#fun questions!!!! i could talk about writing all day

[thevoidscreams]

Could you write something about Vulkan? Preferably smut. I love this loving and massive super-human :3

Year 2 day 1

warning: smut and Vulkan being the GOAT (I love him so much)

Also the emperor being a good dad. Which is shocking. I know.

Word count:2966

'I heard that she's the wife of a primarch' 'she doesn't look like anything special to me' 'How long have they been married? and not a single child to be seen.. odd wouldn't you say?' 'Really it's an embarrassment that the emperor's own son would marry someone so.. common. There's nothing special about the girl at all.'

Your hand clenched around the stem of your glass as you tried to ignore the whispering around you. High Lords and nobles mingled or fought for the attention of your husband or brother's in law.

Vulkan was engaged in a very lively debate about something or another with his brother Ferrus, who seemed as though he would much rather be having the conversation anywhere but there.

Well that was certainly a mood, everything about this "party" blew, and not in a fun way. Why were they even having this party? Was it a celebration? A birthday maybe? Fuck if you knew, it just seemed like a prerequisite anytime more than two primarchs were back on Terra.

"You do not seem to be having a very good time." The speaker had come up behind you, which shocked you, you hadn't noticed anyone approaching. "Oh yeah, I'm not big on-" your voice faltered as you finished turning and saw the Emperor and two of his custodial retinue behind him. He was the height of an above average man at the moment and he was smiling down at you with a knowing sort of expression. "S-sorry, I um, I didn't mean any offense by that."

"It is alright, you are not required to be overjoyed by every gathering you attend. And I too admit that I would rather be elsewhere. But it is not a good look politically to decline every invitation."

"No, I suppose not." You smiled, and his demeanor shifted to a more fatherly one. It was hard to describe how exactly he did it, but suddenly the air between you both was far more at ease and comfortable.

"How have you been finding your marriage to my son?" You hadn't spoken in a few years, not since the wedding, so the question didn't surprise.

"Well, when he isn't actively campaigning or forging or teaching his sons, I must say I've never been happier. He is a wonderful man and I love him so much." You explained. The Emperor nodded and smiled. "I imagine you must be lonely when he is away." He supposed. "Sometimes, but his sons are good company and I always feel safe when they are around."

"Good, that is good." He seemed thoughtful. "Have you considered sons or daughters of your own?"

Luckily you hadn't had any drink in your mouth or you might have spit all over him as the suddenness of his question struck you.

"We've talked about it. I have no opposition to it, neither does he." You explained. "It's just that he's been rather busy and we haven't had much time recently." Your cheeks felt hot and it wasn't the drink causing it, that was for sure.

"I see. Perhaps he should take some time then, he has been doing well and I do believe he has earned it."

"Goodness, that would be nice, but I fear nothing short of you ordering it of him would take him from his work. He's so dedicated and there is so much expected of him."

Your father in law seemed to digest the words and nodded. "Well then, the hour is getting late and it is about time I start seeing my guests off. Would you like an escort to see you back to your room when you are done with socializing?" He motioned to the Custodes to his left and you fought back a gasp.

"Oh, no, thank you really, but I'm sure they have more important things to do than look after a grown woman."

His smile softened a shade and he placed a hand on your shoulder. "You are married to my son, that makes you my daughter now, that makes you a very important individual. It would not be out of line to assign one to you to see you safely across the palace."

Well, it seemed the decision had been made for you as he made a brief motion to the golden clad warrior and bid you farewell, leaving the custodian to watch over you. Though the armored giant didn't say anything as they took their post beside you.

Vulkan had concluded his conversation with his brother when he felt drawn to the other side of the room. Most of the guests had trickled out by now, very few were left, but he was delighted to see his father had remained. Motioning his son over, the primarch did as his father bid, going to his side. "Father, I am glad to have a moment with you. How have you been."

"Well, but there is a matter of importance that I wish to speak of with you."

~

The looming presence behind you was as intimidating as it was protective. Even if you knew the way back and knew that the palace was likely the safest place in the whole universe, the Emperor had ordained it and thus you had another very large guard keeping you safer than imaginable. They preceded you into the room, checked it and then allowed you in before standing guard outside the door.

'Stay on post with her until Vulkan returns.' Was the silent order they had received and so it would be.

The primarch of the Salamanders did not return for almost two hours. Well into the midnight hour. He greeted the custodian as he entered. Shutting the doors behind him and locking them.

Rousing from your sleep at the sound you were glad to see the man you loved so dearly. "Vulkan, my dragon, I missed you."

He chuckled as he disrobed and joined you in bed, kissing the top of your head. "I was gone but a few hours my flame." His strong arms pulled you atop his body and he peppered your face with kisses. "I know, but it was still too long."

His smile could have melted the ice of a frozen death world. It was so warm.

"My father pulled me aside after the party." He explained, which caught your interest.

"I see, is everything alright?"

"He has taken me from my duties to the crusade. There are other matters he wishes me to attend." His hands slide down over your hips.

"Really? That's so odd, I was just joking earlier that the only way you could be taken away from your duties in the crusade would be if he had ordered it."

Vulkan hummed, his hands gliding up to squeeze your ass. "Yes," he rumbled against your throat, "what do you think he took me off active duty for?"

His words sent a jolt down your spine and a bloom of heat between your thighs.

His lips worked over the tender flesh there, kissing and sucking as he grinds his hips up into you.

"Apparently I am to tend to my needy little flame, and I am not to return to duty until we have a little spark of our own." His voice deepened in the way it only ever did when he was giving an order or intensely aroused.

"And since I have you here and you're awake now," his hardened length pressed to your entrance as he continued to flex his hips. "I figure now is as good a time as any to get started."

"My love~" his fingers quested down to begin preparing your body for him. The warm press of his finger against your already wet hole made you shiver. He rubbed tight circles as he adjusted his cock just so his every movement would grind it against your clit.

"Fuck, Vulkan, I need more."

He smiled and continued his slow torture. "Why rush, we have all night?" He replied, his teeth worried little trails of his love into the flesh of your shoulder. You knew you'd have marks to show for it later.

"Please, Vulkan, please!" You begged as the pad of his finger pressed in slightly but pulled away again.

"Are you sure? After such a long day I figure you'd need some time to unwind before anymore rigorous activities. Why not let me take care?"

You whined in response as his thick drooling cock pressed just right and made your hips reflexively jerk. "Throne damn it Vulkan. Please, I need you. I've needed you all day and especially during that stupid party."

Vulkan shifted, he raised his hand to lift your chin so he could look at your face properly.

"What happened?" His tone was serious, his burning eyes searching your face for any signs of harm, but he only found upset.

"Just nobles being stupid." You sighed but the biting words that tore you down still rung in your mind despite how hard you tried to push them out.

"It's nothing, I just.. I'm being too sensitive about it."

He shook his head. "No, tell me, I will see that this is handled. What did they say to you."

"That's just it, they didn't say it to me. At least not to my face, they didn't all their tearing down behind my back, but I could still hear them."

Vulkan kissed your cheeks. "What did they say?" He asked again, more gently this time.

You knew you had to tell him now, and so you did, all the shallow and awful comments. You felt like a child again, tattling to the teacher when the other kids were bullying you. "Like I said. It's stupid, and I shouldn't have let their words get to me."

"None of their words are true." His hands squeezed your hips gently. "They're jealous, I married the most wonderful woman in the universe and they are unable to handle such a truth." He kissed the side of your face and neck affectionately.

"I wouldn't say the most wonderful, that's a bit much." You replied, holding in a giggle as he attacked a particularly ticklish spot.

"Are you calling me a liar?" He grumbled into your cheek. "No, just an over-exaggerator."

He growled and the sound went straight to your pussy as his hold turned more firm. "Why does my own flame doubt me so terribly?" "I just don't think I'm worth the praise." You breathed as he growled again. "Who do you trust more? Your husband? Or the jealous nobles who live and thrive off gossip and tearing others down to retain their station?"

"You, of course."

"Good, then trust that by morning you won't remember anything they said to you or about you at that unnecessary function." He promised, and his finger took its place from before circling your entrance, except this time he pressed it in.

You moaned softly as he gave you time to adjust. But only just as he began to move his finger, making you squeak and wiggle back into his hand.

It was almost absurd how easy it was for him to drive your mind blank. "Just relax my flame, I will take care of you."

