#as much as i love my pencil pen.... maybe it's time to go back to the regular pen

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Little pictures for my HTTYD Ninjago au, yknow

[jensthwa]

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 worned 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 an 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 caughts 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 you 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 your 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 its 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 let 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 to touch being 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 saw 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!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 21 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is learning firsthand just how lonely a deployment can be when he's gotten used to talking to you all the time. You are more than happy to record your daily adventures for him, including your steamy ones.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, masturbation, adult language, romantic Bradley, 18+

Length: 3700 words

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

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

Your original plan to commute to work from your apartment in Mira Mesa went out the window after the box from Bradley arrived. Suddenly his place seemed cozier now that there were tidy rows of envelopes from him covering the table in the living room. You sipped a mug of coffee and looked at all of them, selecting the one that said Open me with your class.

"Whatever you say, Bradley," you murmured with a smile, tucking it into your tote bag for work. You missed your kids almost as much as you missed him, but at least you'd finally get to see them today. You just hoped there was something upbeat in the note, because you were going to have to inform them that he'd be gone until Career Day. Or maybe longer.

Opening the note that was meant for you and your class before digging into all the others just felt right. Really, he was a faithful pen pal to all nineteen of you, even if his current letters were pre-written. As you drove to work, you wondered how long it would take your students to ask about Bradley. Turns out, it didn't take too long at all.

You were standing behind your desk, getting hugs from some of the kids as they got reacquainted with each other and the classroom for the first time in almost two weeks when Jayden asked, "What did you get Lieutenant Bradshaw for Christmas?"

Images of lingerie danced in your head as you cleared your throat. "Stationery," you replied. "So he can write us letters while he's deployed."

"He's deployed?" asked Nia, face lighting up. "With Marty?"

"Can we do another drawing contest with him?" shouted Oliver, already getting colored pencils out of his desk.

"Will you ask if he's allowed to take a video while he's flying this time?" Violet asked calmly.

"Actually," you replied, walking slowly to the front of the room with a single envelope in your hands, "we can't do any of those things. He's not allowed to communicate with anyone who isn't on the aircraft carrier this time around. If he writes to us, he'll have to save the letters until he returns."

Everyone stared blankly at you. 

Jackie raised her hand. When you pointed to her, she said, "But we're not like random people. We're students of aviation. We're his pen pals."

"Yeah!" came a chorus of voices, and you were half tempted to write up a petition to the Navy for all of them to sign.

You had to clap your hands and wait for them to clap in response after they all quieted down again. "I have a note that he wants me to open with you. Should we do that now?"

After literally everyone agreed that was a good idea, you opened it and found a handwritten link to a YouTube video followed by a short note that you read out loud.

"Greetings, Fourth Graders,

By the time you read this, it will be January, and I'll be on an aircraft carrier in the Atlantic Ocean for a seven week deployment. I'm sure your lovely teacher has explained that sending and receiving letters is sadly not a possibility for me right now. I'm going to need you to keep track of all your questions about aviation until I get back for Career Day next month. I'll bring some of my friends along, and we can answer them for you then. Sound good?

Make sure you listen to your teacher, and I'll see you all in February.

Yours Truly,

Lieutenant Bradshaw"

You looked up from the notecard and added, "He also included a link to a YouTube video. Should we check it out now?"

It was actually amazing how quietly they all sat in anticipation while you set up your projector and typed out the link. When you turned out the lights, you had to grab onto the edge of your desk as Bradley's face and voice filled your classroom, even though he wasn't actually there. The twenty minute video began with him sitting on his living room couch in his worn out jeans and the Top Gun shirt you wore to bed last night, and you realized he must have filmed this on Christmas Eve when you were out with Natasha.

"Hi, everyone," said video Bradley as he waved to his phone camera. "I thought I would try my hand at a little lesson on aviation so your teacher could get a break. Make sure you take notes. There will be a quiz the next time I see you."

All of your students were watching him with rapt attention and pencils poised over their notebooks. Bradley kept them engaged and entertained while you fell even more in love.

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

"What the fuck?" Bradley groaned as he sank down into an empty spot on one of the long benches in the mess hall. The spaghetti looked like mush, but his stomach was growling so aggressively, he decided to take a bite anyway. It tasted just as bad as it looked, and he grimaced as he started to shovel it into his mouth anyway.

What he wouldn't give for dinner at Salvatore's. Mouthwatering pasta. Expensive as hell wine. You in a short little dress with his hands all over your thighs. Maybe Bronco parking lot sex.

Instead he got another USS Gerald R. Ford meal which was barely edible, and a view of a very hairy Atlantic Fleet aviator with the call sign Curly. Fantastic. Even the garlic bread was so stale it was hard to chew, but if he didn't eat, he would start losing weight. And if he started losing weight, it would make working out harder, which would suck, because going to the gym was his main source of entertainment.

Other than writing letters he couldn't send.

"Are you gonna finish that?" Curly asked, pointing at the roll Bradley only bit the corner of.

"It's all yours, man," he replied, watching the other aviator pick it up and crunch on it with a smile. 

Bradley picked up his tray with the intention of heading to his bunk to change into gym clothes, but when he got there, he collapsed onto the twin sized bed instead. It was clear that he'd only been brought along for this deployment to fly one very specific mission, because as a whole, the Atlantic Fleet pilots were young and green. But as a result of the current political climate, he had internet access completely taken away from him, and he was stuck here for five more weeks with nothing to keep him sane. He didn't even have Marty this time around. Just the pretty stationery set you gave him and the holiday cards from your students.

So he would do what he always did now. He would write. To all nineteen of you. But mostly to you. He realized, like he always did, that this was probably the most boring shit that anyone would ever read. How many times could you really read about your boyfriend telling you that he loved you and missed you. It wasn't like he was writing elegant poetry here.

Gorgeous, I miss you so much. You'd cry if you saw the spaghetti I had to eat for dinner. First thing I'm doing when I get home (besides you) is driving us to Salvatore's, and I won't stop eating until I pass out. The Atlantic Fleet food makes the Pacific Fleet cabbage rolls seem like a delicacy, and the US fucking Navy can quote me on that. 

I love you. I wish you knew I was coming back to you instead of Norfolk. I wish I could ask you to use the credit card in my sock drawer to fully stock the refrigerator before I get home. The only things I want to do for three solid days after I arrive back in San Diego are eat, sleep, and fuck my girlfriend.

Definitely not poetry. "Was my writing this shitty last time around?" he murmured to himself with a laugh. It couldn't have been if you kept responding to him for the duration of that deployment. Just thinking about your letters, both professional and personal, made him ache right now. Your emails and your sassy selfies and the sunset photos were things he didn't even know he had been taking for granted.

One letter from you now would have made everything so much better. With a deep sigh, Bradley changed to head to the gym.

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

Time passed slowly. Packing up and moving boxes of your things from Mira Mesa to Coronado helped, but you were a little too nervous to unpack too much other than the necessities. You didn't even want to think about that right now. All you wanted to do was plan your next visit to the wine bar with Natasha so you felt a little less lonely. 

As you hung the framed blueprint of the Super Hornet Bradley gave you in the living room, you realized he would have to be lonelier than you were. At least you had Jayden's tales of Vanessa the dog to make you laugh during the work day. And you went out to dinner with some of your friends you hadn't seen recently. And you had a never ending text thread with Natasha now. 

There was a pretty good chance Bradley didn't know anyone on this deployment, and you wondered if he was spending a lot of time in the gym. What you wouldn't give for a gym selfie. You collapsed onto the couch and scrolled through the images of your boyfriend that you had saved to your phone.

"God," you moaned. He was so hot. Especially in front of a sunset. Especially with your lipgloss smudged on his cheek. Especially when he was looking at you in his arms instead of at the camera. "Fuck."

When someone knocked on the door, you nearly fell off the couch. Your eyes caught on the envelopes from Bradley that you hadn't yet opened lined up on the coffee table as you walked across the room. The last time you had an unexpected visitor, it was Natasha. The time before that, it was Vanessa. You didn't know who to expect, but you squared your shoulders and pulled the door open with an abundance of attitude only to find a slightly hunched over older woman standing there.

"Oh!" you said, immediately softening your stance. "What can I do for you?"

She looked from you to the Bronco in the driveway and then back again. "Is Bradley home?"

"No, he's not," you told her, unsure about how much information to give. "Is there something you need?"

She eyed you carefully. "Are you his girlfriend? The teacher he fell in love with?" This stranger knew who you were. When you gave her a concerned look and took a step away from her, she said, "I'm Edith. I live next door. Sometimes Bradley helps me with yard work and repairs around my property." She smiled and added, "He only lets me pay him in piano lessons."

"Edith!" You told her your name with a smile. You knew exactly who she was, because the first time Bradley wrote to you about getting piano lessons from his retired neighbor, you fell halfway in love with him on the spot. "Right, of course! Bradley is actually deployed for a few more weeks." She looked immediately dejected, so you asked, "Did you need help with something?"

"I don't want to bother you with it," she said immediately.

"Please," you replied, already reaching for your shoes. "I'm so bored without Bradley around. I would absolutely love a distraction, Edith."

She wrung her hands and then held them up. "Well, I can't change my light bulbs, because my arthritis is bad this time of year when it gets chilly out. And my back patio is so dark at night, I can't see anything."

"Say no more," you told her, joining her on the porch and closing the door behind you.

It only took you a few minutes to change the exterior light bulbs and rearrange her patio furniture. Then you cocked your head to the side and asked, "Is something beeping?"

Edith sighed. "My smoke detector needs new batteries."

"I'm on it."

She led you inside the sliding glass door, into her kitchen where the beeping was annoying enough that you didn't know how this woman could have slept in the house unless her hearing was starting to slip. Edith told you where you could find a step ladder and new batteries, and once you finished that chore, she started digging around in her purse, pulling out five dollars.

"Thank you for your help," she said, trying to hand it to you as you walked past the piano with the step ladder.

"I am absolutely not accepting your money, Edith. This was the most entertaining part of my day. As long as your arthritis allows it, you can pay Bradley in extra piano lessons when he returns." 

The idea of Norfolk suddenly made you feel anxious, but Edith smiled. "Oh, he's an advanced student. He mostly just plays from memory. I only point out when he's flat instead of sharp."

You weren't sure how long it had been since Bradley checked in with her, but as long as he was allowed to come back to San Diego, you'd make sure he did it more often. "I'll send him over as soon as he gets back."

Edith smiled knowingly. "Something tells me he's not going to want to leave your side right when he gets back. But maybe after a day or two, you could send him over?"

"I'll do that," you told her with a chuckle.

After you walked back across the yard and let yourself inside, you kicked off your shoes and decided to treat yourself with one of Bradley's notes. You'd been trying to ration them, but they were all so tempting. The ones you had already opened were stacked up on the kitchen counter where you could easily find them to read them again and again. You took a few seconds to decide which one felt right, and you settled on Open me when you need a laugh.

Inside the envelope, you found no note at all. There was just one photo, and when you pulled it out, you burst into laughter. Natasha was right; twenty-two year old Bradley was endearingly skinny and mustache-less. He still wore that same grin today, but he really grew into his frame. You marveled over how fresh his scars looked in the picture, deciding to hang it up in the bedroom for now. 

And when you woke up on Sunday, the photo was the first thing you saw.

You reached for your phone thinking you could text Bradley before tossing it aside in frustration. You were frustrated in every way. Mentally and emotionally, but also physically. You missed sleeping next to him most nights. You missed his warmth and the way he kissed you. His strong body and attentive hands.

When you tried to burrow down under the covers in just his sweatshirt to go back to sleep, your skin felt like it was charged. Like there was an undercurrent of need that nothing would soothe except for Bradley.

Open me when you're in bed

That's what one of the envelopes said. You bit your lip before burying your face in Bradley's pillow and moaning. The need was still there, more palpable by the second. You had about an hour before Natasha was supposed to pick you up for brunch and the wine bar; it was the perfect time to read that note.

You ran down the hallway to the coffee table, grabbed the envelope, and took it straight back to bed. Your curiosity had been gnawing away at your mind over what could be in the note meant for the quiet solitude of the bedroom, and now was your chance to find out as you slipped back under the covers.

Gorgeous,

You better be in our bed right now. Maybe you just got home from work. Maybe you're still waking up for the day. Maybe you're ready to fall asleep soon, but you just need something to take the edge off. It doesn't matter, as long as you're thinking about me and my hands all over your body. I hope you're ready to read about how I would take care of you right now.... in an abundance of detail.

You moaned as you looked around the room, wide-eyed like someone was going to catch on to what he had written to you. Desire flared inside you as you squeezed your thighs together and took a few deep breaths before continuing to read.

You're beautiful inside and out. It's no surprise that you really get me going. One thought about the soft swell of your ass or the way you taste when you cum is enough to get me seriously hard. Jerking off while thinking about you is fantastic, but nothing compares to the real thing. Next time I see you, we're taking our time to get reacquainted, but right now, if I could have you, it would be fast and dirty.

"Oh god," you groaned, closing your eyes as you pushed his sweatshirt up, letting cool air meet your warm skin. Then your hand slid down to the apex of your thighs, and you weren't at all surprised to find you were wet.

You look sinful in that bed. I just know it. I wouldn't be able to keep my hands off you. My lips would find your breasts before sampling my way down your belly to that soaking wet pussy. When I say every inch of your body is Gorgeous, I mean it. You've got such a tight, pretty little pussy, and I would love to tease you until you're so worked up, you're practically crying. Just my mouth and fingers until you're begging for my cock, Gorgeous. Go ahead. Beg for it.

"Bradley," you moaned softly, a complete mess for your boyfriend even when he wasn't with you.

Good girl. Now touch yourself just how I'd touch you. Rub yourself just right. Use two of those fingers to warm yourself up and then dip them down inside that perfect pussy. So fucking tight, you drive me insane when I can't be with you. I'd be right above you, singing your praises, telling you how much I love you, and pumping my fingers in and out of that pussy while you whine and beg.

This note was absolutely lethal. You were already close. Sweat beaded on your brow as you stroked your fingers along your clit before pumping them inside you. His name was never far from your lips as you kept reading.

You taste so fucking sweet. I'd run my tongue everywhere until you couldn't stand it. I would eat your pussy until you cum in my mouth. I'd keep going until I couldn't handle how badly I needed you. Then I'd fuck you so hard and fast, you'd have tears in your eyes, voice ragged as my body slapped against yours. Tits bouncing as I bottomed out, holding you in place as I came inside you. And then I would let you know that I'm yours.

I'm all yours, Gorgeous. You absolutely own me.

You were panting, grinding the heel of your hand against your clit as you came. Bradley's note fell from your fingers as your back arched off the bed, and you grabbed the sheet as you cried out. You could hear something familiar mingling with your own voice, but it took you a second to realize your phone was ringing as you writhed around in bed, heart pounding fast from your orgasm. You rolled onto your belly and grabbed your phone as you sucked air into your lungs.

Natasha Trace

Shit. Shit. You tried to get your breathing under control as you answered her call, but you even sounded strange to your own ears as you said, "Hello?"

There was a pause before Natasha asked, "I'm leaving now, and I might stop for a fancy coffee on my way to get you. Do you want something?"

"Sure!" you replied, trying your best to sound casual, but pretty sure you were failing.

"I'll be there soon."

You dropped your phone and reached for the journal instead to let Bradley know just how hard you came for him before you got dressed for the day. 

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

"Bradshaw!"

It felt like an almost foreign concept for Bradley to hear his name now. Essentially nobody spoke to him outside of his mandatory meetings, and he'd spent so little time in a cockpit over the last few weeks, he spun around in surprise when someone called him.

Of course it was Admiral Walker. Bradley wasn't sure if he was being punished for what Cyclone had done, but he was hardly given any flight tasks to work on. But now that his deployment was starting to wind down, he realized the danger he was going to be flying into for his mission was much more than he originally anticipated.

"Admiral Walker, Sir?" he replied, saluting his superior officer. He wasn't looking to ruffle any more feathers here as long as it meant he'd be going home to you before too long. He felt sick with longing, missing you so much, especially at night, that he hurt until he was finally able to fall asleep. And then he'd wake up to the same choking feeling all over again the following day.

The older man examined him closely for a few beats before saying, "The weather looks ideal for tomorrow. You're team leader. Be ready to go at first light."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, because there was really nothing else to say. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return home to his house in Coronado where you lived now. Where you were waiting for him. He just needed to get through this safely.

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

I hate how isolated he feels. He's not thriving. He's not even eating well. He needs a hug. Gorgeous is enjoying the box of letters even is she is missing him terribly. I think I'll send him home soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 22

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@furiousladyking

@godsfavoritebabe

@bethabear12

@halo-mystic

@sherlockstrangewolf

@theamuz

@khaylin27

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Ethan is trying to do work and the reader distracts him which turns into more. Just Ethan being flustered and trying to focus while reader teases him. 🤗

I've done a version of this with Mindy

Warnings: nudity, teasing

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Did you see my green highlighter?’’

‘’No. I have a blue one, here.’’ You fished it from your pencil case, but Ethan didn’t take it.

‘’I can’t use blue.’’

‘’I have pink, yellow and orange if you prefer—’’

‘’No. That’s not what I meant. I have a color code. Green is for the things I understand, blue is for what I don’t understand and the glittery gel pen is for underlining things that I think are gonna be in the exams.’’

Fondness filled your stomach. He was so precious and nerdy at the same time. You reached across the bed to grab the collar of Ethan's henley and kissed him sweetly.

‘’Eh…what was that for?’’ Ethan asked, a little dumbfounded. ‘’I love your kisses, it’s just that we really need to study—’’

‘’You are such a nerd.’’ You kissed him again, lingering your lips on his. ‘’But I love you.’’

Ethan’s cheeks flushed the cutest shade of pink. ‘’I love you too.’’

You went back to studying, reading pages of textbooks until your eyes burned. Why was there so much to read in econ? Maybe you should switch majors?

‘’Have you read the chapter about taxation?’’ Ethan asked, a pen in one hand and a highlighter in the other. ‘’My mind is literally going to explode from the amount of information.’’ His eyes were fixated on his textbook, concentrated on what he was reading.

A breath of air left your lips. ‘’I have not. Sorry.’’ You ran a hand through your hair, flicking through pages with your other. ‘’I’m like…two chapters behind.’’

Ethan snapped his head up. ‘’Two?! What have you been doing all this time? Mrs. Coleman is gonna question us about these chapters next lesson.’’

He was right, but you had been studying for over three hours and nothing was sticking to your brain anymore. Your learning batteries were full for today. Maybe you’ll bring your textbook to your shift at the campus library tomorrow. Thursday afternoons are always quiet.

Before you, Ethan had returned to his reading, pen cap between his teeth while he was underlining long paragraphs. Sometimes, you wished he wasn’t so serious during study dates. School was important, but it doesn’t mean you can’t take a few makeout breaks.

You tried getting back to reading, but the words were not sticking. So you threw a paperclip at Ethan. It hit his chest and you grinned amusedly.

‘’Hey! Stop throwing shit at me,’’ he scolded, throwing it back at you.

‘’Let’s take a break.’’

