said, emphasizing the word with dramatic hand gestures.

"I didn't spill water on you on purpose! And I didn't crash your guitar—it fell! And your nose? Total accident!"

Jay's expression didn't budge. "Right. Keep telling yourself that."

He turned to leave, but you panicked again, grabbing his arm and walking beside him as fast as your shorter legs could go.

"Please, just help me for a little while longer!" you pleaded.

He glanced at your hand on his arm, then at you, looking like he wanted to throw himself into the nearest trash can. "You got what you wanted. Tell them we broke up or something."

You shook your head frantically. "No, no, no! I know I'm a loser for using your name, but I need to keep this up for a few more months!"

Jay's jaw tightened. "What now?"

"I just... need some information about you," you said, your voice small. "Like, your favorite color, or your hobbies, or—"

He cut you off with a groan. "Just make something up. You're good at that."

"But it sounds fake!" you whined, stomping a little like a frustrated child.

Jay stopped walking and turned to glare at you again. "And the story about the café and me being good in bed doesn't sound fake?"

Your cheeks turned crimson. "I-I didn't say anything about you being good in bed!" you squeaked, waving your hands defensively. "I just said you were good at, uh, aftercare! They're the ones who assumed the rest!"

Jay stared at you, his face unreadable, but the way his lips twitched told you he was this close to laughing.

"So, you want more information about me so you can answer their next stupid questions?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. "Yes! Exactly!"

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Like if I'm huge?"

Your brain short-circuited. "N-no!" you squealed, stepping back as your cheeks burned even hotter. "It's not like that!"

Jay smirked, adjusting the strap of his guitar as he stood up straight again. "Right," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Good luck with your cheerleading squad, girlfriend."

And with that, he totally walked away, leaving you standing there, red-faced and humiliated. But you weren't about to give up.

No way. You'd come too far and sacrificed too much pride to back down now. If groveling got you this far, then maybe going lower would get you what you needed.

So, you became... everywhere.

After his chemistry class, there you were, waiting outside the door with a bright smile and an awkward wave. "Hi! How was class? Did you learn anything interesting?"

He barely looked at you as he walked past, muttering, "I don't know, did you?"

At his band practice, you somehow sweet-talked your way in. His bandmates, thinking you were his girlfriend, welcomed you with open arms.

"Jay never told us you were so supportive," one of them said, grinning.

"Y-yeah! That's me! Super supportive!" you laughed nervously, while Jay sat in the corner, tuning his guitar, looking like he was plotting your demise.

But you stayed anyway, sitting cross-legged on the floor, watching him play with stars in your eyes. He was good—like, really good—and for a second, you almost forgot how much he hated you.

After practice, you walked out with him, chatting non-stop about your cheerleading routine. "So then Karina said I should try a - "

Jay, walking ahead of you, sighed heavily. "Do you ever stop talking?"

You froze for half a second before jogging to catch up. "Not really!" you said cheerfully, ignoring the withering glare he shot you.

During break time, you plopped down beside him in the cafeteria, chatting away about your practice. You didn't even realize you were rambling until he looked at you, his expression blank.

"Do you ever run out of words?" he asked, deadpan.

You blinked. "Uh... no?"

He groaned, rubbing his temples.

It wasn't long before your cheer squad started noticing things, too.

During one break, Yunjin leaned over, lazily plucking at her nails. "Your relationship seems so... one-sided," she said casually, enough to make your stomach drop.

"Eh?" you squeaked, your chest tightening with nerves. "W-what do you mean?"

Yunjin shrugged. "We never see you guys together. And when we do, he looks like he's about murdering someone."

You forced a laugh, your hands sweaty. "W-well, he's just... had a lot of bad days lately!"

"Jay's always having bad days when he's with you?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"And you two don't even kiss in public," Karina added, leaning her chin on her hand.

Your throat went dry. "Uh, well, he doesn't like PDA," you said quickly.

The two of them exchanged looks but eventually shrugged, letting it go. You let out a quiet breath of relief, only to freeze when Karina clapped her hands.

"Y/N, you said you can do back handsprings, right?"

You nodded eagerly. "Yes! Do you need me to—"

"Great!" Karina stood, surveying the gym with a critical eye. "We need you to cover the entire formation during lifting. Can you do five in a row?"

Your eyes widened. "F-five?"

"Yeah, starting from over there." Karina gestured to the far side of the gym.

You forced a smile and walked to the starting position, nerves rattling in your chest. Everyone's eyes were on you.

You took a deep breath and started your back handsprings, nailing five in a row. When you landed, slightly dizzy, you raised your arms triumphantly.

"Hmm... it doesn't cover the right side," Karina said, tapping her chin. "Y/N, try seven this time."

Your smile faltered. "S-seven?"

They nodded.

You did as they asked, pushing through the dizziness, only to hear them call for more.

By the fourth round, you were practically collapsing mid-air. Ten was far too much, and by the end, your knees hit the floor hard, sending pain shooting up your legs.

"Oh, perfect!" Karina said, clapping her hands. "That covered the whole area. Great job, Y/N! But you need to work on your posture."

You winced, clutching your bruised knee as you shuffled to sit beside the others. The pain was sharp, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you forced a smile, trying to keep it together.

"I'm kind of craving boba tea," Karina said suddenly, standing up. "Who wants some?"

"Oh, me too!" Giselle chimed in, followed by the rest of the squad eagerly raising their hands.

"Perfect!" Karina said, pulling out a notepad. "Let's make a list."

A moment later, she shoved the list into your hands. "Here. And here's the money. You can go get it for us."

You stared at the list, dumbfounded. "Wait... me?"

"Yeah! Thanks, Y/N!" she said brightly, already turning to talk to Giselle about something else.

You blinked, standing stiffly as pain radiated from your knees. You didn't even have the energy to argue. Instead, you hobbled to the restroom first, tears spilling over as you washed your knees.

Violet bruises were already forming, and the cold water stung as it ran over the tender skin.

This wasn't what you'd imagined when you dreamed of joining the cheer squad.

You thought it would be glamorous—flipping in the air, cheering under bright lights, and finally belonging to something cool.

Instead, here you were, limping to a nearby boba shop with bruised knees and teary eyes.

Still, you told yourself it was okay. You were part of them now. You weren't just a simple girl anymore—you were a cheerleader. Their friend. It was normal to run errands and do things for your friends, right?

So why did it feel so awful?

As you stood in line, you checked the money Karina had handed you earlier, only to realize it was short. Way short.

You panicked for a moment, but what could you do? You had no choice but to pay for the rest out of your own pocket, all while swallowing the lump in your throat.

By the time you were walking back to school, holding a bunch of boba cups in flimsy plastic bags, you were crying. Pathetically.

Tears streaked your face, and your lips wobbled as you sniffled, trying not to let the world see how pitiful you looked.

But it wasn't their fault, you told yourself. They weren't bullying you. You were just having a sensitive day. Your knees hurt from all that back handspring practice, and the money situation had just been bad luck.

That's all.

You furiously wiped at your cheeks, determined to look normal before you made it back to the gym. But then, a voice startled you out of your thoughts.

"What happened to you?"

You nearly dropped the boba.

"Jay!" you yelped, turning to see him standing there with his guitar case slung over his back, his sharp gaze flicking from your tear-streaked face to the plastic bags in your hands—and then to your bruised, purple knees.

"I—uh—hi!" you stammered, forcing an awkward smile.

He didn't return it. "You didn't visit the music room today."

"Oh!" you exclaimed, caught off guard. "I was busy with practice. I completely forgot! I'm sorry!"

He didn't respond, just reached over and took the plastic boba bags from your hands.

You blinked at him, muttering a quiet "thank you" as he carried them down the hallway beside you.

"What happened to you?" he asked again, his tone firmer this time.

You scratched the back of your head, feigning cluelessness. "Uh, what do you mean?"

He gave you a look, and his voice dropped. "Why were you crying? And why do you have bruises all over your knees?"

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He was staring at you like he could see right through every lie you'd prepared.

"Uh, just... girl stuff!" you blurted, laughing awkwardly. "You know, sensitive day!"

"And your knees?" he asked flatly.

"Oh, that?" You waved a hand as if it were nothing. "They made me practice back handsprings today. I just, uh, had a bad landing. But I'm totally fine! See?" You gave him a shaky thumbs-up, forcing another smile.

Jay didn't look convinced. His gaze flickered back to your knees, then to your face.

"Why? Do you care about me?" you teased, lightly bumping his shoulder with yours.

He rolled his eyes, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Without a word, he gestured toward the gym door.

"You first."

You laughed nervously, pushing the door open and walking inside.

"Oh, Y/N," Karina called out from across the gym. "Coach said we're not allowed to have boba anymore since she's strict about our diet. Did you already buy it?"

Your face fell. "Yes..."

"Oh crap!" Giselle smacked her forehead. "I texted you, but I guess it didn't go through!"

"But the boba? The money?" one of the girls asked, holding out her hand expectantly.

You hesitated, your voice caught in your throat. "I already bought it," you said quietly, glancing nervously at Jay.

Before you could say anything else, he walked past you, heading toward the bleachers. Without a word, he dropped the bags of boba onto the bench—hard. The cups jostled, some of the liquid spilling over the edges.

"J-Jongseong?!" Karina stammered, her confident tone faltering as she gulped nervously.

Jay stood there, his sharp glare slicing through the room. "Are you serious right now?" he said, his voice calm but dangerous.

Karina shifted uncomfortably, swallowing a lump in her throat. "W-we didn't mean for her to actually buy them—"

"Yeah?" he cut her off. "Because it looks like you had her running errands like your personal delivery service."

"Jay, it's not like that!" you blurted, defending them instinctively, though your voice wavered.

The room went silent. None of the girls dared to speak as Jay's gaze swept over them, so sharp.

"Is your practice over or something?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because none of you look like you're doing any cheers anymore."

Giselle quickly nodded, her voice high and nervous. "W-we're on a break!"

Jay's eyes narrowed slightly, making Giselle shrink under his gaze.

Finally, he turned to you, and his expression softened just enough to make your chest feel weird—like relief, or maybe something you couldn't quite place.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the door.

"H-huh?" you stammered, blinking up at him.

"Let's go," he repeated, already turning away.