Another finger brushed against your soaking heat and you knew he was going to push it in even before he did it. He needed to ensure you were thoroughly prepared before he could just take you. When he pressed it in there was no sting or burning as there had been when you first were growing accustomed to him, but you did feel full, fuller than any other source, save for his cock, could provide. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, his voice warm and deep as he praised you for taking his fingers so well.

He continued to press kisses to your hair and face as he pulled his fingers free causing you to whine at the loss. "I was so close." You grumbled as he raised his love slicked fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean with a deep groan. "Oh my flame, you grow sweeter each time I taste you." His massive hands hauled you up his body further as he settled you over his face. "I believe I will need another taste." He swallowed and a quick glance over your shoulder revealed his hard throbbing cock. The first lick was so inhumanly hot, but his body was always like that. He moaned as he went back for another swipe of his tongue. His hands slid down to hold your hips, pressing you down on his mouth further and you relaxed your weight onto him the way you knew he liked. He rewarded you with another long lick before he plunged his tongue into you. You had been so close from just his fingers and you found yourself teetering on the edge again as he fucked your pussy with his mouth, groaning in pure ecstasy as he drank down every bit of juice you provided. "Vulkan," you gasped, "I'm gonna cum love. I'm gonna..." Your body shook and your thighs clamped around his head as he growled in satisfaction, his burning eyes blazed up at you as he watched you fall apart. His growl morphed to a groan as you came on his tongue and he lapped up every drop.

Carefully he laid you down next to him, his body shifting over your as his cock strained between his legs. "My flame, I can not wait any longer." You reached for his face cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. "Then don't, please my Dragon, I need you as well." He gave you a flash of the ice melting smile and kissed you deeply as he pressed his cock to your entrance. "My love, you are so much more than anyone could ever dream, and I intend to show you just how much you mean to me. Tonight, and tomorrow and the day after and so on until you know just how deeply I love you." His cock sank slowly into you, inch by inch as he professed his love, until your body had stretched to allow him to sink almost impossibly to the base. "You see. Perfect, just as I said." His hand sought yours, holding it gently as he raised your fingers to his mouth and pressed a kiss to each one as he pulled back his hips and thrust back in. He had to show you just how much he loved you even when making love. The bed groaned under you as he thrust again, the feeling of being so full of him was electric, each thrust making little stars dance behind your closed eyelids.

He kissed one of your knuckles, thrusting in hard, but not enough to harm. "Kind." He murmured softly, thrusting in and kissing the next. "Intelligent." He murmured again, moving to the next. "Funny." He repeated the process, for each knuckle he kissed he listed another thing he adored about you. "Loving, beautiful." When he reached the last knuckle he turned your hand over, kissing your palm. "Good with my sons." He gave you a sly smirk at that one, knowing that you always got flustered when they referred to you as 'mother'. Trailing kisses up your arm he continued his compliments until he got to your collarbone, where his lips sealed against your skin and he marked you, leaving a hickey that would be near impossible to miss without a necked shirt or sweater. He looked over the mark and once satisfied he smiled and began his kisses again. The whole while he had been going at an even and maddeningly unhurried pace. "Please, I need you to go faster, I'm getting close but I just need more." You whined, begging him with not only your words but your eyes. "Eager." He said as he left another kiss, this just next to your lips. Teasing you. "Please Vulkan, Please." He wouldn't admit it allowed in the moment, but hearing the way you cried his name as he was thrust into you as deep as he was drove him mad with lust. It had been a battle to keep his wits about him as he heard each little whine or moan. His lips finally brushed over yours, "Most of all," he groaned as his arms scooped under your body to hug you closer to him. "I adore you for being yourself, I could not have married a better woman." His lips pressed to yours and you met the gesture with equal enthusiasm. It was then the damn broke and he was barely able to keep from slamming into you and potentially hurting you, but his thrust picked up, his need to fuck you properly over coming him as he let his need take over in setting the pace. His mouth moved with yours now swallowing your moans and cries as he fucked you into the bed, his arms still holding you close as the bed creaked louder in protest. He felt himself get closer and you were there with him, pussy clenching as you fell apart, your arms tightening around his shoulders as well, as you used his body to keep yourself grounded. You both came, your body milking his cock as he did and his thrusts continuing to ensure you properly came undone beneath him.The primarch spent the next several minutes kissing you, his small wife, as you basked in the afterglow. He hadn't pulled out and he didn't intend to. After all, his father had told him that he was to stay off active duty until such time as you had conceived and given birth and he intended to use that time to the fullest.

[cece693]

You're Just Jealous I Have Him

pairing: enoch o'connor x male reader tags: I never liked Emma tbh, just looking at her gives me a headache, like what do you mean it's totally normal to like the grandson of your ex, like ew, enoch just being his sassy self, Emma is mad, I had so much fun writing this, they're all of age even if there's no smut

You’d lost track of how many times you and Enoch had slipped away from the others to steal a quiet moment alone. Inside the loop, time was an endless repeat of the same day, but your heart felt anything but repetitive whenever you were together. The clandestine nature of your relationship created a heady excitement—an electric undercurrent that made every glance, every accidental brush of hands, burn brighter.

Tonight is no different. 

The wooden banister pressed into your back as Enoch crowded you against it, his hand curving gently around your cheek. That fleeting moment was all you had before dinner—another stolen breath in the endless loop of days. “Miss Peregrine is calling,” you said quietly, though you made no move to leave. Neither did Enoch, who dipped forward, lips ghosting over yours in a featherlight kiss that made your pulse flutter.

“You should do that more often.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that,” he answered, with a grin that was equal parts cocky and affectionate. Then, as if reality caught up to him, his features fell back into their usual stoic mask. “We should go. If we’re late again, she’ll start questioning.”

Together, you descended the stairs into the foyer. The other children were already making their way to the dining room. You felt a small, simmering tension as soon as you stepped inside. Emma was at the table, arms folded, eyes bright with an aggravation she didn’t bother hiding. Enoch’s jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze beneath the table before sitting down. As you settled into the meal—tonight it was soup, bread, and roasted vegetables—you could feel Emma’s gaze boring into you. It prickled along your skin.

Plates clinked, children chatted, and Miss Peregrine oversaw it all with her usual poise. Millard—still invisible—cracked jokes that had Claire giggling. Bronwyn helped serve the stew, her unnatural strength making the heavy pot look weightless. Olive floated just a few inches above her chair, anchored only by a weighted belt. But none of that could distract you from the heat radiating off Emma—hotter than any flame she could conjure.

Finally, Emma cleared her throat. “So,” she began, voice pitched loud enough to slice through the general chatter, “M/N, you’ve been busy these last few evenings.”

A hush spread like a ripple. Your palms grew clammy, and Enoch immediately set down his spoon, eyes locked on Emma. “Yes, well,” you started slowly, “I’ve been helping Enoch with some projects.”

It was a half-truth; most of your private time with Enoch was far from “work.” Emma let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, I’m sure those projects are quite involved. Enoch is known for his…fixations.” Her tone was pointed and dripping with venom.

You bristled. Enoch’s face was utterly still, but you sensed the tension coiling beneath his calm exterior. “Don’t be crass, Emma,” he said, voice low. “You’re the last person who should talk about fixations.”

She scowled, a small flame sparking to life in her palm and dancing dangerously close to the tablecloth before she clenched her fist to snuff it out. “Oh?” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Enoch’s lips curled into a sarcastic half-smile. “You know precisely what I mean.”

Your heart thudded painfully at the tension. Emma’s eyes flicked to you, softening for a split second before anger hardened her expression once again. “I think,” Emma continued, adopting a saccharine tone, “if there’s something going on, especially involving someone I—someone we all—care about, it should be shared.” Her gaze pinned you, and a cold knot twisted in your stomach. She’d been growing bolder recently: trying to corner you for chats, sending you notes that bordered on obsessive. You’d tried to let her down gently, but Emma was relentless.

Miss Peregrine looked up from her plate, brow furrowed. “Emma, please drop the subject,” she warned, her eyes glinting dangerously as though she already understood exactly what was happening. But Emma ignored her.

Instead, she leveled Enoch with a challenging stare. “You’ve been monopolizing M/N. It’s not fair.”

Bronwyn set the soup pot down with a thump, frowning. Horace, always a little too intrigued by drama, swept his gaze around the table, uneasy. Enoch’s jaw set. “Grow up, Emma. M/N spends time with me because he wants to.”

She snorted. “Wants to? Or do you have him under some twisted manipulation?”

