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jensthwa · 6 months ago

Text

show & tell pt. 2 (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

After the… masterclass you gave Mingi the night before, you’re left anxious on what the future holds for you both. But there’s a pool party you promised you would attend and there’s not really time for you to figure your feelings out before your best friend shows up at your door to drive you to it. So maybe today is not the day to figure your feelings out, right? It’s just a pool party anyways, so nothing out of the ordinary is going to happen… right?

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends (idiots) to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 11k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) anxiety attack, attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit part two ft jongho, a new oc being the voice of reason, reader is clueless and in denial i fear, jealousy, miscommunication, fighting so this part is just a tiny bit angsty :(, confessions, teasing, face sitting, hand job, car sex (don't do it in public people, it can get you arrested), pet names (love and baby), a plot line at the end none of you guys are going to get until my new wip drops but it's worth the wait!

NOTES: hey everyone! thank you so much for patiently waiting for this second and last part to drop. i think that, after this one, if you guys want to request any drabbles or if i come up with some scenarios for this couple i will post them but for now nothing is on the works. what is on the works is a wip that's part of the same universe as this one, so pay attention to the new characters i mention if you want any clues! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 28th 2024.

TAGLIST (sorry if i forgot anyone, pls let me know!): @vannerriin / @mingtinysworld / @purple-bell / @bakepotatoman / @nxy3h / @taehyungmami / @nxcxllxsevens / @breadpuddingboys / @hotteokkay

masterlist.

When you wake the next morning, the consequences of restless sleep show up in your face as a reminder of what happened the night before.

It's not that you regret it, it's more the fact that you feel so unapologetic about messing with the perfect dynamic you have with Mingi that caused you to toss and turn so much.

Last night, after putting your duvet back on and then crashing into the mattress feeling all tingly and giddy, you asked yourself a thousand questions.

The main one being: What the fuck did you do?

The words kept repeating over and over in your head, your voice of reason (or your anxiety) screaming at you to get your phone and make it right before everything becomes a complicated, unresolvable mess.

You had a brief moment of panic and heavy breathing, your chest tight with unspoken emotion and your eyes filled with tears.

It was too much, so you forced yourself up and paced around for what felt like hours trying to get your feet back on the ground. Nothing was working, so you sat down at your desk and rested your forehead against it.

When you didn't feel the usual coolness of the wood, a comfort sensation for when your studies got the best out of you for the day, and instead felt a pen almost stab you in the eye, you -very confused- leaned back.

Mingi’s notebook and the pen he didn't put back on the pencil case seemed to stare back at you lovingly instead of mocking you for losing control over your own emotions.

A sense of peace washed over you when you flipped the pages and landed on the instructions he wrote down. Memories of the amazing years you have had by his side started crossing your mind, like recomforting flashes that allowed your heartbeat to go back to normal:

The first day you saw Mingi, chasing behind a worn out soccer ball and then kicking it so hard it landed on your lawn.

The first time you two hugged, when your dad scolded you for having bad grades until you cried in front of him.

The way he held your hand before heading inside to take the college admission exam, last year of highschool.

His kind eyes. His reassuring smile. The way he made you feel just a few hours back.

There's no getting rid of me either, love.

We'll figure it out.

Letting a few contained tears run down your cheeks, you nodded to yourself as if he was there in the room with you.

Yeah, you'll figure it out.

And then proceeded to, very much, not figure shit out for the rest of the night. You could still feel his hands everywhere and hear his voice against your ear whispering how much he knows you and pays attention to you.

You are fucked.

It's all you can think about when you get ready for the day. It's all you can think about when you help your dad with lunch and when you let your parents know at the table that you are going out that same afternoon.

“Mingi is driving you, right?”

“Yeah…” you whisper in response, eyes focused on one specific spot at the table and mind a million years away from the conversation.

“Good. He's such a good kid, Y/N, I'm glad he knows how to take care of you.”

Choking on air when your brain finally catches up to her words, you look back up at your mother in shock “W-what?”

“Yeah honey, what? Y/N can take care of herself,” your father chips in, unaware of your red cheeks or the honest expression of panic you're giving both of them “She's a big girl that carries around that, uh… What was it?— Ah, that pepper spray I gave her, right?”

“R-right.”

He lets out a satisfied see? at your answer, gives you a tiny smile and gets up from the table to take his finished plate over to the sink.

Your mom stays behind, giving you a look you can't quite read before her usual calm expression washes it away. Only then, you can take a proper, very needed, calming breath.

“I need to get ready. Thank you for the food.”

“You made it, dear.”

“I mean! For taking care of the, uh, plates,” you clumsily correct yourself right away, getting up from the table as well “Love you. Bye!”

You don't miss the confused giggle on your way to your room and when you're behind closed doors, you finally take into consideration that you might be, in fact, overreacting.

Not much, you think, but just enough to give your feelings away. And it's truly a shame, because you were planning on concealing and bottle everything up until it, inevitably, blows up in your face.

Maybe not the smartest option.

If you bang your head against the wall with enough force maybe, just maybe it’ll help—

Someone's texting you.

> gi: heeeeey > gi: just woke up lol > gi: had the best sleep ever tho > gi: how are you, love?

Okay. So normal texting it is. Maybe your initial plan of just pretending nothing happened is, coincidentally, Mingi’s plan as well.

So you type in it's literally almost one, ya lazy and let your thumb hover over the send button, eyebrows creased at a sudden realization.

The casual texting annoys you.

Sure, Mingi is used to keeping everything casual between him and the people he sleeps with, but you're not just anyone! You didn't sleep together, either!

Oh, maybe that's why.

But it ticks you off either way.

Is he not feeling the same way you do? Did it mean something different for him than it did to you? What did it even mean to you in the first place?

Why, after all the panic you felt the night before, did you have any sort of expectation for today?

It doesn't make any sense.

You hit send.

> gi: aaaaand? > gi: god forbid a man gets a good night's rest after being thrown off a bed.

Scoffing, your eyes roll before you can even control it and, to your demise, the giddiness returns. You respond with did you get hurt? awww and raise a hand to your blushed cheek before sending the message.

> gi: yeah wtf > gi: my butt is all bruised. > gi: kiss it better?

Oh.

Not casual texting. At. All.

Or maybe it is?

Ugh.

Blanking on everything Mingi has ever texted you before, you decide it's best to entertain yourself by getting all pretty to sit around the house party tonight and do nothing else instead of torturing your confused brain any longer.

Using the help of an emoji to flip him off and, hopefully, gather yourself together enough to get ready, you shoot him another text rushing him to do the same because you don't want to be late.

And he usually takes forever to get ready anyways.

Showering with very cold water, taking a good thirty minutes to decide whether to wear something comfy and fitting or sexy and fitting for the party do the job when it comes to taking your mind off him for, at least, the time being.

Yunho was insistent the day before in that you didn't need to bring a bathing suit if you didn't want to, but you pack one anyways because you can sense Wooyoung's and Jongho’s intentions even if the youngest couldn't make it to your impromptu gathering yesterday.

They know you hate when they get away with annoying you and throwing you into the nearest body of water -in this case, Yunho’s pool- in front of many people you don't know (therefore, you are not going to able to go insane mode on them) seems like the perfect opportunity to get away with it.

The last time they did it you weren't really able to scold them properly either, so they laughed and pointed at you until you threatened to kick their asses in a very dishonest but playful way.

Mingi, of course, did nothing but laugh along with everyone else and then kiss your forehead as an apology later that day.

That was last summer and since then both perpetrators have treated you to meals and buttered you up enough for you to forgive (as if you didn't do that the morning that followed the incident) but you never forget.

Maybe you should. It would make the sight of Mingi parking outside your house easier, you think.

You're sure he's parking outside just to give your dad, who comes out to greet him with a hug, some peace of mind. He's very protective of you and he trusts Mingi even if he gives him a hard time everytime he sleeps over or takes you somewhere.

Like now, you have a very clear view through your window of the sermon he's giving your best friend. You don't hear it but he's moving his hands in the air way too much for it not to be a clear step by step on what to do if you run into any trouble on the way to Yunho's.

Mingi likes step by step and he's good at following instructions, so you don't think it's going to be an issue.

God damnit, Y/N, get it together.

Sighing, you pick up your bag, check your outfit once in front of the mirror, and rush downstairs and out of the door.

“You do know how to change a tire, son?”

Mingi is standing in front of your dad with his hands behind his back and a tight smile.

“Yes sir, my dad taught me and then at the school they made sure I didn't forget about it.”

“And make sure to—”

“Could you let the guy breathe, dad?”

They both turn to, your dad wears a mocking smile and you see Mingi’s tight one breaks into a genuine one a second later. A grateful one, even.

He looks really good. Which is insane, considering that to you he looked like Chewbacca just yesterday morning.

Crazy what a good orgasm can do to a person. Or maybe it's the first time you ever let yourself see him in this light. Either way, he's wearing light wash jeans and a fitted t-shirt that clings to him just right and it's going to drive you insane, you can just feel it.

“I was just making sure that he—”

“Knows what to do,” you nod “He knows what he's doing, dad. Stop giving him a hard time,” you give your dad a quick kiss on the cheek and then rush to the passenger seat, giving Mingi a glance so he can get in the car as well.

“Alright. Love you, take care!”

“Love you too, Mr. L/N!” Mingi says, getting into his seat and giving your dad the opportunity to see when he fastens his seatbelt. He doesn't say anything else, even though he didn't tell Mingi specifically that he loved him and instead gives you both a nod of approval.

When Mingi finally drives off your street and into the main one, you sigh in relief.

“He's neeever going to trust me, huh?”

“He trusts you,” you say right away, cheek resting against the seat so you can take a proper look at him “I'm his only daughter and you're a man after all. Cut him some slack.”

“He never cuts me some slack!” he fights back but you just laugh and he can't help but join you “You look really good, by the way. A dress? Are you trying to impress someone?” The tone he uses sparks the remaining tension from the night before, like zero time has passed since he kissed you goodnight by your front door.

When you got into the car with Mingi, you didn't consider that you two would be alone for, at least, forty minutes before getting to your destination. Your mind skipped the fact that he has this new ability to fluster you by just existing near you and you curse it for not letting you prepare well enough for the way he's looking at you right now.

“Obviously,” you answer in a whisper, clearing your throat a second later “Wooyoung needs to be distracted so he doesn't tackle me into the pool the second we get there. Don't know if it's gonna work on Jongho, though.”

Mingi clicks his tongue, baring his teeth and pretending to really think about it “I don't think so, love. You'll have to bribe him into considering dropping their whole summer schtick for you.”

“You can help me with that.”

“Can I now?”

“Yeah. You can just… lock him up in a room and my dress can do the rest of the work.”

Your best friend laughs and then takes a hand off the steering wheel to roll the hem of your dress in between his thumb and index. His knuckles brush against your thigh and you almost -almost- make a noise at the sensation.

“It's not the dress, love… It's who's wearing it.”

A bit of silence passes within the both of you.

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.”

Laughter fills the car and drowns out the honking on the other side of the street and you wonder why you were worried in the first place.

Nothing has changed.

Aside from the intention laced with the flirting, it feels the same way it ever did and you couldn't be more glad because now that you know Mingi doesn't hate you (like you thought for a brief moment last night) or wants to hard launch a relationship that doesn't exist to your friends the second he gets them all together in the same room, you can enjoy the car ride and the evening that's about to follow it.

So you flirt with him freely, listen and sing along to songs that just feel like summer summarized in three minutes of exquisite writing and roll your window down once Mingi takes a turn into a hill, trees replacing the buildings you're so used to seeing.

Your friend is rich rich. His family makes good money and his parents go on lots of business trips. That being said, it's the first time you actually attend one of his parties, and so when you get to Yunho’s house and ring the doorbell, you’re caught by surprise because you can already hear the loud music playing in the backyard and the blend of new and familiar voices through the thick door.

You expect him to open the door for you but Seonghwa’s smile is the first thing you see before you and Mingi both have the opportunity to step in.

“You made it!”

“It's pretty hard to miss this house, Hwa.”

Your older friend side-hugs you and stays by your side while Mingi takes it upon himself to put your bags for the day in the pile of other bags next to the door “How are you doing today?”

You're about to answer but when you look at him, you see him staring at Mingi, so you do too. He's staring at Hwa with a little smile “I'm doing good. I blocked her and everything and I can confidently say that…” he turns to you “My ego’s not bruised anymore.”

If Seonghwa catches the spark between you and you best friend, he decides to ignore it “That's goo—”

“Mingi!”

What the hell is she doing here?

Not, not that bitch from yesterday but this girl who Mingi meets with sometimes. You don't really know her, you just know she's gorgeous and that her name starts with an h, maybe?

She's a fashion major and it shows in the way she's dressed up today. Truly, an enjoyable company whenever she's around at frat parties, a saving grace when you're tired of surrounding yourself with only men.

Right now? She's your worst nightmare.

Wrapping her arms around Mingi’s neck and getting on her tippy toes to kiss his cheek, she smiles like she knows she's getting laid tonight and your best friend does nothing to pull her away.

She doesn't even say hi to you before dragging him to the backyard! You and Seonghwa follow them and when she takes Mingi’s arm and pulls him over to -you assume- introduce him to her friends, you almost stomp your feet like a little kid.

Trying to get rid of the annoyed frown on your face, you turn to Hwa with a teasing smile and your eyebrows raised.

“Well fuck me, am I right?”

“I might!” Arms wrap around your waist and you feel Woo’s chin resting on your shoulder immediately after “That's a very nice dress, Y/N.”

If Mingi was next to you, like you want him to be, you would give him a I told you so glance. Instead, you just look at Seonghwa with absolute horror before he snickers and goes away.

“Right? And it looks horrible when it's drenched in nasty chlorine water.”

“You can't possibly know that.”

“I know a lot of things and— No! Woo, please don't,” you beg when he lifts you off the ground for a second. Behind you, you hear laughs and, even though you can't see them, you know it's San and Jongho “I just got here and I haven't even changed yet, please.”

He turns you around and hugs you properly this time before letting you go. You take the opportunity to punch him in the arm and then go over to San and Jongho to do the same.

“We'll let you get your swimsuit on this time.”

“You're so considerate, Jong. Seriously, they're going to give you the Nobel prize if you don't stop.” He mocks you, repeating what you just said in a higher pitched voice and you laugh as you sit next to Wooyoung’s ex-girlfriend, Gyuri.

San also has a girl sitting beside him with his arm around her, but you don't really know her so you just wave at her. They're all in their bathing suits already “See how he tried to flirt with me to try to get me with my guard down? He's a monster.”

“And in front of me, too? The nerve on this guy.” Gyuri, of course, backs you up immediately and you want to return her smile, but you can see Mingi from the corner of your eye and it's distracting.

“Oh, they're ganging up on me already,” Wooyoung whines, sitting down in front of you both and handing you a drink “It's like my worst nightmare.”

“He's enjoying it, don't let him convince you otherwise,” San says, getting up from his seat and taking his girl with him “Especially coming from you.” He points at Gyuri and you laugh.

“We're just friends now!”

“That's what you told me like three years ago before—”

Wooyoung gets up to chase after him and San lets go of the girl's hand to try to get away from him.

Turns out, you're not the one Woo tackles into the pool. This time, him and San crash down on the water hard and a few droplets of water wet your feet. Gyuri laughs and everyone else does too when they realize what's happening.