Before you could argue, he noticed the way you hesitated, the way you winced with every step. His eyes flicked down to your knees, bruised and swollen, and without a word, he leaned down and effortlessly scooped you up into his arms.

"W-what are you doing?!" you gasped, your face burning red as you scrambled to hold onto him.

The squad collectively let out a series of audible gasps behind you.

"Oh my God, she's not like, totally lying," Karina whispered, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Jay didn't acknowledge them. His jaw was tight, his gaze fixed ahead as he carried you out of the gym.

"Jay, I can walk!" you protested weakly, even though your knees were very much not in walking condition.

"Yeah, you're doing a great job of that," he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he adjusted his grip on you.

You clung to him in stunned silence, trying to ignore the burning stares from the squad still watching as the door swung shut behind you.

Your heart raced, and whether it was from embarrassment or something else entirely, you didn't want to think about it.

"You're going to stop running around like this," Jay said firmly as he walked. "If they want boba, they can get it themselves."

"But I'm part of the team now," you mumbled, your voice small.

"You're not their errand girl," he shot back, his eyes flicking down to you.

You shut your mouth, letting him carry you to the clinic as the nurse tended to your bruised knees.

He leaned casually against the wall, watching the whole process like he was supervising. Every time you dared to glance his way, he raised an eyebrow, silently daring you to say something stupid. You wisely kept quiet.

The next day at practice, things hadn't gotten much better.

The girls were still bombarding you with questions—except now, Jay had inadvertently raised your popularity to new heights.

"He's sweet but terrifying," one of them whispered, watching you stretch. "Maybe you should get him to smile for once. He's always glaring."

"Yeah, but it's kind of hot," another one added, fanning herself dramatically. "It's like he hates everyone except her."

You snorted at that, almost choking on your own air. If only they knew the truth. But you couldn't even laugh properly because someone tapped your shoulder, pointing toward the gym doors.

"Y/N, look!"

You turned and nearly choked on your own spit. There he was—Jay—walking toward you.

The girls squealed, whispering loudly as they quickly backed away to give you "privacy."

Your stomach flipped as he approached, his dark eyes scanning the gym before locking on you. "What are you doing here?" you whispered, gripping the edge of the bleachers.

He ignored your question, dropping his bag and kneeling in front of you.

"How's your knee?" he asked, his tone softer this time as his eyes flicked to your legs.

"I'm fine! What are you doing here?" you repeated, feeling heat crawl up your neck as the gym filled with the sound of squeals and whispers.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he rummaged through his bag and pulled out something.

"I bought you knee pads," he said simply, holding them up.

Your jaw dropped. "What—why?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he gently took your leg, his hands warm as he began securing the knee pad in place.

"He's so sweet!" one of the girls whispered loudly.

You tried to ignore the growing crowd of gossipers, your face burning as you stared down at him. "You really didn't have to—"

"Stop moving," he interrupted, his focus entirely on your knee as he adjusted the strap.

You sighed, crossing your arms. "Jay, seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I'll watch your routine," he said casually, moving to your other knee.

"What? No!" you exclaimed, flailing slightly. "What do you mean, you'll watch?"

He glanced up at you, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at his lips. "You watch me practice at the music room. It's only fair I watch yours."

"That's different!" you sputtered, your face heating further.

"How is it different?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because—because I'm not good at this yet!" you said, flustered. "What's your deal?"

"What do you mean?" he said, his voice light with amusement. "I just want to support my girlfriend."

You froze. Your brain short-circuited. Did he just—

"W-what did you just say?" you stammered, your voice cracking.

"Girlfriend," he repeated smoothly, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Isn't that what you keep telling everyone I am?"

You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The giggles and gasps around you didn't help, either.

"You can't just—" you started, but he cut you off.

"Relax," he said, smirking as he turned to walk away. "Good luck with practice, babe. I'll be watching."

You watched him head toward the bleachers, still reeling from the fact that Park Jongseong, the untouchable cold Jay, just called you his girlfriend in front of everyone.

If you hadn't been blushing before, you were definitely on fire now.

The routine begins with a burst of synchronized cheers, the squad moving in perfect unison. You jump, spin, and dance, throwing in a split and a clean back handspring. When the lifting section comes, you step onto their hands with, you stick the landing, holding your pose as they lower you carefully.

You finish the routine without letting your bruised knees slow you down, your chest heaving as sweat drips down your temples.

The coach claps, giving feedback to the squad, but all you can think about is sitting down and catching your breath.

Unconsciously, you find yourself collapsing onto the bleachers—right next to Jay. He doesn't say anything, just pulls a water bottle and towel out of his bag, as if he'd been expecting you to need them.

"Here," he mutters, handing them over.

"Thanks," you say, too exhausted to overthink it. You take a long sip of water before draping the towel over your shoulders.

"How's the performance?" you ask him, still catching your breath.

"You're good," he replies simply.

You pause, blinking at him. "No, like... us. The cheering squad. How did we look?"

Jay shrugs, leaning back slightly on the bleachers, his gaze fixed ahead. "I don't know," he says, his tone casual. "I only had my eyes on you."

The water bottle in your hand almost slips from your grasp.

"W-what?" you stammer, turning to look at him.

He doesn't meet your gaze, his expression cool and indifferent, but there's a small twitch at the corner of his lips. "You heard me," he says, his voice even.

Your face heats up, and you're not sure if it's from the workout or his words. Before you can respond, one of your squadmates calls your name, pulling you back to reality.

"I—uh, thanks," you mumble, scrambling to stand.

"Don't fall," Jay says, glancing at your knees briefly before leaning back and pulling out his phone, as if he hadn't just dropped a bomb on you.

Your heart races as you jog back to the squad, Jay's words replaying in your mind. "I only had my eyes on you."

What was that supposed to mean?

Over the following weeks, something shifted. Jay did seem to like you—no, that would be too strong—but he definitely didn't hate you anymore. If anything, it felt like he had resigned himself to your presence.

Your schedules matched perfectly: you'd stop by the music room before your cheer practice, watching him play with quiet awe. After his practice ended, you'd walk together to the gym, where he'd drop you off with a gruff nod.

And during those walks, you talked. A lot.

Jay didn't interrupt or roll his eyes at your endless stream of words, but he didn't say much either. He'd let you ramble about random things—your favorite stories, songs, foods, or some obscure fact you'd read online.

One day, while rifling through your bag in frustration, you whined, "Crap, I always forget to bring an extra shirt!"

Jay didn't respond, just kept walking. You assumed he wasn't even listening.

But the next day, when you showed up for your routine walk to the gym, he handed you a neatly folded shirt.

"Here," he said, his tone flat, as though it wasn't a big deal.

You blinked, staring at it. "Wait, is this for me?"

"No, it's for the bench," he replied dryly. Then, seeing your expression, added, "You said you forget yours. Just take it."

Your heart skipped as you took the shirt, muttering a soft "thank you."

On another day, after practice, you grinned at him. "I really want a spicy ramen—like, with crab sticks and shrimp! Let's go get some!"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's a one-way ticket to high blood pressure," he deadpanned.

You pouted, whining dramatically. "Come on, Jay!"

Yet not long after, you found yourselves seated at a small ramen shop. You happily slurped your noodles, your feet swinging slightly under the table. Jay glanced down at your feet before looking up at you, finding you smiling as you focused on your bowl.

"What?" you asked, catching his gaze.

"Nothing," he muttered, shaking his head as he went back to his own noodles.

Spending time with Jay made you lose your guard in the best way.

You weren't as self-conscious anymore, and little things just felt... natural. Like the time you were walking together, mid-laugh, and he suddenly pulled your arm to stop you.

"Look both ways," he mumbled, his hand lingering on your arm as you gripped it instinctively.

You giggled, wrapping your hand around his. "Okay, Dad."

He didn't respond, but his lips twitched ever so slightly.

Another habit of his? Waiting for you after practice, leaning against his motorcycle with his usual nonchalant expression. He'd nod for you to hop on, offering you his spare helmet.

It felt normal now—holding onto him as he drove, the wind whipping around you as the city lights blurred by.

Sometimes, Jay and you didn't even talk. Like when you'd share a cup of ice cream on a bench after practice, the two of you just staring at nothing. He'd sit beside you, watching as you bit down on your spoon absentmindedly.

"You look dumb," he'd say eventually, breaking the silence.

You'd laugh and stick your tongue out at him. "Thanks, Jay. Love the confidence boost."

Jay's attention to small things surprised you most when it came to your ketchup obsession.

It started when you were both sitting at your usual fast-food joint—a chain with a bright red logo and the smell of fries and fried chicken wafting through the air.

You'd always order the same thing: chicken nuggets and fries. But what made you stand out (to Jay, at least) was how you hoarded ketchup packets.

You never even used them at the restaurant. Instead, you'd stuff them into your bag, mumbling something about "saving them for later." Jay didn't ask at first, but the mystery was solved when he saw you in their practice one day, pulling out one of those packets.

You ripped it open quietly, then tipped the packet to your mouth and slurped the ketchup straight out of it.

A week later, during a break, Jay casually handed you a small stack of ketchup packets.

"Where did you get these?" you squealed, your eyes sparkling as you grabbed them from his hand.

"My bandmates ordered fries," he said with a shrug. "They don't like ketchup, so I took them."

You stared at him, your heart doing an annoying little flip. "Jay, you get me," you said dramatically, clutching the packets to your chest like they were a bouquet of roses.

"Don't make this weird," he muttered, already turning away.

You ripped one open immediately, slurping the sweet and tangy ketchup with a grin. "Thanks, Jay!"

He rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched again—his almost-smile.

Then there was the time in the cafeteria when he handed you a tissue.

You stared at him, confused. "What's this for?"

"Your lip gloss," he said simply, his tone so casual it made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked, dumbfounded, as heat rose to your cheeks. How did he even notice that you always wiped off your lip gloss before eating?

You muttered a shy "thanks," taking the tissue as your heart thumped in your chest.

And then there were even smaller things.

Like how he bent down to tie your shoelaces without a word when they came undone during your walk.

Or how he fixed your hair once, brushing a stray strand behind your ear with a quick, almost annoyed motion.

Or how he straightened your uniform when it got wrinkled after a particularly rough practice, muttering something about how you looked like "a mess."