Ethan shook his head. ‘’Can’t. I have another chapter to read and then I’m meeting with a study group.’’ He checked the time on his phone, making sure he wouldn’t be late.

A study group? You thought you were going out for late dinner at the café right outside campus. They have this new breakfast all day menu and you couldn’t wait to have waffles for dinner.

You pouted in disappointment. Guess there won’t be any waffles tonight…

‘’Can we at least cuddle before you go?’’ you asked, impatient to wrap your whole body around Ethan like a koala and kiss his face while he holds you back with his strong arms.

Your question was left pending and you were tempted to chuck a pillow at the curly haired nerd before you — but you didn’t. Instead, you took advantage of focused attention and removed your shirt and bra without him noticing. You felt a shiver up your spine when the cool air of Ethan's dorm hit your warm skin, causing your nipples to peak.

Ethan was addicted to your tits. Maybe he’ll put down his textbooks for a few minutes.

‘’This part is really important. Do you think we should make flashca—’’ Ethan cut himself and you heard him make a little noise, his bambi eyes falling on your breasts exposed right before him. The pen he was holding fell from his grasp and you smirked.

You felt the weight of Ethan’s eyes on you, all the information he just read suddenly swept away. ‘’What is it you were saying?’’ You let your hand crawl up his jeans-covered thighs and a swallow bobbed its way over his adam's apple when you almost reached his crotch. ‘’Cat’s got your tongue, love?’’

Ethan opened his mouth to speak, but your hand was getting higher and higher. A whimper slipped from his lip when you reached your desired spot, feeling him growing stiff beneath your palm. It’s so good to tease him.

He reached for your breasts, his palms enclosed over them, kneading into them as his eyes lit up like a kid in a candy store.

You sighed in pleasure, grazing your fingers along Ethan’s jaw. ‘’How many chapter do you have left again?’’ 

—

Scream taglist: @misfityanii @beautybyfire @iluvscream191 @mariposa555 @bella7866 @o638 @lulubelle14 @luvvtxinityy @frasersgf  @Eddiefrickenmunson @jasperr-the-friendly-ghost @ghostf4cee @thesebitcheslovesosadotcom @wandaswigglywoos @xjennyx2 @jennasslut @thatonesblog  @mikaelsonsstuff @icarly23 @tcddszn  @bt.oliana

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz

[stoutguts]

ADHD/neurodivergent 🧼 (💀🧼 too bc why not/it's my comfort ship and I love them)

(chock full of my own personal HCs and ideas, also mental health stuff/issues/problems heyo)

I am most definitely all for autistic Ghost, but what about ADHD brain/neurodivergent Soap? I've seen few people talk about this or explore it so here we go.

Like, even though Johnny's generally laid back, he still tends to be very hyper or high-strung. Maybe even overwhelming for some people, and is easily excited almost like a puppy (golden retriever Soap my beloved), (Ghost thinking it's literally the cutest thing ever). Bro has either the attention span of a nat or is so hyper-focused on something he forgets to blink.

He has APD (auditory processing disorder),—and will ask you to repeat yourself 15+ times before he finally understands what your saying. This is incredibly frustrating for him, but like Price will lose his shit, because having to repeat himself is like one of his pet peeves lmao. Same thing, with Yuri.

Even Ghost and Gaz get fed up with him on occasion. Though Roach doesn’t give a fuck because they’re just as ADHD as him, and just loves to talk, plus their echolalia helps to sort things out lots of times. Gaz will give him the silent treatment and refuse to talk to him. Usually when Simon finally gets irritated with him it's lead to a fight. But it isn't long before Ghost feels bad and apologizes, and reassures him saying "I know you can't help it". Simon tries to work on learning to be more patient specifically for him. 💕

He does the same things that Simon does to stim, (though particularly pacing and bouncing his leg). But he also likes to chew on everything, whether it’s a pen/pencil, a cap off a water bottle or other plastic drink bottle—(This pisses off Simon in particular, and they’re always scolding him about how he’s gonna end up choking on it. Not to mention, he always leaves the nasty ass, spit-covered things around and forgets to throw them away after he’s done with one. Either leaving Ghost to pick up after him much to his disgust, or forcing Johnny to throw his own shit away, (as he should). If he gets ahold one of those spiky silicone balls from an arcade machine he likes to bite the nibs on it, etc. Simon has even bought him some chewlery because he orally stims so much, to which Soap uses all the time and was overjoyed when Ghost first got it for him. Though his chewlery needs to constantly be replaced because Johnny has unusually strong and sharp teeth. It’s not uncommon for him to completely destroy shit that he gets his paws on. Simon often comparing him to a dog or a teething puppy.

I am also totally for Johnny being just as mentally fucked as Ghost.

He’s the four b's, bisexual, bipolar, bilingual, and a bitch.

Like Simon, Johnny has generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), for similar or for maybe even the same reasons as Ghost. Not nearly to the same level of severity, but panic attacks and flashbacks do happen on occasion. As with certain things he's easily triggered.

He also struggles with bipolar disorder and/or severe manic depression. His bipolar tendencies making it incredibly difficult to maintain relationships in his youth, among many other things, (his past drug abuse/addiction only making him worse and more unstable). Though these days he’s medicated and for the most part stable, only sometimes going off his meds, (particularly when he relapses or is heavily triggered by something).

No therapist has ever been able to help Soap, though he does see a psychiatrist regularly.

Mostly for anti-psychotics and other prescription refills and the like, but can vent as much as he likes to them. Either that, or Simon doesn't mind lending an ear to listen when he needs it.

Similar to Ghost, Johnny can have very low self-esteem, but can also be of very high self-esteem, (it fluctuates due to his manic depression). And Simon is more than willing to give him reassurance and comfort, but equally doesn't mind knocking him off his high-horse, and/or, taking down his ego a few pegs if need be. (Which isn't so bad, as Johnny just so happens to have a degradation kink). >:3

Johnny is a highly reserved person, (though he’s able to put on a mask/a show for other people and strangers), and pretty stoic (all things considered), due to his traumatic upbringing. He has a very unhealthy habit of bottling up his emotions until he quite literally explodes, though he's trying to get better about that. But he can’t help but genuinely let his guard down, and has LEARNED to let his guard down around Ghost, the 1-4-1, and his sisters (the most important people in his life).

This tidbit has less to do with mental health and rather his personality but I still wanted to include it here so…

Soap is highly perceptive and emotionally intelligent. You can't hide anything from him as he can always tell when someone's lying to him, and he always knows when something's wrong. A true empath. He's also a very good liar himself because of this, but he uses this secret power responsibly, and would never lie to those closest to him and/or his loved ones.

All members of the 1-4-1 having highly specific phobias? Yes please.

As for Johnny…

He is deathly afraid of needles and hospitals (Trypanophobia and Nosocomephobia), because when he was growing up and as a young kid he was quite sickly, and often was in and out of the hospital. He's immunocomprised and gets sicks all the time, most of the time nowadays when he gets sick it's just a small cold, with the occasional illness that may put him out of commission for a bit—Simon always doting over him and making sure he’s okay when he even so much as senses he’s got a runny nose—Johnny finding it incredibly endearing, but when he was a child it was horrible. When he was hospitalized he'd suffer at the hands of doctors and nurses much too often, going through one too many traumatic experiences. Mostly, because of incompetence or just straight up apathy. Getting his IV done is the worst, because he's cursed with almost non-existent and small veins. Oh so jealous, of Ghost's huge and bulging veins. Someone will stick him upwards of 10 times or more, or until his arms are swollen, until they finally get it right usually. Not to mention, Johnny also has Hemophilia, and so he bleeds a lot which only makes it even more distressing. Soap specifically underwent medical and first-aid training, just so he could avoid going to medical himself as much as possible. His medical knowledge and training has happened to pay off lots of times in the field, for himself or for his teammates or squad’s sakes. Despite his aversion, he's not squeamish at all when it comes to mending his own wounds, or others weirdly enough. Even if he's severely injured he refuses to go to medical. Simon used to get really mad at him for this, because of not only his stubbornness, but seemingly his cockiness was what really pissed him off. And they know Johnny’s skills only go so far, and he's immunocomprised and a hemophiliac for crying out loud. Eventually Ghost confronted him about this, and after Soap explained everything it was a lot more understanding and sympathetic. Though it didn’t change the fact that it will borderline harass him if he’s seriously hurt and won’t go help himself, or just straight up force him to go to medical. Johnny always protests but ultimately he gives in, and Simon makes sure to give him emotional support and stay with him when he needs patched up.

Thank you for reading my ramblings, next post will be about my take on Ghost, his mental health, his autism, etc, probably!

[sunsetkerr]

ON MY TABLE | s.kerr

summary: you're the new physio for chelsea and a certain striker seems to be needing more sessions that usual [1.9k words]

pairing: physio!reader x sam kerr

notes: physio!reader I love you so much xxxx

“MILLIE, YOU ACTUALLY HAVE to do your exercises for your knee to feel better, you know that right?”

“oh, you’re so funny. you know that?”

millie gave you a little shove before opening the door to your office, swinging the door.

“i’ll report you to HR if you don’t watch it, bright” you used your pen to point over at millie before jotting down some minor notes about your session.

“oh, ha ha” she chuckled, “see you, y/n.”

you chuckled, signing off today’s papers and getting ready to file them. you had no more players booked in for the day and were ready to file your reports and head home. it was getting hot in london, the air conditioning in your office was the only thing keeping you sane.

“hey doc,” 

well.. not the only thing.

“sammy k,” you smiled looking up at her. she was leaning against the doorframe in her training shorts, her drink bottle in your hand. “to what do i owe the pleasure-“ you stood up from your desk, grabbing her file which was on top of your pile- “for the.. fifth time this week?” you asked her. “it’s only wednesday, sam”.

she looked down at the carpet with a shy laugh before walking into your office and taking a seat up on your massage table. “it’s just my calf,” she winced a little bit reaching for it, “it’s still really tender, i was just wondering if you could have a quick look at it again before you head off.”

you would’ve bought it if she hadn’t said the same thing twice already that week. sam was becoming a part of the furniture in your office, always dropping in before or after practice. on game days, she had you give her a rub down on her thighs and calves before kick-off. she swore that you were her lucky charm, having kicked a goal in every game that you worked on her for. 

“okay, sam” you took a deep breath, crouching down so you could feel her muscle, “let’s have a look”.

she couldn’t help herself but watch you as you worked. ever since you had joined the team at chelsea last month, sam was enamoured by you. the way you carried yourself was so attractive to her in a way that she can’t describe. a few of the girls had caught wind of her frequent physio trips, a few worried for her, a few teasing her instead. her small crush didn’t go unnoticed by her close friends. guro constantly blowing up their groupchat with small digs at sam. 

“it’s not feeling too tight which is a good thing,” sam watched the way that your eyebrows furrowed together as you felt her calf, “is it better or worse than the last time i saw you?”

“about the same,” she shrugged, lying to you. “i just wanted to see if it was anything to worry about,” another lie. her calf was fine, it hadn’t played up for the last few weeks, she was actually on a really good run with it. she was chalking it up to you working with her. 

“it’s not too concerning,” you looked up at her for a few seconds before standing back up, “we’ll keep an eye on it though if it keeps giving you grief.”

“okay,” she nodded, “thanks, y/n”

“you’re very welcome,” you smiled, “is there anything else i can help you with while i’m here?”

“uh,” she rolled her lips, blowing out a deep breath, “maybe we could book in a session tomorrow? or in the next few days before the game?” she tilted her head. you never expected sam to be a shy person, you saw her with her teammates, always loud and boisterous. but in here, she always seemed nervous to speak or to say the wrong things. “just wanna cover everything before the game,” she gave you a tight lipped smile.

chelsea was playing arsenal on saturday, you knew the entire team was nervous for this game. maybe this was why sam had been in your office so often.

“course,” you nodded. “let me put it in my calendar,” you sat back down at your desk and grabbed your calander, pencilling in ‘sammy k’ just after jessie. “i’m free after prac, just have a session with jessie beforehand,” you looked back up at her. 

“yeah, yeah. whenever works for you works for me,” she smiled, you noticed her few front crooked teeth as they peaked out of her smile. you rested your head in your hands, realising only now how tired you were.

“so i’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled at sam as best you could.

“yeah.. yeah, tomorrow”

you saw sam four more times that week, once on thursday for your session and three times on friday. to her credit, you only ran into her in the parking lot on friday morning. so she thought she was showing some level of restraint, publicly at least- she wouldn’t tell anyone that she was waiting for you to pull into the car park so she could chat with you for a few minutes. 

the striker had started to win you over. she was getting more comfortable in your sessions and you were finally starting to see the side of sam you saw when she was with others. it was a nice thing to see, you admired it. you started looking forwards to her dropping by or messaging you calf updates, selfies of her doing her exercises at home- claiming she’s your best client… which she was quickly approaching the title of. 

it was halftime during the arsenal game, 0-0 so far. you headed towards the changerooms, bringing some more pre-wrap done for the girls who wanted it, and so you could check on lauren’s shoulder. you burst through the doors, not watching where you were going or what you were walking in on. 

when you looked up you saw sam changing her sports bra, fabric over her head, her boobs on full display. 

“oh my god!” you quickly turned away, shielding your eyes to give her some privacy, “i am so so sorry,” you apologised. sam quickly pulled her bra down, apologising as she pulled you into a hug. 

millie laughed from her locker, “she changes her bra every halftime, y/n. this is nothing new, you’ve finally lost your v-card of seeing sams tits.” other girls in the changeroom laughed along as you were still stood shocked. 

“sorry, y/n” sam shot you apologetic glance. your heart began to beat faster, her holding you close to her chest not helping your palpatations. you took a step back and left sam’s embrace.

“your changeroom, not mine” you nervously chuckled, “you don’t need to apologise to me”. you quickly handed off the prewrap you brought to sam, before turning around to leave.

“uh, y/n-“ lauren called for you.

“yep!” you turned back around, “sorry.” ignoring your awkward moment with sam and heading over to check lauren. 

you avoided eye-contact with sam for the rest of the time in the change room, leaving as quickly as you came. the girls lost unfortunately, a goal from caitlin foord in the final minutes putting the game to rest. 

as the chelsea girls finished up their post-game chat in the changerooms, you picked up your stuff that had been scattered around by the players- ready to bring it back to your office for recovery tomorrow. the players headed to the showers, one by one, sam being the last one left. it was just you and her.

she could tell that you weren’t going to speak to her, too embarrassed of what happened earlier. it didn’t faze sam, she changed her sports bra every halftime, right after brushing her hair out. half of the chelsea staff had seen her topless, but it was different now that it was you- she knew this wasn’t something you could brush off instantly. 

she was going to have to make you talk to her. sam took a deep breath before pushing herself up off her bench.

���agh!” she winced, clutching at her calf. your head shot her way and you were soon crouched down in front of her. “shit,” sam hissed.

“you okay? you pull it?” you grabbed her calf and took the pressure off of her, holding it close to you. 

“fuck,” sam sighed, a pained expression on her face, “i don’t know, i just tried to get up and it twinged.”

you suddenly felt bad for thinking sam had been putting in on all week. the possibility of her putting it on just to see you sounded too good to be true, and by the looks of things- it was. you helped sam onto her feet and walked her into your office, her arm around your neck to support herself. 

you grabbed out some off your oil and told sam to lay on her tummy. you couldn’t feel any major pull in the muscle as you rubbed it down. you tried to stay somewhat gentle for sam, but she didn’t seem to be reacting to your touch anymore. almost as if she had miraculously recovered.

“i can’t feel anything too strained,” you walked to the front of your table, so you meet her gaze. “how is it feeling?” you asked.

sam pushed herself up and sat properly to look at you, “doesn’t hurt anymore, you must’ve fixed me” she chuckled. you paused for a second before sighing at sam.

“you’re a world class actor, you know that right?”

she broken out into a laugh, “i should’ve got an oscar for that”.

“you had me,” you shook your head with a deep breath, leaning against your desk. “you’re something else, sam.”

“in a good way?” she asked hesitantly.

“some days,” you nodded.

sam wavered before speaking, “i’m sorry ive been taking up so much of your time, y/n.”

you looked up to her from your crossed arms and met her brown eyes. “so, your calf isn’t sore?” you asked her, eyebrows raised.

she slowly shook her head, “guilty”.

sam was surprised when you sighed out in relief. “okay good, because i have been trying to think of ways to tell emma that her star striker couldn’t go a day without visiting my office,” you chuckled, “not a conversation i want to have with her.” 

“you’re not mad?” sam asked.

“no, sam” you shook your head. “i don’t mind having you in here,” you admitted, “i quite enjoy your company actually.” sam couldn’t help but take notice of the flirty smirk that had made its way onto your lips.

she hopped down from your table and took a step closer to you. “oh yeah?” she raised her eyebrows, a cocky grin making its presence known.

“yeah,” you shrugged, “you’re alright.. i mean you’re no erin cuthburt, but..” you smirked.

“oh wow,” sam nodded at you. the space between you both was beginning to close, weeks of unspoken tension finally coming to boil over. “that was a low blow, even for you” she said.

“even for me?” you asked.

“even for you,” she nodded.

“hmm, you’re gonna be demoted from favourite client sam”

“oh, so i am your favourite?”

“you could be,” you smirked.

“and how could i make that happen?” 

“wouldn’t you like to know,” you leant in, your lips almost ghosting over hers.

“i would love to know,” sam chuckled, finally closing the gap between your lips and hers. as you melted into the kiss, one of her hands found your jaw and the other your hip. she held onto your with all she had, too scared to let the moment slip away from her.

when you finally pulled away from each other, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding onto. “don’t worry..” you chuckled, “you’re not at risk of losing your status”.

“good..” she nodded, both of sam’s hands now holding onto your face, “because i don’t enjoy losing.”

[marauroon]

okay so i saw your requests were open and decided to shoot my shot. so i have oral fixation and i always have something in my mouth, like im either always chewing on the back of a pen or pencil (I've lost count on how many times I've eaten wood like that 💀), or biting my nails or just subconsciously clenching my jaw hard. or, (pls don't judge me) i bite people. not very hard, of course.

so my request was, can you do sirius black x reader with oral fixation like this? maybe you could, I donno know, make it fluff? im tired of seeing so much smut on here and i don't even read smut.

you could definitely ignore this if you're busy or don't want to write it, it's completely up to you and no pressure!! love your writing, btw!!

(sorry for the long request)

sirius black x reader | 0.6k | fluff | masterlist.

thank you for the request sweetheart 🫶

It was late at night in the Gryffindor common room, and the fire was dying down to embers. You sat curled up on the couch, eyes half-closed as you absentmindedly chewed on the end of your quill. You didn’t even realize how close you were to biting through it until Sirius Black, stretched out lazily next to you, nudged your shoulder.

“You’re going to gnaw right through that thing, you know, love,” he said with a smirk, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

Startled, you looked down at the battered quill in your hand, a bit sheepish. “Can’t help it,” you murmured. “If it’s not the quill, it’s something else.”

Sirius’s smile grew wider, his fingers brushing your wrist as he leaned in a little closer. “I’ve noticed,” he said. “You’re always chewing on something, like a squirrel or a little…bitey thing,” His grin was teasing but kind. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling back, not denying it.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, popping the quill back in your mouth as you tried to focus on the parchment in front of you. Sirius, however, was not going to let it go so easily. He rested his arm on the back of the couch, leaning closer still, his shoulder pressing into yours.