Jongho gets up and joins them in the water soon after to try and help (kinda, not really) San escape the wrath of his best friend.

You almost miss it, because you take the opportunity to look at your best friend and, when you do, he's already looking at you.

Breath catches on your throat and the lump that forms afterwards has a name and a reason: Mingi is looking at you with so much longing it physically hurts.

He looks like wants to drop everything and come and confuse your fragile mind even more, just like he did the night before.

Then why the fuck is he there with whatever her name is and her friends and not sitting right next to you?

You look away, grasping your drink for emotional support and convincing yourself you're starting to see things that are not actually there.

“Why the fuck are y'all fighting this time?!” Yunho comes from inside the house and it's the first time you see him today “No choking! No running! It's literally in the rules!”

“Wooyoung please let go of my boyfriend!”

Ah. So she is San’s girlfriend. Still, you turn to Gyuri to ask.

“Who is sh—”

“San’s new girlfriend, Kyungmi. We don't give a fuck about her or San right now, we're mad at them,” you want to ask who we is, because Wooyoung seems like he's just playing, but she interrupts you again “What the fuck is going on with you and Mingi?”

Huh?!

You make a quick mental review of your plan. Conceal? Clearly it didn't work. Bury your emotions deep so no one notices? You probably can't recover from the way you smile just dropped.

The only thing left on the list is pretend that you're insane, but you're not sure it'll work either. So you turn it on her: “Nothing much. He played Espresso like three times on a row on the way here and I almost kill him, but—”

“You can't bullshit me, Y/N.”

Great, that didn't work either.

“I saw that. Seonghwa did too but he got up before I could convince him to ambush you,” she dramatically sighs, chugging the rest of her drink down “So, what is going on?”

“Nothing,” that much is true “he's literally with a girl right now.”

“And she will never mean as much to him as you do. Next.”

“Gyuri… I really don't know what you want me to say.”

Squinting her eyes at you suspiciously, Gyuri takes her time before answering and you fidget in your seat a little. Wooyoung liked her for a reason, she's feisty and goes straight to the point and it's something you usually admire but right now it's not the time for her to do this.

“I just thought maybe it finally happened…” She whispers and shrugs the entire conversation off before getting up “Let's head inside. They're going to start grilling meat at any second and I also don't want to be near Wooyoung when he gets out of there.” She points at him and you laugh.

Jongho has him in a chokehold and Yunho is trying to separate them while San desperately swims towards his girl that's still waiting for him near the edge of the pool.

“Sure thing.”

You pretend you don't feel Mingi's eyes on you as you move.

This is not unusual. Whenever you all go to parties, hosted by someone inside of the friend group or not, you end up separating from Mingi.

He does his thing. He's outgoing and he likes dancing while you enjoy conversation and drinking away at the rest of the party, occasionally making out with someone and calling it a night when your social battery runs out.

So you hang out with Gyuri in the kitchen until the sun starts going down and when the last ray of it disappears you decide it's time to swim a bit before you're too tipsy for it to be safe.

Grabbing your bag and greeting some new people you don't know at the door, you head up to the bathroom you are told by the host himself it's upstairs.

When you're tying up the strands of your swimsuit, the door slams open and you jump and cover yourself up with your hands because you're not able to finish the job, so the strands fall down and the only thing holding the top part of the fabric it's you.

“What the fuck, Mingi?”

Turning around, you're only able to look at him through the mirror.

“Lock the door next time! What if it was somebody else?”

“People usually knock!”

“I didn't mean to scare you, it's the door’s fault,” he makes a fool of himself trying to prove it “See? I— let me help you with that,” he closes the door again and, this time, he locks it before taking a short step and grabbing the strands of your top “It's the second time this week I scare you like that, huh? I’m sorry, love.” He ties the strands together with a secure knot and his apology finally allows your tense muscles to relax.

You remind yourself that there's no valid reason for you to be mad at him. You'll figure it out, he said it himself, and maybe today is not the day to do so.

But he's not stepping away once he's finished, he's not even saying anything else before his hands grab your waist and his chest collides to your back.

Looking at him through the mirror again, you silently ask him with your eyes what he thinks he's doing. He ignores you, bending down so the tip of his nose can trace the skin on the side of your neck.

“I missed you,” his voice sounds like honey when he says it and you, once again, curse the ability he has to make you crumble “and you disappeared like an hour ago.”

You let out a sigh.

“I was in the kitchen, Mingi, not missing and we were in the same space for at least twenty minutes before that and like… forty minutes in a car, together.” You remind him and he frowns “Besides, you were with Ha… Haneul?”

“Hanni,” he corrects and you huff out a whatever “and she was introducing me to some of her friends that are in the same major as me, just a year over.”

“Cool.”

He pecks your shoulder. You do your best to not melt completely into him and fix your hair in the mirror.

“Y/N…” he starts and you hum in acknowledgement “I missed you.”

It pisses you off for some reason. The mature thing to do is to let him know but the words that leave you are petty and laced with annoyance.

“I’m sure you did, buddy.”

He grins against your skin and you turn around to face him, eyebrow raising.

“What's so amusing?”

At your tone, he seems taken aback but his smile stays curving his lips upwards.

“I'm just really happy to have this moment with you,” he says, matter of factly, and you press your hands against his chest to regain some personal space. He doesn't budge an inch “What's going on?”

He's such a guy sometimes.

“You're here, kissing my neck, while a gorgeous girl who I'm sure is waiting for you downstairs is probably bragging to her friends about how she's going home with you tonight and—”

“Y/N, I'm literally taking you home.”

“I can easily take a car back— Mingi, seriously,” taking a deep breath, you stare at him with all the honesty you can gather “I don't want to do whatever this is if afterwards you're going downstairs to dance and flirt with Haneul or whatever her name is.”

He looks like he wants to correct you on it again, so you level him with a daring glance.

He keeps his mouth shut.

“And I also don't want you to hurt her feelings if you tell her you can't leave with her tonight, so—”

“I don't give a shit about her feelings, love.”

“Mingi, don't say that!”

“I don't! I wasn't flirting with her at all, either! Listen, it's…” he stops to chuckle for a few seconds “I mean, it's adorable that you're jealous but there's no reason for you to—”

“Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.”

It's the second time today you have said those exact words to him. The first time, you also felt your heart bang with such force against your rib cage but for a completely different reason.

“I'm not one of the girls you fuck on the side when you're horny or bored out of your mind. Don't fucking treat me like one.” You warn and suddenly the image of you telling him that teaching him yesterday could mess you both up crosses your mind.

“I'm not, Y/N! I'm just saying that you look adorable when you're—”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous when we are not together, Mingi? I'm literally looking out for the girl!”

“You don't even know her name, love.”

“That's not the fucking point!”

He finally takes a step away from you, closing his eyes and taking a calming breath, surely.

Now you're pissed off because he saw right through you and your words.

That disgusting weight on your chest you felt back by the pool while you kept staring at him from the corner of your eye? Jealousy.

Now that he brought it up, it makes sense.

You hate it.

You always hated being put in a position where you felt the need to compare yourself to others. Always hated how easy it is for anger to run through your blood and infiltrate every waking thought until it clouds your judgment.

Because you shouldn't be angry. He just said he didn't care about her feelings.

And yet, all you can think about is that he spent an hour with her instead of you.

When he turns to you, there's a storm in his eyes and you just don't want to hear it tonight.

“Save it, keep it, sleep on it and we'll talk tomorrow,” picking your dress from the spot on the floor it's been sitting all this time, you put the fabric on, take your bag and then unlock the door “I’m going home.”

You don't give him the opportunity to say anything else before getting out of the bathroom but you do hear a groan when you're rushing downstairs.

Yeosang and Yunho are just leaving the kitchen when you trip on the last step and the host jogs the few steps to you after laughing.

“There you are, Y/N. Listen, there's some meat already grilled back there but we're—”

“I'm actually going home, Yun,” you cut him short “I'm not feeling that well. My plan was to swim a little before leaving but I don't think I can do it.”

“Did something happen or…?”

What happened is coming downstairs as he asks.

“Nope. Nothing, I just think I'm catching a cold or something. Thank you so much for inviting me though!” You hug your friend quickly, kissing his cheek before pulling away.

“Always…” Yunho is very observant but, as you always do, he doesn't press you with questions about what's going on “He's taking you home?” Pointing behind you, you don't have to turn around to get what he means.

“Ye—”

“No. He's having a great time here, I don't want to get in the way,” you shrug “I'll just get an uber or something. Don't worry.”

Yunho frowns slightly, eyes moving from your face to over your shoulder.

Immature. Petty. Rude.

You're sure that's the way you’re coming off right now. But feeling anger bubbling behind the smile you give Yunho, you think it's better they make their assumptions instead of actually seeing you upset.

You move to hug Yeosang as well and he murmurs his farewell. When you turn around, Mingi is no longer there and you don’t spare a look towards the floor to ceiling glass windows that separate the living area from the backyard because you're sure he's sitting right beside that girl again.

As he should be.

You bolt for the door, giving your friends a tiny smile before going down the few steps and into the hill. It's already dark and you're sure no uber driver it's going up this hill for the tip you're able to offer them, so you figure your best shot is to go down and try to find a cab on the main street.

The light from your phone illuminates your scowl as you walk. Past the bushes and the trees and the lines of parallel parked cars where Mingi’s Lexus is.

You don't notice him there until he opens the backdoor to block your step.

“Get in the car, I'm taking you home.”

Closing the door he just opened to stop you, you shake your head.

“I told you I'm getting a ride and—”

“I don't give a fuck. Get in the car.” And then he's opening his door and closing it so fast it gives you no room for debating.

He's angry. Shit.

You can't even see him through the tinted window to assess how much damage you have done, so you look down the hill one more time and wonder if making the run for it is worth it.

When your phone lights up with a notification from Gyuri asking you if everything's okay and to make it home safe, you take it as a sign to round the car and get into the passenger side with an annoyed huff.

The engine comes to life. You're not looking at him but at the trees until the leaves start showing the building lights in-between them and soon you're on the main road.

You can't even ask him to turn the radio on. Stubborn, you refuse to let the anger inside of you dissipate in fear of shame taking over. It's better being angry than being ashamed, at least in this exact moment because you can practically feel Mingi's anger through the silent treatment.

But you need to say something. The silence is suffocating and the street is surprisingly empty so you can't distract yourself with anything.

“You shouldn't have bothered.”

“I am bothered. You bothered me.”

Clenching your jaw, you turn to him in disbelief “I told you to stay at the goddamn party so we can fix this tomorrow but I bothered you?”

“Did I stutter or something?”

“No, you're just not making any fucking sense!”

“Yeah, fuck this,” you see him look around, biting the inside of his cheek like he's holding his words in “We're fixing this right now.”

The car makes a harsh turn and you have to grab the door for support.

“Mingi!” He's not listening to you anymore. His hard gaze stays on the road, it feels like forever before he pulls into a somewhat empty parking lot and when the vehicle stops you go to open the door and get the fuck away from him before you two kill eachother inside this car.

That's an exaggeration but with the way he turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, you know your pride doesn't stand a chance.

The summer breeze briefly hits your face before his hand is on yours, closing the door and preventing you from, once again, escaping the situation.

Frustrated, you let out a loud groan “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“I don't know, Y/N! But I'll tell you what your problem is, alright?” he chuckles. It's a humorless sound, his face painted in something you've never seen before “Your problem is that you assume you know what everyone else is feeling and you assume you're right. But intuition can only get you so far, love, so I need you to take your head out of your ass and think logically for a second.”

Flabbergasted, you think you murmur something in your defense but he cuts you short.

“No! You didn't let me get a word out back there so now you're going to shut up and listen,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes “You assume you're smarter than everyone else but you're actually so dumb. Dumb, you're acting very dumb and reckless, Y/N! That back there?” he points out of the window to nothing but you know what he means “Leaving— Scratch that. Leaving me and not giving me a chance to say anything back? Trying to go down that hill alone and in the dark? Stupid.”

Staring back at him with watery eyes, you don't even know what to say back except a whispered excuse me?

“And usually I would beat up anyone who even dares to call you that but I guess all these years I've been wrong about you. Because if you were smart, you would've realized that Hanni means nothing to me and I mean nothing to her. There's nothing, she loves appearances and that's it.”

You knew that already, but you're not giving your stance up.

What even is your stance? Ah, right, he treated you like an envious no one back there and not like his best friend.

“Yeah, I can tell you mean nothing to her from the whiny tone and the hug and the dragging you to meet her friends, Mingi.” Scoffing at the memory, your lips press into a thin line.

“Well, she's a friendly girl!”

“She didn't even say hi to me!”

“So she doesn't like you, Y/N! Who cares!” you sure don't but, again, you just stare at him in disbelief and his open arms, palms to the sky “Do you care? Because I don't! And guess what? I doesn't fucking matter if she likes you or not or if she wants me or not because I like you!”

What?

“W-what?”

“I like you! And I'll choose you over her and everyone else again and again and again until you notice but fuck it's so tiring. You're so fixated on why I let her drag me to her friends that you completely ignored me the rest of the time we were there and maybe if you looked at me more than once you would've realized that I was staring back at you the whole afternoon!”

You let out an annoyed chuckle “So you were, Mingi.”

“I was! I was trying to get you to look at me and notice how bad I wanted you to come over, rescue me from that boring ass conversation, grab my hand and claim your place right beside me because—” he pauses, resting a hand on the steering wheel and looking at you like he can't believe he has to spell this out for you “Because I want nothing more than for her and everyone to know I’m yours! I'm sure everyone already fucking knows too, except you. So yeah, sometimes, you're pretty fucking dumb for such a smart woman, Y/N.”

Words escape you. They escape your mind, your reason and your pride shrinks until it disappears behind all the love you feel for Mingi.

So that's what you are feeling. That's what you felt yesterday night when the tiredness couldn't drown out your thoughts of him and all he meant to you.

Love, love, love. In all its forms, in all its possible scenarios. Your heart burns for it and you used to think that your hopeless romantic desires began and died with the movies you tend to see and the books you tend to read, that it was impossible to feel this way for anyone but there he is, chest heaving in the yellow interior light, waiting for you to say something back.

“And I realize that before yesterday I showed no interest in you but believe me when I say that I—”

Shakily, you interrupt him with whispered words, heart soaring and hands reaching out to cup his beautiful face “Shut the fuck up, Song Mingi.”

When you kiss him, you make sure to pour out everything you couldn't say a minute ago into it.

When he kisses you back with the same feeling, it crosses your mind that he already forgave you.

And when he grabs your waist and drags you over the break handle and the transmission to collide his chest against yours and drag his tongue along the seam of your bottom lip, you think that, for the first time ever, you have to tell him he's right.

You are stupid. Stupid for not realizing it sooner, stupid for confusing his longing stares for something platonic, stupid for thinking you could wait until tomorrow to tell him he has the right to see and be with anyone he wants to because this is it.

This. The way your entire body comes alive when he sighs into your mouth and groans at the way your knee opens up his legs to make room for you on his side of the car and partially on his lap. The way his thumbs run through your cheeks and dry the tears you didn't even feel falling down. The way your heart jumps frantically and the way its beats could get confused by his because you're so close.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, you can't recall a time Mingi didn't make you feel this exact same way. It's overwhelming, it expands through you like a fire and it knocks the remaining air out of your lungs enough for you to pull away and rest your forehead against his, shaky breaths tangling together and fingers grasping the neck of his shirt in an attempt to ground yourself.