They weren't grand gestures. Jay wasn't the type for big declarations or sweeping acts of romance. But it was always the small things that left you breathless—the way he noticed you, the way he cared without saying much.

And maybe, just maybe, the cold, untouchable guitarist didn't hate you as much as he let on.

"That's Park Jongseong's girlfriend!"

"Park Jongseong's girl is so pretty!"

"I didn't know Park Jongseong's girlfriend is so good at dancing!"

But honestly? You weren't sure how to feel about it anymore.

People didn't want to know you. They wanted to know him. Even when someone started a conversation with you, it always led back to Jay.

"How did you two meet?"

"What does he do when he's bored?"

"Does he even smile around you?"

You started noticing how Jay wasn't immune, either. People would corner him in the halls, asking invasive questions about your "relationship," and he'd glare at them in that trademark way of his until they got the hint and left. He never complained, never said anything about it to you, but you could see it in the way his jaw clenched tighter these days.

You weren't cool. You weren't special.

You were just someone who had made a stupid, selfish decision to drag his name into your mess. And now? You weren't sure if you could keep it up any longer.

It was a quiet afternoon in the music room. Jay sat across from you, strumming his guitar in the golden light of sunset. Normally, this was when you'd ramble on about whatever random topic popped into your head, but today, the words felt too heavy to come out.

Instead, you pulled your knees to your chest, hugging them as you stared at the floor.

"I'm sorry if I always bother you," you said suddenly, your voice barely audible.

Jay's fingers stilled on the strings, his head tilting slightly as he glanced at you.

"I... I really don't have any friends," you admitted, resting your chin on your knees. "I think I'm too crazy for the good girls in my class, too dumb for the nerds, and way too soft for the mean girls."

He didn't say anything, but you felt his eyes on you.

"But, you know," you continued, your voice shaky, "you're the first person who's ever... tolerated me. And I really appreciate that."

You laughed weakly, even though it wasn't funny. "Thank you, Park Jongseong, for listening to me go on and on about dystopian movies. For putting up with me when I get loud and excited. For not judging my weird ketchup obsession."

Jay leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable, as you let out a long sigh.

"I thought dragging your name into the cheer squad thing would make me feel like I belonged somewhere," you said, your voice breaking. "But it hasn't. If anything, it's just made me feel worse. Like I'm not enough for them. Like I'll never be enough."

Your chest tightened as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt, unable to meet his gaze. "And... I feel like I've dumped all these responsibilities on you because of one stupid little lie I told. It's not fair to you."

Jay stayed silent, but you could feel his presence, heavy and quiet.

You swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "I think... I think it's time we break up."

Jay's hands froze on the guitar, his entire body going still. His gaze sharpened.

"Break up?" he repeated, his tone even but taut, like he was holding something back.

You nodded, your throat closing up. "Yeah. I've caused you enough trouble already. I think... I think it's better if we just end it. It'll be easier for you."

Jay's jaw tightened, his fingers gripping the edge of the guitar as he stared at you. "Is that what you want?" he asked, his tone calm but laced with something you couldn't place.

Your chest felt like it was caving in. You couldn't look at him, couldn't bring yourself to say what you really wanted to say. So instead, you nodded.

"Yes," you whispered, barely audible.

The silence that followed was unbearable. You expected him to agree, to maybe sigh in relief or tell you that you were right. But instead, he just stared at you, his gaze unreadable.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, his voice low. "Alright."

Your heart sank at the word, even though it was what you'd asked for. You forced yourself to stand, forcing a shaky "thank you" past your lips as you made your way toward the door.

But just as you reached it, his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"But you should know," he said, "that if you think you're not enough, you're wrong."

You froze, your breath hitching. Slowly, you turned to face him.

He wasn't looking at you anymore. His gaze was fixed on his guitar, his fingers idly plucking at the strings, but there was a softness in his voice that you weren't used to.

"You don't have to try so hard to fit into their world," he said quietly. "You already stand out. You don't see it, but you do."

Your throat tightened as tears pricked at your eyes. "Jay..."

He looked up at you then, his dark eyes piercing but calm. "If you want to end it, I'll let you go," he said, his voice steady. "But don't do it because you think you're causing me trouble. That's just you overthinking, as usual."

The ache in your chest grew unbearable, and for a moment, you thought about staying. 

But the weight of your emotions felt too heavy, and you bolted, muttering a weak "thanks" as you ran out of the room, tears already spilling down your cheeks.

You didn't look back, but as you closed the door behind you, you swore you heard the faint sound of his guitar strings—soft, steady, and full of something you didn't quite understand.

By the time you reached the bathroom, you were a mess.

You locked yourself in a stall and let it all out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried—and failed—to convince yourself this was what you wanted.

"It's not even real," you muttered, your voice cracking. "We're not a thing. We were never a thing. Why am I crying like an idiot?"

But no amount of reasoning stopped the ugly sobs from wracking your chest. You clutched some toilet paper, blowing your nose dramatically and telling yourself to get it together.

When you showed up to practice later, your eyes were swollen and red, your nose a little too pink to hide what had happened.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Karina asked, looking concerned.

You forced a shaky smile. "I'm fine! Totally fine! Oh, by the way..." You paused, sniffling slightly. "Jay and I broke up."

The words felt like ripping off a Band-Aid, but you didn't have time to process them before the room erupted.

"What?!" Giselle gasped, clutching her water bottle.

"No way!" Yunjin exclaimed, already pulling out her phone.

Within hours, the news spread across the school faster than you thought possible. Everywhere you went, you could hear whispers and murmurs about the "breakup."

And Park Jongseong?

He was still Park Jongseong.

You spotted him in the hallway, his face set in stone, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp as ever.

He walked like he was on his way to commit murder, every step filled with tension. People gave him a wide berth, whispering things like, "He's even scarier than usual," and, "God, she must've really broken his heart."

But when your eyes met his for a split second, he looked away, his expression you can't read.

Your chest ached painfully every time you passed him. And when you were finally alone at night, you curled up in bed and cried yourself to sleep, the pain in your chest refusing to fade.

By the time your classmates dragged you to karaoke, you were on emotional autopilot. You didn't want to be there, but they'd insisted.

"It'll help you get over him!" Sunoo had said, practically shoving you into the room.

It wasn't helping. At all.

Sunoo grabbed the mic, singing passionately as the lyrics flashed across the screen. "That's why I don't understand... why I'm feeling so bad now, when I know it was my idea."

You froze, staring at the lyrics like they'd personally attacked you. Your lips twitched, but you refused to let the tears fall.

Ni-ki leaned forward, grabbing the mic dramatically. "I could've just denied the truth and lied... why am I the only one, standing, stranded on the same ground?!"

You let out a choked laugh, trying to brush off your growing emotions, but then Sunoo turned to you with wide, knowing eyes. "Oh my God, what happened to you?!"

"Shut up," you muttered, pulling your cardigan over your face to hide the tears forming in your eyes.

The room erupted as Ni-ki wrestled the mic away from Sunoo. "My love, it's been a long time since I cried and left you out of the blue." Ni-ki sang into the microphone.

You couldn't help it—the tears started spilling as you wiped them furiously with your sleeve, hoping no one would notice.

"It's hard leaving you that way... when I never wanted to!"

Your classmates were belting out the lyrics, screaming into the mic with way too much passion. And somehow, the chaos made it worse.

"Self-denial is a game!" Ni-ki shouted, practically falling to his knees. "It's strange, I never would've wanted it until there was you!"

You sniffled, wiping your cheeks again, but the tears wouldn't stop.

"Y/N, are you crying?!" Sunoo gasped dramatically, leaning closer, his voice high-pitched enough to rival a whistle.

"No!" you wailed, burying your face deeper into your cardigan. "It's just—the lyrics are so stupid!"

Jungwon, ever the responsible one, grabbed the remote and immediately switched the song. "Okay, we need a vibe shift. No more heartbreak songs."

The opening beat of Apple Bottom Jeans blasted through the room, and everyone burst into cheers and laughter.

You couldn't help but laugh, sniffing back the last of your tears as Ni-ki grabbed the mic and jumped onto the couch.

You felt a little lighter. Sure, your heart was still aching, but at least now, you now had friends who made it a little easier to breathe.

The next day, you were required to attend the university baseball game. Every student was, but as part of the cheerleading pep squad, you had absolutely no excuse to skip.

The stadium was packed with thousands of students from your university and the rival school, the energy buzzing in the air. You tugged at the hem of your uniform skirt, your face burning with embarrassment. "Is it really this short?!" you whined, glaring at Giselle.

She shushed you with a wave of her pom-poms. "Relax. It's normal!"

"You don't have to be awkward about it," Karina added, flipping her hair. "Your legs look great!"

Your coach, however, was far less delicate. "We're making it look longer because your legs are short," she said bluntly, not even looking up from her clipboard.

You gasped, utterly dumbfounded. "I—should I be offended, or...?"

The coach just shrugged, moving on with her notes.

Before the game officially began, your squad performed a short routine to hype up the crowd. The music blared through the speakers as you stepped forward, executing a clean front handspring. The crowd roared with approval, but your face burned as your skirt rode up mid-flip.

When the routine ended, you cringed, tugging your skirt back down as you returned to your seat at the front. You waved your pom-poms enthusiastically, shouting the university yell every time your team scored, even if you were still mortified from earlier.

When the game finally ended and the crowd began to thin out, you found yourself standing near the bleachers, clutching your pom-poms and phone. The cheer squad was preparing to take pictures, but you hung back for a moment, trying to catch your breath.

That's when someone approached you.

"Hi," a voice said, warm and slightly out of breath.

You turned to see a guy standing in front of you, wearing his baseball uniform. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his cheeks flushed from the game, and his smile was boyish and shy.

"I'm Heeseung," he introduced himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I just wanted to say your routine was really cool. And, uh... I was wondering if I could get your number?"

You blinked, your brain stalling. Wait, what?

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, a loud voice called out from across the field.

"Y/N! Hurry up!" Sunoo waved his arms dramatically, yelling over the crowd. "We're taking pictures!"

Your face turned even redder as you looked between Heeseung and Sunoo. Panicking, you muttered a quick, "Sorry, I've gotta go!" before rushing off toward your squad, clutching your pom-poms.

By the time you reached your squad, you were out of breath and flustered, feeling like the world's biggest idiot.