“I mean, quills are one thing, but you’ve got a habit of nipping people, too.” He gave you a mock-serious look, raising an eyebrow. “Should I be on the lookout for a sneak attack?”

You felt your face heat up at his words, and you pretended to concentrate on your parchment, though you knew he wasn’t fooled. “I don’t bite hard,” you defended, laughing. “Just… sometimes I get this urge, and it’s just easier to…” You trailed off, hoping he’d drop it, but Sirius just looked more intrigued.

“Well, I think it’s adorable,” he said, surprising you. “And honestly, if you need something to sink your teeth into, you can always use me. I’m tough, I can take it,” he added with a wink.

You laughed, flustered. “What, you’re volunteering?”

“Of course,” he replied, shifting a bit closer and stretching his arm behind you. “I’m here to help with any of your needs,” he said, his tone light but with a glint of genuine affection in his eyes. “Especially the weird ones.”

You bit your lip, the urge to play along rising. “Okay, Sirius,” you said, leaning closer and pretending to inspect his shoulder. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He chuckled, watching you with a mixture of amusement and warmth, his face inches from yours. And maybe it was the glow of the firelight or the way he was looking at you, but it felt natural to lean in and playfully bite against his nose, just a quick nip, before pulling back in satisfied.

Sirius let out a laugh, his eyes widening a little in surprise before he broke into a smile, beaming as if you’d given him some kind of prize. “Oh, so that’s what it feels like!” he joked, scrunching up his nose in faux pain before lurching forward to place a messy kiss against your mouth. “Worth it.”

[deardjarin]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

agent whiskey x f!reader

sometimes you get a little… jealous

words: 1.5k

warnings: smut, office sex, mentions of voyeurism

⋆⭑✦⭑⋆

You know your partner.

You know how he flirts with most people he meets, but you also know how he would never be unfaithful to you. But, you can’t help but get a bit jealous when you hear him tease other girls.

You checked in two women for a meeting with the Agent: an older lady and a young college student who both work for a private investigation company. You can hear the younger girl giggling through the glass door- giggling. You’re sure Whiskey is pulling his usual tricks to strike a deal with the ladies.

You find yourself gripping your pen harder than usual.

The meeting ends at precisely 4:35.

The women kindly bid their goodbye, but the younger’s face is bright red.

Frustrated, you input the time into your system.

You smooth out your pencil skirt and fix your hair when you stand up. The room is awfully quiet; you need a certain Statesman agent to break the silence.

The automatic door opens with a quiet swish, revealing Whiskey sitting behind his desk. He’s staring intently at his computer, most likely sending off emails to his fellow agents.

“Jack Daniels.”

Whiskey beams, leaning back in his office chair.

“Well hell-o little miss,” He drawls, slightly tilting his head to the side. He beckons you with one hand, and pats his thigh twice. “C’mere, sugar.”

You keep your gaze firm, even though you want to stumble over to him like a newborn deer and collapse in his arms. Your heels click softly on the polished hardwood as you approach him, and instead of slipping into his lap, you stand behind him. Resting your hands on his shoulders, you give him a little squeeze.

“Did you have a productive meeting?” You ask, kissing his cheek. A bit of stubble pokes your lips, but you don’t mind.

“I sure did,” He replies, smoothing the fabric of his pants.

You twist a lock of his dark hair between your fingers, and trail more kisses down the sharp line of his jaw. He exhales a shaky breath, tightening his grip on the arms of the chair.

“Were those girls nice, Agent?” You continue. Whiskey shifts in his seat, noticeably aroused.

“They sure were- sweetheart, may I ask why you’re interrogatin’ me right now?”

You hum, running your fingers over the knot of his tie.

“I’m sure if you’d given them the chance, they’d be all over you,” You comment. “I mean, who wouldn’t? That’s what happened with us.”

The corner of Whiskey’s mouth turns upwards.

“Is that what this is all about?” He asks.

You maneuver yourself around and slip onto his lap, straddling his thick thighs with yours. His calloused hands immediately fly to your waist, steadying you.

“Maybe,” You breathe, cupping his face in both of your hands.

“You and I both know that I’d never touch another woman as long as you’re with me,” He says. His fingers find their way under the hem of your pencil skirt, and his touch burns.

“That so?” You ask, trying not to melt at his words. He hums, turning his head to the side and kissing your palm.

“You gonna let me show you how much you mean to me?”

You nod, breathless, and kiss him.

His kisses are always sloppy, a little messy, but they’re so full of passion that you don’t mind. Accidentally, you knock his cowboy hat off of his head.

“Are-“ You whine when his lips meet your neck, mustache rubbing against your sensitive skin. “Are you going to lock the door?’

“Maybe I’ll keep it open,” Whiskey drawls between kisses. “I’m sure those girls would love to see you, squirmin’ like a bug on my lap. Or maybe that shy little intern- what was his name? Frankie? I see the way he looks at you when he brings up papers.”

You moan, grinding your clothed cunt against his thighs.

“Jack…”

You’ve given up on your original plan. Whenever his hands- oh, his hands, cup your ass, you lose any semblance of rational thought.

Whiskey pulls away, making sure you’re balanced, and fiddles with the top button of your blouse. You usually keep a few undone because Whiskey likes it, but it’s clear he wants to see a little more than what you’re showing.

“Just gorgeous,” He groans when he fiddles with the last button, leaving your stomach and bra exposed.

“C-Can you lock the door?” You ask bashfully, shivering when Whiskey’s fingers brush over the curves of your hips.

“‘Course,” He says. Wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you steady, he leans forward and logs on to his high tech computer. There’s a faint beeping sound from the keypad outside of the frosted glass door.

“Make me so fuckin’ hard, baby,” Whiskey groans, gripping your wrist and guiding your hand to his crotch. As expected, your hand brushes against the hard outline of his cock, trapped in the fabric of his jeans. “Feel that? S’all for you.”

A strangled moan falls from your lips, and you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Let me-“ You stop mid-thought and hastily undo the clasp of his belt. The metal clang interrupts the sound of your heavy breathing: the only sound in the office. Your hands shake as you fiddle with his zipper, and with a deep breath you pull out his cock from his boxers.

Whiskey moans deeply at your touch. He’s warm and hard and you want him inside you so bad.

“Stand up, baby, take off your skirt,” He orders. You can see him clench his jaw, most likely restraining himself from standing up and throwing you against the desk.

Your legs are shaky as you unzip the back of your skirt, pulling the black fabric downwards. Watching you with dark eyes, your partner slowly pumps his cock.

“Sit back down, princess,” He murmurs, patting his thigh with his free hand.

Damn straight, You think. I’m his princess.

“Jack, I- I want to feel you.”

You notice the way his dick has left a wet spot on his dress shirt- shit, now he’s going to have to go home and change, all because of you-

“Mm!” You exclaim when Whiskey’s rough fingers find themselves inside your panties, pressing against your swollen clit. You have to grip onto his broad shoulders while he massages your wet cunt.

You’re a little upset when he pulls his hand away.

“Soaked.”

You feel like the air gets knocked out of your chest when he brings his fingers to his lips, tasting you.

“So sweet,” He growls. “Sweet like a goddamn Georgia peach. Wish I could taste you all day.”

His words feel like they make your body temperature rise to a thousand.

“Whiskey,” You half scold, half moan.

“Fuckin’- wanna bend over the desk? Let me fuck you from behind?”

You shake your head, gripping onto the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

“Let me ride you, Jack.”

Whiskey throws his head back and swears. You let out a breathy laugh; you, and only you, can have him wrapped around your finger.

“I’ll let you do whatever you want,” He blurts, cock twitching against his stomach. “You gonna ride this cowboy, sugar?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, and your thighs shake as you lift your core enough so he can slip inside you. Whiskey holds your panties to the side while he guides the tip of his cock to your entrance. The two of you moan as you drop downwards, your ass pressing against his thighs.

“Shit,” He grunts through his teeth.

You take a moment to catch your breath before moving.

Jack keeps his hands on your waist, but leans forward to chase your lips. You cup his face in your hands, mindlessly kissing him while you move your hips. He fills you up so well, stretching and stuffing you in a way no one else can. You’re no stranger to this, in fact you’re quite skilled, but your legs still burn from the effort. It’s nothing compared to the way Whiskey’s cock slides in and out of you, though.

“Just like that,” He mumbles in between kisses.

You clench around him every time your clit brushes against his jeans. You’re sure Whiskey can feel it too; he squeezes his eyes shut each time it happens.

“S’good, sweetheart,” He praises. “Ready to cum?”

You shout in pleasure, nodding vigorously. His fingers find their way back to your clit, rubbing quick circles against you.

Your whole body shakes from your release.

It’s embarrassingly quick, but Jack keeps mumbling “that’s a good girl” in your ear. He continues to thrust into you, his movements becoming sloppy and erratic.

You slump against his chest while he finishes deep inside you, hips stuttering against your skin.

“Ain’t never had a better girl than you,” He says softly, brushing the back of his hand against your cheek. You smile; he always gets soft after he’s with you.

Before you can respond, the computer lights up.

Incoming Video Call: Agent Champagne

[gillthorpe]

distracted, xavier thorpe

xavier thorpe x reader

summary: xavier couldn’t help but do what he wants to do

warnings: it’s literally just fluff, use of baby?

a/n: first fic, please be nice. Apologies for any grammer mistakes oops

☆

You could feel his eyes on you every now and then, alternating between his homework that he held up with his hand and you who’s sitting across from him. You didn’t bother to look up, putting all your focus on the essay you had to write as homework.

The library was quiet, only the sound of you and Xavier’s pen scribbling on paper and the occasional sniffing. You and Xavier would always go to the library to finish up the homework you two have for the day. It was your routine even before you and him started dating.

Unfortunately, Xavier isn’t the most responsible student. He would often goof around, trying to distract you and would do anything but his homework.

Today was no different.

“And… done!” You sighed, dropping your pen onto the table and leaning back against the chair. You let your eyes relax for a moment before peeking to see Xavier still focused on his homework. “Are you almost done?”

He bit his bottom lip, ignoring your question, too wrapped up in his work to answer you.

“Maybe we can swap our essays and spot if there’s any mistakes?” You asked, pursing your lips as you wait for Xaviers response.

He hummed absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving his notebook. You smiled, admiring your boyfriends pretty features when he concentrates. You were proud to see that he was actually putting in effort on his work.

Xavier finally stopped writing, placing his pencil down and picking up his notebook and admired it before giving himself a content nod.

You bounce eagerly, “Can I read yours?”

His eyes finally met yours, a hint of mischievousness behind those eyes. He smirked, clearing his throat as he sat up straight and swapped notebooks with you.

You were practically gleaming with excitement, excited to read his essay and actually feel like you have a real study partner to learn and point out mistakes with.

Until your eyes landed on his notebook.

Your smile has never dropped so fast. Your shoulders dropping, and you couldn’t contain the gasp that left your mouth.

A snicker came from the man you were about to murder.

“Xavier Thorpe I swear to fucking god—“

“—I love you, baby please—“

“—All this time I thought you were writing the essay—“

“—You’re so pretty I couldn’t help it—“

“—And you were drawing instead?!”

You stared at him incredulously, your nose flaring at him due to how pissed off you were. He was enjoying this, his cocky smile still plastered on his face as he laughed at your reaction.

“I’m sorry, baby. In my defence, I did try to write the essay. I just got distracted…” Xavier said, his hands holding yours as his thumbs rubbed your hands softly.

You blinked at him, sighing as you look down at his notebook to see at the top right hand corner he did wrote a few words before giving up.

“As much as I want to scream at you right now, this drawing is beautiful,” you sighed with a small smile, studying his artwork.

It was a drawing of you reading your textbook, you nose scrunched and your hair a mess. He managed to enhance your best features, capturing every little detail about you. He was truly talented.

“Thank you. Please don’t be mad, i’ll start on the essay right now,” he said softly, ensuring you aren’t upset with him.

You playfully rolled your eyes at him, sighing loudly. “You better do it or no cuddles for you tonight.”

You ignored his protests as you get up from your seat to find a book to keep you company. Safe to say Xavier was diligently doing his work with a determined face, and within thirty minutes he was done and started begging you for a hug and a kiss.

[roosterbruiser]

Ohmygod i love the blurb you wrote for mafia bobby 😭 you did so well with it!

Still on anon for now, a bit shy about requesting on my main but -

Would you do a Jake x Kazansky reader where he's jealous/infuriated/*cough* horny *cough* because the reader (who's also an aviator) is always being praised by their superiors?

Enemies to friends with benefits to lovers?

If he's a teeny bit mean to the reader (calls her a nepotism baby or something) i would love that 🥺

Thank you so much, everything you've written so far is brilliant!

𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐘𝐨𝐮

𝐚 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 ��𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

You can feel his eyes on you. Those bright green things that somehow feel like flames licking your skin. They're burning your cheek, the one you have turned towards him. If you didn't loathe him entirely, maybe you'd admit that his eyes were actually a shade of green you were fond of. If you liked him more, maybe you'd say that his eyes are the color of eucalyptus or clover. But since you don't like him, since he really doesn't like you, you privately imagine his eyes to be the same shade as pond scum.

Both of you tend to gravitate towards the front of the classroom, which means that when you're late--like you were today, only by a minute or two--you have to sit in the empty seat beside him. Which means that you had to move his feet from the chair where they were resting--the only seat left in the front row. You knew he certainly wasn't going to move them, especially when he smirked up at you and settled into his seat further.

So you swiftly gripped his ankles and let his feet drop unceremoniously to the concrete floor.

He started to make a sound of protest, started to laugh dryly and without humor, but you already settled into your seat and fixed him with a wonderful view of your middle finger as you "itched" your temple.

He's pissed now. You know that. Honestly, you knew he was going to be pissed before you even did it. But you did it, anyway.

You can't stand his entitlement, the way he takes up all the space around him like he owns it and smiles through it all. And you can't stand sitting anywhere except the front of the classroom--it's where you focus the best.

Maverick is droning through another training and you're being your usual studious self, taking notes with your fine-point pens and chewing on your bottom lip.

"Take a fucking picture already," you finally mutter to Jake, not peeling your eyes away from the screen Maverick stands before.

Jake snorts softly, scoffing at you.

"Don't flatter yourself," he spits back, finally turning away from you as he incessantly taps his pencil against the desk.

You try and ignore it--really, you do. But you're certain after a few minutes that he's doing it just to annoy you. That stupid repetitive clanking--tap, tap, tap, tap, tap--it's starting to drive you fucking crazy.

You're right--Jake is trying to annoy you. He doesn't like it when you sit next to him anymore than you like sitting next to him. And he didn't like that little stunt you pulled by scooping his feet out of the seat they were resting in. He won't admit it to himself or you, but he wouldn't have moved if you asked. Really, you moving his feet were the only way you would be able to sit in that chair.

But he's still pissed at you; he's always pissed at you.

You're a Kazansky, which means everyone treads lightly around you. And if Jake hates one thing--it's people who get a free ride. And you with your pretty fucking face and your sweet-smelling hair and your stupid fucking eyelashes and the ferocious way you bite your lip--you have it easy as far as he's concerned. He decided that the first time he ever met you at the Academy, as soon as you introduced yourself. Your call-sign is Wisteria, born from your unsuspecting appearance and lethal temper. But Jake doesn't like to call you that--he really doesn't like to call you anything.

Growling, you turn and stare at his pencil. He just smirks. It makes your face hot with annoyance.

"You're insufferable," you hiss at him quietly, taking a grab at his pencil.

He's faster than you, just by a fraction of a second. He moves to tapping his pencil incessantly on the other side of the desk where you can't reach him.

"You're fuckin' annoyin'," he bites back in a whispered tone. "You can sit anywhere and you choose here?"

You roll your eyes.

"Newsflash, you fucking dick--you don't own the front row," you mumble, blood rising to the tips of your ears.

"You know I always sit in the front row," he tries to reason, glaring at you, his mouth pulled into a grimace.

"So do I," you whisper back incredulously, finally peeling your eyes away from Maverick to return his wide-eyed look. "So just suck it up and shut the fuck up. Can you do that, Bagman? Pretty please?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely," he grins menacingly.

You groan softly, squeezing your eyes shut. He's going to be the death of you.

"If I ask you pretty please to fuck off, will you do that, too?"

Across the room, Rooster and Payback watch your exchange slyly. Rooster is shaking his head, smiling softly. Payback's lips are slightly parted and his eyebrows are raised.

"How long until they just fuck already?" Rooster whispers to Payback.

Payback shakes his head, shrugging.

"Could be hours. Could be days. Could be weeks. Who knows? God works in mysterious ways," Payback whispers back.

Rooster eyes you--your cheeks are flushed and your lip is nearly bloody from your incessant chewing. Jake is tapping his pencil again, smirking as he glances at you from the corner of his eye.

Oh yeah. You two are definitely burning for each other--Rooster can practically smell it from here.

"I give it two days," Rooster says to Payback.

Payback snorts softly, then sighs.

"I give it two hours," he mumbles back.

The two shake hands slyly under their shared desk.

"I don't know--why don't you try?" Hangman hisses at you.

You square your jaw, breathing through your nose. Lord, grant you some patience for this big hunk of blonde muscle beside you.

You softly smile at him, eyebrows blanched.

"Will you please fuck off?" You ask sweetly, even batting your eyelashes.

Hangman wants to say something. Really, he does. But Maverick is clearing his throat and looking at the two of you. So you slump into your seat, mumbling an apology as you flush. And Jake just nods at Maverick--except he stops tapping his pencil. But he knows that he's going to get you back.

And get you back he does. It's when you're both in the air, cutting through the cornflower sky, teamed up for a dogfight. You're a good pilot--maybe even one of the best. You're vigilant and calculated. You do everything by the books, which is why you've been asked to be Team Captain on more than one occasion.

Of course from Jake's perspective, it's only because of the legacy you hail from. In his opinion, you lack gumption and the kind of recklessness fighter pilots sometimes have to embody.

Needless to say--neither of you like flying with each other. So of course, Maverick pairs the two of you up.

Hangman can be calculated when he wants to be. And today, there's a special fire that's been lit under his ass--and you're the one that's been stoking it all day. So he plays by your rules, obeying you, even using your Lieutenant title--which he makes a point to never use.

But it's at that crucial moment, when you need him to cover you, when you need your wingman--that he dips. He hangs you out to dry, lets you get shot out. Hell, he practically lines up the shot for Maverick. The two of you were close to getting Maverick--so close that Jake could've gotten tone before Maverick even got close to you.

But then your tone is ringing out in your aircraft and you're dead. And Jake is grinning at you as soon as your jet touches down on the tarmac.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" He asks you, smirking as he wipes some beads of sweat from his forehead.

You're thoroughly pissed off. Like red in the cheeks, blood boiling, boulder-sitting-on-your-chest kind of pissed off. You're so pissed off that Bob is crossing the tarmac as soon as he sees that unhinged anger in your eyes, the one that usually prefaces some sort of discipline from the higher-ups.