You sniffle, incapable of not feeling emotional over his confession and your realization “I'm sorry, Mingi. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry for treating you that way I was… I behaved like…”

“An ass.” He nods and you look at him with the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah,” you nod as well “I was an ass. A jealous ass.”

“I know, love.” He whispers, eyes moving on your face before his lips are on yours again, briefly, sweetly, even if you don't feel like you deserve it “You tend to forget that I know you, hm? That I've seen you jealous before? You were an ass back then, too.”

“Okay! Okay, stop calling me an ass, I get it.”

“I'm sorry for waiting for you to do something when you didn't even… I guess you didn't know, right? The way I feel about you?”

“I know now,” you whisper back, nudging your nose against his and then putting some distance so you can see him better “I feel the same way, by the way. We're shit at communicating, apparently, so I'll just tell you now that—”

His lips are on yours again and he's giggling against them and shaking his head when he pulls away. Brown eyes search for yours and you're not sure what he's looking in them but he seems to find it, his muscles relaxing against the leather of his seat seconds later.

So you kiss him again. And again and again until your back starts hurting and the steering wheel is pressed uncomfortably against it, forcing you to shift on his hold.

“Let me… Wait.” He lets you go to pull his seat back and then closes his legs, forcing your knee to fall on his other side so you can fully straddle his lap “That's better. Now come here.” And then he’s grabbing the back of your neck and stealing your breath away again with another kiss.

The tension shifts right then. When he can fully feel you pressing up against him and when a noise escapes you once his hands drop and give your bare legs the attention you didn't even know you were craving.

You thought a second ago that the sweet kisses would stop once you were both sated with the sweet aftermath of all the yelling and confessing but now you don't want it to stop.

There's a lot to catch up on, a lot of missed time you need to make up for.

You still want to make him feel good. The sparks from yesterday come alive again and soon you're yanking the strands of dark hair with your fingers and letting your mouth explore the skin of his neck. When you sink your teeth into his skin, he lets out the same noise he did the night before and you smile against the mark you just made.

His lips find your shoulder and he breathes hard into it once your hips start moving at their own accord, slowly yet firmly, the pad of his fingers digging hard on your thighs until you break away from his neck to focus on his face again.

“This goddamn dress, love.”

Humming, you caress his red cheek with your lips “What about it?”

“Been thinking about it all day…”

“It worked, by the way.”

“Woo?”

“Mhm. Distracted him so he didn't throw me in the pool right away.”

“And Jongho?”

“Probably plotting against me right now.”

He laughs softly into your skin “Probably.”

Chuckling as well, you stop your movements and take in how he looks. Gone, a little too fucked up from just making out, lips swollen and eyes clouded with something you're getting too familiar with, too quick.

“Worked on you, too.”

He smiles and shrugs, letting his head drop into the headrest “You look good in everything, love. It doesn't really matter what you wear.”

“Oh?”

A firm hand trails up your body, slowly, from you leg to your hip, your waist to the side of your breasts and your until it cops your face with affection you never imagined you would experience.

“I have always thought you are the most beautiful girl to ever exist.”

This is it.

Leaning into his touch, your lips connect to the palm of the hand holding you before you lean forward again.

“I love you, Mingi.”

He doesn't seem surprised by your confession and you're glad he knows. It doesn't really matter if it's too soon, if you even mean it in a romantic way or not, the love you have for him transcends all labels.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

And his does too.

You kiss him until it hurts.

He kisses you until you're gasping and your body is pleading for more.

The both of you kiss each other until you're sure nothing else will replace the taste of one another, that it will linger forever even if your paths stop crossing at any point in time.

It feels like you're trapped somewhere where the clock doesn't tick at all, where you can take your time exploring him with your mouth and your hands.

And then it doesn't.

The fabric of the dress starts bothering you, his tight shirt is suddenly not tight enough and the hardness steadily growing and pressing into your core is screaming for attention you can't give him with all these clothes on the way.

He feels it too, fingers tracing the hem of your dress for the second time today and then they're under it, pulling at the fabric up until it bunches on your waist.

You're still wearing the swimsuit he helped you put on earlier but it does little to conceal how affected you are. Looking down, you're not even ashamed of it when he follows your eyes and lets his linger on the patch of wetness darkening the color of the bottoms.

Still, he moves his hands upwards again and soon you're struggling to get the dress off, considering you're almost bumping the roof of the car when you straighten your spine to do so.

“Wanna know what crossed my mind when I saw you in the bathroom?”

When it's finally off, he immediately goes for it: His index tracing your collarbone and slowly descending, his short nail dragging against your skin before the rest of his fingers join, right in between your breasts, where there's fabric holding together the top of the swimsuit.

He could easily tug on it if he wanted to. Instead, he ignores it and presses the heel of his hand against it, forcing you to lean back and almost bump into the steering wheel again.

Unable to speak and panting, you only nod as a reply to his question.

“How easy it would be to get on my knees and eat you out. I thought: What if I just…” Using his other hand to mess with the knots that keep the left bottom part of the swimsuit together, he demonstrates what he means without actually doing it, his eyes following the motions “Undo these, get on my knees and make her come all over my face?”

“Fuck, Mingi…”

“You would like that, wouldn't you?” He smirks without actually looking at you, the hand on your sternum traveling down against your skin before joining the other one, teasing the knots on the right.

“Y-yes.”

Maybe he can see it on your face, the sudden nervousness at the scene he painted before you, because he grabs one of your hands and brings them to his lips before drawing you close again “Please tell me your idiot ex-boyfriend ate you out when you were together.”

Blush darkening, you make a face that gives the answer away.

He groans “He's worse than I thought, fuck. Come here.” And without any warning, the back of his seat goes down until it touches the backseat with it.

Bracing yourself against his chest, because you went down with him as well, you huff out a surprised laugh “Go where?”

“Up here. Let me teach you something tonight.”

“Mingi…”

“First, you need to make sure your hands are clean—”

“Stop,” laughing, you interrupt his bad attempt at teasing you with the same words you used on him yesterday “There's no real support for me if we do this, where do I even—”

“Knees here,” he motions the backseat and you could actually do it, but you would have to sit on his face instead of hovering like you imagine it would be more comfortable for him “hands here” he points to the grab handle and the headrest of the passenger seat and then straightens his spine a little, bringing his face closer to you so he can whisper right into your worn out lips “Turn the light off, I'll do the rest.”

He looks like he's going to kiss you but then he falls back onto the seat with an excited smile curving his lips.

What a tease.

So of course you turn off the light and prop yourself up into the position he wants to. It's challenging, the car is not that small but it feels like it is and you very much would rather do this on a bed, spare his back and yours in the process, but excitement also runs through your body and your brain stops making up excuses for why should deny yourself of the pleasure of Mingi using his mouth to make you see stars the second his fingers undo the knots and peel the bottom half of your swimsuit off your body with ease.

Lips trailing up your inner thighs and hands on each side of them, holding you in a secure position, Mingi doesn't tease you much before attaching his mouth to your heat and your subconsciousness flies out the window when his tongue flicks your clit.

You look down at him and the sight of him enjoying himself has you beaming, the warmth spreads through you and the zeroes on your pussy. You don't even try to quiet down your moans, completely forgetting that you're in a public parking lot that can fill up at any second.

But paying no mind to it either, Mingi also moans encouragingly into your wet folds when your hips move a little, chasing that high.

He shifts his focus to your entrance, his tongue working itself into you and when you move your hips again at the feeling, his nose bumps into your clit in a way that has you grasping the headrest for support, right hand slipping down and resting on the window while your mouth hangs open and your eyes shut close.

“Mingi… Baby, fuck, I'll—” he adds his thumb into his ministrations, pressing it against your clit the way he did yesterday and it only takes a few side to side movements for you to come undone on his mouth.

And again, the intensity of your orgasm takes you by surprise. It's obviously not as intense as yesterday's but it still got you trembling so you want to curse him out for being that good at what he does.

He eases you into it, slowing his mouth and you only register that it leaves you completely when your thighs are being kissed tenderly.

Breathless, you look down at him and catch his smile before his teeth are sinking into your skin and forcing you to hiss out a laugh “Good?”

“Yeah,” you smile, climbing down from your position and hovering over his lap in an attempt to not ruin his jeans. It's very obvious he enjoyed it too, his crotch holding the evidence tight and probably painfully against the fabric there “Really, really good.”

You want to get on your knees and return the favor, make him squirm in pleasure, but the space is not working in your favor. So even though your thighs are hurting and sweat is dripping down your neck, you start working on the button and zipper of his jeans before he sits up.

He wants to say something, but your tongue is touching his and tasting yourself on it before he gets the chance. Clumsily, a little too far gone for your liking as well, you are able to get through the layers of clothes and let your hand hang over his dick “Are you gonna make me beg for it today?”

“You don't have to, love.”

“Beg?” you ask with a smile that he reciprocates “Or touch you?” your free hand brushes the hair out of his face, sliding down until you're propping his chin up with it, thumb tracing his bottom lip softly “Because I want to touch you. I want to make you feel so, so good, baby. Please.”

He kisses the pad of your thumb and then takes it into his mouth, tongue caressing the tip of it until you're panting again and then nods.

That's all the permission you need before taking him with your hand and pulling him out of his boxers. Taking your hand out briefly, you gather up saliva and spit right into it.

Mingi lets out a noise at that. Interesting.

Starting slow, you focus on his expression. Testing the waters, taking note of what he likes because, unlike him, you probably pushed to the corner of your mind every sexual conversation you two had before yesterday. You take a second to look down at it, the size is no surprise but your mouth waters at the image of you taking him into the heat of it.

Maybe another time. For now, you focus on making him feel good with the little you can offer him in the enclosed space of his car.

He mouths at your neck, choked up sobs vibrate through the skin on your collarbone and your top gets moved to the side so he can mark the side of your boobs as he pleases. It sets the fire inside of you alive again, your folds getting wetter when he rolls his tongue around your nipple and then throws his head back when you twist your hand in a motion he seems to really enjoy.

“Just like that, love.”

To your delight, he's not quiet. He's loud, he's grabby, taking the opportunity to hold onto your ass and press down on the skin when you tease his slit and gather his precum on your fingers so you can spread it around his cock and your hand can slide easier.

Movements get sloppy once he's close, he's no longer paying attention to you and you welcome it as a great sign, his hips bucking into your hand and he moves you forward until you're sitting on his lap again.

The only thing preventing your pussy and his dick from touching is your hand.

You glance at him and he looks back, probably the same idea popping up into his mind so you nod once.

The car moves as you two move around, to the back seat, the spine of his seat up and the entire thing moving forward to make space for him next to you, over you, on top of you once he kicks his jeans and boxers off to the floor.

You reach out to him in a silent plea and he bends down to kiss you soft and moist and hot and breathy, sensually, with sweet sounds escaping both of you when you reach under his shirt and lift it up until he gets what you want. Discarding it with the rest of his clothes, your top follows it and the contentment you feel when his naked chest touches yours is unmeasurable.

There's no real room to move around and there's not really any patience left within both of you, so when he apologizes when he moves his hips where he shouldn't and his tip brushes your entrance, you pull back from his bruising mouth.

“Condom. Now.”

He obliges right away, searching on his jeans for a minute or so and when he comes back he's smirking like he can't believe you “When I told you we needed to raincheck I didn't mean it to be like this. Bossy.”

Even if you're punching him on his chest and giggling at his breathy words, you take the teasing with pride “You started it, Mingi!”

Putting the condom on skilled and fast, he's soon resting his forehead against yours and kissing you softly again “I wanted you on my bed…” his lips trail down and the giggles die on your throat as he's kissing it, a moan escaping you “On your back or knees or riding me…” he continues in a whisper going down and down and down, giving your nipples attention before going back up and taking your mouth in his again “Making a mess on my cock…”

He takes the opportunity to enter you slowly and you gasp at the stretch, wet enough so it doesn't hurt you but you're unfamiliar with him, with his size splitting you open deliciously.

“F-fuck, Y/N.” Mingi leans back to watch you take him in and you whine again. Tilting your head back, you let him work himself in and you moan loudly when he almost bottoms out “Look at you…”

You don't. You can't. He's pressing his thumb on your clit again to ease you through the stretch and it makes the heat pool in your belly like you didn't come in his mouth a few minutes ago.

Slowly but surely it gets easier for him to rock his hips into you, mouth parting in pleasure when you remind yourself to look at him. His abdomen tenses when you run your nails against the skin there, softly, until you're detouring them into his back and sinking them in just enough to have him whining at the feeling.

“Baby… Harder.”

“Yeah?”

Hips bucking up to meet his at a particularly hard trust, you reach up to him so he can rest his body weight on yours. Close like this, with the pace picking up, the knot on your lower half tightens and threatens to break.

“You take me so well, love. Fuck, always knew you would,” you know he can feel your walls tightening around him at the praise, because he smiles and kisses you once before continuing “My pretty, pretty girl… Taking my cock so well…” he punctuates his words with the roll of his hips and you cry out, holding his face in between your hands, his eyes never leaving yours.

In this position, his lower abdomen bumps into your clit and it's soon tipping you over the edge.

“So good, so good, oh— Oh, God.” You're mumbling incoherently while Mingi keeps whispering sweet nothings and then the tension on your belly breaks. It takes three seconds of your walls pulsating around him for him to groan loudly into your mouth and come undone as well.

The only thing you can hear is breathing, all you can feel is breathing. His against your chin, yours blowing on his hair when you rest your cheek on his temple.

It takes a second to gather yourself again and when you do, you tilt your head back to give him a chaste kiss that he returns.

“That was so good, baby.” You tell him and he smiles, nodding in agreement “I am sticking to the fucking seat though.”

Mingi snorts and just like that the energy shifts back to the usual you. Only this time, you come back to it knowing that no one’s ever going to have you the way he does.

He slips out of you, doing his thing with the condom and you sit up, looking through the windows and becoming aware of your surroundings for the first time since you got there.

There's a car parked far away from you that's empty and the rest of the cars that were near it have left. You wonder how long this all took, because you lost track of time the second he told you he likes you.

Chest still heaving and boxers now on, Mingi rests his back on the door and takes your hand in his “Is it dumb of me to assume you're my girlfriend now, love?”

“Is it dumb that I assumed that's what I was when you said you like me?”

“No,” he answers right away “not dumb at all.”

Smiling, you nod “Then I'm your girlfriend, Mingi.”

He beams at that and then he's crowding you again “Say it again.”

“I'm your girlfriend.” you repeat, enunciating each word and giggling when he nuzzles his nose into the crimson on your cheek “I’m yours, baby.”

Resting his forehead against yours, he hums in contempt “Good, because I've always been yours too.”

“There's no way! You two... together? Guys… See, that would be me if I didn't see it coming but I'm smarter and cooler than everyone here so I did.”

Wooyoung's over the top reaction has Mingi throwing his head back in a silent laugh and you staring at the black haired guy, unamused and a little offended.

It's two days later and, as usual, you're at Wooyoung's and San’s apartment hanging out.

After putting your clothes back on and going for some well deserved food, Mingi took you home, kissed you goodnight and showed up the next day after class to break the news to your parents.