You grabbed your bag, rummaging through it in search of a shirt to change into. The crowd had mostly cleared out, and the stadium lights were dimming, but you were too busy muttering to yourself to notice.

Of course, you didn't have a spare shirt. Why would you?

You sighed heavily, dropping your pom-poms into the bag and staring at the empty space inside. Without thinking, you mumbled, "I miss Jay."

The words hung in the air, surprising even you. You froze for a second, realizing what you'd just said out loud.

It had been months since you'd ended things—or whatever it was you'd had—with Jay. And somehow, instead of feeling lighter, you felt worse.

The more you saw him in passing, the more you missed him. The more you craved him. The ache in your chest refused to fade, no matter how much time passed.

Sometimes, you still cried yourself to sleep, clutching your pillow as memories of him flooded your mind.

You hated how much you missed him.

And then there were moments when your body moved on its own, as if drawn to him.

You'd find yourself standing outside the music room, staring at the door like you were waiting for something—or someone—to pull you inside.

But you never went in. You just stood there, your heart heavy, before walking away again.

Or you'd sit at your favorite bench, the one where you used to share ice cream with him after practice. You'd sit there alone, biting the spoon absentmindedly and staring at nothing, replaying old conversations in your head.

It was during one of those quiet moments, as you sat with a half-melted scoop of vanilla in your hand, that the truth finally hit you.

You liked Jay.

No, you more than liked him. You missed him so much it hurt. And the worst part? You had no idea if he missed you, too.

You bit down harder on your spoon, frustration bubbling in your chest.

Why had you been so stupid? Why had you pushed him away when, deep down, he'd been the only one who ever made you feel seen?

Maybe you were too late. Maybe you'd ruined whatever connection you had with him.

But one thought kept circling in your mind, no matter how much you tried to shake it off.

What if you weren't too late?

"Do you party?" Sunoo asked casually, flopping onto your bed like it was his own.

You raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide your skepticism. "Not really. I mean, I've been to a few, but it's not my thing. Why?"

"Let's go to a party this weekend! You know Sunghoon, right? The baseball player? He's hosting!"

You laughed, waving him off. "I'll think about it, but probably not."

Sunoo narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but you brushed him off, fully intending to stay home.

But when the weekend came, your plans to stay curled up in bed went out the window.

Sunoo, Jungwon, and Ni-ki just barged into your house.

"Why aren't you dressed?!" Sunoo exclaimed, throwing open your closet as Jungwon inspected your makeup drawer.

"What are you doing?!" you shrieked, clutching a pillow like it was a weapon.

"You are going to this party," Ni-ki said, arms crossed like he was your older brother instead of one year younger. "Get ready. Now."

With no way out, you reluctantly threw on a simple crop top and shorts, tying your hair into a ponytail and doing clean, light makeup.

When you arrived at the party, the atmosphere immediately overwhelmed you. The music was loud enough to shake the walls, the smell of sweat, alcohol, and something smoky lingering in the air.

You stuck close to Sunoo as he handed you a red cup with some drink you didn't recognize.

"Just take a sip!" he shouted over the music.

"Excuse me for a second," you said, escaping to the balcony.

The moment you stepped outside, you exhaled deeply, the fresh air calming your nerves. The cool night breeze felt like a blessing after the suffocating heat inside.

But then, you stiffened.

Sitting in one of the chairs was someone you hadn't expected to see—someone you hadn't seen up close in months.

Jay.

He sat with one foot tapping rhythmically against the ground, a vape in his hand. The dim light from the balcony highlighted his sharp jawline, his pointed nose, and the effortless way his hair slicked back. He wore a simple white shirt under a blue Nike jacket, but somehow, he looked stunning.

Your chest tightened painfully as his head turned, his dark eyes meeting yours.

"Oh," you said awkwardly, frozen in place.

He stared at you for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, taking a long drag from his vape.

Without knowing why, you found yourself walking over to him and sitting quietly beside him, your gaze fixed on the stars above.

"I didn't know you actually smoked," you said softly, breaking the silence.

He hummed, his head tilting slightly as he exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction, making a point to avoid letting any of it near you.

"I don't. Not usually. I don't smoke at school."

He shifted in his seat, sliding the vape into his pocket and straightening his posture.

"Why'd you stop just now?" you asked, glancing at him.

He didn't hesitate. "Your nose is sensitive to strong smells."

Your breath caught, his simple answer hitting you harder than you expected. That was Jay—always quiet, always watching, always knowing without making a big deal of it.

The ache in your chest grew unbearable.

"I'm sorry," the words came out from your mouth.

Jay's gaze snapped to yours, his expression neutral.

"For what?" he asked evenly.

"For just leaving," you said, your voice shaky. "For everything you've done for me, and then me just... walking away. I didn't know what I was feeling back then. I was hurt and scared because... you're you, and I'm just me. I'm not good enough for you—"

Jay didn't respond immediately. His gaze softened, though his expression remained guarded. "And what are you feeling now?"

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest.

"I... I miss you, Jay," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "I miss everything about you. The small things, the way you cared, even if you acted like you didn't. I'm sorry for leaving you. I'm sorry for being stupid."

Jay looked at you for a long moment, his dark eyes searching yours.

"You're really stupid, aren't you?" he said, his voice calm but laced with a faint humor that made your heart ache.

You managed a weak laugh, wiping at the corner of your eye. "Yeah, I am."

Jay exhaled slowly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile.

"I thought you'd like me and never break it off because that's what happens in those books you always talk about, right?" he said, his voice softening. "But somehow, I fell harder than I ever expected."

Your breath hitched as he let out a quiet laugh—so rare, so warm, it made your chest ache. He finally looked at you, his eyes glinting with something vulnerable.

"I've always waited for you," he admitted, his voice low. "Waited for you to stop standing outside the music room and just walk in. But you never did."

Your eyes widened, surprise flickering across your face.

"I saw you," he continued. "Every time you sat on that bench, on our place... I saw you at a distance, sitting there, staring at nothing. And I waited. I always waited for your eyes to look at me the way I was looking at you."

Tears began to swell in your eyes as you took in his words.

Jay leaned closer, his movements gentle.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For being such a coward. For not walking up to you when I wanted to. I told myself I'd wait, but waiting just hurt more because all I could do was think about you. About us."

He reached out hesitantly, brushing his fingers against your cheek, his hand warm and grounding. "I'm hurting. I've been hurting since you left. Do you feel the same way?"

The tears spilled over, warm and slow, streaking down your cheeks. You placed your hand over his, leaning into his touch as you nodded. "I do, Jay. I've been hurting, too."

He watched you closely, his eyes softening as you smiled at him through your tears.

"You're crying," he murmured, brushing a stray tear away with his thumb.

"Yeah, well, that's your fault," you whispered, laughing through the tears.

Jay shook his head, his lips tugging into the faintest smile. "You're impossible," he muttered, his voice affectionate.

"And you're annoying," you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion.

But neither of you moved away.

The balcony felt smaller, quieter, as Jay's hand lingered on your cheek. His gaze flickered to your lips for a brief second, and your heart jumped, but he didn't move, waiting instead for you to close the gap.

So you did.

You leaned forward, pressing your lips softly to his, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it. His lips were warm and hesitant at first, but then he shifted, tilting his head slightly as he kissed you back.

His hand slid into your hair, his fingers brushing lightly against your scalp as he pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, your lips moving in perfect sync.

When you pulled back just slightly to catch your breath, his forehead rested against yours, and his lips hovered mere inches away.

His voice was low, and soft as he whispered against your lips, "Don't ever think of yourself like that. You're more than enough."

His words struck you deep, and your eyes fluttered open to meet his. "But... you're you, and I'm just me," you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Jay didn't let you finish. His lips captured yours again, silencing your insecurities. When he pulled back, he looked at you with a gaze so intense it made your breath hitch.

"I like you for being you," he said simply.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening with emotion. "But you're like a big star," you said, holding up your fingers to make the shape of a small star, "and I'm just... a little star."

Jay's lips curved into the softest smile before he leaned forward again, kissing you gently.

His voice was tender when he murmured against your lips, "A little star that shines brightest in my eyes."

Your cheeks burned, and you couldn't help but let out a flustered laugh, lightly hitting his chest. "How come you always know how to get my heart?!"

Jay chuckled, kissing your forehead as he hugs you.

Jay just wanted to play guitar. That was all. He didn't ask for the reputation, the attention, or the corny nickname the school had slapped on him—the "cold, untouchable hot guitarist." God, how he hated that.

Every day felt the same: girls cornering him in the halls, asking for his number or accidentally brushing their hands against his arms or guitar case. His eyes would glare like knives as he gritted out, "Don't touch me."

He hated it—the fake admiration, the empty attention. Everyone seemed to care about him for all the wrong reasons. And when they annoyed him too much?

"Fuck off," he'd mutter, his tone so cold it practically froze people in their tracks.

But you? You were different.

Jay remembered the school festival three years ago. He'd been sitting in Jake's booth, tuning his guitar lazily while Jake served spicy noodles to an occasional brave (or dumb) soul willing to risk their stomach for the thrill.

It was supposed to be a chill afternoon, but then you showed up.

You were the only person who kept coming back to Jake's booth. Every hour.

"I swear, you're going to burn a hole in your stomach," Jake had told you, half-laughing as he handed you yet another bowl of his stupidly spicy noodles.

"Totally worth it," you'd chirped, your voice high-pitched and cheerful. "Do you have a permanent shop? I'd eat there every day!"

Jay had glanced up from his guitar, staring at you through the slits of the tent. You were completely oblivious to his presence, happily slurping noodles as Jake made small talk with you.

Later, Jake stormed into the tent, tossing his apron onto the chair. "We're sold out," he'd announced. "And it's her fault."

Jay had raised an eyebrow. "Her?"

Jake pointed outside. "The spicy noodle girl. She's been coming back all day. We sold out because of her."

Jay hadn't said anything, but his lips had twitched, the smallest hint of a smile forming before he went back to tuning his guitar.

Jay hated everyone. He hated how they tugged at him, how they fawned over him for no reason. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to hate you.

He remembered the little things—moments that no one else seemed to notice.

Like the time you walked down the hallway with that cute little bag, the kind of bag that didn't really suit a high schooler but looked perfect on you.