"You son of a bitch!" You spit at Jake, pointing at him accusingly, throwing your helmet on the tarmac. "You gave Maverick the shot! Fuck, you basically lined it up for him!"

Jake is standing beneath the golden sun, his eyes narrowed as he squints at you under the bright sky. He likes seeing you like this--angry. Like, really, really angry.

"Me?" He asks dumbly, pointing to himself.

You have half a mind to scratch those green eyes out of his pretty face. You stomp towards him, hastily wiping the sweat off your face with your sleeve.

"You!" You shout, puffing your chest out as you square up to him. "You fucking--you-you-!"

"C'mon," Jake taunts, smirking down at you as your furrow your brows deeply. "Spit it out, nepotism baby."

Just as you're about to wallop Jake in his pretty fucking face, just as you're literally about to sink your teeth into his jugular, Bob steps between the two of you.

"Wisty, he wants you to hit him," Bob reasons, his sweet eyes pouring into yours. Jesus, you look feral right now--your teeth are bared, your eyes are glassy, your cheeks are red, you're damp with perspiration. "Do you really wanna give Seresin what he wants?"

Jake isn't surprised that someone jumped in to save your precious reputation. Typical behavior. Everyone always rushing to your aid like the big fucking baby you are.

"Maybe she does," Jake tells Bob, clapping him on the shoulder. "C'mon. Give it to me, baby."

Bob has to put his hands on your shoulders and hold you to the tarmac. He's certain that if he let you go, you'd be impossible to get ahold of again. And Jake would have to run for the hills if he wanted to avoid any major surgeries in the facial region.

"You're a fucking asshole!" You accuse Jake, little bits of saliva flinging at the skin of his face.

Jake comes closer to you--like a toddler taunting an animal at the zoo through the glass--and puckers his lips, making a lewd kissing noise.

He just fucking blew you a kiss.

Bob fights the overwhelming urge to let you loose. Fucking dick.

Jake swiftly turns on his heel, grinning, finally feeling like he has the upper-hand. But he is stopped only a few paces later when Cyclone bellows his official title.

Cyclone, who listened to the comms for once during your training exercise and witnessed the entire tarmac ordeal, has a few words for Jake.

Jake's stomach sinks. Fuck.

And he knows without even turning around that you're grinning now. Of course someone comes in the save the day again. If not Bob or Phoenix or Bradley or Maverick, then fucking Cyclone.

"Karma," you mutter to Bob, sighing deeply.

Bob nods, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He takes a look at your slumped shoulders and your slacked features and decides that he's probably okay to let you go.

"You know he just wants to get under your skin," Bob tells you warily, bumping you with a friendly elbow. "He's threatened by you."

You nod, scoffing.

"Good. I'm better than him."

Bob laughs and it makes something in your chest melt. You suddenly don't feel so angry anymore. You even smile a little bit.

"That you are, Wisty. Now, go take a shower. You stink."

You're in the middle of a much needed shower when the locker-room door suddenly rips open. You're startled enough to jump as you lather your body, straining on your tip-toes to look over the curtain at who just barged into the room.

The rooms are uni-sex, much to your dismay, and you're almost certain that everyone's in the air right now or has already showered after training. You cycle through the squadron in your head, furrowing your brows as you let the hot water boil the anger off your skin.

"Rooster?" You try, your voice echoing out on the tiles in the showers.

There's heavy footsteps--ones that are moving quick. Lug-sole boots, for sure. And if it really were Rooster, you're certain he would've come in humming or whistling or singing some dumb 80s song. And he would've called back at once.

No, this is someone else. Someone who's rapidly approaching, someone who's pissed off. They're stomping in your direction.

"I'm grounded for two fuckin' weeks."

Jake's voice is just outside your shower cubicle. All that separates your naked body from him and his rage is a flimsy shower curtain, one that is very nearly translucent.

You swallow thickly, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. You're naked for crying out loud--and he's trying to do this now? Here?

"Can this wait?" You ask, almost sounding timid.

Jake scoffs.

"No."

You roll your eyes, tipping your head back so the hot water washes over your face and hair again.

"How's it my problem that you're grounded?" You ask, your voice echoing in the vast empty room.

Jake is certain that the shower curtain is about to be set ablaze by his heated gaze. He wants to rip that shower curtain open and shake you silly for getting him in trouble the way you did. He can't see much of you besides your vague silhouette behind the curtain--that and your feet on the tile. Your toes are painted the color of a blueberry--on any other girl, Jake would think it's cute. But it's you, so he thinks it's juvenile.

"Because you just had to make a scene in front of everyone, didn't you? I bet you fuckin' knew Cyclone was watching!"

You scoff so loud that it makes your throat hurt.

"Bullshit, Seresin! I'm not some fucking cartoon villain! You fucked me up there and you know it. You knew I'd be pissed when we landed. I didn't know Cyclone was there."

Jake rakes his hand through his sweaty locks and groans loudly, starting to pace the damp tile outside your cubicle. He knows how threatening his boots against the tile must sound, how stuck you must feel right now. And a tiny part of him takes a strange sort of joy in that--of his presence being so big and looming that it holds you still.

"Yeah, well I guess life just has a way of going your way, huh, Kazansky?"

Your blood is beginning to boil again. Just the way he says your name, with all that venom and malice, it makes your nails dig into your palms.

"What's that mean, Bagman?"

He scoffs now--it's loud enough for you to hear above the blood rushing past your ears.

"It means that you have it easy! You've always had it easy! Your dad is fucking Tom Kazansky! Your daddy was a fighter pilot so he let you be a fighter pilot, too."

You're almost vibrating with anger now, hastily washing the conditioner out of your hair so you can rip the shower curtain and deliver a swift smack to his cheek.

It's one thing for him to say something about you--but it's a whole other thing entirely to bring up your father. You love your father--he's always been your real-life superhero. To hear Jake just say his name like that, just to hear him spit out Tom Kazansky like it means nothing makes you want to make his pretty eyes black.

"Oh, fuck you, Jake! Rooster's dad went to Top Gun, too, but I don't see you bringing that up every chance you get!"

"Rooster's dad is fucking dead!" Jake calls back, sighing in exasperation. "Doubt he helped him climb any ladders from six-feet under!"

Stomach gurgling, chest flushed, heart racing, you act before you even think. You rip open the shower curtain, your ears ringing, and stare at Jake. You want to hit him; you want to hit him more than you've ever wanted to hit anyone in your life. But you know that's probably what he wants.

So you just stand there, your naked body glistening with suds and heaving with every breath you huff out.

Jake stops his pacing, mouth falling open as he stares at all the skin that is suddenly on display. You look fucking pissed--your eyes are rimmed with red, your fists are clenched, your skin is quivering, your mouth is a tight line. But fuck if you don't look sexy right now; your nipples are pert and pink, all the hills and valleys of your body are slick, and that blueberry color on your toes looks mildly endearing as you stomp closer to him.

"You think I've got it easy?"

Your voice is laced with absolute malice.

Jake is backing away from you, his lips parted, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, I do," he says, but he sounds less sure now.

You point up at him, narrowing your eyes.

"Yeah, because women notoriously have it easy in the military. Right, Jake? I've never had to work hard for anything because my dad is an Admiral, right? And all the other people in this program that had parents go through it aren't nepotism babies if their parents are dead, right?"

You're getting closer and closer to him with every word that spews out of your mouth, pressing your finger into his chest, glowering.

Before Jake can answer--which he's having a hard time doing since all the blood in his brain is suddenly draining down, down, down--you get on your tip-toes to get all the more closer to his face.

Something is bubbling up in you, something that's been coming on for months. You're good at hiding your emotions, especially around your family, especially around your dad. You know how upset he gets when you're upset--even as a little girl, you did your best to conceal any sort of crying or whining around him--so you bottle all those tears and that rage and that grief inside your chest cavity. And now that you're naked and pissed and so close to Jake, it's all coming out in hot breaths.

"So, in a few months, when my dad is dead--you're gonna stop calling me a nepotism baby? Is that how this works? Or am I grandfathered in?"

There it is--sitting out in all the steamy air between the two of you. Your dad is dying. You know it, you've known it for a while now, and you're trying to come to terms with it. You haven't been able to tell anyone on base, therapy is too expensive, and you can't cry in front of your dad. So Jake gets to hear it all right now as you stand before him, soaking wet, trembling with rage.

And Jake suddenly feels like a fucking asshole. He hates to feel guilty--which is why he usually actively tries to steel himself against people's reactions to what he says--but he can feel the rusty anchor of it dragging across his chest heavily. He knows that his eyes have softened, that his shoulders are drooping. He knows it because you suddenly soften too.

"Wisteria," he says quietly, trying hard to keep looking at your face and not your breasts or your belly or your legs or your legs. "I'm so..."

And you feel like you're going to cry now--which is great. That's just fucking great. That's all you need right now is to cry in front of Jake fucking Seresin, who will probably internalize all of it to tease you about it for the next ten years.

With a sudden wave of goosebumps, you realize it. You're butt naked right now in front of Jake. Like, properly naked. And you're soaking wet. So, while you still have the slightest bit of dignity intact, you spin on your heel and start to hurry back to your cubicle. A deep blush is covering your chest and throat, climbing up onto your cheeks.

"Hey," Jake says, his voice softer than before. He reaches out before he even realizes what he's doing, wrapping his hand around your bicep.

You whip around quicker than he's expecting, your wet hair smacking his sweaty cheeks. His eyes are wide when you press your nose against his. And even though he knows you're angry at him, angry at the situation and at him and at the world, he knows that you're sad, too. You're sad in a way he doesn't quite understand but that he wants to help--really, he just wants this guilt sitting on his chest to fade.

"Fuck you," you hiss, jabbing his chest. Your voice breaks and he squeezes your arm tighter.

Jake is staring at you. His eyes are wide and his pupils are blown. His mouth is twisted and his cheeks are red and his hair is messy. He's something between pissed and elated, but you don't know what.

"Fuck you," he whispers back, except his voice holds no malice at all. It's soft, soft as the little breaths of his that are fanning over your face.

And he moves closer to you, just barely, just enough so that you can feel his hard cock against your naked hip.

Oh--you recognize that look now. It's lust. He wants you. He wants to fuck you.

Your heart is racing and when his hand moves to tenderly move wet hair off your shoulder, you shudder. Heat is beginning to pool between your legs now, the same heat that is making your lips swell with want.

You're still upset, your emotions are running high. But maybe this would make you feel better--actually, you know it would make you feel better. Between your busy schedule and all the family you're constantly entertaining, you don't have much of a dating life.

"That what you want?" You whisper finally, not moving away from him.

He nods once, swallowing hard.

Fuck.

"That gonna make you shut the fuck up?" You whisper to him, lips just barely grazing his.

And fuck if just the feeling of his lips on yours isn't already making a coil tighten in your belly.

He moans softly, pressing into you just a bit harder. You're steady on your feet, swallowing his sound with a hunger that you've never had for anyone else before.

You're slightly shocked that he's letting you take the lead, letting you talk to him that way. You're also shocked that you're about to kiss Jake Seresin in the locker room at your place of employment. But here you are, your tongue licking a hot stripe across his bottom lip until he opens his mouth for you.

But, like he knew exactly what you were thinking, he wraps your hair tightly around his hand and tugs harshly until your lips disconnect. There is a string of spit connecting the two of you, which makes something very warm grow in your belly.

"You're a bitch," he tells you, panting.

You nod blindly, desperate to press your mouth against his again.

"You're a dick," you tell him.

He moans again--a glutton for punishment. It makes you wet just thinking about all the mean things you can spew at him, all the frustration he would happily let you take out on him and his abs.

You're fumbling with his uniform and he's feverishly pressing kisses to your wet shoulders and neck, both of you moving quickly so you don't change your mind or get some sense knocked into you.

"Princess," he mumbles against your skin, sucking harshly over your collarbone.

"Entitled prick," you moan back, pushing his shirt on the floor and eagerly working on his belt buckle.

Jake can't believe this is happening. He never thought he wanted to fuck you--honestly, the thought had never crossed his mind. But now that you're here in front of him, naked and wet and ready for him, he can't believe he hasn't indulged in this fantasy before. You're so fucking hot that he's already straining against his service khakis, his mind spinning, his chest heaving. He's only ever strictly--and honestly, begrudgingly--noticed your beauty. It's hard for him to not notice beautiful people so it's usually your face that he lands on.

"C'mon," he hisses at you, dragging his calloused hands down to your breasts. "Faster."

He pinches hard enough to make you cry out, enough to make your toes curl. White-hot pleasure is raining over you, licking your heels, scorching you.

"Fuck you," you moans again, finally undoing his belt and getting rid of his pants and underwear in one swift movement.

"Plannin' on it," he whispers to you, delivering a few more sharp pinches to your nipples as he kneads the soft tissue of your breast in his rough hands.

His cock is freely pressing into your skin now, hard and hot and leaking pearlescent beads of pre-cum. He's big--he's really fucking big. You can feel all the veins around his cock pulsing, can feel how badly he wants you. If you weren't as wet as you are right now, you'd make fun of him.

"Shower," he commands, already pressing you against the wall of your cubicle.

The water is still running, clouding the room with steam, and after only a few moments both of you are sopping wet again. He's kissing you like he's trying to devour you, relentless in his harsh movements on your chest. The pleasure is almost paralyzing you, almost rendering you motionless.

But after only a few moments of his harsh movements, you finally move down and wrap your fingers around his cock. You give a few tugs, slipping your thumb over the his slit.

Jake Seresin, Jake fucking Seresin, moans into your mouth. It's a deep and throaty thing, something that shoots you straight in the core. And then he presses himself against you, holding you up with one of his arms as his other one slips between you. In one swift movement, his fingers are spreading you open and circling your clit furiously. There's no easing into it, not with him. It's hot and desperate and needy.

You're moaning, too, throwing your head back against the slick tiles, squeezing your eyes shut. And Jake is kissing feverishly across your neck, nibbling your collarbones, trying not to outwardly moan at how silky and good you feel on his fingers.

That coil is tightening in your belly, pushing you closer and closer to an edge you weren't even near when you started to shower a short while ago. But his fingers are so rough, so calloused, and they feel so fucking good against this delicate part of you.

"Make me cum," you desperately whisper, the water pouring down over the two of you deliciously.

He's still moaning at your swift movements over his cock, at the way you are giving special attention to the head of his cock the exact way he likes.

"You're such a fuckin' princess," he whispers into your mouth, biting down hard on your lower lip as you mewl desperately. "Always gotta be taken care of, huh?"

Nonetheless, he's picking up his pace, rubbing your clit in hard and fast circles. He can tell your close by the crinkle between your brows, by the way you're bucking into his hand, by those desperate little breaths that are puffing into his face. You're soaking wet, too, which makes him so hard that he thinks he might combust.

"Oh, Jake," you moan, trying to match his pace with your hips.

He keens at the sound of his name falling off your lips. And when you tangle your fingers in his hair and tug, it only encourages him to move faster.

If you weren't so close to cumming, if he his cock wasn't dripping in your hands, then you would laugh at him. Jake Seresin has a degradation and a praise kink. Typical.

"Beg for it," he mutters to you, swallowing hard.

You don't even think twice.

"Please," you whisper pathetically, mouth parted in utter ecstasy. "Please, please, please, Jake. God, give it to me, Jake. Please let me cum."

Jake's sounds are sacrilegious. He's pressing his lips agains yours harshly, his tongue folding across yours, pressing down just right until he's thrown you off the edge of a cliff and directly into the vortex of an orgasm. You convulse in his arms, shaking and nearly crying, and he swallows every single sound your pretty mouth makes.

"That's it," he coaxes, uncharacteristically soft as he works you through it. "Good girl."

Your fingernails embed themselves in the skin of his scalp.

And if he wasn't planning on fucking you just as soon as you can stand on your own two feet again, he'd endlessly tease you about the way you like to be teased. Typical.

And just as soon as you've come down, just as soon as your vision isn't whited out, you're turning yourself so your chest is against the shower wall. Jake almost moans just from the sight of your supple ass raising just slightly in the air--a signal that you're ready for him.

But he takes not a moment of hesitation. He smooths his hand down your spine, holding the meat of your cheeks in his hands, silently thanking God for his bad attitude earlier.

And you're panting, still recovering, so turned on still that you can't even speak. You know that if you did speak, you would sound downright dumb. You'll be damned before you let Jake Seresin know that his fingers alone have made you totally stupid.

"Ready for me?"

You just nod, stifling an eye roll.

He braces himself against you, a firm hold on your hips. And you brace yourself against the wall, pressing your hot cheek against the cool tile.

And just as he lines the head of his weeping cock up to your sopping entrance, just as he's about to practically rip you in two, he leans forward. You want to whine, really you do, but then he's very tenderly moving all the wet hair out of your face so he can see your pink cheek and your swollen lips and half-lidded eyes.

"You want this?" He asks, voice steady but desperate.

You glance back at him, brows furrowed slightly. He's being totally earnest right now--you can tell from the flat line of his lips and the way his eyebrows are just barely knit.

"Yes," you whisper after a moment, nodding.

He smiles, nodding.

"Good," he whispers, pressing himself into you all at once, rendering you speechless and breathless. "Cause I fuckin' want it, too."

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨: 𝐅𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐞

horny!mean!Hangman rise

this has been extended to a series!! you can find all the parts on my masterlist!!

if you liked this, consider checking out my Jake x You story!

here is my tag list!!

[bella-rose29]

April Fool's! ~ a DTH special

here's the first of (I'm sure) many Deck the Halls specials! in honour of April Fool's Day I figured it was the perfect occasion to write a lil something about our Schmoopies (who love to prank each other)

I did take a teeny bit of inspiration from @tangledinlove's heart eyes series (which if you haven't read then go now! also I recommend everything on love's master list) and wrote this special through the eyes of Holly, George, and Lucy!

edit: I should add in now that you probably could read this as a standalone? there are some references in there that might be teeny spoilers but tbh DTH is pretty formulaic so you could figure out the plot just from the summary 😂

Warnings: one or two swear words, and I think that's it? maybe a spoiler in the form of Holly being there?

Word count: 1.7k

anthony lockwood master list

enjoy the pictures of lockwood and Cameron being silly boys!

“Where is he?”

Holly looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table writing a shopping list to study the girl who stood in the doorway. Y/n had her hands on her hips and a frown on her face, and Holly felt sorry for whoever she was looking for. No doubt it was Lockwood, having forgotten an important anniversary or something, who was provoking the glare that had settled over Y/n’s features. 

“Lockwood?” Holly asked, returning her attention to the shopping list. She tapped the pencil against her temple while trying to think of what she was missing. 

“Yep. Have you seen him? I’ve got a bone to pick with him, the little shit.”

Holly snorted, then a thought popped into her head. She wrote down ‘tomatoes’ in neat print with her pen. “What’s he done this time?”

The other girl huffed and moved further into the kitchen, pulling open cupboards with a little too much force. “He’s pranked me! Hid all the toothbrushes in the house and now I can’t brush my teeth!”

“I- he did what?” That was such a random thing to do, and yet it was very perfectly Lockwood. “Why would he prank you?” Holly’s colleague stopped in her tracks, arms spread open with the cupboard handles in each hand, and slowly turned around. Instead of the initial frustration that had been on her face there was now confusion. 