Your mom almost cried. Your dad too, but for a completely different reason.

In the end, they both agreed they saw it coming and when you told Mingi’s parents, they said the same thing and invited yours to have celebratory dinner without you.

What happened in Mingi’s room after was worth missing dinner anyways.

Mingi and you decided to break the news when most of the group showed up for movie night and you were nervous to see their reactions.

But everyone seems unaffected by it.

“I knew you guys liked each other the second I met you. Ask Gyuri, she agrees with me.”

“Sadly, I do.” Wooyoung's ex looks at you from her spot by the door, where she's getting her shoes on.

She winks at you and you fake a gasp, falling into your boyfriend's lap with an annoyed huff.

“And no one told us?!”

“Sorry, Y/N. We didn't want to get in the way.” Hwa is apologetic and Yeosang nods alongside Hongjoong but you gape at them like they betrayed your trust.

“To be fair we didn't know till’ last week, love.”

“She didn't know.” Gyuri corrects him and now you turn to her to give her the betrayed look “You were pining over it for six months already.”

“I say it was more like nine but…” Hwa shrugs and sips his cup, giving the man holding you close a knowing smile.

Oh, they definitely talked about it, huh?

“Nine months and no one cared to fill me in, huh?”

“I’m sure Mingi did—”

“Wooyoung!”

“Well I didn't notice.” Yunho interferes with a shrug and gives you a recomforting smile that doesn't work at all.

San laughs “That's because you're a puppy that can't even tell when someone likes you.”

“Am not!”

Everyone, including you and Mingi, make a noise in agreement with San.

“You're one to talk, though, leave the puppy alone.” Gyuri tells her ex's best friend and Wooyoung laughs at him when his smile drops.

There's some story there you don't know.

“Guys… Does someone like me right now? Be honest.”

Yeosang is about to tell him something but Jongho interrupts.

“Enough with the love talk! Can we start the movie?” But he's pressing play already, so the answer doesn't really matter.

Gyuri laughs once and Wooyoung makes his way over to her to give her a hug that she enjoys for one second tops before pushing him away.

“Enjoy everyone! I'm so happy for you two, by the way, not that these neanderthals would tell you to your face but I'm sure they're too.”

“Thank you, Gyuri.” Mingi murmurs from behind you and you mouth a thank you as well before she leaves for the night.

Something about her best friend having a boy crisis.

You don't miss the way San’s eyes follow her until she leaves or the way he looks at Woo, something clearly worrying him.

His best friend ignores him, though, so you confirm that might just be a little pissed off at him after all.

“Tell her to text you what happens.” San asks Woo once she leaves and he rolls his eyes.

“Mhm. I’ll tell her to stop calling us neanderthals too.”

You smile “Well, she's right.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Jongho has to stop the movie and you see him sulk while everyone else is arguing. Some of them, like Hwa and Yeo, are siding with you and Gyuri. And the rest of them, like your boyfriend, are telling them off.

When you turn to face him, his argument dies mid-sentence because he stops to smile at you. He takes your face in his hand and kisses you for the first time ever in front of everyone else. The group stops the argument to tease you both and you laugh into his mouth.

A cushion is thrown at you and Jongho gets up to separate your faces before sitting beside you with a pout on his lips.

“Can we watch the goddamn movie?!”

You're the happiest you've ever been.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

#ateez #ateez x reader #song mingi #song mingi x reader #mingi #mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #mingi hard thoughts #mingi hard hours #AAAAAAAAAAAA i don't think this is as good as the first part was but i hope you enjoy it ! let me know #askbox is open as usual <3 thanks!#fic; s&t

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roosterforme · 9 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: The collection of letters that Bradley received from the fourth grade class provides him with entertainment while deployed. He takes the time to answer their questions and send a package back to the United States via air mail. But he has your email address. He also has a bit of a crush and some questions himself.

Warnings: Fluff, language

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

A few days later, when Bradley was done with his training protocols for the day, he returned to his bunk with a different mission in mind. While he unzipped his flight suit, he eyed the box which was taking up most of his nightstand, and a smile found its way to his lips. He managed to find a notebook that nobody wanted along with a thick, padded envelope, and he was going to take the time to respond to the fourth graders who wrote to him.

He'd spent hours poring over the letters, laughing at some of the questions from the kids and frequently picking up that one photo. He couldn't stop going back for more. For another look at you. Just one more look. Okay, this really was the last one. He had to toss it across the small room toward his duffel so he could focus on something other than your smile and the fact that he might have a tiny crush on a fourth grade teacher who knew absolutely nothing about him. Yet.

The note from Jayden was on the top, and Bradley opened it up and started to jot down a response.

Jayden,

It was so nice to hear from you and the rest of your class. To answer your pertinent questions, I am currently stationed on the USS Theodore Roosevelt. The most disgusting food in the mess hall is easily the cabbage rolls (which taste nothing like cabbage... or rolls). The best food in the mess hall is surprisingly the meatloaf. And yes, I would love to see a photo of your Cocker Spaniel. Please send one next time. I hope you're studying and doing your best in school.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The next note he decided to tackle was the one from Violet who had the tiniest handwriting he'd ever seen. The page had at least fifteen questions written out, but he decided to answer just a few for her. He had to squint as he skimmed through them again.

Violet,

You seem very inquisitive. That's a great quality to have, especially if you want to be a pilot someday. No, I did not attend the Naval Academy. I went to the University of Virginia. Yes, the Navy is way better than the Air Force. Yes, I can hold my breath underwater for three minutes. Yes, they actually made me do it. No, I don't think I could make it as a Navy SEAL. Yes, I have been staying hydrated and getting enough sun, thanks so much for asking. Keep studying hard, because you have a lot of school ahead of you before officer training.

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

Okay, so this was actually a lot of fun. Up next was a response to the note from Oliver, which made Bradley laugh every time he looked at it.

Oliver,

Thank you so much for drawing the different Naval aircrafts for me. I hate to break it to you, but I actually do not fly the F-35 Lightning II. Yes, I know they look 'sickeningly cool'. Yes, I know it would be like 'slam dunking off the back of a dragon'. I guess I never knew I was jealous of those pilots until right now.... But I fly the equally cool if not quite as sickening looking F/A-18 Super Hornet. And yes, I would be more than happy to draw my own version of one for you. See below.

Lt. Bradley Bradshaw

The ten minutes he spent replicating his own aircraft to the best of his ability for Oliver churned out a pretty damn good result. He fished his phone out of the nightstand and took a picture to email to Nat when he had time, because she would find this whole thing amusing. Then he reached for the letters from Harrison, Nia and Jackie. He wrote his responses, and after a bit, he had a decent sized stack of letters all ready to go back to the fourth graders.

After a few more days, he worked his way through the entire class, and each kid would soon have a handwritten response on the way. He just needed to figure out what he wanted to say to you. The pretty teacher from the class photo that he now kept tucked in with his personal items. He worked on that one last, writing your full name at the top of the page and wishing you didn't go by the very non-specific Ms. which gave him zero clue as to whether or not you were married.

The package you sent was the nicest piece of deployment mail I have ever received. Thank you. I'm lucky it ended up in my hands. I'm impressed by how much all of your students have learned about aviation this year. I just hope I did them justice in regards to the questions they had for me.

I also hope you don't mind that I replied to each kid individually. They had some very amusing stories and questions, and I wanted to acknowledge all of them. But there was one question in particular that I was asked so many times, I thought I'd answer it here instead. My call sign is kind of a silly one, so it's okay if you all laugh. I go by Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw, and my helmet is mostly red, yellow and black.

Your kids seem like a fun bunch, but I bet they keep you on your toes. Feel free to let them know they can write back to me again, but please include my name on the package this time. I don't know that I'd be lucky enough to have it fall into my hands again by chance. I'll just be here somewhere in the middle of the Pacific Ocean for a few more months, ready to answer any questions you throw at me. Hope to hear back from you soon.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

The following day, he packed everything up and dropped it off with the rest of the ship's outgoing mail. There was a rumor that a helicopter would be coming to pick it up in the next day or two, and he wanted to make sure it got back to California and those fourth graders as soon as possible. On his way back to his bunk, Bradley stopped by the lounge to see if there was an iPad free, hoping to send a quick email or two. He was in luck. He also happened to have your email address memorized.

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

You yawned at your desk and checked the time on your computer. Within the next ten minutes, your classroom would go from silent solitude to mass chaos, so you took a minute to clear out your email inbox. You had a few messages from some parents and a reminder about Spirit Week from the superintendent. And a random piece of junk mail that must have slipped through the spam filters. You didn't know anyone with a US Navy email address, and you didn't know anyone named Bradley Bradshaw.

As you closed your laptop, you gasped and tried to pry it back open again as quickly as you could. The Navy! The package you sent a few weeks ago! Maybe it was someone writing back to your class! Of course it could just be someone saying they were sorry that they didn't have time to engage with your students, but you figured even that was better than nothing.

"Come on," you whispered, entering your credentials again before your inbox reappeared on your screen. The email was just a few lines long, but it was addressed to you by name. You were smiling immediately as you read it.

I just wanted to let you know that I got the mail you sent to a deployed Naval Aviator. There's a package on its way to your school for your class. It should arrive in about a week or two. Your fourth graders provided me with several hours of entertainment, and I hope they find my answers to their many (and amusing) questions useful. Thanks for the laughs, and thanks for the photos, too. Can't tell you how much I've been enjoying them. Hope to hear from all of you again.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

You squealed and pumped your fists in the air. Someone actually got the box! And he actually responded! The other, older teachers thought you were just wasting your time when you deviated from the lesson plans a bit. Literally all of them said there was no way anyone would write back, even though you took the time to go through the proper channels at Top Gun on North Island. But now you could rub it in their faces, all thanks to Bradley Bradshaw who sounded like he'd had as much fun with this whole thing as your class had.

Then your day really started as Violet and Oliver burst into your classroom, calling out your name with excitement in their voices. The rest of your kids followed behind them, already asking about the plans for the day and what kind of adventure you'd be taking them on in each subject.

When you clapped your hands twice and said, "Good morning," they all clapped and replied with their own greeting, and then they sat quietly with their gazes fixed on you. "Guess who I just got an email from!"

"The president!"

"My grandma!"

"My Cocker Spaniel!"

"Oliver's grandma!"

You just shook your head and tried not to laugh as you said, "None of the above. But do you remember when we wrote and packed up those letters for a real aviator in the military to read?" Most of the kids nodded, so you added, "Well, he emailed us! And he sent us some mail that should arrive in about a week!"

And telling them that was a mistake. Because you didn't know a moment of peace after that. Every morning, you had kids rushing into the room to see if the promised piece of mail arrived yet. Every day you had to disappoint them, but you were finding yourself a little disappointed, too. You wanted to know what this Bradley Bradshaw guy sent back.

You'd responded to his initial email letting him know you and the kids in your class were delighted to hear from him and that you would let him know when the mail he sent arrived at your school. He didn't respond, but you figured he was busy. Too busy to constantly muck about with your class while he was thousands of miles away on a deployment.

And that was what left you standing at your desk with your mouth hanging open in awe when the padded envelope did finally arrive one morning. Because when you carefully cut it open, you found not just one letter to the class but individual handwritten notes, one for each child.

"Wow," you whispered, pulling the note with your name written on the top out of the stack. This man seemed humble and sweet, and his letter made you laugh in more than one spot as you read through it. Then you read it again. He sounded apologetic about responding to each individual kid, but you felt like your insides were melting. Who would do that? Who would take the time to give individual attention to a bunch of nine and ten year olds besides you? And you were technically getting paid to do it.

Bradley Bradshaw seemed willing to continue to engage with your kids, and you weren't going to stop him. Because starting that morning, he became something of a legend to your class. A celebrity. A real lieutenant in the Navy replied to all of their silly questions, and their love of aviation just grew from there. You figured you were going to have to keep your lesson plans going a bit longer while their faces lit up as you walked around the room and handed them each their notes. You had taken the time to skim them beforehand, often laughing at his sense of humor which seemed to jump off the pages.

"Can we write back to him?" Jayden asked as everyone read their notes from Lieutenant Bradshaw. "I have more questions."

You smiled and nodded. "Yes, you may write back to him." Then you postponed your geology lesson until the next day and let them spend the next forty minutes writing some followup letters. You took some pictures of them diligently toiling away at their desks, excitement on their faces. Then you bit your lip and sat down at your own desk.

As you started to construct an email letting him know the envelope had arrived, your thoughts drifted to what he might be like. Humble and sweet, for sure. But he also made it a point to tell you that the box from your class was the best piece of mail he'd ever received while deployed. Maybe he was a little bit lonely. Maybe he was single. Maybe he was stationed on the west coast. Your thoughts started to get ahead of you, and it was hard to reel them in when you imagined him excited to see another email from you. Smiling when he was handed another box from your class during mail call.

Dear Lt Bradley Bradshaw,

We got the envelope from you today, and my kids are absolutely thrilled! I'm not sure if you know how hard it can be to wrangle eighteen fourth graders all at one time, but they are currently sitting quietly and working on new letters for you to read. Once again, please don't feel obligated to continue correspondence if you're too busy. I'm sure you have other people you could be writing to who want your attention as well. I just wanted you to know they are overjoyed that a Naval officer took the time to answer their questions about aviation.

I have attached some photos as proof that they are sitting still. Thanks again for making their day.

You signed your name at the bottom the way you always would from your work email account, and then you attached the photos. After a brief debate about adding the selfie you took with Violet where most of your face was visible, you decided to just go for it. Adding it to the mix wouldn't hurt anything. It wasn't like this semi mystery man would be up all night thinking about you.

But you found that you were still thinking about him when you went home to your silent house and made dinner that evening. Maybe he was a little bit lonely, but maybe you were, too.

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

It was amazing how infrequently Bradley found himself thinking about Vanessa. He was busier now with his duties picking up a bit more as his deployment wore on, but even when he was tired and in his bunk at night, his thoughts seldom settled on her like he was afraid they might. He didn't miss her or her half-hearted emails, and he wasn't craving the connection of reunion sex with her.

Instead, he was thinking about what a group of fourth graders were learning about this week and what their cute teacher was up to. It had been a few days since you emailed him, letting him know that his package was delivered to your school. You made it sound like the kids were excited that he sent it in the first place, and when he really thought about it, he supposed some officers would have just eaten the snacks and tossed the notes in the trash.

He didn't reply to the email yet, still thrown off a bit by the pictures you attached. Your classroom was vibrant, and the kids were absorbed as they worked on more notes for him to read whenever they happened to be delivered to the carrier. But the photo with you in it held his attention longer than it should have. The fact that you were working at a school that was just a handful of miles from his damn house made him feel warm.

But what would he do about it? What could he do about it? Nothing. He didn't want you to think he was creepy. He still knew essentially nothing else about you. The only thing he could do was keep it friendly if not professional. Unless of course you did something to push the boundaries of conversation into a more personal realm. God, if you did....he didn't think he would be able to handle it.

The next day, when he was heading out on deck to talk to the mechanics who were doing regular maintenance on the aircrafts, he took his phone. "Hey, you mind if I take a few photos of some of the engine parts? I want to send them to a class of fourth graders who will think it's cool."

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," the head mechanic replied. Then he smiled and asked, "You dating a teacher?"