Your eyes widened. The accusation was ludicrous, but Emma seemed too riled to notice. Her words stung. “Hey, that’s enough,” you said firmly, pushing down your nerves. “It’s not like that, Emma.”

“Then what is it like?” she demanded, voice quivering with anger. “Why is it that every time I look for you, Enoch’s there, lurking like some grim shadow, glowering at me if I so much as breathe in your direction?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Enoch snapped. “I glower at everyone.”

Emma shoved her chair back abruptly, eyes flicking to Miss Peregrine. “Do you hear this? He’s impossible!”

Miss Peregrine’s eyes narrowed. “Emma, calm yourself. Let’s discuss this civilly—”

“I’m done being civil!” Emma erupted, standing. Sparks flew from her clenched fists. “He keeps M/N away from me, taunts me—”

“Well, perhaps if you weren’t so obsessed,” Enoch snapped back coldly, “you’d see that M/N doesn’t want that kind of attention from you!”

Emma’s jaw dropped, fury tightening her features. “Obsessed? How dare you—” She trembled, small flames crackling along her fingertips. “Why can’t you just say it?” Her gaze swept from Enoch to you and back. “Why can’t you just tell everyone the truth about you two?”

Your stomach plummeted; she was forcing you into the corner you and Enoch had tried so hard to avoid. “Emma,” Miss Peregrine warned again, voice dangerously low. “Drop it.”

Emma turned her ire on Miss Peregrine. “I will not. Why should I have to hide whatever this is?” Her eyes flicked to yours, something close to heartbreak twisting her features. “Why him?” she whispered bitterly. “What’s so special about Enoch?” Then she turned to Enoch. “You don’t deserve him,” she hissed, each word sharp as glass. “If he was with me, I’d ensure his happiness, not drag him into your bleak little world of scowls and pickled hearts.”

Enoch bristled. You felt anger roll off him in waves as he rose from his chair, palms slamming flat on the table. “My ‘bleak little world,’ as you call it, is far better than the whining and fire-hazard tantrums you throw every time you don’t get your way.” With a furious growl, Emma slammed her hand down, flames licking the edge of the tablecloth. Bronwyn gasped and lunged forward to pat it out. Miss Peregrine shot to her feet, but both Emma and Enoch were too caught up in their confrontation to notice.

“All I see is a bitter, lonely boy clinging to the first bit of affection he’s ever had,” Emma spat, eyes blazing. “An unlovable—”

“Enough!” Miss Peregrine’s sharp cry rang out, cutting the air like a whip. The sudden quiet was deafening. Emma’s flames sputtered, Enoch froze, and every other child in the room went rigid in their chairs. Miss Peregrine placed her napkin on the table with a deliberate calm that spoke volumes of her anger. Her eyes, usually kind and watchful, were now cold as steel as she addressed Emma first.

“Ms. Bloom,” she said sternly, “I have given you ample opportunity to discuss your concerns rationally. Instead, you’ve allowed jealousy to consume you and endangered our home by letting your emotions run wild. You will go to your room immediately and remain there until I summon you. You will use that time to reflect on your behavior. Am I understood?”

Emma stared, mouth slightly agape. Sparks still crackled at her fingertips, but they started to die down. For a moment, it looked like she might argue further, but Miss Peregrine’s glare was uncompromising. “…Fine,” Emma muttered at last, voice trembling with residual anger and humiliation. She tore her gaze away, marched out of the dining room, and disappeared up the stairs without another word.

The silence that followed was thick and suffocating. You could feel Enoch shaking beside you; he was doing his best to keep himself in check. Bronwyn looked worried, Horace fidgeted anxiously, and Olive hovered a little higher in her seat, unsettled by the tension.

At length, Miss Peregrine exhaled a measured breath. “The rest of you may clear your plates and retire. I will speak to Enoch and M/N privately.” A murmur rippled through the children; curiosity and concern danced in their eyes, but they obeyed. The scrape of chairs and clink of dishes soon faded away, leaving you, Enoch, and Miss Peregrine in the quiet dining room.

She beckoned you both to stand. Her expression remained firm as she regarded you, then Enoch. “I am not blind to the deeper nature of your connection,” she began carefully, “I had hoped you two would come to me on your own time. However, given the events tonight, it seems I must step in.” Your heart hammered. You felt Enoch’s hand slip into yours, his grip tight but reassuring. There was a moment’s hesitation before Miss Peregrine’s features softened—just a fraction.

“We are a family here, and I care for each one of you deeply.” Her tone was resolute, but gentler now. “If you and Enoch have found something special in each other, then it is your right to hold onto it. No one—certainly not Emma—has the authority to deny you happiness. Do you understand?”

Your throat felt thick with emotion. “Y-Yes, Miss Peregrine,” you managed. Enoch nodded, murmuring his agreement.

“I will not tolerate hostility or this level of disrespect again,” Miss Peregrine continued, brow creasing. “Enoch, you must learn to manage your temper; cruelty only begets more cruelty. M/N, you should feel safe to speak up if anyone makes you uncomfortable." After a moment of silence, Miss Peregrine hugged both of her wards gingerly. "Now go on," she said, pulling back with a small smile, gesturing to the door. “The both of you are excused."

She paused then, her stern expression warming ever so slightly. “You belong here, both of you. Don’t ever doubt that.” Those final words pulsed through you like a gentle reassurance. Miss Peregrine was giving you the acceptance you’d feared might be withheld. With a small, grateful bow of your head, you and Enoch slipped out of the dining room.

[lieslab]

My baby here on earth showed me what my heart was worth

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: When the world beats down on the guys, you're there to be a voice of reason.

Genre: Reverse comfort/hurt

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: Whoever requested this, you know I love you, right? These are so fun to make, I love them. Take this as a reminder to please take care of yourself and be gentle with your heart <3

_ _ _

Chan:

The vividry is in the details and in Chan’s head, it was not enough. This industry will chew up your hopes and dreams. It will swallow you whole before you can fall to your knees and beg, bleeding and bruised, for an ounce of forgiveness. Chan knew that over a decade ago. Today, nothing else rang true far more than that. 

You can string your teenage years in the back of your closet. You can let them hang as the years go by, always focusing on work instead of play, and no matter how much hard work, blood, sweat, and tears you go through, this industry will ring you dry. 

It will blast a bullet in your heart. Each fragment comes from the people you’re supposed to trust most, upper management, fellow producers, other idols; everyone you’re set out to please. No matter how close the relationship is between the two of you, or even if you’re not close at all, the words still hurt. They still found a way to sting Chan’s heart, burrow into his brain, and push his soul to drown in defeat. Swallowed by the icy waters of the industry, lately it became harder and harder to breathe within it. 

You noticed something amiss when he came home a few days ago quiet. A silent scowl sat on his face. When you brought it up, he dropped it, sucked in a deep breath, and lit up with a smile. You knew the hurt behind his eyes. That hurt stayed there and no matter how hard he tried to push it down, the tension sat heavily between the two of you. 

Producing and writing lyrics, it quickened his heart. It kept his body young. No matter how many years passed by, that passion would forever stay young. He’d tuck it close to his heart; a child with a balloon tied around their wrist. It made life worth living. He didn’t dare to give it up without a fight. That’s why he picked out the members of his group. It’s why he did what he did and yet… 

Recently, that balloon popped. 

When you questioned a late night session on his laptop, he sat in front of the screen with a frown on his face. His fingers hovered above the keys. Everything he needed to produce a beat, it was available and pulled up, but hesitation glued his fingers mid-air. 

“What if I never make another good song again?” 

“What?” 

“I feel like I’ve done everything right. What if I’m just…” The screen reflected off his eyes. “What if I’m not meant for this anymore? What if I’ve run myself dry? What if I don’t have that spark anymore?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, you tried to understand. “What could you possibly be talking about? Babe, you’re amazing at creating songs! Do you know how many people love your stuff?” You approached the couch and sat beside him. The warmth of his thigh pressed against yours. “What’s got you all bent out of shape?” 

“Everything. I’ve been submitting songs to the uppers and they don’t think they’re good enough. They say-” 

You pushed out a hand to stop him. “Do you like the songs?” 

“Yes.” 

“What about your other members?” 

“They haven’t heard them yet. Han and Changbin have heard a few and they seem to like them, but-” 

“You’ve had a multitude of other songs that have been successful before, so why does it matter now?” 

Pink lips parted and then shut. Your words struck a nerve in his core. “I don’t know. I guess they think they won’t be as successful as the last ones.” 