“You… you do know what day it is… right?” Holly shook her head, brows creasing. “It’s April Fool’s Day? First of the month?” Realisation dawned, and she rushed to stifle her laugh when Y/n started glaring again. “Why is that funny? Lockwood hid all the toothbrushes, Holly! How do I brush my teeth now?! I had Weetabix this morning and my mouth feels all gross,” she complained. 

“I think he went out for a walk or something,” Holly answered, finishing up her list. “That was a while ago, though, so he should be back in a minute.” No sooner than she’d stopped talking the sound of the front door opening made both girls look in the direction of the hall. Shuffling noises followed while the person moved around, then footsteps grew louder and the kitchen door was pushed open to reveal the head of the company. 

Anthony Lockwood was many things: a great boss, slightly suicidal at times (although the number of occasions that he threw himself directly into danger had decreased significantly after the Christmas holidays), an excellent swordsman, and a loving boyfriend to Y/n.

But as Holly watched Y/n she knew that he was also in a lot of danger. 

“Ah. Hello, Darling. Holly.” He was wary, gaze flicking between the two girls as he stayed holding on to the door handle. Y/n’s eyes narrowed, and Lockwood’s attention was suddenly solely on his girlfriend. His smile faltered slightly, and there was a split second where both he and Y/n sort of… hovered, the tension in the room palpable. 

Then the chaos started. 

Lockwood turned and fled the room, footsteps heavy on the stairs, and Y/n was hot on his heels, yelling as she thundered after him. Holly could hear their laughter echoing through the house, and she let out a chuckle of her own as she stood up and folded the shopping list, putting it in her pocket. 

Her boss was going to suffer dearly for the rest of the morning for withholding the toothbrushes, but he wouldn’t be physically harmed. 

A thump sounded on one of the upper floors, something that sounded worryingly like a body hitting the ground, and pleads of mercy followed immediately while mixed in with laughter. 

She was tickling him, then. Going for the feet if she wanted maximum effect or sitting on him and going for his sides if she was smart and didn’t want him wriggling away. 

Holly picked up a bag and her keys in the hallway, and made for Arif’s. Hopefully Lockwood would no longer be a hostage by the time she got back. 

~~~

George Karim was normally quite forgiving when it came to Y/n, but printing out tens of pictures of Penelope Fittes was a step too far for him. 

“Why do you even want to do this anyway? I thought after the whole… ‘fake-dating-turned-real-dating’ thing over Christmas you weren’t fighting anymore.” He was spread in front of the printer in his room, blocking his friend from accessing it. Since getting back from her family’s house in the middle of nowhere a few months ago, after snowstorms stretched out their Christmas, Lockwood and Y/n had been annoyingly cute and coupley.

“He hid all the toothbrushes, George. He’s having a nap right now because I tickled him into exhaustion, so I’ve not got much time before-” she broke off when George tackled her to prevent her from using the printer. 

“Okay… well why does that mean you’re printing loads of pictures of Penelope Fittes? The head of the company we hate?”

“… Because I’m going to cut them out and replace all the photos in the house with them.” The pair of them stopped squirming and George pushed his glasses back up his nose to stare in shock and confusion at her. 

“You… what?” 

“It’s April Fool’s. I’ve got like… two hours left before midday. Please, Georgie. I have to get revenge.” He sighed, then released his grip on her. 

“Fine. But when he gets annoyed, you are not linking this to me. I’m not getting dragged into all of this.”

The two of them spent the next fifteen minutes printing photos and cutting them out, and when it sounded like Lockwood was stirring, Y/n sent George to keep him distracted. He penned his boss in the library where he’d fallen asleep earlier, spewing facts about the next case they were going to go on to keep Lockwood there while Y/n snuck around the house. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been waffling on about murder victims and Type 2s, but when Lockwood’s girlfriend tentatively peeked around the door he had to stop himself from visibly sighing in relief. 

“You alright, Schmoopie?” Where the nickname had come from, George had no idea, but Y/n was the only one who used it and specifically only when she wanted to piss off Lockwood. Lockwood himself knew this too, and George could immediately see the suspicion creep in. 

“… yeah. Are you?”

“Hm? Oh, yep!” Her grin was wide, and looked rather like a shark, and George wondered why Lockwood was staring all heart-eyed at her despite being suspicious. “Just been… finding toothbrushes.” It was Lockwood’s turn to smile now, boyish delight making him perk up. 

“Get any?”

“Eventually. Took me a bloody long time though,” she mumbled the last part, but the boys still heard. George snickered. Lockwood’s smile grew. “Anyway… tea?”

“Alright then,” Lockwood replied, stretching out a hand and moving over to the doorway. Y/n took it, planting a kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek before pulling him out the room. 

She sent a wink over her shoulder at George as they turned the corner and disappeared. 

~~~

So far, the pranks were one each. 

Lucy had noticed Y/n putting photos of Penelope Fittes in all the picture frames around 35 Portland Row, and when her friend had explained why, she had gladly joined in. Any opportunity to mess with Lockwood was an opportunity that Lucy took. 

Around half an hour after Lockwood had reappeared from the library, he still hadn’t noticed that all of the photos had been replaced. He’d spotted one or two maybe, but that was it. Some were more sneaky than others, and Lucy knew that Lockwood would be finding Penelope Fittes photos for weeks after today. 

Now she was sat in the living room with George, Holly, and Y/n, sketching in her pad. There was near silence in the room, the clock ticking and what sounded like suppressed snorts of laughter outside the door the only noises. Lucy frowned, glancing at the door every few seconds. After another minute or so of stifled laughter Lockwood appeared, mouth pinched to hide the smile on his face as he walked in and sat on the arm of his normal armchair where Y/n was sat. 

“…Lockwood?” Lucy asked. “Why are you wearing a hat? You’re… indoors?”

“Oh! Just felt like it! Thought it would be nice to wear something a little more fun. For morale, you know?”

Y/n looked up then, and gaped at the top hat perched on her boyfriend’s head. “You’re ridiculous, Anthony.”

“Yep. We’ve had this conversation before, Darling.” All talk died down after that, Lockwood occasionally murmuring a word or two to help Y/n with her crossword, and the members of the agency were at peace. At some point Lockwood excused himself to the toilet, and when he came back around five minutes later (they’d all heard the toilet flush) there was something slightly off about him. He still had the top hat on, but something was bugging Lucy. 

The same process repeated, Lucy looking up at him every now and then to try and figure out what was different and Y/n doing the same (the two girls had shared multiple confused looks), and then Lockwood excused himself to get a plate of biscuits. When he came back, Lucy once again felt something was off. The biscuits were passed around, crossword helped, top hat still in place, then Lockwood came up with another reason to leave the room. 

It was the fourth time he returned that Y/n appeared to realise what was happening. “Ohh, I see what you’re doing, Anthony Lockwood.”

“Do you?” he asked, innocent as a child. “I’ve noticed the photographs - don’t think I haven’t.”

“Oh, have fun finding them all. Why do you have multiple sizes of the same top hat?”

Lockwood shrugged. “Disguises. Why did you have so many photos of the head of the Fittes company?”

“Does it matter? You’ll be finding them for weeks.”

They finished their friendly bickering in hushed tones, Y/n standing up to let Lockwood sit down and balance her on his lap, and Lucy smiled softly at them. 

After wrangling the whole story of what had happened over the Christmas holidays out of the two of them, Lucy had spent roughly the last two and a half months teasing the living daylights out of the couple for their antics, but she couldn’t deny how cute they were together. 

She just hoped that the current poking in the sides they were doing didn’t turn into decking each other instead. 

Cut scene (alternative prank):

Now she was sat in her room in the attic, one leg hanging off the edge with the other folded underneath while she drew in her sketchbook. The creaking of the steps up to her floor alerted her to someone’s presence, and after a few seconds Lockwood’s head appeared, followed by his body. “Ah, Luce, thought I’d find you here.” He had something in his hand, shiny in a crinkly plastic bag. “I need your help to-” he broke off, mid-movement while he peered at one of the pictures on Lucy’s bedside table. It was of the five of them, Lockwood, George, Holly, Y/n, and herself, except in the place of Skull sat on the sideboard was Penelope Fittes’ face. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Did she put some of these up here, too?” Lucy struggled not to smile.

“Must have done it when I was in the kitchen earlier.” That was a lie, Lucy had done it herself. “What did you need me for?”

“Ah!” He lifted the plastic bag and grinned. “Doubloons. Not real ones, obviously, I bought them from a cheap party shop down the road. I’m going to hide them around the house.”

Tag list:

@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn

@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, @oblivious-idiot

as always, if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here!

[rivangel]

hello! how r u doing?

can u write something angsty with either no comfort or comfort at the end (whatever u want). basically, reader has been having a pretty shitty week and has been working nonstop, and is the type to not about what's bothering them until they can't contain it anymore or they're calm enough to talk about it because they know they can get snappy and say some very sharp words that can be very hurtful. levi of course knows that, because he is our observant pookie, and leaves the reader alone, just acts normal. one night, let's say levi maybe says something snarky or whatever, that the reader has been some pretty bad attitude which is unlike them, and usually reader wouldn't take his words seriously and know that he's perhaps trying to help them open up. this time, it doesn't go the wau it's supposed to, and reader just fully snaps at levi and say some very harsh, petty and hurtful words to him. the rest is up to u!

and thank u btw, i love ur content❤️

yes, yes i can. ty for such a detailed rq :) this became angstier than intended😭but it's ok bc it was 10x more painful to write being mean to levi.

reader/us also has a distinct personality kind of built off the way you described, so i hope it's what you expect😅

➥ pairing: Levi x gn!reader

➥ c/w: college!au, Levi pov, Levi not realizing he has trauma for 1400 words, apologizing, selective mutism...?, heavy hurt and some comfort

➥ wc: 1.4k

If ever he ranked cleaning activities in his mind (which he has), organizing isn’t very high, but it doesn’t occur to him not to help you out with the little things when your week has been poisoned with the dual evils, shitty and exhausting.

Ever since you got back from class, you’ve sat there at your desk. He’s kept you in the corner of his eye, and that same scowl from an hour ago is still there, illuminated by the light of your laptop. You’ve paid it more attention than to anything else—which is not at all, even to your basic needs. 

It’s best to give you space when that look is on your face, and has and will continue to, but not when it comes to eating and-or sleeping. Other than that, he’s content in the background. Whatever he does to help out, you always notice, and tell him thank you with a weak smile, but not today—today when you look particularly like you’re at your wit’s end.

When he finished organizing the apartment (including the fridge), he bypassed your desk and sat on his computer playing solitaire for a solid half-hour. Inevitably, he gets bored, and he’s giving you as much time as he’s willing to before he drags you out to eat something.

Unsatisfied without the job completely done, he rolls up his sleeves and starts at the end of your desk by emptying your pencil sharpener, making a face at how full it is.

To his satisfaction, your focus hardly wanes. Which is good, but he knows how you like everything anyway. With an undistinguishable but distinct fondness, he notes your quirks; even the way you hold your pen melds with your existence in his mind. 

Or no, maybe that’s wrong. You’re a part of him; not a visitor, or even a resident, of his heart and mind.

“Levi, I need those pencils; leave them there.”

You’re referring to the plastic tin of a few colored pencils in his hand, which sat near the middle beside your computer. He looks at you, but you’re definitely serious about it, so he sets it back down.

“If you say so.”

You say nothing and go back to your work. Skipping the tin (which he wants to wash because of all the gross graphite smears and shavings at the bottom), he takes the pencil case beside that, and pops it open. An eraser found its way into a sea of colored pencils somehow somehow, as well as crayons—probably Hange. Not too long ago you had them over working on a class project. He starts picking out these imposters.

“Levi,” you huff, your expression severe as you look daggers at him. “Just leave it alone.”

“Tch, you’re kidding. You’d rather I waste my time sorting the bookshelf in reverse alphabetical order instead? That’s stupid, so why?”

He always gets ‘Are you okay?’ wrong, but this time you turn towards him with your fist tightly curled over your notebook. He doesn’t look startled, but he barely catches the beginning of your revile.

“Stop messing around!—I just told you to stop fucking with it, so quit being a fucking idiot and get out of my space!! This is so stupid, do you not see I’m busy!? ‘Cuz you clearly can’t listen!”

Ironically the angrier you sound, the less emotion shows on his face. Only at the end—you already look guilty—amidst silence like a bomb’s fallout, he wears the scowl of a frightened animal.

He waits until your lips start moving to turn around and leave. 

At the door, he stops again with his hand clutching the knob, and glares at you over his shoulder. When your lips go to form his name, he slams it harder than necessary.

This is so stupid.

That was far from the first time someone has yelled at him in his life, and besides, is getting yelled at not an experience absolutely everyone’s had?

Even so, he can’t seem to make himself do fuck-all besides quietly sit, sit in your dark kitchen at the dining table, his legs folded to his chest. He feels like a gargoyle—odd, ancient, and unthinking. 

Maybe he just never expected you would ever lose your temper, which is naive of him.

He doesn’t know what to do, until, your voice speaking softly makes him bolt up straight. 

“I’m sorry, can I turn this on…?” you ask softly.

For now, your profile is merely a black shadow in the doorway, with your back illuminated by the one in the tiny hall. The switch you’re gesturing to would light up above the oven, rather than the whole room.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. But it’s not a no. 

Despite the nature of turning on a light, it feels so slow.

He must’ve sat a while, because he even cringes, blinking feverishly. Before his vision even adjusts, the guilt etched into your expression is almost painful for him to look at, like a cavernous gorge shoveled into the earth miles wide and deep. You’re holding something to your chest.

“I’m so sorry for snapping like that. You didn’t do anything wrong at all. I’m so sorry, Levi. I’m never, ever too busy—fuck, I was frustrated and I never should take it out on you, not in any way, ever. I’m the one who’s an idiot.”

As you speak, you come until you’re by the table, standing like a magnet constantly being repelled from it. 

Then you set what you were holding down in front of him—one, an expensive piece of paper (the kind that bends, not tears) with a drawing of some sort he doesn’t want to look at right now, and a rice cake wrapped in clingy wrap. 

His favorite. 

“I’m so so sorry,” you continue apologizing profusely. At this point your eyes are wet, but they keep darting away, with your nails surely leaving half-moon-shaped indents in your knuckles. You pray very quietly, “I’ll do anything ‘cuz you’re everything.”

Wide-eyed, he can’t seem to respond except for a raw sound in his throat after you say that. An instinct seems primal, as much as pumping blood is, that if he says anything, the likelihood that you’ll leave him will increase an unknown amount. 

Normally he’s so calm under pressure, and he didn’t say anything before either—you’ll get the wrong idea. The best thing he can think of is to robotically slide the offerings closer.

You’re still trying not to cry when you go. 

He stays there, just as he was, for another little while. He’s not really feeling anything, but at the same time, he’s running out of breath from the effort to calm down. 

Ugh…

The way you clearly felt is probably what you get, but he doesn’t want that for you anyway. Even if you did mean any of it.

But you didn’t.

It’s midnight or so—too early for Levi to usually be asleep but very late for him to be coming to bed—when he taps the bedroom door open with a few fingers and slinks inside. To prevent from waking you up, he did most of his business in the bathroom in the dark. 

It now helps him make out the shape of you under the covers on your side of the bed. He comes like a wraith, so much that he’s near-silent crawling into bed beside you, and using the edge of the covers to slip under.

Your back is in front of him. He wants to make sure you know it’s okay… but he doesn’t know how. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead right between your shoulder blades and the thin material of your tank top, the only place you’re touching. You’re warm, you smell good. 

By the slight hitch in your breathing then, you know he’s here. 

After a while, he brings his hand up to your waist, or rather a bit before it. It’s not long before you gently rest your fingers on top of his. He lets them slot in-between.

His eyes are heavy. He doesn’t bother opening them as he reaches around, bringing you his way, with your head nestled in his chest. That’s the only time you make a move, since he made it clear it’s okay for you to.

He holds you tightly and breathes you in. You both relax.

Levi masterlist | main masterlist

[yutasbellybuttonpiercing]

What's x in the equation of love?

pairing: huang renjun x reader

au/genre: humor, fluff, a tiny bit of angst, slice of life...?, a bit suggestive, college!au, roommate!yangyang

word count: 7053 words

warnings: cursing ☝🏻, yangyang, bad jokes, i really have no idea what this is, but i find it funny, personally, maths, sex jokes, yangyang is... a bit of an ick, one (1) smooch, fast paced ending because i don't know how to finish stories

synopsis: yangyang decides that you need a tutor, he can't take your whining anymore. hence, you're set up to meet the most perfect man you've ever seen. things tend to become more complicated than they have to be.

a/n: why do i always make my supporting characters so disgusting?

a/n 2: holy shit this took so long, but finally!! the strangers to lovers collection is finished! also, this is my first time not writing smut... which was... weird? but refreshing? i hope you enjoy it anyway... even though no one is boneing...

"I can't do this anymore," you sigh, dropping your pencil onto the squared paper in front of you before letting your head thumb loudly against the tabletop. The sound inevitably startles – first and foremost, but not limited to – your best friend, roommate and study partner Yangyang.

It's not like you're bad at studying. It's just that you somehow managed to slack off on a few courses and now your timetable is filled to the brim with seminars and lectures from different semesters, and it's honestly getting a little too much at this point.

"Maths?" Yangyang finally pipes up after watching your motionless figure hunched over one of the many desks in your university's library, staring blankly ahead into nothingness. As an answer, you just sigh again, sitting up and leaning back in your chair. "Why don't you get a tutor?"

"You're my tutor."

"Listen, I love you – platonically – but if you want me to tutor you in maths, we're going to have a problem," Yangyang motions between you and him with his pen while raising his eyebrows, "because I know less than you do."

"I can't believe you're doing this to me," you whine, maybe a notch too loudly because a whole bunch of heads are harshly turned into your direction, several squinted eyes bore into your body from different angles with death glares, and someone even builds up the courage to 'shh' across the room.

"Not knowing maths?"

"Yes!" You throw your hands up, looking at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. In response, Yangyang just grins, displaying his cute smile before he nudges your shoulder gently. You sigh. "I think I'm going to start crying."

"Please don't, that's cringe. I'll help you find a tutor, alright?"

A few weeks passed since your disastrous study session in the library (definitely not the first nor the last one of those) and in the meantime, Yangyang helped you put up flyers around campus looking for a tutor. Putting your phone number onto the sheet had probably been your first mistake since about half of the calls you got were pervs who, accompanied by a dirty laugh, asked if you needed to be tutored in "sexology". The other half had been a great mixture, a bit of everything, going from 4 invitations to 4 different "best parties ever" to heavy breathing into your ear (which you endured for a solid minute before hanging up to cry into your pillow).

Admittedly, there had been a few serious offers, but somehow they were not good enough for you, either too young, too old, too loud, too fast paced with trying to teach you the content, too this, too that, blah blah blah. Maybe you are just too picky, but would you admit that to Yangyang? Not in this life.

"What's wrong with him?" Yangyang asks as soon as he closes the door behind him, coming home to yet another person leaving your shared apartment with fast and angry steps, and an unreadable, but definitely not happy expression on their face.