Well. Wouldn't that be something? Bradley would never run out of curious pen pals. He would always have some fourth graders to take interesting photos for and to send notes to. He'd always have a classroom to visit as soon as he got home from a deployment.

He couldn't help but picture you as the teacher.

"Nothing like that," he replied, his voice a little gravelly. "Just writing to some kids who are learning about aviation."

After dinner, when he had a chance to use an iPad in the lounge, he did his best to put together a response to your email that would at least hint at the curiosity he felt.

If all it takes is mail from three thousand miles away to get your class to sit quietly, then I should probably be writing to you every day. But I'm sure you're a great teacher. That's a given considering how much your students learned and shared with me. And I can assure you that I'm more than happy to take the time to write to your class. And you. Please don't think I feel obligated, because I do not. I want to.

I have attached a few pictures of some F/A-18 engine components as well as some of my cockpit controls. Each photo is labeled, but please let me know if you have any questions.

It was nice hearing from you.

Yours Truly,

Lt Bradley Bradshaw

As soon as he hit send, he wanted to kick himself. Should he have included a photo of his face like you had twice now? Or did he already sound too desperate to hear from you and your class again?

"Shit," he muttered, looking around the lounge as if there was going to be someone here proficient in the art of getting to know a fourth grade teacher without sounding stupid. But it was too late now. All he could do was wait for the next mail call or hope you decided to write back to his ramblings by the next time he checked his email.

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

You were going to have to scrape your jaw off the floor. You had no idea what this man's face even looked like, but his hands were... something else. And his thighs... well, they were pretty great, too. It must have been too long since you got laid, because you were sitting at your desk in your classroom staring at the set of photos in your inbox, currently unable to look away from his right hand. It was wrapped around the throttle of his aircraft. It was elegant with attractive veins and rough calluses. You were sure that you were supposed to be focusing on the cockpit controls, but all you could see was that hand and his thick, muscular thighs below.

The next photo was no better for you. He was holding up his helmet with his call sign Rooster emblazoned across the front, and you were able to see his left ring finger. There was no wedding band. There was no evidence of an outline where a wedding band would belong. There was just his big, strong hand.

You whimpered softly while your students worked on their math tests. You couldn't help it as you took one last look before logging out of your email account. And now you needed to know if his face matched the very attractive image you had in your mind.

When Jayden called your name, you rocketed to your feet like you'd been caught red handed. "Yes?" you squeaked, your voice sounding higher pitched than usual.

"I'm done with my test. May I have the hall pass and use the restroom?"

You handed it to him as the rest of your class finished working through the math problems. A few minutes later, when you collected the papers from them, Violet asked, "When is Lieutenant Bradshaw going to write back to us?"

It had only been a few days since you mailed him the second box of notes and some more snacks, but it made you happy that they were all so invested in learning more from him.

"It will probably be a few weeks before we get anything in the mail. However... he did email me some pictures of engine and cockpit parts from the aircraft carrier for me to share with you guys." When you looked around the room, the kids were on the edges of their seats, excited expressions on their faces. With a laugh you added, "I was going to wait until tomorrow and use the projector to show them all to you, but if you're very well behaved for the rest of the afternoon, maybe I could pull them up on my computer for you to see them today."

Not two hours later, you were just as excited as the kids were to look at the photos... again. As they crowded around your desk, you opened up the first one of the cockpit to a barrage of questions.

"Is that really his jet?"

"Is that the throttle?"

"What do all the buttons do?"

"Was this right before he flew it?"

Once again you were distracted, but you managed to click over to the next photo, and the kids gasped in delight.

"His helmet is so cool!"

"It says Rooster!"

"That's his call sign!"

"Red is my favorite color!"

You just smiled softly and laughed. "Should we go ahead and start working on another list of questions for him?" you asked as you slowly scrolled through the rest of the pictures. "He said we can write back to him as much as we want to." When everyone cheered, you handed Oliver a marker and pointed to the board at the front of the classroom. "Let's start making a list."

You listened to all of your students call out questions for Bradley while Oliver wrote them down. Then Violet asked, "Can he send us a picture of his whole jet? From the outside of it?"

You cleared your throat and added, "Maybe he could get someone else to take the picture so he could stand in front of it. For size comparison."

Violet nodded, but you knew you were a fraud. Sure, it would be great for the kids to understand just how massive the F/A-18s were compared to an actual person, but you were the one who wanted to see all of Bradley. You were itching for it now.

Later that night, you drank most of a bottle of wine and did something you promised yourself you'd never do. You logged into your work email account after nine o'clock. You skipped over the handful of unread emails from parents and clicked on the icon to compose a new message. With your liquid courage goading you on, you typed up a response to Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw and hit send before you could think twice.

Thank you for the photos. They were very enlightening. We especially liked the ones where you were showing off your cockpit. Or I did, anyway. The kids liked all of them and started on another list of questions for you. Good luck getting rid of us now.

We were wondering if you could have someone take a picture of you standing in front of your jet. For size comparison purposes. And also because my students would like to know what you look like. Hearing from you makes our day even better.

You couldn't believe how forward you were being with this man who you'd never even met in person, but you fell asleep thinking about his hands and what they might be capable of.

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

This Bradley makes me swoon. I've never wanted to be a fourth grade teacher so badly in my life. There is something that's starting to blossom between them even though they haven't even met in person. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 3

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nana-au · 4 days ago

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i have headcanons for church boy! yuta/eren. bear with me.

yuta would act innocent and be innocent.

eren would act innocent and actually be a fucking freak.

note: sorry to any religious readers, but for this drabble's sake, i am identifying reader as agnostic/atheist. please refrain from reading this fic if you may get offended. my intentions are not to disrespect anyone or their religion.

both of them were raised in the church, their fathers being pastors so they have this pressure to be good boys. i imagine they both wear the purity rings their family gave them and they spend all their free time at the church. helping their dad find topics for his sermons, volunteering at summer bible camp, putting up decorations for holidays, etc.

maybe you would meet them at bible study. at first you were annoyed your parents signed you up for it but once you saw the tall, dark haired boy at the front of the room you suddenly couldn't think of being anywhere better.

they both would be the spitting image of perfection. dressed in their sunday best, without a wrinkle on their dress shirt. eren would probably have his sleeves rolled up, his forearms flexing when he leaned across the table to help the girl in front of you find her page.

both of them would have spotless, leather shoes that went click clack click clack across the linoleum floor of the now sweltering bible study classroom.

yuta would be so enthusiastic leading the group. his smile genuine and his gelled hair a little messy from constantly running a hand through it. his dark eyes somehow became the lightest things in the room while he dived into passage after passage.

the two of them would introduce themselves to you upon noticing how lost you looked. your parents had decided to turn a new leaf, and suddenly you all went from only attending every christmas/easter service to your family attending every sunday sermon. to say the adjustment was unwelcomed for you would be sort of an understatement. you felt lost while listening to your pastor bring up names like 'corinthians'... and who even is 'matthew'? You were exhausted, and burnt out and how bad of a teacher would they be to not notice someone who needed some guidance in the teaching's of the lord?

yuta would introduce himself - his smile a permanent fixture on his face while he shakes your hand. "if you have any questions, please don't be afraid to ask," he promises you, "that's what I'm here for." his voice was soft and his hand would basically swallow yours in his grasp - but his grip on you was gentle. you could only nod, your ability to speak lost on you upon receiving his undivided attention. his presence could only be described as angelic. his eyes on you felt like sun rays on a cool summer day and his touch felt like water - quenching a thirst inside of you that you didn't realize you had. he caused your breath to catch in your throat but if he noticed he didn't point it out. he was far too polite for that. in reality, yuta was unaware of his affect on people; especially you. you knew that if he was aware - he wasn't the type to take advantage of it.

eren wouldn't be able to hold back a smirk watching you struggle to keep up with what everyone else seemed to understand with ease. he would come over to your table group, singling you out loudly in front of everyone, "having a little trouble?" ...to anyone who was used to seeing eren every day since a young boy they would believe his expression showed genuine concern. but all you saw was a man unwilling to hide his smirk as you stuttered your way through a verse. a man utterly amused being in the presence of a girl who wasn't raised the way he was. he always seemed to linger behind you after your first interaction with him. he watched you highlight the passages he read out loud and witnessed you doodling in the little notebook that was meant for you to annotate. he leaned over your chair, his arms caging you between him and his chest pressing against your back. "cute. but let's make sure we're focusing, hmm?" he whispered into your ear.

they both would end up inviting you to do private studies with them at their home - they were the pastor's son after all - and what better way to prepare to take over as pastor one day then to be able to bring an unbeliever into the light of god?

you couldn't deny them even if you tried. there was something about them that drew you closer.

eren was all-consuming. there was something about the way he carried himself - domineering almost. the tan skin of his neck flexing with every deep swallow he took - his gaze unnerving under the fluorescent lighting of the bible study room while he watched you thumb through the pages of your clearly unused bible.

yuta was electric. he held a youthful attitude towards everything. the kind of carefree only a man of faith could have; so sure of his beliefs and finding comfort in the stories he taught. he was kind, and warm... you hadn't thought it possible to find a man so gentle. or easily flustered.

you had realized the both of them had a deeper reasoning to invite you to study at their house - whether they were aware of it or not.

(pt. 2 coming soon i have to go to work :sob:)

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0omillo0 · 4 months ago

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MODEL! HYUNJIN X FEM! MODEL! READER

autor’s note: hi! this is my first post, I hope you’ll like it!

warnings: none!! pure fluff

Hyunjin, a renowned Versace model and gifted artist, has grown used to the fast-paced world of fashion. But when Y/N, a new model, steps into the scene, her authenticity catches his eye. As their paths intertwine, Hyunjin finds himself drawn not just to her beauty, but to something deeper—especially when he discovers a personal connection to his art in her life.

The lights above the runway glowed bright as you walked, your heart racing with every step. It was your first major show—Versace, no less—and the pressure of the fashion world felt like it was resting squarely on your shoulders. You kept your face composed, though. It was the life you had chosen, after all.

As you reached the end of the runway and struck your final pose, you caught a glimpse of someone standing backstage. Hwang Hyunjin. A name you had heard whispered many times, both in the modeling industry and beyond. He was already legendary as a Versace model—and as an artist. He stood with that ethereal grace, watching the runway with a calm confidence. His aura drew you in instantly.

Backstage, the models buzzed with excitement, but you found yourself scanning the room for Hyunjin. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the effortless way he carried himself, or the way his expressive eyes seemed to speak without words. But there he was, standing near a rack of designer outfits, quietly sketching in a notebook.

He must have felt your gaze, because his eyes lifted from the page and met yours.

You blinked and quickly turned away, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

A moment later, you heard a voice behind you. “Nervous?”

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with Hyunjin. His smile was small but warm, and it made your heart stutter. “A little,” you admitted, forcing yourself to breathe.

“You didn’t show it out there. You looked great.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I would survive that.”

He chuckled, his laughter soft and genuine. “We all feel that way at first. Trust me.”

You nodded, trying to keep your cool. “You were sketching something?”

“Oh,” he glanced down at the notebook in his hand, almost shyly, “yeah, just passing time. It’s nothing.”

“I bet it’s beautiful,” you said without thinking. His sketches were famous—everyone knew Hyunjin wasn’t just a model but an incredible artist. His works sold out faster than any runway show.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow at your comment, looking a little surprised, but his smile grew just a bit wider. “Maybe one day you’ll see for yourself.”

---

Days turned into weeks, and as more Versace events brought you together, you and Hyunjin grew closer. What began as polite conversations evolved into genuine exchanges—talks about art, fashion, and life beyond the glitz and glamor. He was different from the others. Though he was breathtaking in every way, Hyunjin never acted like it. Instead, he carried himself with a quiet humility, a soul deeper than the world around him realized.

One evening, after a long day of fittings, you sat backstage, scrolling through your phone to relax. Hyunjin approached, as he often did these days, and sat beside you. His presence had become comforting.

"What are you looking at?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, nothing special," you said, not thinking much of it as you showed him your phone. But his eyes widened slightly when he saw your lock screen.

It was one of his paintings—a swirling combination of colors and emotion that you had seen in an exhibition once. You loved how raw and alive it felt, and you had put it as your wallpaper without realizing Hyunjin might ever see it.

"That’s... my painting," he said softly, his voice almost touched with disbelief.

You felt a sudden rush of heat rise to your face. "Oh my god, I—yeah, it is. I didn’t think you'd—uh, I really loved it. It just felt so... powerful. I hope that's not weird."

He stared at the screen for a long moment before meeting your eyes. His usual calm demeanor had shifted, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in his expression.

"It’s not weird," he murmured, his voice lower than usual. "It’s... actually really special."

His hand brushed against yours as he handed your phone back, and neither of you moved away. The air between you seemed to thicken with something unspoken.

"You know," Hyunjin began, his gaze dropping for a second before looking back up, "people don’t usually talk about my art like that. They just think of me as a model."

"I don’t," you said softly. "I think you’re an incredible artist."

Hyunjin looked at you like you had said something life-changing. His hand stayed close to yours, and you felt a magnetic pull between you, as if something deeper had just clicked into place.

"Thank you, Y/N," he whispered, his voice almost fragile. "I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that."

---

As weeks passed, the connection between you and Hyunjin only deepened. The fashion shows continued, the flashing lights, the crowds, the interviews—but somehow, when you were with him, it all faded into the background.

He would seek you out between shoots, and you found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn’t explain. His attention to detail, the way he viewed the world through an artistic lens, the kindness in his words—it made your heart race every time you saw him.

One evening, after a long day of rehearsals, the two of you found yourselves alone in the studio. Hyunjin was working on a painting in the corner while you sat nearby, watching him with quiet admiration. He glanced at you every so often, his eyes soft.

"Can I ask you something?" he said, breaking the silence.

"Of course."

"Why my painting?" he asked, his voice careful, but curious. "Out of all the art you could’ve chosen, why mine?"

You thought for a moment before answering. "Because it felt real. When I saw it, I felt something… like it was a piece of your soul. It wasn’t just a pretty picture—it had emotion, depth. I could see you in it."

Hyunjin stared at you for a long moment, something intense flickering in his gaze. He set his brush down and took a slow step closer.

"You saw me in it?" he repeated, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

"Yeah," you nodded, holding his gaze. "I did."

Hyunjin's breath hitched, and in that moment, something shifted between you. He reached out, gently taking your hand. His touch was warm, and his thumb brushed over your skin as if testing whether this was real.

"I see you too, Y/N," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "More than you know."

You stared up at him, your heart pounding as he stepped closer. His face was inches from yours now, his gaze flickering down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. And in that quiet space, where words seemed unnecessary, Hyunjin leaned in, capturing your lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

The world faded away, and for a moment, there was only the two of you—two artists, two souls, finding each other in the midst of the chaos.

———

I hope you enjoyed this story! Requests are open!!

#stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids fluff #stray kids x y/n #hyunjin fluff

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sylvesterelle · 11 days ago

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Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, cw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know? Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do. The flexibility to work strange hours typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere loud enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts.

But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you’d promised to set weekends aside to work on your own ideas. Easier said than done, when there isn’t an irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, your hard-drive a graveyard of drafts in various states of decomposition.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your most delightful ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions—the very reason you’d been thinking about the importance of compliments.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile for her. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys.”