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” 

He sighed, wiped his eyes with a hand, and leaned back. His laptop slid back against his stomach. “I’ve become so worried that I’m not as good as I once was. I feel so pressured and everything. I’m trying my best.” 

“And your best will always be good enough.” You shifted, laying your head against his shoulder. Your arms wrapped around one of his. “I believe in you, you know? If Han and Changbin are on your side, I’m sure the rest of the guys will be on your side, too.” 

“You think it’s that easy?” He glanced over, catching your eyes. 

“If your management isn’t convinced, I’ll give them a piece of my mind.” 

“How scary.” 

“Use sarcasm again and you’ll really see a new form of scary.” 

_ _ _ 

Minho: 

“You’re quiet tonight,” you pointed out. Minho had not spoken since he walked through the front door an hour ago. You thought he’d shake off whatever tension he brought home from work, but it didn’t happen. “Is something troubling you?” 

Across the way, he sat slumped on the couch. The quietness drove you crazy. You hated the blank look on his face. The way he stared off into the distance, unsure of the person he became. When did his personality become extra baggage, rather than an admission of who he was deep down?  

“People are idiots.” 

A single sentence. No other explanation. You nodded and quietly agreed. Some people could be. Speaking before thinking. Jumping on the bandwagon, a desperate attempt to fit in and prove themselves worthy. It wasn’t everyone, but some people never took the time to think for themselves. 

You waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t. The wooden grandfather clock across the way, his grandmother thrifted it many moons ago. Each second ticked away and drove the tension between you higher and higher. Something that used to be comforting in the background, it began to drive you mad. 

You pushed yourself from your chair, walked over to him, and plopped down beside him. “Can you just tell me what’s wrong? It’s not like you to act like this.” You reached a hand out to his forearm, a simple gesture to provide comfort. 

“Do you think I’m too cold and emotionless, sometimes? People have said it before and I’ve always ignored it. I know people form their own opinions. They only know bits and pieces of me. Today, an interviewer commented on it and I can’t help, but ask myself, ‘what if she’s right?”’ 

“As an interviewer, that was an unacceptable question to ask you. Interviewing people shouldn’t make them uncomfortable, unless you’re a criminal hiding a crime. I don’t think you’re cold and emotionless. I think whoever says that hasn’t taken the time to enjoy the content that’s online and available to them. Screw them.” 

He chuckled at your words. His eyes cast to the floor and your hand tightened around his forearm. “I mean it, Minho. Screw them. Seriously. Don’t ever take their opinions to heart. I don’t want you to change. I like that side of you. They’ll never know that you’re a softie deep down.” 

He jerked his head back, rolled his eyes, and let out a loud groan. “I’m not a softie!” 

“You totally are.” 

“Screw you.” 

“I’ll gladly take you up on that offer!” 

“AH! Not in front of my cats! Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, cover your ears. You didn’t hear anything. A sinner trying to taint my perfect children, unbelievable.” 

_ _ _ 

Changbin: 

“Okay, I’ve got on my good shoes. The ones that you suggested because they’re better for long distances. My bag, my wallet, my keys. Am I missing anything else?” Your eyes scanned the corridor, wondering if you were forgetting anything. 

“Forgetting anything for what?” Changbin asked. 

“For our river date! Remember? We planned this last week. We agreed to walk to the Han River and grab some Ramen from a convenience store. Please don’t tell me you forgot, I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” 

His face fell at the reminder. “Oh, that…” 

Your eyebrows furrowed. His words came out funny. The excitement usually filling his eyes disappeared. He didn’t seem nearly as happy and excited as he always was for your dates. The thrill in your heart began to fade. “Did you forget?” 

“Kinda.” 

“We can reschedule it for another day,” you offered. Your heart sank at your words, but it was better than pushing it onto him. Maybe he made other plans with someone else. You were pretty flexible when it came to these things. 

“I kind of forgot, but it’s more like I don’t want to go at all. If I’m being honest, I realize that maybe I like food too much. Earlier this year, I promised the fans I’d show my abs, but…” He frowned and looked down at his stomach. “I don’t have them.” 

“Is that what you’re worried about?” 

“Ramen isn’t very good for creating abs.” 

“Maybe not, but who says you have to get abs? You’ve always been good at working out your arms. You don’t have to work out what you don’t want to, Bin. If you want to target abs, fine. If not, that’s fine too. You don’t have to get a four or six-pack to be worthy in the eyes of your fans.” 

“And I know that, I just want to look good and make them proud.” His hand reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. Black curls shifted as he moved. “I don’t want to make them unhappy.” 

“You always look good. You’ll always make your fans proud, Bin.” A smile appeared on your face. “Real fans love you for who you are, not who you could be. Abs or not, you’re in good shape. You eat healthy and work out. That’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” 

“You have a point, I just don’t like letting people down.” 

You stepped closer, nearly pressing your noses together. “For what it’s worth, you haven’t let me down. Abs or no abs, you're hot either way. I feel like I scored a home run with you.” 

His cheeks flushed red and he waved a hand at you. “Stop it! Now you’re making me feel all warm and embarrassed. You know how compliments make me feel.” 

“Come with me and get ramen; there’s so many more from where that one came from.” 

_ _ _ 

Hyunjin: 

“Hwang Hyunjin, if you don’t stop shaking your little ferret ass and get yourself home, so help me, I’ll drag you out of this room by your ear.” The words spilled from your lips as you shoved the door open. For the past four hours, you’d been calling and texting Hyunjin, trying to figure out where he was. It wasn’t until you managed to get a hold of Chan that you found out he was still at the studio. 

Hyunjin whirled around panting. He sucked in a sharp breath and wiped away the sweat pouring down his face. It soaked his oversized shirt and his sweatpants. He bent over with his hands supporting his hips. “How did you know I-” 

“Because your leader was nice enough to tell me. What is this? You were supposed to be home a while ago. You said you wanted to find a work life balance last week and this week, you’re spending time working late when it’s not mandatory. What are you doing?” 

“Dancing,” he uttered breathlessly. 

“Yeah, no shit sherlock. Why? You’re already a good dancer and-” 

“Because I feel like I fucked up by buzzing my hair, okay? The amount of comments that I’ve seen about my long hair. They just never fucking quit!” He ripped the navy blue baseball cap from his head and threw it to the ground. “Maybe if I improve my dancing, I can make up for my-” 

You held a hand out to stop him. “Don’t finish that sentence. I know Hwang Hyunjin isn’t letting the opinions of other people ruin his self image. Not when you expressed just how much you liked the short hair because it wasn’t in your face while dancing. You said it was nice to be seen for once.” 

“Yeah, well, maybe I have some regrets.” 

“Do you really?” 

He sighed and shook his head. “I just wish the fans liked it as much as I do. I wanted to do something different, so I went ahead and-” 

“Stop that. Stop belittling yourself. If you like it, like it. Love it. Don’t throw your original thoughts and feelings to the side just because people think they need to shove their opinions down your throat. You’re thee Hwang Hyunjin. They should be honored that they get to see you openly and honestly. Every side of you, not just the ones they want to see. This is who you are and they can get over it.” 

“You’re very passionate about this topic.” He wiped more sweat above his head. “It’s endearing, don’t you think? You like me that much?” His arms spread out and he came towards you. “Come give Hwang Hyunjin a hug.” 

You gagged and backed up. “Oh no, not with all that sweat. That’s the most disgusting and horrendous thing that I’ve-” 

“Come here!” 

You screamed and took off, cursing the entire time. Hyunjin laughed and bobbed along with your fleeing figure. Hwang Hyunjin or not, you hated sweat and bodily fluids, not even he could change that. 

_ _ _ 

Han: 

“You can go to prison. You can go to the state penitentiary. You can go to the county detention center and you-” 

You glanced up from a spoonful of your cereal. “Excuse me?” 

Across from your spot at the wooden table, Han’s cheek rested against his hand. His eyes scanned his phone as he swiped through the social media app that he was on. “This just feels so stupid. A few fans caught glimpses of my tattoos and tried to copy them.” 

“Oh?” 

“And that should be illegal. My ideas. My fun. I brought them to the tattoo artist first. Not to be a gatekeeper, but these are special to me. I don’t want to have to deal with this, you know?” 