"He has a dog."

"So?"

"I'm a cat person."

"With all due respect, but what the fuck?" Yangyang lets his bag drop to the floor so he can motion around with his hands weirdly. "You know you're not supposed to go to the pet shop with them, but let them teach you algebra, right?"

"I know, but trust me. He wasn't good enough for the job." You pout, strolling into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat which in this case means opening a bag of chips and sit down in front of the television to procrastinate and try to forget about the workload and unopened books on your desk that are slowly but surely collecting dust and/or growing mold.

"Could it be that, i don't know, you hypothetically just don't want to get tutored?" Yangyang catches up with you after taking off his shoes at the front door, looking at you accusingly which you only realize after turning your head to send him a sulky look.

"Maybe," you admit and just a second after, Yangyang slaps the back of your head tauntingly which causes you to whine. "What was that for?"

"You can't keep doing this. The next person that's offering to help you, you're going to take. If I hear another 'I can't do this anymore'" – he mocks your signature phrase with a higher pitched voice and odd body movements that remind you of a ship during dangerously harsh motion of the sea – "at 3am, I will move out."

You frown at him, an unuttered blinking battle happening between the two of you before you purse your lips in defeat. "Fine."

"... and I have just the guy in mind."

The guy in mind is no other than Huang Renjun, apparently, as you learn just a day later. Too bad that this information does nothing for you since, honestly, you'd never heard of him before. But hearing nothing about someone means that they can't be that bad, right?

That's what you keep telling yourself on your way to one of your favorite cafés where you're about the meet Yangyang and this Renjun guy in just a few minutes. It's sweet of Yangyang that he wants to help you find a tutor, but honestly, you would have preferred to wallow in self-pity for a couple more days, maybe longer, maybe forever and become a stripper instead.

Studying had always been hard for you, it's not that you're particularly stupid, you just have to realize over and over again that there are many things in this world that are way more interesting, that you'd much rather do than to study.

But maybe this is what you need, a final push into taking care of your life by a dear friend.

Finally, you arrive at your destination, ordering your drink before texting Yangyang a quick message asking about his whereabouts, decorated with an annoyed emoji. The answer comes sadly not in text form as you'd hoped, like something along the lines of "Can't make it, sorry, Renjun is busy" but no. Instead, you hear your name being called and as you look up, there's a particular blonde haired guy waving frantically at you from across the café.

You huff out a breath before moving forward, keeping your eyes to the ground as you make your way towards their table. Maybe, just maybe, you had dreaded this particular meet up and had therefore taken the longer route, and maybe you're a little late.

"Glad you could make it!" Yangyang greets with a fake smile.

"Shut up," you mumble as you sit down next to him, eyes glued to your cup as to not spill any of the liquid on your hands. Or maybe you should let it, it would make a great excuse to leave immediately.

"I'm Renjun!"

God, fuck.

You clutch your chest with your hand, admittedly over-dramatically. You had almost forgotten about him. Quickly, you collect yourself and look up at him, opening your mouth ready to introduce yourself too, but all that comes out is a weird, stertorous breath because holy shit, this guy's- handsome? Pretty? Beautiful? Perfect???

With a worried expression, Yangyang pads your back, probably already imagining you saying that Renjun could not tutor you because his perfume smells too strong, when in reality you'd kill – twice – to only get one tiny whiff of this man's fragrance.

Finally, you have grounded yourself, given Renjun your name and avoided shaking his hand successfully because he does not have to know how sweaty your palms are. Lucky for you, Yangyang remembers an insanely interesting topic that he has to talk to Renjun about, giving you the time and opportunity to study Renjun's face and everything else about him that is exposed to your eyes above the tabletop.

The first eye catcher would be his two toned hair that gently curls around his cheeks, framing it as if his face is a beautiful painting, which in your opinion, it certainly is. Next, you focus on his eyes that still seem to sparkle, even in the shitty light of the cheap café. He also has extremely beautiful lips, so slender, but at the same time so plush and full, so incredibly kissable. And his big nose...

A sudden shadow comes into your line of view, quickly followed by a quick, stinging pain as Yangyang pinches your nose to get your attention.

"What?!" You exclaim, holding onto your nose to, honestly, feel if it's still there as you look at Yangyang with squinted eyes full of annoyance.

"I've asked you something, like, three times." Yangyang chuckles as he pinches your earlobe next. "Did you space out again thinking about the amount of liquid a bladder can hold?"

"That is an embarrassing piece of information that I would have preferred to stay between the two of us." You grit your teeth as you glare at Yangyang. "And stop pinching me!" You hit Yangyang's hand as he reaches out to pinch your cheek next.

Yangyang laughs, "I'm sorry, it was my fault for occupying your study date for so long. I'll be on my way now. Have fun, but not too much fun since this is only maths and it would be weird if you had fun."

And with that, Yangyang disappears, completely ignoring your pleading puppy-eyes as he grabs his bag and waves, almost bumping into the waitress on his way out, apologizing profoundly before smirking, and asking for her number.

Now, it's just the two of you alone and with every second that Yangyang's gone the awkward silence thickens and your death wish upon Yangyang grows.

"So, uhm." Renjun clears his throat, sorting through his papers quickly before placing them down again in the initial order. "Yangyang sent me the topics of your maths course for this semester so I've brought some material."

You nod, finding it particularly hard to focus on anything but Renjun's perfect eyebrows, which is also the reason you can't really appreciate or be surprised that Yangyang actually put this much effort into something for little old you.

"I would like to make a plan, like repeating study dates, and I'd love to discuss the topics of each lesson right now so we're prepared. We can time it with your lectures and go over the stuff beforehand so you're prepared for each lecture. I mean, if that's something you want?" Renjun looks up from his notes, his eyes directly meeting yours and you feel yourself melt.

"Yes, of course." You're surprised that you managed to bring out actual words and not just a needy whine because... anything with you is something I'd want. You can do anything with me. Anything.

Anything.

"Great!"

And just like that, you're diving head first into your first study session with Renjun and you have to admit, he is incredibly smart and great at explaining, and, as long as you don't look at him directly or for too long, you believe he could really help you with your maths problems.

An hour later, you part ways, half bowing, half waving at each other, both still too new to the situation to be able to define your relationship and therefore agree on a proper way of saying goodbye, but so be it. The inner shame you're feeling about your awkward goodbye will hopefully subside in the next few hours. Or days. As soon as you turn the corner you bump into someone.

After an exaggerated intake of air, you glare at him. "Don't tell me you were waiting here this whole time."

"Brought my Nintendo." Yangyang smiles, waving the device in front of your face.

"Still weird."

"Did you really expect me to miss the first opportunity in my life of you telling me that I was right?" Yangyang beams confidently and as much as you fight it, a smile creeps onto your features as well because, yes, he had been right, Renjun is perfect at tutoring as well as every other aspect you've seen so far.

"He has a what?!"

"A girlfriend," Yangyang repeats, but it's so muffled by the food stuffed into his mouth that you believe you misheard him again. Or maybe that's just you hoping.

"A what?"

"Girlfriend."

"What?"

"GIRLFRIEND!!"

"And that's why he can't tutor me?!"

Yangyang swallows before answering this time and you're thankful for that. "Apparently. He just told me to tell you."

On the outside, you may have looked normal in this moment, just staring at Yangyang with an indifferent look on your face, but on the inside? It's like a whole world crushing down behind your eyes. In your head, there are at least 20 different little 'you's running around screaming and waving their arms around frantically, everything is one fire, in the distance: sirens. Why had no one mentioned Renjun's girlfriend before? You could've spend the past nights planning scenarios in your head about marrying him as you fell asleep doing something... something else! Something with a perspective, at least.

Of course, Renjun has a girlfriend. Honestly, you'd have been surprised if he didn't have one, but it still kind of stung right there in your chest, all your little fantasies that you've made up during movie nights with Yangyang vaporizing into thin air at the thought that he already is someone's.

"Why do you seem so upset by this? Could it be that you, i don't know, mayhaps like him?" Yangyang smirks, dropping his chopsticks to fold his hands under his chin, leaning his elbows onto the table to smirk at you.

"No." You stare back at him without a hint of emotion on your features. "I just need him to tutor me."

Yangyang sighs, picking his chopsticks back up, seemingly disappointed by the lack of crush you pretend to have on Renjun. There are not too many things you're good at, but hiding your feelings is one of them.

"Is something wrong?" Renjun finally asks you.

You've been sitting at your dining table for quite some time now and all you did so far was sulkingly pout and not look him in the eyes. Remember when you said that you're good at hiding your feelings? Scratch that when it comes to Renjun.

Renjun looks at you worriedly, clicking his pen thrice before putting it down on his book, your eyes following his every movement until you finally look up into his eyes. "Are you mad because I raised my voice when I told you to take the square root for the n-th time? Because if-"

"No, it's not that. There's just a lot on my mind lately." You sigh, eyes going back to the sheet of paper in front of you as you fiddle around with your pen almost nervously.

"You can always talk to me, you know?" Renjun finally says after you've been pretending to work on your task for quite some time. You raise your eyebrows simultaneously with your head to look at him in disbelief. "If you want to, of course..."

"I don't think your girlfriend would appreciate that..." You mumble, hoping he would not hear it, but apparently, Renjun's ears are extraordinarily intact and a tiny smile tucks at the corners of his mouth. You watch him as he leans back in his chair, closing his book to symbolize the ending of this study session, though his pen is still stuck in between the pages, bulging through the thin pages and the wobbly cover.

Renjun sighs, seemingly in deep thought about what to tell you next and a tiny wave of anxiety washes over you at the thought that maybe you've just given away your slowly but surely forming crush on him, and scared him away.

"I don't-" Renjun takes a deep breath, "I don't care what she thinks."

Your eyebrows shoot upwards at the speed of light. Out of all the possible answers in this scenario, this would've been your last guess. What's that even supposed to mean? Your surprise at his words seem to be showing on your face since Renjun leans forward onto his forearms, minimizing the space in between the two of you.

"Look..." He begins, but seems to be in trouble about how to put his situation into words. "Let's just say, it's not going too well. Let's leave it at that."

You nod understandingly, briefly licking over your lower lip, averting your eyes away from his form. To say you're not curious would be a lie, though you respect his wish to leave it at that, silently sorting your things as Renjun stuffs his own into his backpack. "I'll walk you out."

The next study session has you biting your nails in nervousness. Renjun seems to be in an exceptionally bad mood today, and he has no problem raising his voice at you every time you make an unnecessary mistake. You try your best to ignore the way that's making you feel, given the mood he's in, but you try to remember that feeling for the next time you're alone.

"What's up with you today?"

Renjun huffs, leaning back in his chair to fiddle with his fingers in his lap. He looks kind of cute like that, you have to admit, but you keep that thought to yourself for obvious reasons, instead taking a sip of your water to hide the small smile forming on your face.

"We broke up."

You spit the water out all over the table, wetting a few of your work sheets in the process. Renjun, unfazed by your sudden fountain imitation, just sighs, eyes trained on his hands as you try to dry all of the wet stains on the wooden and papery surfaces with tissues.

"It's not like I'm not glad about the decision, it's just that... I was so used to her presence in my life," Renjun continues as if you didn't just spit a few droplets onto his pants, "the circumstances for our break-up were also... unfortunate."

"I'm so sorry," you say, a squelching flapping sound of the soaked glob of tissues hitting the ground next to the garbage can accompanying your words as you reach out to gently pad his forearm. You notice the way his eyes focus on the exact spot where you touch him.

Quickly, you retort your hand, suddenly feeling like that had just been the worst decision of your life, but Renjun grabs your wrist before you pull it out of his reach. "It's okay, you can touch me."

You don't want to admit to the rush of warmth spreading over your body at his words, not even to yourself. It's embarrassing, he didn't even mean it like that, but it still gets you all hot and bothered. There are just many, many places and occasions where you'd like to touch him.

"There's no one to stop you," Renjun adds, chuckling gently as he refers to his now ex girlfriend and obviously himself. It seems like your silence didn't go unnoticed by him.

"May I ask... what happened?"

Renjun blinks at you, and for a split second, you believe asking was a mistake. But then, he answers, "It's been... not going well for a while now. We're too different, and I honestly fell out of love with her a long time ago. Plus-"

Renjun halts for a moment, before he continues, "there's someone that... made me realize that there are still many other good options out there."

"Ah, really?" You chuckle awkwardly. You're aware that if your friends were here right now, they'd all nudge your sides with their elbows, grinning widely in belief he's talking about you. You, on the other hand, are not so sure about that.

"I only met this person a few weeks ago, but I feel like... there's a connection. I mean, I don't know what it is, but I'm insanely attracted to- that person." Renjun scratches the back of his head, eyes locking with yours as if he's waiting for you to say something.

"I- can relate," you try.

"What if-" Renjun starts, but then begins shaking his head, "never mind."

You don't see Renjun for a few weeks. Every time, it's either you or him who has to cancel the meeting due to personal reasons. Yangyang is the one accompanying you during your solo study sessions, tapping away on his phone as you massage your temples with such force that you're surprised the you haven't rubbed any holes into your skull yet.

"Why isn't he coming today?" Yangyang pipes up, putting his phone onto the table with the screen facing down. You sigh so heavily and dramatically that Yangyang raises an eyebrow. You throw your pencil onto the wooden surface so hard that it rolls over the expanse of the table until it falls to the ground at the opposite end.

"I don't know," you say through gritted teeth, throwing Yangyang a stern look like he's a bird that just took a fat dump right onto the wind shield of your new car.

"Woah," Yangyang throws his hands up intermediately, mouth agape in fake offense, "no need to lash out on me like that, I'm not occupying your sexy tutor right now."

"Why are you calling him that?" You gasp.

"Because that's what you think he is," Yangyang states, nodding with a smile on his face. You sigh.

"I mean, he's not ugly," you reason, but that statement is enough for Yangyang to pull out his folder almost spilling over with collages and collections of white dresses, suits, napkins and bouquets to plan your wedding. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"I think he wants you too," Yangyang sighs dreamily, folding his hands underneath his chin to rest it on top.

"Calm down, cupid, he just broke up with his girlfriend."

"For you," Yangyang sing-songs, dragging out the words as he finger-guns at you, "now we just need a plan to get you two to- you know," Yangyang motions with his hands and you're not completely sure whether he's trying to symbolize intercourse or solving an invisible Rubix cube.

"No."

"Yes!" Yangyang gasps offendedly.

"No! I need him to tutor me! Even if, hypothetically, he was madly in love with me," – you scoff to hide a forming grin – "I need his help! The exam is in just under a week, and neither him nor I can get distracted during these times of terror!"

Yangyang just watches you doubtfully.

"Believe me, it's better if I just study on my own. I can always ask him via text," you announce your final stance, waving your phone in the air to prove that due to the break-throughs of modern technology over the past years, he's just the press of a button away.

Yangyang does not budge nor react.

"What I'm trying to say is: do not get involved!" You screech, opting to throw a balled up piece of paper into his face that he doges with ease.

Apparently, your words mean nothing to Yangyang because just a day later he's invited you to the same cheap café where you had met Renjun for the first time. Too bad that Yangyang didn't show up. Someone else did show up, though, and it was no other than the complete content of your last month's dreams: Renjun.

"Where-" you begin, but soon realize that this is a set-up, and you make a mental note to strangle Yangyang as soon as you get home. With a slight smile, Renjun sits down across from you, hands wrapped around his paper cup filled with what you assume is tea, judging by the little label on a string dangling from under the lid.

"I swear to God, I'm going to kill him," you mutter, but Renjun suddenly puts a hand onto your forearm, your gaze burning into the pretty birthmark on the back of his hand immediately.

"Please don't," Renjun says, voice so soft that you have to pull yourself together as to not slide off your chair to melt into a puddle on the floor. Instead, you look up to find his beautiful eyes already locking with yours. "You need me right now, in these times of terror."

"He told you about that," you whine, face scrunching up in embarrassment.

"Yes," Renjun nods, pressing his lips together to symbolize empathy for your situation, that you accept with a sigh. Renjun does not need to know, and will never find out, that you actually will bury Yangyang alive in your neighbor's yard once you get back, or at least bewitch him so he never dares to darken your doorstep again. "The important thing is, I'm here. And I will get you through that exam."

"Honestly, I might as well just drop out. It's useless, you're just wasting your time. I should just become a stripper or something," you complain, fingers picking at your chipped off nail polish.

"As much as I'd love to see that..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I don't want you to give up so easily! You can do this, I believe in you!" Renjun fakes a grin and shakes his fists in the air. "Jiāyóu~!"

You grimace at the expression, but then break out a smile as well. God, you missed him. Honestly, when you're looking at him, all the motivation his pretty eyes contain kind of latch onto you as well. Maybe you can do it, but not without his help.

"I'm free every day starting tomorrow."

"Sounds good to me."

A mathematics-marathon should be the last thing to be excited for, though you still found yourself sleepless rolling around your mattress the night prior, a giggling grin on your face as you imagined the next 3 days to be filled with nothing but quality time with Renjun. Even Yangyang is surprised seeing you up so early the next day, making coffee with a smile and a tune on your lips, and even a 'good morning' – something he hadn't received in years, maybe not ever.

"Alright, all set?" You ask, beaming.

"Yeah?"

"Great! I'll go masturbate!"

"Why?"

"Because I have to be able to focus on studying-"

"No, why are you telling me this?" Yangyang whines, shielding his ears with his palms to protect them from more tmi, though you huff out a laugh before leaning in to pinch his cheek.

"Yangie, you're so silly! Anyway, he'll be here soon, open the door for him when he's here, yeah?" You pad his head before turning to storm off to your room.

"Who?" Yangyang's brows furrow at the lack of knowledge he has regarding the situation. As if on cue, the doorbell rings. You squeak happily, then go to open the door for Renjun who stands there looking handsome as ever.

"Hi," he smiles, body decorated with a huge binder in his arm, a bag crossing over his torso and a small suitcase in his unoccupied hand. He looks breathtaking as always, and you almost forget to let him inside.

"Renjun!" It sounds from Yangyang who finally built up enough curiosity to sneak up on whoever just entered your shared home. Renjun smiles and waves at him as he rids himself of his coat and shoes. You can do nothing but watch in awe at how someone can look this enticing hanging a piece of clothing to a wall. Yangyang does not waste a second before wrapping an arm around Renjun's shoulders to drag him away.

"Where are you taking him?" Your brows furrow as you grab ahold of Renjun's wrist to stop him from going anywhere, ignoring the rush of excitement flowing through you at the feeling of his body's warmth.

"Thought you wanted to go masturbate," Yangyang bites back with a dirty grin. He always acts like a mess on mornings, but apparently it's all been an act, he seems to be able to throw you under the bus just fine.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about," you speak sweetly to Renjun, guiding him with you to sit at the table, but not before throwing Yangyang a dirty look. Renjun seems a bit taken aback, but generally grown accustomed to your continuous bickering.