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night while on your usual ramble to learn a new place, begin to make sense of its curves and corners and spirit. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you’d only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold: drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night.

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she’d occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some piercing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you know her well enough to bring a second iced coffee when you arrive for the evening, Kat pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you remove the lids in a dance that has become comforting in its routine.

Yours is now slowly melting beside you, momentarily abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess that was waiting for you. Kat’s sipping the last of her own as she considers her verdict on your compliment, hip propped against the side of the bar.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Alright, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “But more importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you the bird, heading to greet the two regulars that had slipped into place at the end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of borrowing from the local library, like you usually did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she say, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” Kat’s the most animated she ever gets. Which, admittedly, is just slightly more expressive than usual: eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat prefers nonfiction. History. Facts. Still reads everything you recommend, but rarely finishes one without getting frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions and whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommends to you are a little dry at times, they’re certainly illuminating—and the last one about organ harvesting was surprisingly catalytic for plot ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tend to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it doesn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…

“You know, all of this is kind of to my earlier point. Giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating the world and the people around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; share little observations on other patrons, trade theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come and tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you entreat, clasping your hands together in anticipatory delight.

You know better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone. You’re optimistic, not delusional.

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?” she asks, frowning at you.

You shake your head pityingly. “Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart.”

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar, where a nicely-dressed couple sink uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools. Looking around like they might be feeling just a wee bit out of place. You catch the woman’s eye, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you tell her, and feel the joy of her answering blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

…

You pride yourself on having excellent ideas, but this is easily one of your best. You get a tremendous amount of writing done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate.

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It catches your eye because it’s not machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leans over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares you when you comment on it. “She’s paid special for her embroidery but still makes time to do every last one of my shirts. So I can carry her love around all day,” he says proudly, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly.

Then there’s the lady whose cheetah-print nails match her furry coat, who winks at you when she catches you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her is the burly biker who reveals an entire themed photoshoot of his toy poodle when you compliment the photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you speak to, some you don’t—but all you appreciate in a way you vow to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little pieces of what you observe trickle onto the page, fleshing out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down in bursts of inspiration. You won’t know until later if you’ll end up keeping any of it, but you like the thought that that you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your writing. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, funny pins she read when customers leaned close to shout their orders over the music—partially your fault, after you compliment an old geezer’s song choice and spend twenty minutes with him, combing through the catalogue and cackling as you feed dime after dime and queue enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wriggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which, historically speaking, is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It’s pretty packed now, but you can’t believe you missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you ask hopefully. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent. Scottish,” she clarifies around the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural superiority of whisky over bourbon’ when he got a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple white lawn chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy Frank, the bouncer, would watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but absolutely nothing about astrology; could tell you the history of the universe up to the surface of last scattering, but blinked at you when you’d asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention. You shove your laptop into your bag but don’t bother with a coat—your cheeks are flushed from the warmth of the crowd and you don’t mind the cold, not really.

The patio initially looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and the overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the sky is clear, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light visible in the heavens. You breathe in until the night air fills your lungs and you feel fresh and clean and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop ogling the breadth of their shoulders and mouthwatering thighs long enough to notice anything else.

Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there’s too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in that plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the one with the shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, his Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he adds, nodding to you as you come close enough to get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his stubbled chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans overlap with the man’s chuckle. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he says, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” he offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmurs a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, skeleton gloves and a matching skull-print balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she tells them with bemused emphasis, turning to clear off the chairs and kick snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up one.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter flame, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool right up until she folds in half, coughing desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say brilliantly, struggling not to cough on your own exhale and bidding adieu to any dreams of looking cool in front of all the fucking fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” he asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically—and futilely—tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go way back,” you say very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have tried flirting with you ages ago.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you dramatically mime a dagger to the heart. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?”

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam at her.

“I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright then killer, gimmie the goods. What is your type?” you prod, hooking your ankle around her own. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat only sighs, more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holds your gaze and leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity as she releases a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You bring a hand to your mouth, think you might actually be drooling.

“MILFs,” she answers finally, devastatingly. She tucks the joint between your fingers before patting your hand and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough as the door closes behind her.

“You’re telling me, pal,” you sink comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage pail, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Gettin’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their pinkies together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink is against your moral code.

He gives you that shark-like smile and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He considers for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie and holds it up questioningly. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, big hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel a little flutter low in your belly.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower evenly. “I’ve always been more of a Blur than Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you say, putting a fervent hand to your heart.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door shuts behind him, muffling the chatter from inside. “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, his eyes tracking where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that’d enjoy a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint skeptically at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Put me in mind of someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look as he takes a sip and sets the glass down.

He pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered Bic with SOAP scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the opaque smoke curls through the cold air then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable, or otherwise before now, I couldn’t say,” he tells you, blue eyes glinting with mischief. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw and pretend their attention isn’t going straight to your head, twice as good as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re balancing one hand on his knee and leaning in for a closer look. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him sincerely, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently before you get too far.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist with one gloved thumb. “We’ll keep you entertained, don’t you worry. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right Johnny?” Ghost says, squeezing gently once before letting go. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill, but you suspect your violent blush isn’t selling it.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap answers, winking at Ghost before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then his arm is around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like whisky and salt air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds coming to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To indulge.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the pair of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before. One of his hands reaches to splay possessively over your thigh, resting it there and turning your insides liquid.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as the storm kicks up in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, sexual, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, one hand petting absently at your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost drawls. “Fall arse-over-tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you chuck a thumb vaguely over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, bonnie’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his mouth against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away too soon. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, darlin’. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in a neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him, narrowing your eyes. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way, became possessed with the urge to tear off down a darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he’d left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he near growls.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased. To be caught. Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them through the door and the thinning crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing when she flips you the bird. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, which Ghost immediately appropriates, slinging it over one shoulder. He ignores your amused tug on the strap, looking over your head to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets.

#call of duty #ghoap #ghoap x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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floresierss · 1 month ago

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ೃ⁀➷ JUST FOR ME - hong seunghan x reader

WORD COUNT : 1.6k

TAGS 🏷️ : fluff, slow burn, university setting

AUTHORS NOTE : hello i’m alive, i’ll try to regularly post, i took a break and i hope you can see the improvement in my writing skills!! i have something very special coming up soon so look out for that,, feel free to send any asks or questions! :3. anyways this is pretty much based off of ‘just for me’ by pinkpantheress, enjoy!

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7:45 AM

The SMU campus was alive with its usual morning chaos: students bustling to class, bikes weaving through the crowds, and the sun casting a soft golden glow over the quad. You adjusted your bag strap, taking a careful sip of your coffee as you made your way across campus.

As you passed the library, your mind wandered to Seunghan. You’d seen him yesterday in the library, laughing with his friends—Sungchan, Shotaro, Sohee, Eunseok, Anton, and Wonbin. His smile was bright and genuine, lighting up the space around him, and for a moment, you’d been so caught up in the sound of his laughter that you forgot where you were.

You never spoke to him. Why would he notice you? He was always surrounded by his friends, laughing and chatting with such ease. Yet, something about him lingered in your thoughts, and before you knew it, you were daydreaming about what it would be like to have one of those easy conversations with him.

“My diary’s full of your name on every page,” you muttered under your breath, your heart fluttering at the thought. It wasn’t something you liked to admit, but Seunghan had found his way into your daydreams far too often recently.

10:30 AM

The library was a haven of peace during the mid-morning hours. You sat by the large windows, your laptop open and your notebook beside it, though your attention was far from the research paper you were supposed to be working on. You had no choice but to stare at the empty page before you.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, but your thoughts were elsewhere. The campus newsletter was still open on your screen from earlier. You had barely paid attention to it, but something caught your eye now—Spring Music Festival Lineup Announced!

Seunghan’s band. Riize.

A slow smile crept across your face as you clicked the link, scanning the details about the lineup. You’d heard Seunghan mention his band in passing during class. He’d joked about how they were still working on their setlist, but you had never imagined they would perform at such a major event.

You were practically buzzing with excitement. The idea of hearing him perform live, of seeing him do what he loved, made your heart race.

“I’ll try and try again—one day, you’ll see,” you whispered to yourself, your fingers typing the RSVP link for the event without a second thought.

12:30 PM

You hadn’t expected to see Seunghan on your way out of the library, but there he was, standing by the door. His bag was slung casually over his shoulder, and he was speaking to Sungchan and Eunseok, laughing in that easy way of his.

You hesitated for a moment, your heart picking up speed. Would he even remember you from that brief conversation last week? Probably not. You’d barely exchanged a few words, and you were sure it wasn’t anything special.

But then, to your surprise, Seunghan’s gaze found yours. He smiled, and the moment felt like it stretched in time.

“Hey, are you heading to class?” he asked, his voice light.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Music theory.”

“Me too,” he said with a grin. “Mind if I walk with you?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Sure,” you said, trying to sound casual.

You both started walking toward the music building.

“I’ve never seen you around much,” he said, after a beat. “Are you new to this class?”

You nodded, feeling the butterflies stir in your stomach. “Yeah, I transferred here last semester.”

“Cool,” he said, his tone genuine. “How are you liking it?”

“It’s… challenging,” you said, smiling. “But in a good way. I didn’t think it would be so intense.”

Seunghan nodded. “Yeah, I get that. I almost didn’t make it through last semester myself.” He laughed lightly. “But you’ll get the hang of it. And if you ever need help with anything—music-related, of course—I’m happy to help.”

You smiled, trying to hide the rush of warmth in your chest. “Thanks. That’s really nice of you.”

“So, you’ve got the Spring Music Festival on your radar, right?” Seunghan asked after a few moments.

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah, actually, I just RSVP’d this morning.”

His smile grew wider. “Great! I’m really excited for it. It’ll be our first big performance as Riize.”

You nodded enthusiastically. “I’m sure it’s going to be amazing.”

“Thanks,” Seunghan said, looking at you with a soft smile. “It means a lot.”

As you walked into the building together, you couldn’t help but feel a little more hopeful than usual. Maybe this was the beginning of something. You didn’t know what, but there was a connection—however small—that had been formed, and it made your heart race in a way you couldn’t explain.

4:03 PM

The campus café was bustling with students, the smell of coffee filling the air as you sat at your usual spot in the corner, trying to focus on your song. Your notebook was open in front of you, but your mind wandered as it always did when Seunghan was involved.

It had been hours since your brief conversation, but you kept replaying it over and over in your head. The sound of his voice, the way he smiled at you—everything about it felt so effortless.

You sighed, tapping your pen against the table, trying to push the thoughts aside.

That was when Seunghan walked in, his familiar face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice warm. “Mind if I sit here? It’s packed.”

“Of course,” you said, your heart skipping a beat as he pulled out a chair and sat across from you.

He leaned back, glancing at your notebook. “What are you working on?”

You hesitated, unsure how much to share. “Just… a song,” you said, your cheeks turning warm. “It’s nothing special, though.”

Seunghan raised an eyebrow. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

Your heart raced, but you smiled. “It’s just a work in progress.”

He grinned. “Well, I’d love to hear it sometime. You know, if you’re comfortable with that.”

You met his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Maybe.”

7:00 PM

You had just finished dinner when you received a message from Seunghan. It was a text asking if you were still going to the Spring Music Festival.

“Yes, definitely! I’m really looking forward to it.” You quickly typed back.

“Awesome. Maybe we can meet up after the show?”

Your fingers hesitated above your phone as your heart raced. Meet up? You quickly typed back: “Sure, I’d love that.”

As soon as you hit send, you felt a flutter in your chest. What was happening?

9:15 PM

The small concert hall was packed with excited students, all eagerly waiting for the Spring Music Festival to begin. You had found a seat in the middle of the crowd, your nerves growing with each passing second.

When the lights dimmed, the crowd went wild. The stage lit up, and there they were—Riize. Seunghan was front and center, his black hoodie a contrast to the colorful lights flashing behind him.

His eyes scanned the crowd briefly, and for a brief moment, it felt like his gaze landed on you. You froze, your heart thudding in your chest.

The band started playing, and the crowd erupted into cheers. The music filled the air, each note making your heart beat faster. Seunghan’s voice was smooth and rich, carrying through the auditorium with ease. He was in his element, effortlessly commanding the stage.

It was hard to focus on anything else as you watched him perform. His smile, his energy—it was magnetic. You couldn’t help but admire him more with each passing song.

11:00 PM

As the performance ended, the crowd roared with applause. You stood with the rest of the audience, clapping and cheering for Riize.

When the band left the stage, you quickly pulled out your phone to check for a message from Seunghan.

seunghan - Hey, want to meet up after the show? :p.

Your heart raced as you typed back:

y/n - absolutely 🫡

A few minutes later, you saw him walk backstage, looking exhausted but happy. Your eyes followed him for a moment before you made your way outside.

Seunghan was standing near the side exit, waiting for you. His smile made your heart do a little flip as he waved you over.

“Hey!” he greeted, his voice still buzzing with excitement from the show. “That was amazing, right?”

You nodded enthusiastically. “You were incredible.”

Seunghan chuckled, scratching the back of his head. “Thanks. It means a lot.”

“Of course,” you said softly. “You really have something special.”

“Maybe,” he said, his tone softening. “But it’s more fun with people like you around.”

The moment felt electric, as if the world had narrowed to just the two of you. Your heart raced, and for the first time in a while, you felt truly seen.

1:00 AM

You returned to your dorm, your head spinning from the night’s events. You sat at your desk, staring at the lyrics you had written earlier.

“When you wipe your tears, do you wipe them just for me?” you whispered, thinking back to Seunghan’s smile, his kindness, and the way he had looked at you.

You smiled, closing your notebook and settling into bed, drifting off to sleep with thoughts of Seunghan still swirling in your mind.

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takumasheisty · 2 months ago

Text

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪. Quiet observations. ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪.

Synopsis: You befriend the quiet, nerdy boy in your class and it leads to something more.

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya x black fem!reader

Genre: fluff at the begining, smut towards the end

a/n: Thank you to this anon for this ask. Not only did you give me a great idea, but you gave me a new crush 😻 I hope this is up to your standards and I apologize if it’s not what you were looking for 🙏🏾

Izuku Midoriya.

That quiet, green haired, freckle-faced boy that was in a few of your classes. He usually kept to himself, sitting in the back of the class scribbling down notes or little doodles in his notebook. He’s not very known around, and those that are familiar with him aren’t necessarily fond of his presence.

The boys often made fun of him and his obsession with heroes. And of course, he was incredibly awkward with the girls, leading them to steer clear of Izuku. But he didn’t care, he continued to keep to himself, doing what he loved. That’s what you like about him. He doesn’t let himself be affected by snappy comments.

Him being in most of your classes allowed you to subconsciously pick up on some of his mannerisms. He may not seem like it to most, but he’s actually quite smart, a few rankings above you in your class.

Regardless of everyone else’s opinion on the boy, he interested you, and you wanted to see what he was about for yourself.

“Hey, Izuku! What are you drawing?” You ask him enthusiastically, reaching out. He flinches at the sound of your voice and quickly retracts the book towards his chest, shielding whatever he had written.

“Ah.. uhm.. just some notes, scribbles, nothing important really!” He spits out, not revealing anything.

“But I saw some really cool concepts, were they costumes?” Your compliment seems to mitigate the embarrassment he felt, and he fell into a more comfortable state after realizing you weren’t going to make fun of him.