It had a figurine hanging from it, neatly wrapped in a plastic pouch, and you carried it like it was your most prized possession.

Then, just days later, he'd found you outside the lost and found office, whining and crying. You'd lost the figurine, and you'd spent an entire lunch period pacing back and forth in front of the office, waiting for someone to turn it in.

Or the time he saw you clapping and cheering during a cheerleading pep squad performance, smiling so brightly that it felt contagious. You weren't even part of the squad back then, just a spectator, but you looked so genuinely happy that even he couldn't look away.

Then there was your PathFit (PE) class. Jay hadn't meant to stop by, but he'd found himself standing near the open door, his guitar case slung over his shoulder, as his eyes drifted toward you. You were on the floor, legs stretched into a perfect split, your forehead pressed to the ground as you stretched.

Jay once again noticed you searching frantically for a notebook you'd dropped in the hallway. You were crouched on the floor, mumbling to yourself, "This is why I can't have nice things."

He'd spotted the notebook a few feet away, picked it up, and placed it on the bench beside him.

When you found it moments later, you gasped, "Oh my God, it's a miracle!"

You always said you were just a simple girl. That no one really noticed you or cared about someone like you.

But in Jay's eyes, you were the opposite of invisible.

And every time he thought about you, he realized the same thing.

You stood out more than anyone else ever could.

When you'd spilled water all over his face.

His first reaction wasn't anger or annoyance, but something that surprised even him—he noticed how beautiful you looked up close.

Your wide eyes stared at him in shock, your pouty lips forming a small gasp as you muttered incoherent apologies. The faint, sweet floral scent of your perfume hit him, and for a second, he forgot the cold water dripping down his face.

Jay closed his eyes, his jaw clenching as he tried to take in more of that intoxicating scent, grounding himself. But before he could say anything, you bolted, muttering a quick "Sorry!" as you sprinted down the hallway.

He almost laughed when you tripped on your knees, scrambling awkwardly to escape. He stood there for a moment, wiping the water off his face with his sleeve.

The second interaction was you crashing out his guitar. He almost didn't notice his guitar on the floor because his eyes were locked on you.

Slowly, you raised two fingers in a peace sign, your expression a mix of guilt and panic.

"Uh... sorry?" you muttered before immediately backing out of the room.

Jay stood there, staring at the empty doorway, blinking in disbelief. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe even laugh, but the sound never left his throat. You were gone before he could even start a conversation.

And then there was the volleyball incident.

Jay didn't even see the ball coming. One second he was walking into the gym with his friends, and the next, a sharp pain hit him square on the nose.

"Shit," he hissed, dropping to the ground and clutching his face.

When he opened his eyes, you were hovering over him, your face inches from his. Your hair framed your face like a curtain, and there it was again—that scent. Sweet, light, floral.

He blinked up at you, stunned into silence. For a split second, he forgot about the pain, about the blood dripping from his nose. He was too focused on you—your soft features, your panicked expression, the way your lips trembled as you tried to form words.

Before he could open his mouth to tell you he was fine, the blood started pouring out of his nose.

"Crap!" you yelped, standing up quickly, flailing in panic. "I—I'll get help! I'm so sorry!"

And then you ran. Again.

Jay lay there, groaning as Jake handed him a tissue, snickering the entire time.

"Shut up," Jay muttered, even though Jake don't even say anything.

The breaking point came when Jay heard about the rumor that he was in a relationship.

He was furious. Annoyed didn't even begin to describe it. He hated how his name was constantly dragged into things, but this? A fake relationship? With some girl he didn't even know?

Storming through the hallways, he cornered one of the guys he'd overheard spreading the rumor. Grabbing the boy by the collar, he slammed him against the lockers.

"Tell me who started it," Jay demanded, his voice low and sharp. His jaw was clenched, his dark eyes boring into the boy's.

"I-I don't know! I swear!" the boy stammered, flinching under Jay's glare. "They said it was some girl—Y/N! Y/N told the cheerleaders about it!"

At the mention of your name, Jay froze. His grip loosened slightly.

For a moment, he couldn't believe it. Of all people, it was you.

Releasing the boy with a shove, Jay stepped back, his emotions in a whirlwind. He should've been angrier—should've been ready to confront you and demand answers. But instead, he found himself... curious.

He should've been irritated. He should've hated you for dragging his name into a mess.

But somehow, he didn't.

Instead, he felt something he couldn't quite place. And he wasn't sure what annoyed him more—the rumor itself or the fact that the thought of being tied to you didn't bother him as much as it should have.

“Oh my God, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Did they just come back together?!”

Whispers followed the two of you as you walked hand in hand down the hallway. 

Jay’s tall frame dressed in his usual all-black outfit. His guitar case was slung over his back, the strap resting effortlessly against his shoulder, and his hand held yours with an ease that made your heart race.

Every head turned to look at you. It wasn’t just the sight of Jay—cold, untouchable, and intimidating—but the sight of him with you, a cheerful and bubbly cheerleader.

You leaned closer to him, lowering your voice as you whispered, “Do you think a guitarist and a cheerleader is a weird combination?”

Jay glanced down at you, one eyebrow raised, his expression softening. “No,” he said without hesitation, his voice steady. “You and me? We’re a perfect combination.”

You let out a laugh, lightly bumping your shoulder against his arm. “God, you’re so cheesy.”

He smirked faintly but didn’t respond, the corners of his lips tugging upward in amusement.

Park Jongseong as a fake boyfriend was good.

But Park Jongseong as a real boyfriend? He was so much better.

You used to think of him as just the guy with the sharp jawline, the deadpan expression, and those sharp, eagle-like eyes that seemed to shoot lasers at anyone who got too close. He was the “fuck off” and “shut up” guy, the untouchable guitarist who kept everyone at arm’s length.

But now, as you walked hand in hand with him, you realized how wrong you’d been.

Jay wasn’t just sweet—he was unbelievably sweet.

You remembered all the little lies you’d told about him when you were trying to fit in with the cheer squad.

“He’s so sweet,” you’d said back then, fabricating stories about how he’d treat you like a princess.

But now? Those stories felt laughable because the reality of being with Jay was so much better.

When you were tired, he’d carry your bag without a word.

“Let me take it,” he’d say simply, slipping the strap off your shoulder.

He opened doors for you—every single time. If you walked through a doorway together, you didn’t even have to reach for the handle because Jay would already be holding it open, waiting patiently for you to step through.

Once, when you were getting into a car, you’d bumped your head against the roof. From that moment on, Jay always, always put a hand over your head to make sure it didn’t happen again.

“Careful,” he’d murmur, voice low but gentle.

You’d joked about him cooking for you once, completely unaware of how true it would become.

One evening, after a particularly long practice, Jay had brought you to his house. “You’re tired,” he’d said. “Let me make you something.”

You hadn’t expected much—maybe instant ramen or a sandwich at most. But then you’d watched, wide-eyed, as he moved around the kitchen with surprising ease, chopping vegetables, seasoning meat, and sautéing everything.

“Do you cook often?” you’d asked, leaning against the counter as the delicious aroma filled the room.

“Sometimes,” he replied, glancing at you briefly. “Jake says my food is too good for him, though.”

You laughed, resting your chin on your hand as you watched him. Jay, the sharp-tongued guitarist, was making you a home-cooked meal. And it wasn’t just good—it was amazing. 

Then there were the kisses.

You’d made up a story once, saying, “He kisses me goodbye every morning.” You thought it was the perfect romantic lie to impress the cheerleaders.

But now? Jay had made it a reality.

Every morning before he left for his own class, he’d touch your cheek lightly, his fingers brushing against your skin.

Then, he’d lean in, his lips meeting yours in the gentlest, softest kiss.

“See you later,” he’d say, before turning and walking away.

Each time, your heart would flutter uncontrollably, your fingers brushing against your lips as you watched him go. 

"Aftercare after sex"

Except now, the real thing had turned out to be even better.

“Jay!” you whined, your hand gripping his hair as your hips moved uncontrollably against his mouth.

His tongue worked magic against your clit, circling and sucking gently while his long fingers moved inside you. His fingers curled just right, hitting your sweet spot effortlessly, and you gasped, your jaw going slack from the overwhelming sensation.

Your stomach tightened as the heat pooled low in your belly, and you felt yourself getting closer with each passing second.

Jay let out a low hum, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His free hand moved up to intertwine with yours, grounding you even as you felt like you might fall apart.

“Feel so good,” you sobbed, your eyebrows furrowing together in pleasure. “Don’t want to stop.”

Jay pulled back just slightly, his lips glistening as he murmured, “Are you close, baby?”

You nodded frantically, your breathing erratic.

He leaned up, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. You tasted yourself on him, your tongue meeting his as the kiss grew messy and desperate. His fingers didn’t slow for a second, pumping relentlessly inside you as you gasped against his mouth.

When you broke the kiss, your eyes were teary, your chest heaving. Jay looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, his own breathing labored as he took in your flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, biting his lip as he moved back down between your legs. Without hesitation, he latched onto your clit again, sucking hard.

Your body jolted, your hands clutching at the sheets as you screamed his name. “Gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum—”

Jay hummed in approval, his tongue working in perfect sync with his fingers, coaxing you to the edge. His free hand squeezed yours gently, the small gesture making your heart flutter even as your hips bucked uncontrollably against his face.

“I love you,” you gasped, your voice breaking. “I love you, I love you—”

Your back arched as the tension inside you snapped, and your vision blurred with stars. You cried out, your body shaking as you came, the overwhelming pleasure leaving you breathless.

Jay stayed with you through it all, his tongue and fingers slowing to help you ride out the waves. When you finally slumped back against the bed, exhausted and trembling, he moved up beside you, brushing the hair from your face.

He kissed you softly, murmuring sweet nothings against your lips as he fixed your shirt and wiped you down with gentle care.

“You’re okay,” he whispered, soothing. “You did so good.”

Jay was definitely good at aftercare.

“Is it true that Park Jongseong is… like, huge in bed?”

You flushed instantly, your thoughts flashing to the one time you’d seen him fully exposed, when he’d let you take him in your hand.

Yeah, he was definitely huge.

"Did he really let you touch his guitar?"