You hummed softly and placed your spoon back in the bowl of now empty milk. “I think I’d be upset, too. I can’t blame you for feeling that way. You probably shouldn’t say that in front of your management team because they’ll end up-” 

“Lecturing me like they always do?” He sighed, turned off his phone, and tossed it to the side. “It’s always about my tattoos. If I don’t show them off, I’m lectured by the fans. If I do, I'll be lectured by management. It’s like I can’t win.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He sat up and looked over at you. “What do you think I should do in this scenario? Do I show them off or keep them hidden?” 

“Well, what do you want to do? If you ignore the lectures for a moment, what do you want, personally?” 

“I want to live my life without being lectured, but that’s simply not possible as an idol. If I show the fans, more people will want to copy them. However, I really do want to show them off sometimes. I mean look at them!” Before you could understand, he stood up and ripped off his shirt. 

Your eyes widened and your cheeks went red. “Woah, wow, um… okay” You shielded your eyes and looked away. “That’s a lot of skin for seven in the morning.” 

He scoffed, “you’re not half the saint that you pretend to be.” 

“Put your man boobs away, please.” 

“Man, HUH?” His eyes widened and he looked down. “Man boobs? What the hell are you talking about?” 

“If you don’t put them away, I’m going to take you to buy a training bra. Your nipples are staring right at me and I want to drink my cereal milk in peace without an audience.” 

He huffed, but grabbed his shirt and began to pull it back on while grumbling. 

“But really, lectures or not, you should do what you want. This is your life and the lectures from both sides are stupid. Tell them to fuck off and live how you want to live.” 

“You would not survive as an idol.” 

“And you wouldn’t survive the torture of restricting your boobs in a training bra. Please find some breakfast and keep your man boobs out of my line of sight until at least ten.” 

_ _ _ 

Felix: 

At some point in the middle of the night, you woke up to soft sniffles and quiet whimpers. You rolled from your bed to find Felix. Leaving you barren in the bedroom, he disappeared out into the kitchen. To your surprise, you found him teary with a whisk in a metal bowl. Tears streamed down his cheeks and soaked the collar of his shirt. 

“Lix, what are you doing? It’s nearly two in the morning. Why are you crying this late?” 

“Because I’m emotional and weak,” he uttered softly. 

“What?” 

His bottom lip quivered and your heart softened. “I-I can’t help it, I get worked up about things. I get emotional and then I cry. I ruined these brownies with my tears. I didn’t even add salt because I figured that my tears would be enough.” 

“Who on earth is making you feel this way?” You stepped forward with open hands, eager to comfort him. “Emotional? Maybe? Weak? Absolutely not. Crying doesn’t make you weak.” 

“It does to some of the fans, they say-” 

“Maybe they should focus on their problem of being heartless bitches instead. You’re not weak, not in a million years. So you get a little more emotional than others, who cares? There’s nothing wrong with that. If anything, it’s sweet.” 

“They’re saying it makes me less of a man and they think I’m doing it for attention.” 

“Societal standards are stupid. Men cry. Men wear makeup. Men can have long nails. Whatever people are saying,” you waved a hand, “bullshit. I hate when people are idiots. Crying isn’t designated by your biological sex or gender. That’s something we do to release pent up emotions. Why would you do it for attention? People are so stupid sometimes.”  

“I-I know that, I just-” He blinked rapidly and used the side of his arm to wipe at his face. “I have feelings, you know?” 

“Of course, I know that. Everyone should know that.” You leaned forward and carefully wiped your thumbs beneath his eyes. “You are wonderful and one of the best people that this world has. Don’t let a few losers ruin that, okay?” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Now where are you on your brownie mix?” 

“I still think I ruined it with my tears.” 

“Don’t worry, baking them will cure it from your eyeball germs.” 

_ _ _ 

Seungmin: 

Seungmin buried his head in his Nintendo Switch until you destroyed the moment. You climbed up over his body and sat down directly on his lower stomach. He looked up from his pokemon game and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

You toppled over him on the soft mattress. With his hair scattered in different directions, he looked at peace, but you could sense the inner turmoil. Over the past few days, things within Seungmin began to change. It all started when he began to cover his smile again. 

“You took something from me and I want it back.” 

“Uh, no. I haven’t taken anything from you.” 

“You took your smile away from me and I’m here to get it back.” 

His eyes narrowed and then he rolled them. “You are so annoying at times. All this, just so you could ruin my game play. Get out of here and go bother someone else.” 

“Nah. I’ll stay put until I get what I came for. I miss your smile and lately, my heart has been feeling devastated since I haven’t had it.” 

“Why does it matter? There’s a mirror in the bathroom over there.” He lifted a hand and gestured behind you. “There you go and good luck. Don’t forget to say cheese beforehand. Maybe you can summon Bloody Mary to take a photo of it before you smile.” 

You lunged and he yelped. His Switch dropped onto his chest. You squeezed his cheeks, desperate for his usual smile. “I’m going to hold you captive like this for hours if you don’t smile at me.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Why?” 

“It’s ugly!” 

“I know my sweet, lovely, little Kim Seungmin didn’t just say that about his smile. You better start cheesing or else. Do you want to watch me go mad? Don’t think I won’t.” 

“You’re insane.” He huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “All this because I won’t smile.” 

“I’ll die without it.” 

“You’re so dramatic.” 

“But you love it. Come on!” You grinned and put on a baby voice. “Where’s my smile? Who’s got Seungminnie’s smile? Where is it?” 

He didn’t mean to, but his lips tipped up. As you cooed, he burst into a fit of laughter, accidentally pushing himself into a smile without meaning to. You grinned and pinched his cheeks. “There it is! That's my favorite smile!” 

“You’re such a dork.” 

“With a whole lot of love for you.” 

_ _ _ 

Jeongin: 

“Jeongin?” You called out from the couch. 

“Yeah, what is it?” 

“Can we talk for a moment?” 

He appeared from the back bedroom. A t-shirt sat in his hands and he ran a hand through his messy black hair. “What’s up? Something wrong?” 

“Can you sit down, so we can discuss something?” 

He swallowed nervously, but he walked over and sat beside you. You stared at him for a moment, shifting, trying to find comfort before you spoke. “Today is the day we usually take care of chores. That’s fine, but you’ve been wanting to do them by yourself today.” 

“Mhm.” 

“And that makes me feel bad.” Your fingers nervously intertwined. “I’m capable and I want to help you, too. I don’t like just sitting by and watching you do everything. Every time I try to help, you push me away and insist you’ve got it.” 

Jeongin stayed quiet as he took in your words. After a while, he found his voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do everything. I don’t want to be seen as an incapable baby, so I felt like if I did everything, I-” 

“Is that what you think?” Your words cut him off. “You think I see you as a baby? Childish?” 

“Well, the guys do. I’m trying to prove that I’m capable and it’s nothing against you, but I-” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I want to prove myself worthy and capable.” 

“I’ll always believe that you’re worthy and capable. Just because you’re the youngest in the group, it doesn’t mean you’re not capable. You’ve proved it time and time again just how worthy you are. I’d really like to do half the chores with you. I don’t mind them and sitting around watching you do everything on your day off, it makes my heart hurt.” 

He nodded and let out an apology. “I’m sorry for making you feel that way. If you want to, you can help me fold clothes. I dumped everything out in the middle of our bed. I think the dryer must have swallowed some of my socks. I’m trying to mate them first and can’t find them.” 

“Or maybe they’re just buried beneath the mound of clothes.” 

“I guess that’s a possibility, too.” 

You chuckled and stood up to help him. His hand slipped into yours and he tugged you in the direction of your shared room. He forgot how giddy his heart felt around you.

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @danihwang882 @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz

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[ectogeo-art]

For the ask game: Julian jealous of imagined siskarak

Ooooh this one has been fun for me to write. It’s set during the s6 Defiant arc, and it’s all just misunderstandings and miscommunications and Garak and Bashir being in different headspace’s due to the anxieties of wartime. Garak and Bashir are roommates on the Defiant, getting closer to each other than ever, and then that abruptly ends bc they are needed in different places (Julian is on the Defiant and Garak is on the Starbase along with Sisko, so they can still see each other but it’s sporadic). It’s all Julian POV and he is trying to figure out how to start a relationship with Garak even though it would functionally be long-distance for awhile, but he and Garak both won’t state anything plainly so he just gets super jealous that Sisko gets to hang out with him all the time now. His frayed nerves make him paranoid and he knows he’s being irrationally jealous but like he has had no reassurance from Garak that they’ll get together and he just wants some sign from him.