If this was a movie, there would be a montage of studying clips with energetic rock music playing in the background right now. Of you chewing on your pencil, Renjun pointing at an equation in the book, explaining stuff with a serious expression and you nodding along. You scribbling away on a sheet of paper furiously, Renjun pinching the bridge of his nose while shaking his head. You throwing your pencil through the room in defeat before placing your head on the table top with Renjun patting your shoulder. Yangyang on the couch deeply invested in his Nintendo DS, occasionally picking his nose. Renjun motioning his hands in the air as you squint at him and nod. You showing Renjun how you managed to solve the equation, but Renjun presses his lips together. You screaming, claw-like hands shaking in the air as hot tears wet your cheeks. Renjun standing up, his own hands in his hair, panicking. Yangyang munching on a piece of toast which goes down the wrong pipe causing him to cough violently. The sun moving over the sky before being replaced by the moon at a sped-up pace, implying that these moments were happening over the course of multiple days. You sniffling, wiping your eyes every few seconds as you write something down again with Renjun nervously biting his nails and pacing around the room. You handing Renjun the paper, your hands shaking, and Renjun's eyes going wide, a smile forming on his lips. You screaming and cheering, jumping up and down celebrating, the sudden noise causing Yangyang to jump and fall of the couch.

"I'm going to the toilet," Yangyang announces, "don't wait up."

"Okay, ha-"

"I'm going to poop! Jesus, have you ever heard of privacy? You guys are so nosy," Yangyang whines before exiting the room. Renjun throws you a questioning look that you do not see, only sense, as your eyes are focused on the numbers and letters on your sheet of paper.

"He gets stressed when a costumer of his Style Boutique isn't happy with the item he chose for them," you briefly explain.

"Oh, so that's what he's been playing for the past two days?"

"What did you think?" You mumble, tongue catching between your lips as you punch the keys of your calculator until it finally gives you the answer you longed for.

"I don't know actually. Good for him," Renjun smiles.

"He's trying to get to the platinum level at the fashion contests right now."

"Sounds dedicated."

"I'm done! Check it please," you draw out the last syllable to sound cute, and if your brain wasn't filled with purely maths, you'd probably cringe at yourself right now. Renjun grins and takes the paper from you. Going through the lines, he keeps nodding, and you bite your pointer finger over your folded hands anxiously.

"Well, except that the answer is plus and minus 3, you managed to get everything right," Renjun beams, scribbling a little smiley next to your answer. You clap your hands in front of your chest, feeling relieved. Your heart beats a little faster as you watch Renjun flip through the pages.

"Okay, this one is really hard. If you get this right, you're definitely acing this topic," Renjun explains, the tip of his pen quickly drawing tiny little dots next to the exercise on the papery surface of the math book.

"I can do it," you nod and high five him before diving in.

While your nose is buried in your notes, scribbling away furiously, Renjun anxiously leans back. Yangyang reenters the room, locking eyes with Renjun who smiles nervously.

Yangyang grins, eyes darting to your hunched over form at the table, tongue stuck between your lips in upmost concentration, then back to Renjun, and he wiggles his brows teasingly. Renjun, innocent as he is, tilts his head in confusion. Yangyang stares at your form again, eyes widening purposely before doing the same while looking at Renjun, then he purses his lips to mimic a kiss. Renjun stares blankly ahead, still not getting it.

Yangyang groans silently before dramatically pointing at you with both hands, then to Renjun, before balling his fists and thrusting his hips into the distance between his hands, then halting and staring at Renjun intently.

Renjun blushes profusely and looks away.

Yangyang chuckles dirtily.

That makes you look up, "what?"

You notice Yangyang grinning and Renjun looking ready for the ground to swallow him whole. "Don't worry about it," Yangyang says grinning evilly before flopping back down on the couch, miscalculating the distance and almost tumbling back off.

Renjun gulps, you notice, and smiles at you awkwardly. You shrug and get back to calculating. Renjun is sweating, nervously gazing at Yangyang who is back in his Style Boutique, then at you as you write down something on your sheet of paper. Renjun notices the way your lashes curve softly, and how you slightly puff out your cheeks in concentration, and he can't help but recall the moment a minute ago, and what Yangyang was implying.

"I am sweating buckets," you inform everyone in hearing radius, and it's true. There are pearls of sweat running down your back right now, party because the next one and a half hours are going to determine the course of your enter life, and partly because, as well established by now: Renjun.

"You can do it," Renjun says full of energy, having woken up extra early to send you on your way into the exam, both of his hands on your shoulders, shaking you lightly, "repeat after me."

"I can do it," you say, trying to sound determined, as a bypassing student accidentally bumps into your arm as they enter the classroom.

"Yes!" Renjun nods, gazing softly into your eyes, his soft smile faltering a little as you gaze back into his eyes, your gaze unmistakably flickering down to his lips as he is standing so close. You gulp and nod, forcing a smile.

The awkward tension lingers in the air for a bit before another student bumping into you rips you from your daze.

"Maybe I should-" you say, clearing your throat, and Renjun nods.

"I'll be rooting for you," Renjun smiles, waving as you turn around and enter the room, sending him a last nervous, tight-lipped smile before disappearing in the midst of other nervous students.

Not really knowing what to do with himself, Renjun sits down on the floor across the room, scrolling on his phone and checking the time bi-minutely. He falls asleep soon after, and if he could see the way he is sitting from a third person's POV, he would be concerned for the state of his neck.

A loud smack on the top of his head with a playboy magazine wakes him up.

Immediately in fight mode, he takes the pose he learned in self defense class, but he soon realizes it's just Yangyang.

"Hello Romeo," he teases, plopping down next to Renjun far too carelessly for the solidity of the hallway floor, and Renjun halts briefly to worry about YangYang's tailbone, but he seems just fine. Yangyang seems to have no problems showing off his porn magazine as he openly leaves it laying on his lap.

"Hello Yangyang," Renjun replies briefly, forcing himself to look at the ceiling as to not lock eyes with a pair of boobs.

"What's ya fine ass doing here?"

Renjun vaguely gestures towards the closed door of the room you're currently taking your maths exam in. Yangyang's eyes follow his hand, grinning deviously as he finally rolls the playboy magazine up and stuffs it into the side pocket of his cargo pants.

"Waiting for your girlfriend, huh?"

"She's not my girlfriend..." Renjun mumbles, blushing.

Yangyang pokes his side obnoxiously hard, making Renjun tilt his body to avoid a bruise. "C'mon... it's obvious."

Renjun shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. Yangyang was never one to be bothered by that.

"You like her, don't you? It's hot to you that she's as dumb as a bread," Yangyang grins, and after receiving a questioning look by Renjun clarifies, "a German expression."

"I... maybe I like her... she's funny and... sweet and... pretty smart except for maths," Renjun shrugs timidly.

Yangyang blinks at him, "agree to disagree... anyway! You should totally shoot your shot."

This time, Renjun blinks wordlessly, then after a moment says, "I don't think she even likes me."

"Are you joking?!" Yangyang shrieks, causing a few heads turn towards them, but he pays them no mind. "She's literally been head over heels for you since like 1947."

"We weren't even born then... my parents weren't even born then," Renjun points out.

"Dude," Yangyang comes unnecessarily close, "trust me. She's dtf!"

Renjun blinks, unfamiliar with the acronym.

"Oh my God, am I the only person familiar with slang? Is math really all you do?" Yangyang shakes his head in disbelief, and as Renjun opens his mouth to protest, to inform Yangyang that he, in fact, has various hobbies that have very little to do with maths, and besides, that math provides a lot of fun activities, like sudoku, but Yangyang stops him, "doesn't matter. She," he halts, rolling his eyes at the forced lack of euphemisms and exaggeration, "likes you."

Renjun does not seem convinced.

"Look, I'll give you my pair of Air Jordan 4 Retro Kaws Sneakers if I'm wrong," Yangyang says seriously.

"Why would I want your worn out shoes?"

"For God's sake!" Yangyang rubs his hands over his face, "why are we friends again?"

"Well, we met on vacation in 2017 and you said "on fleek, Chinese bros for the win," and you wouldn't leave me alone after."

"Chinese bros for the win," Yangyang repeats proudly, making Renjun glance around in embarrassment.

In that same moment, the door opens, revealing your figure sneaking out. With a glance at the time, Renjun immediately has a bad feeling about this. Not even two thirds of the time have passed since you entered the exam room, and from experience (of others, he himself has never had an issue with any exams), Renjun knows this usually doesn't end well.

You spot both boys sitting on the floor and step over. Renjun has never been more unable to read someone's emotional state. Hence, he gets up, preparing for the worst.

"And?" He asks hesitantly. In response, you shrug, informing them that you'll get the results an hour after the exam is finished. Renjun sighs, not a big fan of this uncertainty, but what choice does he have? Bribing the professor to look over your exam first and let him know whether you passed or not? ... that's not legal, right?

Three pairs of eyes are anxiously trained on your iPad screen in the middle of the table. Well, one pair of eyes, rather, since your eyes are fixated on how pretty Renjun's nose looks from this angle, and Yangyang is unmistakably scrolling on TikTok.

"Can you refresh again?" Renjun basically begs, gaze catching yours. He looks so distressed that it seemed as if he was waiting for his own results to come in. Well, in a way, he is.

Just as the clock strikes, you refresh the page, and a new email shows up. You gulp, glancing at Renjun who seems to be sweating buckets as he picks at his cuticles anxiously. Even Yangyang has abandoned his phone on the table, watching with interest. Hesitantly, your finger hovers over the email.

"I can't even look," Renjun brings out, covering his eyes with his birth marked hand. You take a deep breath before opening the document. A bone chilling screech emits from your throat, and no one is sure as to what that means.

Renjun, hand still covering his eyes, shrieks, "what??"

You grab onto his wrist and pull his hand away from his face, grinning widely "56%!"

It takes a moment to register in Renjun's brain, but then his jaw drops, the corners of his mouth pulling into a huge grin, "56%!!"

Confused, Yangyang watches. 56% isn't really that much...

"You did is!" Renjun cheers, getting up at the same time as you, wrapping his arms around your waist without even thinking and spinning you around happily.

"We did it!" You correct him with a happy grin, cheering along with him as you celebrate. Yangyang raises a skeptical brow, but his face contorts in slight amusement. The according to Yangyang slightly cringe celebration goes on for a good while before you seem to be calming down.

Renjun's eyes gaze deeply into yours, "I told you you could do it..."

"This was mostly your work, honestly..." you whisper back, gulping a little as you shamelessly stare at his lips, watching has his tongue wets them, Another quick look into Renjun's eyes and your lips crash into each other, hands frantically pulling the other close.

"Oh wow," Yangyang comments, shocked, but not surprised, grinning dirtily as he pats himself on the shoulder, fully convinced that he is to take full credit for this.

Renjun's lips feel so soft and perfect against yours that you fear you will lose consciousness if this continues on for much longer – not that you mind. It's as if all these weeks of pining, dreaming and wishing were not in vain. Completely tuning out Yangyang's speech about how he knew all along, you and Renjun lose yourselves in your own little world, tongues too shy to dart out just yet.

You finally part after a bit, slowly opening your eyes to stare at each other with what could only be described as the beginning of a love that will bloom beautifully. Renjun clears his throat awkwardly, but he can't help but smile softly as you gulp and timidly bite your lip.

"So..." Yangyang announces, snapping you out of your trances and making you both look at him, "when can we expect babies?"

"Yangyang..." Renjun groans defeatedly, and you grab your slipper off your foot to hit Yangyang with it, who laughs menacingly as he tumbles off his chair and takes off into his room, but not without another comment, "name one after me!"

© 2024 YUTASBELLYBUTTONPIERCING all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works.

[rosainta]

Team Fortress 2: 12 Flash Fiction Excerpts

('ms pauling' by makani on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/makani/art/ms-pauling-208768568)

(Author's Notes (A/N) at the end. For now, enjoy these slices of TF2 writing cake, baked with the batter of my mind!) * * *

1 "The Runner's a Fool."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Scout’s heart was bursting as he ran through the underbrush.

He didn’t look back; he couldn’t. Not after what he saw. If he had known sooner, he might not have spent so much energy trying to woo her...

Maybe he wouldn’t have made such a fool of himself.

2 "Player of The Heart."

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Fine, one more time”, he grumbled.

Pauling gleamed as she turned to the tape player. Changing the song to something more romantic, she hummed along and placed herself into his arms. They began to sway with the music.

Sniper felt his heart racing, but his thoughts raced quicker.

He wondered: would the one he really loved be into this too?

3 "Long Overdue."

[Written 10-3-2024]

Spy knew what he had to do.

He sat down next to the crying boy, gently putting a hand on his back. “Screw off!” the younger yelled, pushing him away.

Seeing him like this broke him; it did every time. But he took a deep breath and said what he should have all those years ago:

“I am sorry, Scout.”

4 "What Happens if You Feed the Machine? (Or In This Case, Water It?)"

[Written 10-3-2024]

“Yer no fun, lad!”

“Come on now, you know how I’ve been goin’ dry...”

“What’s one bottle a’ scrumpy goin’ to do to you?”

“Well, let’s see here. How many eyeballs o’ yours do my teleporters teleport per use?”

“Er, one.”

“Well, expect that to be one less the next time ‘round, pardner.”

He chuckled, and in an instant, he gulped it all down.

5 "Soldier's Solace."

[Written 11-3-2024]

Soldier stared at the grand moon from the roof of the base.

After the day’s fighting and bread teleporting, the other mercenaries were off to bed. But Soldier remained, smiling contentedly from under his helmet without another care in the world.

Somehow, he knew that right then and for as long as he dreamed, everything would be alright.

6 "Буквы говорят о любви."

[Written 12-3-2024]

If Heavy learned one thing in all his years of studying Russian literature, it was that writing wasn’t something you did; it was something you became.

So, picking up the ink pen, he let his hand go and embodied with all he had what meant most to him.

“It is time I tell you, Doktor.”

7 "Like The Warmth of a Fireplace."

[Written 13-3-2024]

Pyro looked at Engineer as a child does a Mall Santa, clapping. “Huddah, huddah!”

“Okay, one more, just for you.”

The technician took a deep breath and began to strum on the old guitar, his low voice singing a song of pink skies. Pyro swayed to the beat in bliss.

And, with every hum, the two grew closer.

8 "A Smile Means A Million Words, That Is Until You Speak."

[Written 14-3-2024]

Scout liked sketching.

While words weren’t his forte, art allowed him to express what he felt but could never say. He licked his lips, furrowed his eyebrows, and furiously scratched at the page with a pencil. Every detail, every form-- they had to be perfect.

When he was done, he proudly smiled at his creation.

And it smiled back.

BONUS!

As he admired his creation, he didn’t notice Sniper approaching him.

“And just what are you scribblin' off today, mate?”

Scout snapped around, flustered. He wasn't expecting company, and especially not from him.

“A-ah, hey, Snipes!", he blurted out. "It's nothing, really. Just another drawing of Spy screwin’ those... stupid French bread swords, whatever ya' call 'em.”

As he stammered an excuse, his face slowly turning red, he didn’t realize that his creation's rough, sketched face-- a picture of the marksman himself!-- was peaking through the corner of the sketchbook in the crook of his arm. Sniper paused for a moment as he stared at the work in awe, its own happily gazing back at him. Then, snapping out of his trance, he wordlessly turned back to smile at the younger man.

“You’ve got some talent, kid," he said, softly. "Please, don’t waste it.”

Then, quick as he came, he ambled away.

Scout was left standing, bewildered, and admittedly a bit confused, and he slowly turned back to look back at his drawing.

He traced the rough face of the man, looking wistfully with a tinge of giddiness in his eyes.

“If only you knew...", he whispered to himself without thinking. "Maybe then I could draw you like one of my French girls.”

Then, upon realizing the stupidity of his own remark (and of its disgusting, Spy-related... Frenchness), he immediately gagged.

“Ew, crap, no!”

Somewhere in the distance, Spy instinctively rolled his eyes.

9 "I Feel Olive!"

[Written 15-3-2024]

Medic pinched his nose, a low groan rumbling from him.

"What is wrong, Doktor? You seem stressed", Heavy asked, concernedly lifting his nose from his book.

Medic turned to him, tired eyes smiling weakly. "Ah, it iz nothing. Just... ze dull, useless legal documents. You know, as per usual."

"Well, if it makes Medic feel any better, Heavy ran out of olive for sandvich, so eating it was practically useless! I could not even digest it without big frown", he said, frowning in turn.

He grumbled, continuing, "What Heavy means to say is... you are not alone in your troubles."

Medic paused for a bit, before laughing and grinning back at the giant. He was grateful for this goofy big old man.

"Oh, you alvays know what to say, Heavy. Come on, let us escape this prison of an office and find you that olive. I am getting quite hungry and ze papers can wait, after all!"

10 "Off-Target."

[Written 29-3-2024]

Scout's mind just. couldn't. think.

His head was jumbled, a puzzle with the pieces too lost in the messy maze of his brain ever to solve. He wished he could crack open his skull like he did the BLUs on the field; maybe that would knock some sense into him.

He really needed to focus. Sniper always did.

So, why couldn't he?

11 "Our Paths Shall Cross Again."

[Written 4-4-2024]

It pained him to see her like this.

So, for the first time in his life, he put his pride aside and took one last glance at the sleeping lady before leaving the room.

Scout wished he could stay all night and marvel at her familiar, sheer beauty, even as she slept so frail. But he knew what she needed most was not him, but help.

Who knew what she went through those 2 years?

He resigned himself to the couch, closing his eyes. His affections for Miss Pauling would have to wait, as they always did, but he was fine with that.

She was safe, and that’s what mattered most to him.

12 "Guess Who's Up For Surgery?"

[Written 6-4-2024]

Medic was practically laughing with joy! Or, in his peculiar case, cackling maniacally.

Ah, it was of no matter— the doctor was filled to the brim with inspiration! So many projects to start and bodies to stitch; oh, what a wonderful feeling!

Heavy smiled as he watched the doctor go about his merry way.

Sure, when he was in this mood, that likely meant imminent danger for all those around him (they’d be his newest experiment, no doubt), but seeing him happy always made Heavy’s heart feel a little lighter.

So, as the doctor bounced up to him with his newest rambling, he didn’t protest!