You stared down at the sleek Stratocaster electric guitar now resting gently in your lap. Jay handed you a white marker, his eyes soft as he watched your expression shift from confusion to awe.

Your fingers lightly brushed over the strings and the smooth, glossy surface of the guitar’s body. “What’s this for?” you asked, holding up the white marker he had placed in your hand.

“I need you to sign your name on my guitar,” he said casually.

Your eyes widened as you looked between the guitar and Jay, who was now sitting beside you. “W-wait,” you stammered, your voice rising slightly. “Are you sure? I don’t want to ruin it—”

“Baby,” he interrupted, “you’re not ruining it.” He leaned closer, gently pointing at a spot near the edge of the guitar’s body. “Right there. That’s where I want it. Sign it for me, hmm?”

You swallowed hard, this wasn’t just any guitar—it was his guitar. The one he cherished.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding as you carefully uncapped the marker.

You hovered the pen above the guitar for a moment, practicing your signature in the air as your nerves fluttered.

Jay chuckled softly beside you, his voice warm. “You’re acting like you’re signing a million-dollar contract.”

“This is more serious than that,” you shot back, your lips curving into a nervous smile.

Finally, with a deep breath, you pressed the tip of the marker to the glossy surface, your hand moving carefully as you signed your name. The white ink glided smoothly across the black body, and when you pulled the marker away, you stared at the result with wide eyes.

“Perfect,” Jay murmured.

You turned to look at him, your heart skipping a beat at the way his gaze lingered on the guitar. His usual sharp, stoic expression was replaced with something softer, his eyes shining as he traced your signature with his finger.

He looked up at you, his lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said, his voice full of warmth. Then, leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

Your cheeks burned as you gripped the marker tightly, unsure of what to say.

Jay pulled back slightly, his smile still in place. “Now it’s perfect,” he said simply, taking the guitar from your lap and standing up.

You watched as he adjusted the strap and slung it over his shoulder. His fingers moved instinctively to the strings, testing a few chords, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes kept flickering to your signature.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” he asked, his voice casual, but you could hear the pride beneath it.

“It does,” you said softly, your chest feeling warm and full.

It was the school festival again, and you couldn’t contain your excitement. Still wearing your cheerleading uniform from your earlier routine, you tugged at your cousin’s arm, practically dragging her through the bustling crowd. The stadium was alive with energy—students cheering, music blasting from nearby booths, and the smell of snacks wafting through the air.

“Come on, we’re going to miss it!” you squealed, your ponytail bouncing as you hurried forward, your pom-poms tucked under your arm.

Your cousin groaned dramatically, trailing behind you. “You’ve been talking about this all day. Who are we even going to see?”

“My boyfriend!” you said, grinning from ear to ear. “My boyfriend's in a band!”

“Boyfriend?” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. “Since when do you have a boyfriend?”

You turned to her with a mock gasp, clutching your chest like she’d insulted you. “Excuse you. I’ve had one for months now.”

Your cousin raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, then. Let’s see this mysterious boyfriend of yours.”

The two of you found seats near the front, and you craned your neck, scanning the stage as the band members set up. The noise of the crowd grew louder, students and visitors alike cheering as the festival program officially began.

And then he appeared.

Jay stepped onto the stage, standing out against the bright festival decorations. The strap of his guitar rested comfortably on his shoulder, the instrument gleaming under the stage lights—and there it was, your signature on its glossy surface.

Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, a giddy smile tugging at your lips as you clapped your hands together in excitement.

“Okay, but which one is your boyfriend?” your cousin asked, squinting at the stage as if trying to piece it together.

You didn’t even hesitate. Pointing toward Jay, you said proudly, “The guitarist. His name is Park Jongseong. That’s my boyfriend.”

Your attention was locked on Jay as he adjusted his guitar strap and tested a few chords. His sharp, eagle-like eyes scanned the crowd, his usual stoic expression giving him an air of effortless cool. But then, something changed.

His gaze stopped on you.

Jay’s piercing eyes softened, his lips curving into the faintest smile, the kind of smile he rarely let anyone see. It was small, barely noticeable to most, but you knew it was for you.

Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to hide the giddy grin that threatened to take over your face. Your cheeks burned, and your heart raced as he looked at you.

After a brief moment, Jay’s gaze dropped to his guitar. He adjusted the tuning, his fingers moving skillfully over the strings, but you could tell his mind wasn’t entirely on the music. He stole one last glance at you before focusing on his task, a quiet confidence radiating from him as he prepared to play. 

Your cousin, still in shock, nudged you. “Okay, he’s hot. How did you—like, how did you—end up with him?”

You laughed, brushing her off as you continued to watch Jay. “It’s a long story,” you said, your voice dreamy.

As the band began their set, the crowd’s cheers grew louder, and Jay’s fingers danced effortlessly over the strings. The sound was mesmerizing, and your chest swelled with pride as you watched him command the stage.

And as you sat there, smiling like an idiot, you realized once again how lucky you were to call him yours.

perm taglist: @fancypeacepersona, @immelissaaa

[beloveds-embrace]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Matchmaking Buns: Part Two

Part One

What the bunnies look like

The evening of the promised dinner comes faster than you’d anticipated. With every passing minute, you flit from one end of the house to the other, adjusting pillows, checking on the simmering dishes, and shooing your furry “helpers” out of the kitchen for what feels like the hundredth time even if they thump at you. Between binkying across the living room, flopping lazily on the rug right on your path, and trying to sneak nibbles of any available furniture, your bunnies are in top form, thriving in their role as resident chaos agents.

Finally, the doorbell rings. You wipe your palms on your jeans, take a deep breath, and open the door, immediately greeted by four towering figures who seem somehow even more imposing in their casual clothes. Johnny’s already grinning, Kyle’s soft smile is reassuring, Price has a hint of amusement in his eyes, and Simon—well, Simon is as inscrutable as ever, though his gaze lingers on you for just a beat longer than expected.

“Welcome! Come on in and, uh, make yourselves at home. You’ll be sharing the space with the true homeowners, of course,” you say, gesturing toward the four bundles of fluff darting around underfoot, raising their heads in curiosity. “Don’t worry, they’ll give up the prime seats… eventually.”

Price chuckles, stepping into the living room as your spotted holland lop scurries past his feet. “I was almost expecting to see little bunny-sized chairs around here, the way you talk about them.”

“Careful, you’ll give her ideas!” Johnny laughs, watching as your grey Flemish giant noses around his ankle, clearly demanding a greeting. He squats down to give her a gentle scratch behind the ears, and she leans into his hand with that smug satisfaction only a beloved pet can have.

You usher everyone toward the dining table, where a spread of your best dishes awaits. You won't lie; you are extremely proud of what you'd prepared: a platter of roasted herb-crusted lamb, tender and drizzled with honey-balsamic, sits as the centerpiece. Nearby, creamy wild mushroom risotto with parmesan shavings, its earthy aroma irresistible. A vibrant salad of mixed greens, heirloom tomatoes, and crumbled goat cheese (it was a nightmare making this one with the way your bunnies were almost ready to paw-fight you for the greens). There’s also warm, crusty bread with rosemary-infused butter, and a golden vegetable gratin with layers of zucchini, squash, and potato, bubbling with creamy gruyere.

The smell of the food finally entices your bunnies to settle by your feet, eyeing the proceedings with their usual mix of suspicion and entitlement. Simon, catching sight of your mini-lop sniffing determinedly toward a bowl of the salad, picks up the bowl and sets it just out of reach with a faint smile- he has taken off the mask, and you have to tell yourself not to stare too much at how pretty he is.

“Thanks for sparing me from his wrath,” you say, laughing, after clearing your throat. “He’s usually the one ringleading all their mischief.”

The meal kicks off in earnest, and you’re surprised by how quickly everyone relaxes, including you. Price sets a warm tone, regailing you with stories while Johnny occasionally jumps in, keeping everyone laughing and chuckling. Kyle is quieter but genuinely interested, asking about the bunnies, your garden, even your job. Every now and then, you catch him sneaking tiny bites to one of your rabbits, who’s stationed at his feet, looking particularly pleased with itself.

“Looks like they’ve already trained you all,” you joke, nudging Kyle’s elbow as he hands over a piece of carrot to your flemish giant. You've been keeping an eye on them, ensuring he doesn't give them too much.

He grins back, his eyes twinkling. “Guess it’s hard to resist them when they give you those eyes, yeah?”

You sigh, directing a mock glare at your rabbits, who blink innocently back. “Tell me about it. They know exactly what they’re doing.”

As the meal goes on, you feel a shift in the atmosphere- an easiness and familiarity you hadn’t expected to find so soon. Simon is quiet, but every so often, you catch his gaze resting on you, his expression thoughtful, almost… fond. You’re not entirely sure how to read it, but each time, you feel a flutter of warmth. Price seems equally at ease, laughing and sharing stories that, more than once, have you all leaning in closer. Even Johnny, whose teasing often has you blushing, seems oddly protective, always ready to interject if you look the slightest bit uncomfortable.

Finally, as the dishes are cleared and the bunnies settle into a post-feast nap near your feet, you sigh contentedly, leaning back with a soft smile. “Thank you guys again, seriously. That rescue was above and beyond. I owe you all big time.”

Simon, who’s been absently petting your mini-lop, looks up, his gaze steady but warm. “Just watch out for them next time, yeah? Or you’ll end up owing us another dinner.” There’s a subtle tease in his tone, a faint spark of humor that catches you off guard from a man like him.

You roll your eyes, laughing as you try to brush off the warm flutter in your chest. “I suppose that’s fair. But if you all had fun tonight, maybe we could make this a regular thing?” You don't know why you suggest it, but the second the words are out of your mouth you regret them. They won't accept, this was just a "thank you and sorry for the trouble" dinner and-

Johnny’s grin is immediate, stretching wide as he exchanges a glance with Price. “You dinnae have to ask us twice, lass,” he says, his accent rolling thick and smooth. There’s a softness in his expression, a warmth that makes your cheeks flush. He winks, and you catch yourself stifling a giggle, relief blooming in your chest and making it easier for you to breathe.