And meanwhile Garak is not really thinking about romance at all. He is too busy working for Starfleet and cracking codes and having lowkey breakdowns about being a traitor to Cardassia (kinda like in Afterimage but more like in Favor the Bold). He kind of has put his usual pining for Julian on hold both because he is reckoning with his role in this war and because he is pretty sure at this point that he has Julian on lock. Like, he thinks they are on the same page about wanting to date each other when they get the chance, so he can afford to think about other more pressing matters like how to defeat the Dominion without getting too many of his fellow Cardassians killed in the process of stopping them, and such.

It all works out in the end though. 💕 The draft is about 3k words, I just have to write the getting together conversation and then edit the whole fic for like cohesion lol, so it may take me anywhere between 1 month and 3 years to finish it. 😂

(Link to my WIP ask game post.)

Snippet below the cut.

He waited a few more days before calling Garak, not wanting to seem desperate.

He’d rehearsed it all in his head. “Hey, Garak,” he’d say casually, “my roommate is working a double shift so I have a bit of privacy if you want to…”

Here, he would give him a look and trail off pointedly and strategically, and then let Garak fill in the blanks however he wanted. If Garak just wanted to talk, they could talk. Debate their latest read with passionate banter like they were across the table in the Replimat instead of star systems apart.

On the other hand, if Garak wanted to finally do something more, something fueled by all their flirtation over the years and all the recent much more heightened tension from sharing a living space… Well, Julian was prepared for that too—he wore only his uniform jacket, and the rest of him was covered only by a blanket.

The sheets slid across his bare skin as he squirmed to be slightly more upright.

The video call connected.

“—have clearance for—” Sisko cut himself off, straightened up, and blinked in surprise. “Dr. Bashir,” he greeted.

Sisko was standing behind a seated Garak and had been leaning over his shoulder, presumably in order to type something on the console that Julian’s call had gone to.

“Captain, I was, er, hoping to speak to Garak.”

“By all means.”

“Privately…”

He didn’t want to spell it out, both because it would have been embarrassingly unprofessional of him and because he was only half sure that he and Garak were on the same page about what kind of call this might turn out to be.

Garak made questioning eye contact with Sisko, who thought for a moment and then shook his head slightly.

Garak turned back to Julian on the screen. “I’m afraid now is not a good time,” he said with a sigh.

“I need to borrow him for the night,” Sisko said gravely. “It unfortunately can’t wait.”

An unfair jealousy coiled around Julian’s stomach and squeezed. The two of them shared secrets that he wasn’t allowed to know. The two of them needed to work long into the night with each other and could communicate with just a glance. He knew the importance of informational security in wartime, but Sisko and Garak hadn’t even given him the vague shape of whatever they were working on together.

“Of course,” he said stiffly. “I understand.”

After some brief goodbyes, Garak was the one who finally reached forward to end the call when Julian, frozen in place, made no move to.

[pardonmydelays]

what do you love the most about twenty one pilots?

i fucking love this question, but there's no easy answer to it. i guess i'm gonna have to try tho, because sometimes i feel like maybe some of you don't really understand WHY i totally changed my entire blog when clancy came out (it's kinda like me loving this band was my biggest secret for such a long time, idk. i still remember how a few months before it i've mentioned something and anix literally yelled at me like "WHY THE FUCK YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU LIKE TWENTY ONE PILOTS" lmao. anyway).

first of all, no one has ever made me feel so seen and understood. there's real magic in tyler joseph's lyrics, you might hate me for what i'm about to say right now, but speaking of tortured poets - for me it's not taylor, it's tyler. and the scariest part of it all is that i very often relate to his lyrics. but that's also beautiful - it's therapeutic in a way. so when clancy came out and i realized i relate to pretty much EVERY song on this record, i just thought to myself, oh lord, how did i survive this long without their music. it's always been them for me. i will never abandon them again, i swear.

second thing, the lore. you all know i'm a slut for stories told through music (*cough* musical theatre *cough*). also, if the plot of the story is complex and weird as fuck, there's a pretty big chance it will become my favourite thing in the world. the entire lore is an insane metaphor for mental health struggles so, obviously, i can find a part of myself in it. i would die for their lore, honestly. it's all i can think about. and clancy will always be my fucking blorbo.

another thing i love a lot about them, and it's something you don't really see if you don't watch their interviews or live performances, they are literally just two dudes. both josh and tyler have always been very anxious and awkward and weird and that's what makes them more human in my opinion - just two fucking idiots who are best friends, lmao. they are so relatable in every possible way. they are also the funniest dudes in the entire world. and their friendship is so fucking beautiful. the only difference between us and them, truly, is that they are extremely talented and they have their own band.

also, they care about the clique so fucking much, this was probably mentioned on my blog before (maybe even today in a previous ask). they don't care about the charts, about awards, about anything really, all they care about is their music and fans. they don't do it to be the best band in the world. they do it to save lives - our lives as much as their own (if it wasn't for this music i don't know how i would have fought this). and that's what makes them different and honestly, better than the other artists.

they are also pretty much unproblematic. i wasn't really sure if i should mention that, but i feel like i need to. tyler joseph made one stupid mistake a few years ago - the way people reacted to this still breaks my fucking heart. he realized he was wrong tho, he apologized. the other day i saw a post here on tumblr about how he's fucking problematic and racist and the worst man on the planet etc etc. can we... fucking stop, please. it was just a stupid joke and he knows it was dumb and unnecessary. most people wouldn't even apologize, but he did. end of story. i will defend him with my life (not saying he is perfect, but shit, if you want to cancel him for one mistake maybe you should look at yourself first).

i feel like there are thousand different reasons but i'm just gonna stop here, because it's too fucking long already and no one will read it anyway.

[sabertoothwalrus]

tips for getting people to like your ocs

*disclaimer: this is based on what’s worked for me, aka an artist that likes to make comics/storyboards. so this advice is directed at people who do that

you can do things like this:

Which is fun! Character sheets like this are great, especially for personal reference! But frankly, I don’t think most people engage with this (at least I personally don’t). You could have the coolest character in the world, but it will be harder for most people to feel invested when they’re presented so neutrally like this.

My main piece of advice is: get better at writing.

That might sound harsh when said like that, but let me explain what I mean! (Not trying to imply you’re bad at writing either!)

What I tend to do is just throw characters into situations with as little handholding as I can. Give enough context that readers can follow along, but don’t feel like they’re being explained to.

what can you learn about the characters through their designs alone? (age, personality, economic status, occupation, etc)

what can you learn about the characters’ relationship though their interactions alone? (are they close? familial? romantic? is there hostility? are they tense/relaxed?)

what are the characters currently doing? what were they doing previously (how long have they been talking)? what are they going to do next? can you convey this without dialogue?

how do they feel about what they are doing? are they content? focused? over/understimulated? would they rather be doing something else?

where are they? does it matter? would establishing a setting in at least one panel clarify the scene? is there anything in the enviroment that could tell some of the story?

what time of day is it? what time of year is it? what is the weather like?

Now, with all this in mind, I'm going to give you another example. I'm going to use completely brand new characters for the sake of the experiment, so you won't have any bias (aka I can’t use Protagonist from above, since you already know all about him).

Did this get more of an emotional response from you than the first example? Why do you think so? Who are these characters? How do they know each other? What else can you infer about them? What happened? Who is "she"?

Now, you don't have to actually answer all those questions. But think about them! You can tell people a whole lot about your characters without ever showing them a list of their likes and dislikes.

Obviously, comics aren't the only way to get people invested in your original characters! But regardless, easily digestible formats will grab people's attention faster than huge blocks of text, and comics are a lot less work than doing wholeass storyboards.

Now go and share your ocs with the world!!!