* * *

Author's Notes: Over the past weeks, I've been working on being more spontaneous in my writing—no planning, just writing with the flow! And what better way to do that than to write flash fiction about my favourite fandom? (Plus, I have been practically absent here (post-wise) for, what, months? So why not use this as an excuse to share them with you? Ehehe... Okay, let's forget I said anything; moving on!) Flash fiction, with its creative liberties and curt nature, is an excellent medium (not forgetting to mention the fact it's a disgracefully UNDERRATED form of media!) that inspires me to write because it sort of... brutally invalidates any excuse of author's block I have... since it is literally spilling the words from your conscience into text WITHOUT the worry of length (ah! My greatest enemies...). Plus, it is... sort of, maybe, kinda addicting because it's just so freakishly simple, and the more you do it, the more productive you'll be and feel! Isn't that wonderful? (It could even be a drug! Er, well, a good one... wait, is there even a thing as a good drug? Ah- nevermind.) Anyway, if you're struggling with author's block, I'd heavily recommend trying it. Of course, it may not work for everyone (and I am not here to legally endorse this like a paid sponsor!) but it's still worth a shot if you haven't yet already. And hey, if it doesn't, you can feel free to blame me for the waste of time! Don't worry, I won't mind. Before we go on, I have to take this moment now to thank the one sweet old woman (whom I've unfortunately forgotten the name of) who first taught me about it a few years back during a summer writing course. She taught me much about what I know and love today, so I owe this and much of my writing happiness and technique to her! Thank you, lady. May you continue to write on!! Anyhow, to give you more context, these are all excerpts taken from a private account (but not a secret one! It's out there... somewhere...) of mine, edited for quality purposes and also because a few of the original excerpts bugged me due to their... well, innate cringiness. Hopefully, there's less of it now, but I wouldn't count on my eradicating it as it seems that cringe is just a part of my habitual writing style (I am sorry to disappoint, unnamed woman from the course... I have failed you). I hope that at least is is bearable enough for you to read. However, if not, I offer you my greatest condolences. If you'd like some bleach for your eyes, I have that too. You can also tell by the number of Speeding Bullet and Red Oktoberfest excerpts that I was... in quite the shipping mood for some of them. So, if that doesn't bug you, feel free to indulge yourselves in these characters as I obsessively have over the course of writing these!! It would be my pleasure to offer that liberty to you (and perhaps, shamelessly to myself as well, ahaha..), so please, go ahead. Anyway, that's all of the random blurbs I have to ramble on about today. Thank you for reading- or skimming, at the very least- and please have a marvellous day, pally~!

~ Rosain Quivan

[lucajayms]

i sincerely apologize for the rant

pre bullets gerard plsplsplspls!!!! they have an office crush at cartoon network then she moves away without telling anyone and they replace her (CUBICLES BEST SONG EVER) so then he just keeps wondering what may have happened, until mcr are playing like in another city during revenge era then mikey sees her in the crowd before a show and he goes to gerard right before going onstage and its like hey gerard remember that girl you talked about 24/7 in 2001, shes here tonight. and gee just freaks out while trying to play down the whole performance becase hes scared she wont like the whole fake blood/gay/screaming thing. then they finish the performance and he goes to find her and shes like all happy bc she knew he was gonna do much better things than to work at a shitty office. and shes a big comic book artist and does really weid like blood and vampire stuff so shes so happy that gerard also does weird blood vampire stuff. and then theyre happy and then the umbrella academy happens and yea

yea youre free to ignore this, i just have too much free time to imagine shit like this 👍

HELP I LOVE THIS SO SO MUCH!

-

CUBICLES

-

gerard way x reader she/her used use of y/n

-

masterlist

-

warnings: swearing!

-

"Maybe you could draw her more like this to bring out the background more so she's not just stiff," I instructed him. Gerard is a very talented artist, he just has a little bit of trouble deciding what to put where.

"But I feel like if she was a little different, due to her design, she'd go flat," Gerard argues, putting his pencil where he was describing.

I sigh as I place my hand delicately to my chin, trying to see what he's talking about. The deadline is soon and he's not done pitching these characters. "Honestly, Gerard? Whatever feels right. You'll get her."

"You sure?" He asks, seeking confirmation in my words.

I smile, nodding my head, "Yeah. Deadline is tomorrow, just do whatever feels right!" I say before I'm off to my cubicle to continue my project.

I knew he was looking at me. For weeks now, it had become a pattern—one I could almost draw if I could figure out how to capture that lingering gaze in ink. He thought he was subtle, keeping his distance and asking me barely relevant questions about some “project” or “character design” he’d been working on. Gerard was charming, though; there was no denying that. Quiet, a little too good at staring at his desk, and adorably oblivious to how easy it was to read him.

“Hey, uh, (Y/N)?” I looked up from my sketchbook, where I’d been mindlessly drawing a graveyard scene—something I had an odd fascination with lately. Gerard was standing there, hands stuffed in his pockets, wearing that awkward half-smile that looked better on him than it should.

“Gerard,” I said, glancing up with a smirk. “To what do I owe the honor?”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I…uh…just wanted to see what you were working on.”

I flipped my sketchbook shut, even though I knew he was dying to see what I’d been drawing. “Just some stuff. You’d probably think it’s too creepy.”

“Try me.”

Maybe it was because I wanted to test him, see how he’d react to what was under the surface, but I opened the book back up and turned it to face him. His eyes widened as he took in the vampires, blood, and dark cemeteries I’d sprawled across the pages.

“You…actually drew all of this?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my cool. “It’s not much. Just whatever’s in my head.”

He laughed, this soft, surprised sound. “Whatever’s in your head is amazing.” He paused, his eyes lingering a second too long.

I grinned, leaning back in my chair. “Well maybe not everything, Way.” I tossed my pen onto my desk, feigning nonchalance. “Can’t have too many weirdos like me around. Bad for the office’s reputation.”

And that's why I left.

Maybe I should’ve told him I was leaving. I hated the idea of going without a goodbye, but part of me figured I’d see him again. He’d get over it. Life had a way of carrying people in different directions, and honestly? I couldn’t stand the thought of another month behind that desk. I needed to be somewhere I could let these ideas out, somewhere that didn’t expect me to keep my weirdness behind a closed sketchbook.

The day I left, I watched the office fade from my rearview mirror, fingers tapping the steering wheel as a familiar guilt crept in. I didn’t leave him my number or my address or even a hint of where I’d gone. Some part of me hoped he’d figure it out. But after that, there was just silence.

Gerard

She left without a word. Just…gone. I tried to keep going like I didn’t notice, told myself it wasn’t a big deal. But the absence gnawed at me, creeping into every sketch and unfinished character. (Y/N) was gone, and I had no clue where she’d gone or why. I stopped asking questions after a while, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. The thought became like an echo in my mind, constant and inescapable, pushing me to drown it out with anything I could find.

And I did.

One show after another, one drink, one line, whatever I could find to keep the silence at bay. The stage helped a little—at least there, I had the lights in my eyes and the noise blocking out the mess in my head. I’d stand in front of the crowd, hands dripping with fake blood, trying to exorcise whatever pieces of myself felt missing. But then the high would fade, and I’d be left in a dark room, trying to ignore the question that refused to die.

Where did she go?

I kept the band going, kept pretending it didn’t matter, kept letting the weight build. It wasn’t like I had any choice. The shows were packed, and the screams of the crowd felt like both a relief and a punishment. They had no idea. No idea that some days, it felt like I’d never get off this damn ride, that maybe I’d crash and burn right here. But something shifted in 2004. I couldn’t explain it—maybe it was seeing my friends’ faces or feeling the burn of another empty night. But I knew that if I kept going like this, I’d lose everything. I’d lose myself.

I finally made the decision to clean up, and in August 2004, I was clean. Free. My body hated me for it, and my brain wasn’t much friendlier, but I had to get clean. I couldn’t keep living on the edge of destruction. Every day after that, it felt like I was shedding pieces of the person I’d become just to survive. By the time I left, I was…well, I was alive. And that had to be enough.

It had been nearly a year since I’d gotten clean, and for the first time, it felt like I could really breathe on stage again. I could look out at the faces in the crowd and see them. Really see them, not just the blur of movement and lights I’d been numbing myself to. This was what I’d always wanted. This was where I wanted to be.

"MANHATTAN!" I scream into the mic and the crowd before more goes wild. "We are going to FUCK SOME SHIT UP TONIGH!"

And as I say that, Mikey plays the beginning of Give Em' Hell Kid. The set goes without hiccups, the crowd is perfect, and the most I've seen in a few weeks. Right as we leave the stage before the encore, Frank grabs me by my collar.

"Holy shit, Gee," He starts, and concern bubbles in my stomach. Did I do something wrong?

"What? What is it?"

He shakes his head vigorously, "I don't know if I'm tripping, but I swear to God I saw the girl you keep drawing in the crowd."

Fuck.

"What?!" I exclaim.

"Thirty seconds to encore!" One of the stagehands yells.

"Frank, where did you see her?" I ask, frantic. There's no possible way she could be here tonight. Why would she be here tonight.

"Our left, by the barricade. I think?" He explains, looking up to recount exactly where he saw her. My heart thuds against my ribcage as Frank’s words sink in, and I feel my throat tighten. (Y/N)? Here? After all these years?

"Ten seconds!" the stagehand yells, clapping his hands. Mikey shoots me a quick look, and Frank gives me a small, reassuring nod. There’s no time to think or even process—I’m barely holding onto the last traces of composure as we rush back on stage. I grab the mic, trying to get my focus back on the crowd, but every nerve in me is lit up, wondering if (Y/N) is really here tonight.

“MANHATTAN!” I shout again, forcing energy into my voice, hoping it’s enough to cover the wild surge of emotions that’s slamming through me. “YOU READY FOR ONE LAST ROUND?”

The crowd screams, and the band jumps into Helena, the encore I should be ready to pour my soul into. But all I can think about is her—her face, the way she used to sketch, her laugh. The lights are blinding, and I try to keep my focus on the crowd, but my eyes keep searching, desperate to find a glimpse of her. I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but by the end of the song, I swear I see her—a flash of her hair, bright eyes, her face half-turned away in the crush of people, but unmistakably her.

The song ends, and we give a final shout before exiting the stage. As soon as we’re out of sight of the crowd, I turn to Frank, breathless.

“You’re absolutely sure it was her?” I ask, gripping his shoulder.

“Fuck, I don't know how accurate your drawings are,” he says, his voice serious. “Bit it was her, Gee. I’m sure of it.”

“Holy shit,” I breathe, running a hand through my hair as the adrenaline surges through me again. "Where do I even start looking?"

Frank raises an eyebrow. “I’d start by getting your ass back out there before she disappears again. You just finished the show. You’ve got maybe five minutes before the crowd starts spilling out.”

I don’t waste another second. I dart down the steps, half-running, half-pushing past crew members as I head toward the audience exit. It feels like the longest, most insane few minutes of my life, weaving through the backstage area until finally, I’m in the thick of the crowd, scanning every face I can. And then—I see her.

She’s lingering by the side of the barricade, glancing around, half-smiling to herself like she might leave at any moment. She’s a little older, a little different, but I’d know her anywhere. I take a deep breath, feeling my hands start to shake, and then I call out, loud enough to cut through the noise.

“(Y/N)!”

She turns, her eyes finding mine, and for a moment, it’s like everything around us goes still. Her face lights up, and I swear I feel that same electricity that ran between us in the office all those years ago.

"Oh my god, you guys did so good!" She laughed, too, shaking her head. “Gee, look at you! Rockstar Gerard. I always knew you’d end up doing something wild, but I never expected…” She gestured at my blood-stained shirt and smeared makeup. “This.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, heat creeping up my face. “Yeah, well, it’s, uh, a little different from Cartoon Network, that’s for sure. But I never thought I’d see you at a show.”

“Oh, please,” she grinned, giving me a playful nudge. “I knew you’d be doing something big. You were always too talented to be stuck behind a desk, remember?”

I laughed, surprised by the surge of relief that came with her words. “Guess it’s been a while since anyone told me that.”

She softened, and something flickered across her face. “I'm sorry I disappeared. I had to move, and things got in the way, and…” Her voice trailed off, and she shrugged, a little awkwardly. “I never thought we’d run into each other again.”

“Same here,” I admitted, looking down. “But I’m glad we did. Even if it’s, uh…” I glanced at my blood-streaked hands, shaking my head. “Like this.”

She laughed, a bright, genuine sound, and I felt my nerves ease a little. “Honestly, I kind of love it. I’m doing comics, Gee. Lots of, you know…gory, bloody, vampire stuff. Seems like we’re both into weird stuff now.”

“Every time I go into a comicbook store, I look for your name.” I say, feeling a familiar spark of admiration light up in my chest.

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, but her smile told me she was proud. “I kept drawing, kept pushing for it, and here we are. I got some stuff out that's been somewhat successful, but you—you’re the one really living the dream.”

It felt surreal, standing there with her, years and miles from where we’d left off. She was still (Y/N)—the girl who got me, who somehow saw through everything. But she was different, too. Confident, sharp, like she’d grown in ways I never got to see. And she was right here.

We fell into silence, the crowd thinning around us. Finally, I took a deep breath. “You know, after you left…I wasn’t great, to be honest.”

Her brow furrowed, and she gave me a sympathetic look. “I figured,” she said quietly. “It was a pretty messed-up time for both of us.”

I nodded, knowing she got it. “Yeah, I got pretty lost for a while. It took me…a lot to get back on track, but I’m good now. Clean, you know? And I’m just trying to keep my head on straight, one show at a time.”

She smiled, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “Good,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “That’s what you deserve, Gerard. You don’t need anything dragging you down.”

I felt something click into place then—a kind of peace I hadn’t felt in years. “Thanks, (Y/N). Really.”

She grinned, glancing around like she was taking in the whole scene again. “Hey, I think we’re due for a major coffee catch-up. I want to hear everything.”

I chuckled, feeling that old sense of ease wash over me. “Deal,” I said, grinning back. “But only if you show me your sketchbooks. I wanna see all the vampire blood and gore.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “You got it. Only fair, since I’ve got a feeling you’ve been drawing me for years anyway.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, and together, we walked out into the night, talking like no time had passed at all. And this time, I knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

(Y/N)

What a fucking life. Leaving Gerard like that in 2001 did something to me, you know? Fucked me up. I felt really fucking bad.

But it's okay. We're good. And by good? I mean my boyfriend is the fucking lead singer of My Chemical Romance. Like, who gets to say that?!

After their final tour ended, Gerard was bugging me more and more about his comic that he was writing and that he desperately wanted me to illustrate for it. Apparently, he had been working on it for around three years, and he wasn't getting anywhere by himself.

"I don't know, baby. I got deadlines," I always say, but God, who could say know to that pretty face of his.

And so I finally agreed to illustrate The Umbrella Academy.

And boy, did that change my life.

[jennarations]

Happy Osctober! 🎃

Thank you @pumpkennpie for putting together this lovely event <3 I have one measly contribution to make, so hopefully yall like it! It’s for Day 5, Teacher AU!

Also I don’t have the brain capacity to figure out ao3 rn so the drabble will just remain here for the time being :)

It starts, as most things do, with budget cuts.

Problems with too many enrolled students, not enough seats in rooms that already feel claustrophobic, teachers that have to start working during preps for pennies on the dollar.

This is how Oscar finds himself trying to teach English Lit in a shabby closet space that shares a room divider with the art room.

It’s not like he really cares all that much about the room itself, after all he’s here for the students, not this shitty school building. Through the divider Oscar listens for the sound of pottery wheels whirring away, and an excitable voice guiding the ceramic process.

“Mr. Piastri?” Stephanie pipes up from her makeshift desk that she shares with Thomas.

Oscar clears his throat and pulls his eyes away from the loud noises from behind the divider.

“Yes, sorry, Stephanie. What’s the problem?” Oscar pushes himself off of his own desk.

“Did you want me to keep reading the passage?” Stephanie squeaks out.

Shit, Oscar was supposed to be paying attention to the passage to make sure his comprehension questions were presented at each checkpoint. Whoops.

Oscar smiles and scrubs a hand through the bit of hair that never seems to stay off his forehead no matter how much gel he uses. “Um. No, that’s fine. What did we learn about the character in this paragraph?”

Oscar tries to push thoughts of boisterous laughter and golden skin, marred with clay and paint from his head.

He fails miserably. He’ll have to go over these comprehension questions again next week for sure.

—

“Osc?”

Oscar peeks up from his corner of the room, placing his pen down on the mound of ungraded quizzes in front of him.

He knows who’s looking for him. Only one person in this school calls him something other than Mr. Piastri or Oscar.

“Seems you guys got a bit out of hand today it sounded like.” Oscar says with a small smirk.

The man emerges fully from behind the room divider, sheepishly rubbing at his neck. There’s glaze on his left elbow.

“Yeah, well. My foot slipped on the wheel while I was pulling the form up and it sent some clay straight to the ceiling.”

Oscar snorts, “Is that why one of my students was staring at the ceiling for the rest of the period?”

Lando wanders over to his desk, skimming his fingers along the edge of it. “Could be. Or maybe they just found it more interesting than whatever you were teaching.”

Oscar feels a warm feeling settle in the pit of his stomach and a smile worm its way out. “Oh yeah? Well at least I had a lesson plan for today.”

Oscar leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows that action makes his button down flex around his arms just the slightest bit.

Lando slides himself along the desk, fingers exploring the mismatched pencils and pens in Oscar’s Okayest Teacher Ever mug. A flush is starting to crawl up from underneath his henley, Oscar notes.

Lando flicks his eyes from his ministrations with the pens to Oscar’s face.

“Better be careful leaning back in that chair Mr. Piastri, I watched a substitute topple it backwards last week.”

Oscar hums in acknowledgment and promptly pulls himself up from the chair in one fluid motion. Lando doesn’t even have time to react before Oscar is crowding his space against the desk, running his thumbs over Lando’s hipbones in an instant.

Then Oscar is all hot breath against Lando’s ear whispering quickly, “I wonder why there was even a substitute here in the first place, hm?”

Lando shivers and bites down on a whimper. His hands come up around Oscar’s neck instinctively.

“Y’know, I can’t quite remember. I think it might’ve had something to do with the normal teacher being fucked into next week.” Lando mumbles.

Oscar pulls back the slightest bit and notices the shit-eating grin plastered on Lando’s face.

In response he grips Lando’s hips and pulls him flush against his body.

Lando gasps at the sudden contact, shivering in Oscar’s hold.

“Could have had something to do with it. I heard he just had a stomach bug though.” Oscar says in a low tone into Lando’s neck.

Lando ghosts his hand up into Oscar’s gelled hair, immediately crunching the locks in between his fingers.

“Well at least the substitute didn’t have this awful gelled hairdo.” Lando mouths into Oscar’s neck, peppering it with small kisses annunciating each word.

Oscar breathes out through his nose, hard, and squeezes Lando’s hips.

Lando thinks he may have won this battle until Oscar is hoisting him up onto the desk and pressing the heels of his hands into the round of his ass.

Lando lets out the tiniest little gasp as Oscar grunts out, “Well I know how much you enjoy fucking it up. Now say, thank you Oscar.”

Lando pushes both hands into Oscar’s hair and grips, feeling the gel break apart in his palms.

Oscar continues, “That is, unless you’re thinking of replacing me with the clumsy substitute?”

Lando is trying to roll his hips forward from his perch on the desk, but his stupid apron is getting in the way. Frustrated, he breathes out, “Never, baby.”

Oscar groans at the pet name that rarely leaves Lando’s lips unless he��s really bothered and pulls him so close it’s getting harder to tell where he stops and Lando begins.

Oscar pulls his head back and launches an attack on Lando’s mouth. Lando gasps into it and returns with the same fervor.

The sound of a key in the door of their shared room breaks the reverie and Oscar is falling backwards into his rolly chair while Lando is shooting up off the desk.

And it would have been fine, really. It was just Jon, the school’s custodian, coming to sweep under the desks.

Nothing would have seemed out of the ordinary for two teachers to be chatting in a classroom after hours.

But in Oscar’s haste to resume his rolly chair position, he seemed to have miscalculated the necessary energy for the task, and all he hears is Lando squawking as he hits the floor.

So much for being better than the clumsy substitute after all.