“..yeah. It’s kinda stupid though.”

“I don’t think so. Can I see?” Izuku hesitates, but eventually opens up, holding the book open for you. He turns away, a light shade of pink blushing across his cheeks.

“Wow.. you drew this..? That’s so cool!” You’re genuinely interested in his art, although you’re not as hero obsessed as he is.

“Really..? You think so?” He says quietly, smiling gently.

“This drawing is so good! I didn’t know you were so talented Izuku.” You exclaim, pointing to the drawing of All Might on the page.

“You like All Might too?! He’s so cool! I wish I was as amazing and strong as him. And don’t even get me started on his quirk! The-“

Ring Ring

The bell indicating the end of the class period rang, interrupting Izuku’s rambling.

“Oh sorry.. got a little carried away didn’t I!” Izuku nervously laughs, rubbing the back of his head.

“Don’t even worry about it. I would love to learn how to draw like you. By the way, my name’s Y/N.” You start to pack up for the day, taking the chance to introduce yourself.

“Y/n..” He says, as if he’s testing out how your name rolls off the tip of his tongue.

“Mhm! Alright, see you tomorrow!” You grab your bag and turn, walking out of the classroom.

See you tomorrow? You wanted to see him tommorow? Nobody has ever wanted to speak to him, but for you, a girl.. to want to see him a second time?

“Y-yeah.. s-see you tommorow, Y/N.” The shy boy says, his voice slightly echoing in the empty classroom.

On his way home, his mind is filled with thoughts of you. Izuku never noticed how pretty you are, with your coiled hair slicked back and held in a cute pink clip. Your eyes are pretty, a deep shade of brown. Kinda like mocha. You were kind too. Not just kind, but kind to him. And you’re smart, funny..

Damn.

He’s full on blushing now. What have you done to him? He’s never been too fond of girls but the way you showed interest in his hobby.. he thinks he’s fallen in love.

It’s the morning of the next day, and you’re walking into the building with a group of your friends when you see Izuku off to the side. He’s walking alone, and you feel the urge to go up and talk to him.

“Kk guys, see you later!” You yell, running off before your friends can protest.

“Hey! Izuku!” You call out, alerting lots of others around.

“Y-Y/N? What are you doing being so loud?!” He whisper shouts. “Do you want people to know you’re talking to me!?”

“Wait what?” You pull back a little bit, confused almost.

“Go to your friends, I don’t want to ruin your reputation.. or something.” He walks off with his head hung.

“Izuku, I really don’t care about that. Besides, I want to talk to you so what’re they gonna do about it?” You assure him, picking up your pace to match his.

He stops in his tracks, and he feels heat slowly rushing to his cheeks. His palms started to sweat and he could feel his heart rate rapidly increasing. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous around one person in his life, other than All Might. There’s no way you actually wanted to talk to him.

“Hey.. you good?” You question, concerned. It was evident he was uncomfortable.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, just a little hot, that’s all.”

“Izuku I’m pretty sure we have first period, wanna walk together?” He nods, still wondering why you’re acting this way towards him. Walking through the halls, you get some stares, and some even whisper amongst themselves. You notice it and he notices it, but you ignore them.

The two of you walk into the classroom and greet your teacher, Mr. Aizawa, and attendance is taken. Izuke places his stuff down at an empty seat and you pull up a desk right up next to his. Again, he could feel his heart start to beat a little faster, being in such close proximity with you. Once everyone has sat down, the teacher begins lecturing.

“This shit is so boring, like bro just pass out the work.” You whisper to Izuku, enticing a quiet chuckle from him. The sound of his laugher makes you grin and you struggled to hold back your own giggles.

“Y/N and Izuku.” Mr. Aizawa sighs exhaustedly, already tired of your shenanigans. “Do you have something you’d like to tell the class?”

“N-no, sir. I’m sorry.” You manage to choke out, stifling giggles in between each word.

Mr. Aizawa moves on and soon enough, the work is actually passed out. Izuku gets right to it, but you find that you’re having trouble with the work today. Usually, you were able to fly through each worksheet and have extra time to fool around at the end. You place the pencil down and bring your hands up to your forehead, frustrated.

“Do you need help Y/N? Izuku looks over at you, offering help. Your mocha eyes meet with his deep green ones, and he freezes up. You stare for a moment, admiring his face. He was actually adorable, something you’ve never noticed before. Your breathing hitches, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.

“Yeah.. I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble on this. I feel stupid.” You complain, leaning back in your chair.

“Don’t say that. You’re really smart, Y/N. You just made a little mistake here, and then you can solve it from there.” Izuku refutes your statement, and effortless explains the problem to you like its second nature. His intelligence is incredibly attractive, and so was he, to you at least.

The two of you finish up the worksheet with some free time left at the end. He pulls out his notebooks per usual, this time allowing you to see it aswell. You pick up on some new doodles that weren’t there yesterday, and it amazes you how accurate some of his drawings are.

“Seriously Izuku, you need to teach me how to draw like that.” You say in awe, and he blushes lightly at your comment.

“I’ll teach you anytime.”

The class period ends soon after, and you realize that you don’t have any more classes with Izuku today.

“Damn. Don’t think I’ll see you again today.”

“Seems like it. See you tommorow..?” He asks.

“Or… today. I’d love to hang out with you, outside of school of course.” You’re feeling bold in the moment, but the second the words leave your mouth the nervousness settles in.

“..Me too! I mean, I would like to hang out with you too.” He rephrases, not wanting to come off as too eager.

“Let me see your phone really quick.” Izuku grabs his phone from his pocket, and hands it to you.

After a moment, you hand it back, quickly walking off to your next period class. To his suprise, he sees that you added your number into his phone and named your contact “Y/N!!”

He fumbles with his phone before placing it back into his pocket. All the way to his next class, he’s fidgeting with his hands, nervous. The only girl he’s ever had on his phone was his mother. What is he supposed to do? Should he text you? Or wait for you to text first? He tries to focus on his schoolwork, and it seems he’s calmed down until he feels a slight vibration in his pocket.

“Are you free after school?” The message read.

“Yeah. Wanna come over to mine?” His finger hesitated, hovering over the screen, but he sent the message.

“Kk! I’ll find you after school, we can walk together!” He hearts your text, staring at it for a little longer than he should’ve.

After that, the classes seem to fly by at 2x speed. All he could think about was you, in his house. In his bedroom. Good thing he cleaned it yesterday.

The last bell rings, and you shoot Izuku a text.

“Wya?”

“First floor, I’ll wait by the door for you.”

You catch yourself smiling especially hard and struggle to control your facial expressions. From any other point of view you probably looked crazy, flying down the stairs.

As he promised, he was waiting by the door. The two of you walked out together making your way towards Izuku’s house. All throughout the trip, you guys cracked jokes and learned more about each other. Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all.

Before walking in, you reapply your lipgloss and check your appearance in the camera of your phone. He smiles at you, shaking his head slightly.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“I have to look my best! I want your mom to like me!” He laughs, pulling his key out of the lock and pushing the door open.

“She’s not actually home. She went on a trip but I asked her first if it was okay for you to come over.”

You’re relieved, but for some reason also disappointed..? You place your bag down next to the door along with your shoes. Izuku offers you a snack or drink but you politely decline. You’re a little too nervous you don’t think you can stomach anything right now.

“D-do you want to go to my room.. or we can stay here?” He asks, fidgeting with his hands.

You suggest going to his room and he leads you up there, allowing you to enter first.

“Whoa..” his room is filled with countless posters of All Might and limited edition figurines.

“Sorry, I’ve had them since I was a kid. I hope you don’t find it weird.”

“No, I’m just wondering how you managed to get not one, but all 7 limited edition figures.” You walk around, inspecting each one. He smiled so big at your admiration. He thought for sure you’d make fun of him.

He reached into his backpack, pulled his notebook out, then made his way towards his bed. Of course, you trailed him, flopping onto his bed and laying on your stomach.

“So I like to start with shapes when I draw. Like this.” He sketches a circle.

“And like this.” Then a trapezoid-like shape for the body.

“Izuku I already can’t do that!” You say, and he laughs. The sound of his laughter is so enticing and it makes you laugh. His smile is adorable too.

“I promise it’s really simple!” You watch him sketch in awe, smiling at the thought of him being comfy enough to show you his interests. Your eyes, gravitate to his face, rather than the paper. Subconsciously, you begin counting the freckles on his face.

“Then I-“ all of a sudden, his green eyes meet yours. His cheeks quickly grow pink but you can’t seem to pull away from his gaze. Izuku begins stuttering, and he averts eye contact.

“W-what are you doing.. Y/N?” He manages to spit out.

“Uhm..8?” He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head in confusion at your response.

“That’s how many freckles you have!” You tell him, laying your head on your folded arms.

“Oh. They kinda look weird a little, don’t you think?” He sighs, almost embarrassed to acknowledge them.

“What?! Izuku I think your freckles are the cutest thing ever. They make you look ador-“ You try, but you can’t take back what you’ve already started to say.

“..able” you kick your legs back and forth, refraining from burying your face into his sheets. No way you just said that.. to his face.

“..cute?” He manage to choke out, in a timid tone, hesitating to say the word. You reach out to play with his green hair, fondling each lock that falls gently over his forehead. You could feel you heart race, threatening to burst out of your chest.

“..yeah. And smart, and you have a good sense of humor. And you’re a really good artist.”

“Y/N I’m still stuck on the ‘cute’ part.. if I’m cute then what are you?” Your eyes shift towards his and you could see the genuineness in his expression.

His face was so close to yours you could feel his breath brushing against your cheek. His eyes were slightly lidded, his mouth slightly open. You batted your eyelashes at him, waiting in anticipation. All of a sudden, he felt the blood rush to his face.

And to his crotch.

He’s never felt like this before, nor has he been in such close contact with anyone. You’re so kind, so gentle with him, and you caused that dull ache in between his legs.

You moved in closer, eyes searching his face, inspecting his lips.

“Can I.. kiss you?” You ask.

He nods, and you cup the side of his face with your hand, pulling him in closer. You carefully place your lips on his and caress his cheek. Izuku gasped and closed his eyes, unsure of where to put his hands to prevent making you uncomfortable. You take note of this, and guide his hand onto your waist. He borderline moans, the dull ache becoming a throbbing pain.

You pull away for a second to let the boy breathe, but pull him back in just as quickly. You refrain from using tongue, not wanting to scare him as he seems inexperienced. In the heat of it, you accidently brush your hand over his crotch.

“mm..HNGH” he cried out, folding over into you. You quickly pull back, worried.

“Izuku..? Are you okay?!”

“..’m s-sorry.. I don’t know why.. it’s l-like that.” He’s out of breath, panting, his eyes full of need and desire.

“Oh.. Izuku. It’s because you’re.. aroused? You know?” He looks at you like a deer in headlights, a look of concern written all over his face.

“Do you want me to help you?” You offer.

“O-okay..” The boy lets you take control, following your movements. You roll the heel of your hand against his dick and unsurprisingly, he was hard.

“A-ah..!” His eyes widen and he looks to you for safety. You assure him that he’s okay, and he seems to relax slightly.

You hook your finger onto the waistband of his sweats, gently pulling them down. You do the same with his boxers, releasing his leaking cock. He shivers at the feeling of your hand touching his tip that was overflowing with precum. He’s not huge, but he’s a little bigger than you expected.

“W-what are you doing.. Y/N!?” He whimpers in between each word, gripping onto your shoulder.

“Have you never touched yourself..?” He stares at you, breathing heavily. He feels like his chest is going to explode with the way his heart is beating.

You knew he was inexperienced but you didn’t think he’d never even masterbated. Damn he was really innocent.

You start with soft, gently strokes up and down his dick. Simultaneously, you pepper his freckled-face with kisses, leaving it coated in your signature lipgloss. You trail your nail over his jawline, pulling whimpers and whines from him.

“Y-Y/N… Y/N stop!” He cried. You halted your movements, asking if he’s okay.

“F-feels.. like something’s g-gonna.. gonna come out..” He whimpers, that rising heat in his stomach cooling down.

“Ngh.. but it.. feels s’ g-good. What.. what are you d-doing.. to me..” You pet his cheek and he leans deeply into your touch. His bright eyes have glossed over, tears threatening to falls down his face.

“You were about to orgasm, or cum, Izuku. It’ll make you feel really good. Do you want me to keep going..?”

“P-please.. Y/N.”

Again, you start with slow strokes. Every few, you stop at his pink tip to roll your thumb over the slit. He writhes in pleasure, whimpering, and begging. Begging and begging you for.. he’s not even sure what.

You place your hand on his chest which is rapidly rising and falling. You can’t help but notice the way his eyelids flutter with each stroke of your hand.

“Ngh.. hah..” he whines, like music to your ears.

“C-cum..! G’na cum.. soon..!” He screams out, his grip on your shoulder tightening. You suck at his pale neck, also littered by freckles, and your other hand fondles his heavy balls, causing him to gasp. He was so overwhelmed with the new feeling all he could do was buck his hips up into your hand.

“Y/N! ‘m cum..cumming! ngh..!” He freezes up, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. All of a sudden, you felt the liquid shoot out from his dick.

“so.. s-so sorry.. jus’ w-won’t stop.. a-ah!” He continued to chant apologies like a mantra. The cum dripped down your hand, staining your shirt and the sheets. You tried to help him ride out his high but he just couldn’t.

“P-please.. p-please no more. c-can’t.” Izuku twitched at any sensation he felt on body, he was just so incredibly sensitive.

As he relaxed, what happened starts to really settle in.

“Oh my god, I got it.. a-all over you. I’m so sorry!” He attempts to clean his mess up with his sleeve but just smears it all over.

“S-shit. I just made it worse. Let me go get you a rag o-or som-“ his cheeks and the tips of his ears dust a deep shade of red.

“Izuku, it’s okay. Just relax for a minute. You must be tired, no?” You can tell he’s ashamed, so you try to mitigate his embarrassment.

“Yeah.. I feel like I could fall asleep. T-thank you, Y/N.” He crawls back into the bed, curling up in your arms, falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

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bonefall · 2 months ago

Note

Wow you posted this right as I was reading all abt dishonor titles

Anyway gonna ask now else I will forget again, if you wanted the cats to have like notebooks/sketchbooks,what's the closest thing to use because idk if you think the kitty cats invented ways to make paper

In BB, the cats haven't advanced quite enough to be creating books, but they actually create parchment!

Parchment is essentially super fine, light leather. There's also vellum, made of calf skin, and slunk, made of fetal skin, which are even finer and higher quality.

(I wish I could say which of these that mouse skins would result in, but I have yet to find any record of people even trying to make it out of mouse pelts. So I'm just calling it parchment, until someone, someday, somehow, can confirm if mouse skin is as fine as vellum or slunk.)

As a carnivorous society, they have a LOT of small animal carcasses, and the Kitchen Patrol's job is to make sure every bit of prey is processed... so, every animal is skinned, even if it's just for practice. Hence the abundance of leather.

Interestingly, Clan cats don't really have a "purpose" for parchment. It's just something they make out of prey that was skinned improperly, or which has a skin that's too damaged to make a good pelt. Scraps that would have gone to waste anyway.