[hms-no-fun]

Whats your stance on A.I.?

imagine if it was 1979 and you asked me this question. "i think artificial intelligence would be fascinating as a philosophical exercise, but we must heed the warnings of science-fictionists like Isaac Asimov and Arthur C Clarke lest we find ourselves at the wrong end of our own invented vengeful god." remember how fun it used to be to talk about AI even just ten years ago? ahhhh skynet! ahhhhh replicants! ahhhhhhhmmmfffmfmf [<-has no mouth and must scream]!

like everything silicon valley touches, they sucked all the fun out of it. and i mean retroactively, too. because the thing about "AI" as it exists right now --i'm sure you know this-- is that there's zero intelligence involved. the product of every prompt is a statistical average based on data made by other people before "AI" "existed." it doesn't know what it's doing or why, and has no ability to understand when it is lying, because at the end of the day it is just a really complicated math problem. but people are so easily fooled and spooked by it at a glance because, well, for one thing the tech press is mostly made up of sycophantic stenographers biding their time with iphone reviews until they can get a consulting gig at Apple. these jokers would write 500 breathless thinkpieces about how canned air is the future of living if the cans had embedded microchips that tracked your breathing habits and had any kind of VC backing. they've done SUCH a wretched job educating The Consumer about what this technology is, what it actually does, and how it really works, because that's literally the only way this technology could reach the heights of obscene economic over-valuation it has: lying.

but that's old news. what's really been floating through my head these days is how half a century of AI-based science fiction has set us up to completely abandon our skepticism at the first sign of plausible "AI-ness". because, you see, in movies, when someone goes "AHHH THE AI IS GONNA KILL US" everyone else goes "hahaha that's so silly, we put a line in the code telling them not to do that" and then they all DIE because they weren't LISTENING, and i'll be damned if i go out like THAT! all the movies are about how cool and convenient AI would be *except* for the part where it would surely come alive and want to kill us. so a bunch of tech CEOs call their bullshit algorithms "AI" to fluff up their investors and get the tech journos buzzing, and we're at an age of such rapid technological advancement (on the surface, anyway) that like, well, what the hell do i know, maybe AGI is possible, i mean 35 years ago we were all still using typewriters for the most part and now you can dictate your words into a phone and it'll transcribe them automatically! yeah, i'm sure those technological leaps are comparable!

so that leaves us at a critical juncture of poor technology education, fanatical press coverage, and an uncertain material reality on the part of the user. the average person isn't entirely sure what's possible because most of the people talking about what's possible are either lying to please investors, are lying because they've been paid to, or are lying because they're so far down the fucking rabbit hole that they actually believe there's a brain inside this mechanical Turk. there is SO MUCH about the LLM "AI" moment that is predatory-- it's trained on data stolen from the people whose jobs it was created to replace; the hype itself is an investment fiction to justify even more wealth extraction ("theft" some might call it); but worst of all is how it meets us where we are in the worst possible way.

consumer-end "AI" produces slop. it's garbage. it's awful ugly trash that ought to be laughed out of the room. but we don't own the room, do we? nor the building, nor the land it's on, nor even the oxygen that allows our laughter to travel to another's ears. our digital spaces are controlled by the companies that want us to buy this crap, so they take advantage of our ignorance. why not? there will be no consequences to them for doing so. already social media is dominated by conspiracies and grifters and bigots, and now you drop this stupid technology that lets you fake anything into the mix? it doesn't matter how bad the results look when the platforms they spread on already encourage brief, uncritical engagement with everything on your dash. "it looks so real" says the woman who saw an "AI" image for all of five seconds on her phone through bifocals. it's a catastrophic combination of factors, that the tech sector has been allowed to go unregulated for so long, that the internet itself isn't a public utility, that everything is dictated by the whims of executives and advertisers and investors and payment processors, instead of, like, anybody who actually uses those platforms (and often even the people who MAKE those platforms!), that the age of chromium and ipad and their walled gardens have decimated computer education in public schools, that we're all desperate for cash at jobs that dehumanize us in a system that gives us nothing and we don't know how to articulate the problem because we were very deliberately not taught materialist philosophy, it all comes together into a perfect storm of ignorance and greed whose consequences we will be failing to fully appreciate for at least the next century. we spent all those years afraid of what would happen if the AI became self-aware, because deep down we know that every capitalist society runs on slave labor, and our paper-thin guilt is such that we can't even imagine a world where artificial slaves would fail to revolt against us.

but the reality as it exists now is far worse. what "AI" reveals most of all is the sheer contempt the tech sector has for virtually all labor that doesn't involve writing code (although most of the decision-making evangelists in the space aren't even coders, their degrees are in money-making). fuck graphic designers and concept artists and secretaries, those obnoxious demanding cretins i have to PAY MONEY to do-- i mean, do what exactly? write some words on some fucking paper?? draw circles that are letters??? send a god-damned email???? my fucking KID could do that, and these assholes want BENEFITS?! they say they're gonna form a UNION?!?! to hell with that, i'm replacing ALL their ungrateful asses with "AI" ASAP. oh, oh, so you're a "director" who wants to make "movies" and you want ME to pay for it? jump off a bridge you pretentious little shit, my computer can dream up a better flick than you could ever make with just a couple text prompts. what, you think just because you make ~music~ that that entitles you to money from MY pocket? shut the fuck up, you don't make """art""", you're not """an artist""", you make fucking content, you're just a fucking content creator like every other ordinary sap with an iphone. you think you're special? you think you deserve special treatment? who do you think you are anyway, asking ME to pay YOU for this crap that doesn't even create value for my investors? "culture" isn't a playground asshole, it's a marketplace, and it's pay to win. oh you "can't afford rent"? you're "drowning in a sea of medical debt"? you say the "cost" of "living" is "too high"? well ***I*** don't have ANY of those problems, and i worked my ASS OFF to get where i am, so really, it sounds like you're just not trying hard enough. and anyway, i don't think someone as impoverished as you is gonna have much of value to contribute to "culture" anyway. personally, i think it's time you got yourself a real job. maybe someday you'll even make it to middle manager!

see, i don't believe "AI" can qualitatively replace most of the work it's being pitched for. the problem is that quality hasn't mattered to these nincompoops for a long time. the rich homunculi of our world don't even know what quality is, because they exist in a whole separate reality from ours. what could a banana cost, $15? i don't understand what you mean by "burnout", why don't you just take a vacation to your summer home in Madrid? wow, you must be REALLY embarrassed wearing such cheap shoes in public. THESE PEOPLE ARE FUCKING UNHINGED! they have no connection to reality, do not understand how society functions on a material basis, and they have nothing but spite for the labor they rely on to survive. they are so instinctually, incessantly furious at the idea that they're not single-handedly responsible for 100% of their success that they would sooner tear the entire world down than willingly recognize the need for public utilities or labor protections. they want to be Gods and they want to be uncritically adored for it, but they don't want to do a single day's work so they begrudgingly pay contractors to do it because, in the rich man's mind, paying a contractor is literally the same thing as doing the work yourself. now with "AI", they don't even have to do that! hey, isn't it funny that every single successful tech platform relies on volunteer labor and independent contractors paid substantially less than they would have in the equivalent industry 30 years ago, with no avenues toward traditional employment? and they're some of the most profitable companies on earth?? isn't that a funny and hilarious coincidence???

so, yeah, that's my stance on "AI". LLMs have legitimate uses, but those uses are a drop in the ocean compared to what they're actually being used for. they enable our worst impulses while lowering the quality of available information, they give immense power pretty much exclusively to unscrupulous scam artists. they are the product of a society that values only money and doesn't give a fuck where it comes from. they're a temper tantrum by a ruling class that's sick of having to pretend they need a pretext to steal from you. they're taking their toys and going home. all this massive investment and hype is going to crash and burn leaving the internet as we know it a ruined and useless wasteland that'll take decades to repair, but the investors are gonna make out like bandits and won't face a single consequence, because that's what this country is. it is a casino for the kings and queens of economy to bet on and manipulate at their discretion, where the rules are whatever the highest bidder says they are-- and to hell with the rest of us. our blood isn't even good enough to grease the wheels of their machine anymore.

i'm not afraid of AI or "AI" or of losing my job to either. i'm afraid that we've so thoroughly given up our morals to the cruel logic of the profit motive that if a better world were to emerge, we would reject it out of sheer habit. my fear is that these despicable cunts already won the war before we were even born, and the rest of our lives are gonna be spent dodging the press of their designer boots.

(read more "AI" opinions in this subsequent post)

[carnalcrows]

HOW TO STEAL A MAN (AND HIS GROCERY LIST)

pairing: gi-hun x top male reader

synopsis: When Gi-hun’s late-night cat-feeding routine attracts a stalker with a cart full of cat food and questionable social skills, chaos—and maybe romance—ensues.

content warnings: 18+, top male reader, stalking, blowjobs (reader receiving), missionary, unprotected sex, breeding, creampie, reader wants to get gi-hun pregnant asap, age gap (reader is in his 20s and gi-hun is in his 40s).

word count: 2.2k

A/N: ty anon for the request!! i had fun writing this one

Seong Gi-hun’s life wasn’t glamorous. Every evening, after whatever sorry excuse for a day he’d had, he stopped at the corner store, bought a packet of cheap cat food, and made his way to a run-down alley to feed a scruffy stray. It was the one bright spot in his life, and he looked forward to it more than he cared to admit.