After dessert (and showing them all the spots, nooks, and crannies you've made for your bunnies), they prepare to leave. Johnny gives your Flemish giant one last scratch behind her ear, and she rolls her head down to give his palm sweet little licks. Kyle leans down to scoop up your mini-lop, placing him gently back near the others, his fingers brushing yours for a moment too long. “You’ve got a good thing here,” he murmurs, smiling as he watches your sleepy bunnies pile together. “It’s nice to see someone care so much.”

Flustered, you smile back, stammering a little. “Thanks… they’re, uh, a handful, but they’re my little family.”

Simon, who’s already by the door, pauses, his gaze on you softened by some unreadable emotion. “Just keep us in the loop if they escape again, yeah?”

Your heart skips at his tone, low and almost teasing. “I’ll make sure to notify the official rescue squad.” You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to hide your grin.

As they finally step out, John turns back to you. His eyes are crinkling at the corners, and he holds your hand up to kiss your knuckles. "Next time, we'll be the ones to take you out, luvie."

Not a request, but he is simply telling you. (Un)surprisingly it has you blushing and nodding.

You watch them head down the driveway then, and for a moment, you stand there, caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. There’s an undeniable warmth in your chest, a realization that maybe this isn’t just about the bunnies after all.

When you finally close the door and glance down, four sleepy bunny faces stare up at you, blinking in unison as if to say, “You’re welcome.” Shaking your head, you scoop up the nearest one, your toasty holland lop, kissing it on the top of its soft head.

“Thanks for the assist, you little terrors,” you whisper, grinning. “Now I have a dinner to look forward to. Perfect.”

[lovebugism]

I love your writing <3 I saw “he so likes her” on the enemies to lovers but I so saw it pairing with the “me? I wouldn’t say I was flirting.” On the denial of feelings list. Eddie absolutely oblivious to the heart eyes he’s making as he pulls his hair in front of his face while chatting together

ty angel! hope you like it :D — eddie munson visits you at work every day, but not because he likes you (enemies to lovers-ish, fluff, 1.1k)

You hear Eddie before you see him. The clinking of his silver rings, the swishing of his leather jacket, the thudding of his worn sneakers. His musky cologne swaddles you in a cloud of his subtle scent before he’s even there. You’re smiling about it all before you mean to.

Crouched in the X-rated section of Family Video, you restock the vulgar printed tapes and glance up at the boy towering over you. Eddie’s smiling, too — perhaps bigger than he realizes.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to keep me company, Munson,” you tease with narrowed eyes.

“No,” the boy scoffs, a little less than convincing. He props his shoulder against the metal shelf and crosses his arms over his chest. “I have much better things to do with my Friday nights. Trust me.”

Your knees creak in protest when you rise to stand before him. You cross your arms to resemble his stance and try to be normal about your forearms brushing his. “Do you?” you lilt, obviously sarcastic.

“Yeah,” he nods with a crooked smile on his pretty pink mouth. “I could give you their names.”

“Spare me,” you scoff, rolling your eyes and spinning on your heel. Eddie follows you like a lost puppy to the front counter. “You know, if you’re gonna flirt with me, maybe try not to mention other girls. I think that’s, like, rule number one.”

Eddie’s face swirls at your words. The cartoonish look of confusion makes you smile as you round the checkout station. He forces a chuckle and props his elbows on the countertop, leaning over it in a desperate attempt to be closer to you.

“There are no—” he starts, then cuts himself off. There are no other girls, he’d say if he weren’t a total coward. But, for the sake of keeping his cards to his chest, he settles on, “—I’m not flirting with you.”

Your brow arches in a playful look of inquiry. “No?”

Eddie almost caves, then. It’s almost like you want him to say yes — to admit that he’s been flirting with you this whole time because he’s loved you since the moment he met you. It would be the truth, anyway. One that he’s spent over a year shying from.

“No,” he echoes and shakes his wild head, surprising himself with his own self-control. “No, I’m— We’re just— We’re having a conversation. ‘Cause, you know, we’re friends. I guess.”

His face scrunches like there’s something sour on his tongue. He doesn’t even like the taste of his own words. 

You squint. “Do all of your friendly conversations typically include making heart eyes at the other person?” you joke with a poorly held-back grin.

Eddie falters for a moment, knowing he’s long been found out. He decides to lie anyway. Dig the hole deeper, as it were. “Yeah, actually,” he nods. “You’ve seen the way I look at Steve, haven’t you?”

You laugh before you mean to. The sunshine sound sputters up your throat and out of your mouth before you can stop it. Eddie must not realize how he often looks at Steve The Hair Harrington — with softly squinted eyes and gently furrowed brows — like he can never quite understand what the fuck the boy is talking about. 

“Right,” you nod, still giggling.

Eddie smiles at the pretty sound. The spearmint breath of your laughter fans across his cheek at the close proximity — one which neither of you seems eager to part from. “Yeah, so… Don’t let it go to your head, alright? There’s no flirting here.”

So you drove twenty minutes across town in a half-broken-down van to have a serious conversation? you’d ask if you felt like going around in circles.

Instead, you just nod. “Noted...”

“Now, tell me,” he starts, tilting his pretty head until his curls bunch at his shoulder. “What should me and my number of escapades watch for the evening? You know, as the resident expert and all?”

You laugh at the absurdity of his question. “I don’t know. Just— choose something,” you murmur unenthusiastically.

“I want you to choose for me,” he pouts.

“Why?” you retort, leaning against the counter to lessen the cavernous distance. 

The sudden closeness has a very obvious effect on the boy across from you. His adam’s apple bobs as his tongue darts across his bottom lip. You’re close enough to kiss now. He can almost taste you.

“So you can play it as background noise and think of me while you and this very fictitious person make out on your couch?”

“Well… I’ll probably be thinking about you either way, so…” Eddie answers when his senses return to him, shrugging with a stupid, lopsided grin. “Whether you recommend something or not doesn’t really matter.”

The look he gives you makes your stomach whirl. His eyes, made of melted chocolate, get all squishy at the edges when he looks at you. Something warm and fond swims in his gaze, speckles along his flushed cheeks, and sparkles in his smile. It’s so stupidly sincere for a boy who can’t seem to take anything seriously. The notion all but stabs you in the chest.

“You’re doing it again, you know?” you tease.

His fluffy brows pinch together. “Doing what?”

“The heart eyes thing.”

“There is no thing!” he insists with a loud, boyish laugh. “I’m just— I’m just looking at you! Is that a crime?”

“Just sayin’,” you singsong with an absentminded shrug.

Your gaze glimmers with knowing and something close to adoration as it flits up and down his form. Eddie squirms beneath your prying eyes. His ringed hands rise to his hair, gathering the untamed curls and hiding his blushing face behind them. 

“Here,” he mumbles behind his palms and chestnut locks. “Is this better for you?”

You giggle at his antics, slightly grieving his pretty face. “Much,” you nod despite yourself.

Steve and Robin watch the strange encounter from afar. They peer over the Action/Adventure aisle they’re supposed to be restocking — equal parts distracted and nosey. The boy’s scruffy face twists as he watches Eddie try hopelessly to flirt with you. “This is disgusting,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Do you think he knows?” Robin laughs, deep and gritty, as she stands on the tips of her toes to see over the metal shelf.

“Knows what?”

“That he’s obsessed with her?”

“Hell no! Look at him—” Steve scoffs, jutting his chin to the wild-haired boy across the room. 

Eddie’s got his rings all tangled in his hair now. His cheeks glow red as you help unknot the silver jewelry from his curls. He’s visibly embarrassed, but he can’t stop beaming at you. It’s borderline gag-worthy.

“—He’s got no fucking clue.”

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot

A/N: this piece was commissioned on my ko-fi page by @unhinged-bratty-boy - I hope you'll like it!

Pro hero Dabi - headcanons PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO A warm welcome - pro hero!Dabi - headcanons NSFW MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

When you apply to pro hero Dabi's agency, the warnings come pouring in - friends, colleagues, even strangers with opinions. Todoroki Touya, they say, is all trouble. The kind of guy who throws boundaries out the window, a real-life storm of late-night parties and scandalous headlines. His reputation practically writes itself: messy nights, wild flings, his name splashed across the front pages more times than you can count. But you don’t care. All you see is a man with an appetite - for success, for pushing limits - and something about that drive hooks you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on, either.

It only takes a few weeks before you notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit too long, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips when you catch him watching. To everyone’s surprise - including yours - you’re suddenly the apple of Touya’s eye. He’s dropping casual flirtations that could almost pass as jokes, but there’s a glint in his eye that says otherwise. You can’t put a finger on what’s shifted, what’s drawn him so close, but you don’t mind. Not one bit. Before you know it, the two of you are something - a thing, as he so casually puts it - and that intensity, the heat, becomes something you both can’t let go of.

Every time you have a photoshoot, pro hero Dabi secretly arranges for prints to be delivered directly to his office. He claims it’s “for agency publicity” whenever anyone catches a glimpse of the high-quality photos stacked on his desk, but everyone knows better - especially you. You’ve walked in on him once or twice, perched back in his office chair, idly flipping through the photos as if they’re nothing more than paperwork, but that dark glint in his eye tells a different story. His fingers linger over each image, tracing lines and curves as if committing every detail to memory. There’s no hiding the desire he has for you, and he doesn’t even try to mask it. One day, you step in for a mission briefing, catching him red-handed with your latest set spread out like artwork on display. Your boss raises an eyebrow as he notices you eyeing the photos, that cocky smirk creeping up as he leans back, wholly unbothered. “What?” he drawls, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Can’t a guy appreciate the beauty when he sees it?” He lets the words hang as his gaze drifts lazily from the photos up to meet your eyes, that mischievous spark lighting up as he takes in your slightly shocked expression. “Besides, you’re my sidekick. It’s my job to keep tabs on all your assets.” Heat creeps up your neck, and you can tell by the satisfied look on his face that he’s savoring every second. With a languid stretch, he stands, one of the photos in hand as he strides over, holding it up, letting his gaze flick between it and you like he’s comparing the real thing to the masterpiece. “The photos are nice,” he murmurs, leaning in close, “but seeing you in person? Nothing beats that, princess.” He slips the photo back onto his desk, his fingers grazing yours as his voice drops while he holds your hands, rubbing their top with his thumbs. “You know, if you’re ever up for a private photoshoot, darlin’, I’ll personally handle the camera,” Touya grins wryly, “And,” letting go of one of your hands, pro hero Dabi brushes a thumb along the edge of the photo, “this one? Definitely deserves a frame.”