Making parchment is especially popular in ShadowClan as a sort of "arts and crafts" thing for kits and apprentices. It requires a chemical bath made out of fermented scraps to soak the skins for a while, so it's essentially a way to introduce children to the ShadowClan Art of never wasting anything.

The Clans will eventually be creating some basic "art" in the near future, and might have a few permanent drawings in personal collections right now, but currently parchment is considered a "plaything." Mostly just used to make crafts, or fold up herbs, or draw on, etc.

(Clan version of kids making slime for funsies)

So if you want to zip ahead and make sketchbooks, make them out of parchment! Another good thing about it is that it can be washed and re-used-- so once your Warrior owns one, there's no stress about constantly making new pages.

(Funfact: you know how some books have straps or weights as decorations? That's a leftover from parchment binding. Parchment "breathes," reacting to moisture, so those decorations were initially made to keep the book pressed flat. They were kept in the switch to paper simply because they look cool.)

#better bones au #clan culture #Parchment

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helluvapoison · 11 months ago

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Please consider: reader that assesses the characters like a YouTube theorist. Takes one look and breaks down their entire mental state and motivations in a 20 minute period. It's not even judgmental, they just are very observant and have no filter. I think it'd be funniest with Alastor, Adam, and Lucifer, but any character with issues works (which is all of them lol).

˚✧₊⁎ Adam ⁎⁺˳✧༚

“I live in your mind rent free, huh?” He smirks, “Look I love talking about me but let’s make it interesting next tim—“

“This is interesting!” You argue with a smile, “You’re a deeply insecure, vindictive man who, despite your morals, miraculously achieved one of the highest honors of the universe as an angel!”

Adam nods like he’s listening with a straight, almost bored, expression. Slowly a hand creeps up, opening and closing like a mouth.

“Humans today would call you an incel.” You finish with glee.

“The fuck is that?”

“An in—“

“Insanely smart guy? Is that it? It is, isn’t it. Yeah, I fuckin’ rock.”

Sighing, you smile and nod in agreement, “You’re pretty cool, Adam.”

He puffs up with extreme delight to hear that coming from you. Whatever else you said went in one ear and out the other; he heard what matters to him. You think he’s cool.

˚✧₊⁎ Lucifer ⁎⁺˳✧༚

“What’s all this?” He asks, hovering over your shoulder as you scribble in your notebook.

“My recent discoveries.”

“Of what?”

“You, of course—“

Lucifer preens. His crimson eyes scan the page to give himself a summary of your findings. Depression leaps out first, making his lips pull into a frown and a pout simultaneously. Something, something, dissociative, don’t know what that means. Distracted, oh that can’t be good…

“Lotta d-words in here,” He chuckles nervously.

You turn slightly and see how far his face has fallen, looking damn near pitiful.

“Well I wasn’t done!” You say reassuringly quick, writing as you speak, “There’s also dependable, doting, devoted, dazzling~”

Lucifer’s mood switches immediately, lighting up over the praise. When he walks away you scribble down that a lot of reassurance is required for him.

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i’m so sorry i couldn’t do alastor, mf is an enigma lol

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel headcanon #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar headcanon #lucifer morningstar imagine #hazbin hotel adam headcanon #hazbin hotel adam imagine #hazbin hotel adam x reader

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harrywavycurly · 5 months ago

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Loving the lonely series and the house fic was amazing. Would be cool to see them talk about their relationship and how their marriage will work like the bedroom situation in the house fic. Your writing is amazing. ♡

Hiiii lovey!! Awe thank you!!! I’m so happy you enjoyed the moving in update!! I hope you enjoy this, I think it’s an important conversation they need to have and also just shows how long they really have known each other so they just communicate as bestfriends still😂💖

-find all things Lonely here✨

CW: Language, talks of kids/wanting kids

A/N: You have some things you want to discuss with Harry and you don’t really care if he’s ready to talk about it or not✨

“Is this where our ten thirty meeting is taking place?” Harry stops typing on his laptop as your voice fills his almost fully unpacked home office, he smiles as he watches you enter the room with your little pink notebook that hasn’t left your side since the two of you got engaged in one hand and your cup of coffee in the other.

“I’m sorry sweetheart I wasn’t aware we had a meeting today?” He quirks a brow at you as you place your coffee down on the top of his desk near the chair he has on the opposite side of the desk as the one he’s currently sitting in.

“Harry we’ve been having coffee together at the same time every Wednesday for over a year.”

“Love that’s not a meeting that’s just our usual coffee date.” You bite back a laugh as you watch Harry shoot you a playful glare as you place your notebook down next to your coffee cup so you can walk around his desk. “I thought I had forgotten about something important.” He lets out a sigh of relief as he looks up at you as he turns in his chair so you’re standing right in front of him, you just roll your eyes as you lean down and place your hands on the arms of his chair.

“Our coffee dates are important.” You argue before you place a kiss to his lips making his hands reach out and hold the sides of your face in an attempt to keep you from pulling away. “But I do want to talk to you about a few things if you have time?” Harry feels himself pout as you pull away from him and stand up causing his hands to fall from your face and into his lap.

“If this is about the seating chart again baby I-”

“It’s not about the seating chart.” You answer with a laugh because you and Harry spent a good two hours the other night over a few glasses of wine going back and forth over the seating chart for the wedding and it ended up with him deciding everyone can just sit wherever they want because he can’t be bothered trying to keep up with who’s not talking to who and who wants to sit by who.

“Thank god.” He mumbles as he turns in his chair so he’s back to facing the front of his desk and presses a few buttons on his laptop before he closes it while you take a seat in the one across from him.

“Do you have time now or should I come-”

“For you my darling,” Harry gives you a smile as he reaches for your cup of coffee making you raise an eyebrow as you watch him bring it up to his lips. “I always have time.” He explains before taking a sip of your drink as you roll your eyes at his cheesiness, something that’s only intensified since he confessed his true feelings to you a few weeks after proposing but you know he’s always enjoyed tossing out lines that make you all blushy and smiley ever since you met him in the kitchen at that house party eleven years ago.

“You’re such a flirt.” You tease as you take your coffee cup from his hands, he just shrugs because you’re not wrong Harry is a naturally flirty person.

“You’re just easy to flirt with.” He says matter of factly as he leans forward in his chair so his forearms are resting on his desk while you take a sip of coffee before placing the cup back down on the desk. Harry watches as you take the pen from the front of your notebook and open it up to a page that has what appears to be a checklist on it but he can’t quite make out what it says before you move the notebook into your lap ending his snooping, the only thing he knows he saw written at the top of the page was ‘marriage ?’s’ so he has an idea of what kind of conversation the two of you are about to have and he’s not exactly sure he’s ready for it.

“I think it’s time we talk about what kind of marriage we want to have.”

“A happy one.”

“Harry I’m being serious.”

“Okay then…a really happy one.”

“Harry.” You send him a warning glare making him just let out a sigh as he leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “I know we will be happy that’s not an issue. I’m just trying to see if we are on the same page with other things that most couples talk about before getting married that’s all.” You know he doesn’t like to have serious conversations, he’s always been good at avoiding them but when he just gives you a nod you know he’s well aware that this has to happen so you look down at your notebook and look at the first thing on your list of questions. “We haven’t talked about money-”

“That’s the first thing you want to discuss? Money? Love that’s the one thing we don’t need to talk about.”

“Excuse me? We do need to talk about it Harry. Just because you’re well off doesn’t mean we don’t need to talk about it.” Harry wants to roll his eyes but he knows that’ll do more harm than good so he stops himself.

“Isn’t it a husband’s duty to take care of his wife and family and all that? So just consider yourself taken care of.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth as he watches your eyes go slightly wide and your jaw clench. The thing is Harry hasn’t ever really known how to talk about money with a significant other because he doesn’t know how to go about explaining he can handle everything and then some without sounding like an asshole, but you’re not just some girlfriend he wants to give a credit card to you’re his bestfriend that he’s set to marry so this is different. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is apologetic as he leans over his desk and holds his hands out for you.

“I know you’re more than capable of taking care of everything.” Harry watches as you reach out and place your free hand in both of his as you stare into his eyes and ever so slightly tilt your head to the left and give him a small smile, a little trick you learned over the years that makes him zero in on whatever it is you’re about to say because he can’t help but give you all his attention as his intense stare travels from your mouth up to your eyes. “But marriage is all about being a team right?” You ask as you begin to gently run your fingertips over Harry’s palms in an attempt to help him relax so this conversation can go smoother, when you see him nod you take that as your cue to continue.

“So you have to let me feel like I’m contributing in some sort of way. I’m not exactly sure how to make that happen but I’m just telling you how I’m feeling about it.” You continue to run your fingertips over his palms and down to his wrists as you speak. “I just want it to feel like we are taking care of things instead of just you.” Harry understands where you’re coming from, he really does so he doesn’t hesitate to offer what he thinks is a simple solution, but in reality it’s one that leaves you with a little bit of anxiety.

“I’ll just add you to my accounts and you can have your paychecks deposited into our main account and we can use that to pay for everything.” You rub your lips together as Harry closes his hands around yours so he can give it a gentle squeeze as he watches a wrinkle form between your brows. “Would that help you feel like we are both contributing to paying for things? Since we will both have money going into it you won’t feel like it’s just mine or yours it will be our account.” You blink a few times as you look at Harry with a far off stare and it’s then that he realizes you’re having a bit of a moment so he just sits there and lets you work it out in your mind, he’s known you long enough to know you’ll fire off any questions or comments when you’re ready and he’ll happily answer or just listen to them.

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Pressure? What do you mean by that lovey?”

“You-you have a lot of money in your accounts Harry and you want me to just walk around with a card that has access to all of it? What if I lose my wallet? What if someone takes my card? What if I accidentally let someone see me type in my PIN number at the checkout and-”

“Baby just take a deep breath for me okay?” He gives your hand another squeeze as your eyes go wide and your cheeks get a little flush as you start rambling off scenarios in which you think you’ll get your card or account stolen from you. “I understand why you’re freaking out and honestly I appreciate that you’re so worried about it but trust me love it’s okay if you lose your wallet or if something happens. There are protocols for things like that and all of them start with just canceling the card and getting a new one. It’s not that big of a deal I promise.” He brings your hand up to his lips so he can place little kisses to your knuckles as he watches you slowly but surely begin to relax a little.

“Besides I’m the one who’s always losing things.” He sees a small smile form on your face as he gives the top of your hand a kiss. “Remember that time in Jamaica when I just left my wallet and phone at a table in the back of that bar we went to every night? I just walked away and I didn’t even notice until the next morning when my alarm didn’t go off.” You let out a small chuckle at the memory making Harry smile, he keeps his hands wrapped around yours as you look away from him and down to the notebook in your lap.

“I think that’s a good idea I just uh-I will just need time to get comfortable walking around with that amount of responsibly in my wallet that’s all.”

“Are you using the word responsibility instead of money? Because sweetheart if it makes you that nervous just use a digital wallet on your phone and you won’t have to worry about a card.”

“Oh so if someone hacks my phone they’ll have everything in one place? I don’t think so Harry.”

“So now you’re worried about someone hacking your phone? Who are you? Laura Croft? Why would someone want to hack into your phone?”

“Please as if you could talk Laura Croft into marrying you.”

“Don’t be mean just because you know I’m right.”

“I’m your fiancé Harry and that’s all the reason someone would need to try to hack me and do weird shit. Don’t act like it’s so far out of the realm of possibility because you know even as just your bestfriend I had people do some odd things.”

“Baby I’m like actually Harry Styles and I’ve never been hacked.”

“That you know of…”

“Moving on…what’s next? Kids? Prenup? Sex?” You roll your eyes as you slip your hand out of his grasp making him let out a huff, you grab your pen and put a check next to the line that says money.

“As far as sex goes we already know we enjoy each other’s company so I don’t think we need to discuss that? Unless you want to?” Harry smirks as he watches you slowly look up at him from your notebook and you just raise a brow at him.

“Oh I always want to discuss sex with you love.” You can’t stop yourself from shaking your head and laughing at him as he playfully wiggles his eyebrows at you. “Anything off the table? Bondage? Daddy-”

“You really need to let the daddy thing go Harry it was one time and I was drunk off tequila so it’s probably never going to happen again.”

“Probably? So you’re saying there’s a chance it could?”

“Speaking of daddy…do you actually want to be one?” Harry knew this question was going to come up eventually he just wasn’t expecting it to make his palms start to sweat and his heart begin to beat a mile a minute because what if you don’t want kids with him? He’s not sure how to answer your question so he just stares at you for a moment. “You don’t have to have an answer now I just know you’ve mentioned before that you want to have kids so I’m seeing if that’s still a thing you want now that you know they’d be with me?” You look down at your notebook again so you can avoid his gaze, all of Harry’s nerves are washed away when he realizes that you aren’t saying you don’t want kids with him you’re saying you don’t know if he’s the one who wants kids with you and that’s an idea he simply can’t let you keep in your head for a moment longer.

Harry pushes his chair back just enough so he can stand up and walk around his desk, he takes your notebook and pen out of your hands and places them on the desk so he can grab the armrest of your chair and turn it so you’re facing him. He kneels down in front of you and he feels his heart drop a bit when he sees your eyes are a bit glassy and your bottom lip is trembling and he knows it’s because you took his moment of silence as him saying he doesn’t want kids with you. You let out a shaky breath as you try to blink away the tears that want to fall as he gently cups your face with both of his hands.

“I’m sorry I don’t-”

“You have nothing to apologize for love.” His voice is soft and gentle as he leans in and places a kiss to your forehead. “I think it would actually be a crime not give the world as many little versions of you as we can.” He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones as he talks, he knows if you weren’t close to a breakdown that you would be laughing at how cheesy he sounds. “But I would also be just as happy with it being just the two of us for the rest of our lives. It’s up to you if we have kids or not baby and it always will be okay? Just know I’m happy either way.” He hears you let out a sigh as you place your hands on his shoulders.

“God why do you always say things like that?” Harry just chuckles as he raises his shoulder in a casual shrug.

“Sorry it’s your love my darling it just does things to me.”

“Oh yeah right my love isn’t that strong.”

“I don’t know baby it’s pretty powerful…it made me agree to let Niall and Gemma plan our honeymoon send off.”

“That had nothing to do with me. They weren’t going to take no for an answer.” You state as you give his shoulders a little pat as he leans in so the tip of his nose is touching yours making you giggle. “I love you.” Harry smiles before he presses his lips against yours in a sweet kiss.

“I love you too.” You smile as he pulls away from you and drops his hands from your face. “Now I think this is enough seriousness for one morning. Let’s go finish unpacking our closets before they really get out of control.” He stands up making your hands fall from his shoulders but he is quick to catch them in his so he can pull you up out of the chair so you’re standing right in front of him, all in one quick motion.

“Oh don’t fool yourself Harry my closet is done it’s all your tour suits and feather things that are out of control.” You argue as he wraps your arms around his middle so he can wrap his around your shoulders pulling you into him.

“You love my feather things.” He mumbles into the top of your head as you rest your cheek against his chest. “And my suits.” He adds as he gives you a squeeze making you let out a giggle. Harry can’t help but smile as he places a kiss to the top of your head, he knows the two of you still have things to discuss but he feels better having a few of the bigger topics out of the way and he knows you do as well and as long as you’re happy and pleased with how this relationship is going then so is he because your happiness is all he finds himself caring about at the moment.

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