Pro hero Dabi has a knack for making every training session feel a little too hands-on. When he strides over, all casual confidence, you know exactly what’s coming - his classic move. He’ll slide up behind you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him, murmuring about your form in that low, easy drawl. His hands settle at your hips, adjusting you with slow, deliberate movements, fingers pressing a little too firmly, lingering just a second too long. There’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as he makes a show of correcting your posture, and you can almost hear the satisfaction in his voice as he says, “Not bad, not bad…” His fingers slide lower, trailing along the back of your thigh as he adjusts your stance, his touch warm and unhurried. “But maybe you’re in need of a little more practice.” His eyes flick down, smirk widening as he feels you tense up under his touch. “Can’t have you losing your balance now, can we, rookie?” And then there are the moments where he tests your reflexes out of nowhere, moving in quick, unannounced ways that make you jolt and pivot instinctively - only for his hand to fortuitously brush over your ass. You give him a look, one eyebrow raised, but he just chuckles, the sound rich and infuriatingly pleased. “Oops,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up as his eyes spark with unhidden amusement. “Guess that’s on me.”

Fighting side by side, seeing you, his sidekick, completely in control as you take down villains one after another, stirs something primal in pro hero Dabi. The fight's barely over, but Dabi’s eyes haven’t left you since it started. Watching you work in that tight costume, landing punches and taking charge with an intensity he can practically feel under his skin - it’s got him all wound up, every move of yours tugging his restraint tauter until he’s gritting his teeth, aching. He’s still got a villain groaning at his feet, but all he can focus on is how you look right now: fierce, defiant, that spark in your eye making it impossible for him to think straight. The rush of adrenaline, the danger - it makes him so hard he has to grit his teeth just to keep his focus on the fight instead of the ache in his dick and balls. It becomes a struggle to keep his mind on the mission, especially when you send one of the villains flying with a well-placed hit, flashing him that nasty glance you master to perfection. Every time you land a move or finish an opponent, it takes every ounce of Touya’s control not to pull you into a dark corner and fuck your sweet pussy senseless. You catch his gaze as you toss one more villain to the ground, giving him that cocky, dangerous smile he knows you wear just for him. His jaw tightens. Just one look, and it’s over. The moment the last thug hits the ground, he’s stepping in close, his breathing ragged, grabbing you by the hips and tugging you flush against him with a force that’s more raw than gentle. He’s hard as hell, and he makes sure you know it, pressing himself against you until there’s no space between you and he’s got you right where he wants you, his lips grazing the column of his neck and he doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching. Touya growls, one hand moving to cup your ass unpretentiously. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me, rookie?” he growls, “Seeing you like that - makes me lose my damn mind. My dick’s been throbbing since the second I saw you take down that first guy.” 

With you as his sidekick, pro hero Dabi finds himself constantly on edge, craving you in ways he can barely restrain, and most of the time, he doesn’t even try. The thrill of stealing moments, sneaking touches, and giving in to his desire in forbidden places only fuels the fire. It’s a rush, knowing he could get caught but not caring because, when it comes to you, nothing else matters.

Some days, just seeing you in his office, leaning over his desk as you discuss mission details, is enough to drive him wild. He’ll circle the desk, fingers trailing over your back before pulling you close, pressing you down against the smooth wood. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pushes up your skirt, gripping the plushy flesh of your thighs. “You fucking brat,” he chuckles loudly. “Well, well… aren’t you a filthy little whore? No panties in the workplace, huh?” And before you can protest, Touya lifts you onto the desk, and spreads your legs to find a beautiful pussy waiting for him, glistening with wetness, flushed with blood, a clit begging for attention. He dives in and immediately savores your sweet taste, and his tongue and lips swallow all of you. Seconds later, the situation changes. That’s the thing about pro hero Dabi - when he wants something, he doesn’t care who sees or what rules get broken. And right now, that something is you, straddling his face with your skirt hiked up, your fingers wrapped around his cock that you fished out of his hero gear. His fingers dig into your hips, a silent warning - a struggle between needing more and being totally, utterly overwhelmed. Each pass of your hand along his shaft is slow, deliberate, your thumb pressing into the sensitive tip, teasing the slit leaking precum before sliding back down, your grip tightening each time, your other hands massaging his heavy balls. Touya gasps, and the sound is swallowed by the press of your thighs around his face. He eats your pussy in earnest, his hot tongue nudging your slick, swollen clit, only to flick back to brushing against your pussy lips and entrance. You arch above him, moaning, hips rolling forward just enough to coax another groan from him as you grind your wet cunt over his face. Your boss’ nails dig in harder in your thighs, leaving crescent marks as he fights to keep himself together, hips bucking up feverishly into your hand, seeking any relief he can find. You feel him throbbing in your grip, his cock pulsing with every stroke. And when he finally loses it, it’s with no apology nor hesitation. His cum spills over your hand, streaking down your wrist and onto his exposed abdomen. His head falls back against the desk, lips parted as he drags in a breath, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at you with a reckless glint in his eye. “Hell of a fucking show,” he murmurs, voice still thick and unsteady, but cocky as ever. “Hope someone did walk in to see you workin’ me over like that, princess.”

You mewl and lean forward to lick his cock clean while slipping your hand between your parted legs to rub your neglected clit.

Touya spanks your ass, leaving a handprint on your buttock. "Yeah, yeah, princess. Let me make you cum in my mouth."

Interviews are supposed to be professional, just another part of the job for pro hero Dabi, but when you’re seated beside him, he’s anything but composed. You know he has trouble keeping his hands to himself.  Under the table, his hand finds your thigh, strong fingers slowly kneading your muscles, his touch starting innocently enough before turning into something far more possessive as he pushes his hand right between your thighs, massaging your mound through your hero costume. As the questions go on, his thumb traces slow circles over the wetness that is forming, and every squeeze and stroke makes it nearly impossible for you to focus. Dabi’s gaze is fixed on you with that unmistakable, dark intensity, the kind that says he’s mentally stripping you right there in the room. His eyes are a smoldering blue, roaming over your face, lingering on your lips, your neck, dipping down to places he wishes he could reach under different circumstances. Each time he glances at you, his pupils dilate, and the barely-there smirk on his lips lets you know exactly what he’s thinking about. It’s maddening, the way he rubs slow, teasing circles over your swollen pussy lips through your gear, applying just enough pressure to send a pulse of heat through you, all while keeping that perfectly cool, laid-back demeanor for the cameras. You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure, but every touch makes it harder to keep your expression steady. When the interviewer turns to him with a question about his latest mission, he doesn’t even hesitate, keeping his eyes on the reporter, but his hand already slips inside your pants, dragging just over where he knows you’re most sensitive, his thumb grazing in tantalizing little movements, gently tapping your slick, swollen clitoris. “The mission?” Touya replies casually, voice smooth and confident as ever. “It was handled without a hitch. Nothing we couldn’t handle together.” His fingers poke your entrance and before you know it, they’re inside your slick wetness. “My sidekick here,” he adds with a sideways glance at you, “She makes every mission a lot more interesting. She keeps me on my toes.”

[runecatwrites]

So why was Legend paired with Hyrule, you ask?

Shouldn’t the two most experienced dungeoneers have each been paired with someone less experienced? Ideally, yes, but Time does explain his logic:

He doesn’t state it very eloquently, but he’s right on the money. Twilight’s near death is still having an effect on everyone in the group, and Legend is far from exempt. His behavior since the group left town shows that Legend is emotionally unstable and therefore a liability.

Deep dive under the cut!

Now, we all know that our Veteran is prickly around the edges. But he’s “all bark and no bite” - direct quote from Twilight. Despite that, it’s not like he can dish it out but not take it. When he’s the butt of the joke, he’s a bit of a grumpasaurus about it but he’s not that upset. In fact, he’s happy to banter, as we can see here:

But recently, since the group left town? Even when he’s not speaking, he’s got an angry face:

And when he does open his mouth, even Hyrule seems to think his snark is uncalled for:

Though it’s important to note that Hyrule does handle this very tactfully. He knows what makes his predecessor tick. In fact, he’s been a near constant shadow to him since The Twilight Incident.

Speaking of going too far, Legend then goes on to pull a prank during a dangerous situation:

And then turns right back around and hypocritically jumps all over Wild for not taking a dangerous situation seriously:

This time he does not take the correction well. And what would normally be an invitation for banter is refused in favor of sulking.

So, what does this tell us? It’s subtle, but when you look at everything together, it’s evident that Legend is not coping well with recent events. He’s acting impulsively, and a lack of self-restraint can be disastrous in a dungeon.

But what, exactly, is Legend feeling? Well, we know that besides Hyrule, Twilight is the one he seems to respect the most:

And he had a surprisingly good bedside manner with Twilight when he was injured. I’m not gonna point to images for this because it actually spans a good portion of both the Sunset and Dawn arcs and this post would get too bogged down, but examples include: removing his cap when entering the sick room, speaking kindly and encouragingly to Twilight, and spending time with him in a small group setting when he was finally on the mend.

This tells us that not only does Legend respect Twilight, but he’s forged a close bond with him as well. We know that Legend does not let people close to him on principle because of Koholint Trauma, but he seems to have made an exception for a couple teammates.

And what happens shortly after he’s made that exception?

Twilight almost dies.

Legend almost loses someone close to him again.

And he can’t cope.

He feels helpless in this kind of situation. He doesn’t feel in control. He doesn’t know how to fix this and prevent more bad things from happening. He tries to make some sense of what’s going on, but though he acts confident, he’s really not:

And that lack of confidence is extremely difficult for him.

How do his feelings manifest in a stressful situation? By antagonizing people and subconsciously pushing them away.

That, my friends, is what’s going on under the hood. Time’s dealt with enough people in his life to be able to figure this out. Someone who’s emotionally unstable is unpredictable and a liability.

But Legend does have a Safe Person. A person who takes his prickliness in stride. Who’s able to gently correct and/or redirect him without eliciting an argument. A person that Legend doesn’t have to worry about because he’s confident that that person can handle themself. A person that’s going to allow him to focus on the task at hand.

That person is Hyrule.

Time made the right choice.

(Credit to linkeduniverse.tumblr.com for all images)