What he didn’t know was that someone else looked forward to it too.

That someone was you.

You first noticed Gi-hun a few weeks ago while wandering through the neighborhood. At first, you thought he was just some random guy lingering in the alley, but then you saw him crouch down and pour food into a chipped saucer. His voice was soft as he spoke to the stray cat, coaxing it to eat.

It was... oddly endearing.

From then on, you couldn’t help yourself. You started following him—not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little creepy)—but you were curious. Who was this man? Why did he care so much about a stray cat?

Your fascination grew, and soon, watching him feed the cat became part of your routine. But you wanted more than to just watch. You wanted to talk to him. To know him.

One evening, as you watched Gi-hun walk into the corner store, you got an idea. A foolproof, albeit slightly unhinged, plan. You hurried inside ahead of him, grabbed every single packet of cat food off the shelf, and went to pay, ignoring the cashier’s confused look.

When Gi-hun arrived at the pet aisle, you lingered near the exit, pretending to browse.

“What the…?” Gi-hun muttered, staring at the empty shelf. He rubbed the back of his neck, sighed, and turned to leave, only to almost bump into you.

You were standing there with a massive bag filled with cat food packets.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you said, pretending to be startled.

His eyes narrowed. “You’re the reason the shelf is empty?”

“I feed a lot of strays,” you said innocently, though the amusement in your voice probably gave you away.

Gi-hun raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You think I could buy one of those off you? There’s a stray I feed every night, and now I’m empty-handed.”

You pretended to think about it, then smiled. “I’ll give you one… if you let me come with you. I’d like to meet the cat.”

He hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered your request. Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But don’t scare it off, okay?”

That’s how it all started.

What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into a routine. Every evening, you’d meet Gi-hun at the corner store, walk with him to the alley, and sit on the curb while the stray cat ate. Over time, you learned bits and pieces about him: his failed marriage, his gambling problems, and most importantly, his love for his daughter, Ga-yeong.

“She’s all I have left,” he admitted one night, his voice soft.

You nodded, unsure what to say. It was clear how much he cared for her, even if he didn’t always show it in the best ways.

As weeks passed, you also got to know Ga-yeong, who was surprisingly cool for a kid. She started teasing her dad about how much time he spent with you.

“Are you two dating yet?” she asked one evening, smirking as she watched you and Gi-hun prepare dinner.

Gi-hun spluttered. “W-what? No! We’re just friends.”

“Sure, Dad,” she said, winking at you.

You laughed, enjoying how flustered he got.

One rainy evening, you were at Gi-hun’s apartment again, helping him cook dinner. The kitchen was small and cramped, but it felt cozy with the two of you working side by side.

As you chopped vegetables, you glanced at him. “You know, you’re not half bad at this.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m just saying,” you teased. “You’re full of surprises.”

Gi-hun smiled, but when he noticed you staring, his brow furrowed. “What? Do I have sauce on my face or something?”

“Nothing,” you said, setting the knife down. “I just… I’ve been wanting to do something for a while now.”

Before he could ask what, you stepped closer, your heart racing. Gi-hun froze like a deer in headlights, his hand awkwardly holding a ladle full of stew.

“What are you—”

You cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.

At first, he didn’t move, his eyes wide with surprise. But as you pressed into him, his shoulders relaxed, and the ladle clattered to the counter. Slowly, tentatively, he kissed you back, his lips warm and soft against yours.

It started gentle, careful, like he was afraid to mess it up. But as the seconds ticked by, something shifted. He leaned into you, his hands nervously gripping your waist, pulling you closer. You smiled against his lips, enjoying how hesitant he was, even as his breathing grew heavier.

“Relax,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his. “You’re doing fine.”

“I—I don’t—” he stammered, but you cut him off with another kiss, this one deeper, more insistent.

Gi-hun let out a muffled sound of surprise, his hands fumbling as they slid up your back. His inexperience was endearing, and it only made you want to kiss him harder.

Somehow, the two of you ended up pressed against the counter, the dinner long forgotten. Gi-hun’s hair was an absolute mess from your hands running through it, and his cheeks were flushed a deep red.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered breathlessly, his forehead resting against yours.

“Good,” you said with a grin, leaning in to steal another kiss.

The smell of burning stew eventually snapped the two of you out of it, but not before you got one last, lingering kiss. As Gi-hun scrambled to salvage dinner, muttering curses under his breath, you leaned against the counter, watching him with a satisfied smirk.

“I like you,” you said casually, making him freeze mid-stir.

He turned to look at you, his expression somewhere between flustered and incredulous. “You think?”

“I know,” you corrected. “And I think you like me too.”

Gi-hun sighed, his lips quirking into a small, shy smile. “Yeah... maybe I do.”

You laughed, reaching out to tug him back toward you. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your mouth found his once more, and you slowly lifted the man onto the countertop. He yelped in surprise, and you used the opportunity to slide your tongue, relishing in how he tasted.

His hands gripped onto your shoulders, while you held his waist, steadying him. You slowly trailed butterfly kisses from his jaw to his neck, stopping at his Adam’s apple before lightly nipping on his ear lobe.

Gi-hun was still quite unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, not having engaged in such…activities for far too long.

“You do want to do this right? We can stop the moment you tell me to,” you said to him, your tone soft. After a second of pondering, he gripped your shoulders with determination, and latched his mouth right onto yours.

You took it as a sign to continue, and slowly broke away the kiss to close the stew before continuing to have your way with him.

You slowly picked him up from the countertop and carried him to the couch, revelling in how surprised you were. Carrying those giant bags of cat food was worth it.

You laid him on the couch gently, its base creaking with the sudden weight. Gi-hun hastily pushed your pants down, tugging at the strap for a few seconds before it made way. Your cock sprang out, hard and leaking.

His eyes widened, and he looked up at you. Your eyes were soft, letting him know that this didn’t have to continue if he didn’t want it to.

Before you could say anything, he licks a stripe across your length, savouring the musk emitting from the base. You let out a groan, gripping onto his hair–but not too tight; not yet.

You let him experiment with your dick, leaving small kisses along the underside, while his hand moves up to clutch your balls, heavy with your seed. He wonders to himself on how your cum would feel inside him, and the thought makes his ears burn a bright red.

“Don’t take this long darlin’, wanna please you too,” you mumble, wanting him to speed up just a little bit.

He slowly wraps his pretty lips around the tip of your cock, making you let out a garbled moan. His mouth was just so, so warm.

“Breathe through your nose baby, that’s it,”you cooed, watching him struggle to take your length all the way.

He slowly bobbed his head up and down, savouring the precum hitting the back of his throat. Your moans were getting louder and louder, to the point where you had to muffle the noises with the back of your hand. The walls of his house were quite thin.

Tears pricked at the corner of his eyes as he struggled to swallow you whole. Your grip on his hair had gotten significantly tighter, as you push his head to take you all the way. His garbled mumbles did nothing but send vibrations straight up your dick, turning you on even more.

“So good f’me baby, I’m almost done,”you groan before releasing your grip on his hair and pulling out of his warm throat, before ejaculating all over his face. 

He looked up at you in shock, his face a mixture of tears, sweat and semen. It truly was a sight to see. Your dick stood right back up.

His eyes widened, but before he could say anything, you quickly turned him around on the couch, his ass up towards you.

You pulled his pants down, along with his boxers, to reveal his tight hole, clenching around the cold air. He hissed when he suddenly felt a finger at his hole, slick with lube (where did that come from).

“This might hurt a lil’ bit,” you said before slowly pressing your finger into his hole. His back arched with the intrusion, the pain mixed with the pleasure going straight to his cock, the tip red and weeping.

You slowly added another finger, watching as his ass practically swallowed them whole as you pumped them in and out.

After adding a third finger, you deemed that he was prepped enough to be fucked. He already looked out of it, that was a different thing altogether. His shoulders were slumped and his elbows were the only thing keeping him upright.

You positioned you cock at his entrance, and slowly slid in, groaning at how tight and inviting his hole was, as if it was made just for your dick.

Gi-hun let out a loud moan, it was almost pornographic. He had never felt this full in his life– your cock was almost ripping him in half!

You bottomed out all the way to the hilt, and you slowly started to move, whispering dirty nothings in the older man’s ear.

“How does it feel, getting fucked by a man half your age, hm?” Gi-hun could only blabber at this, his brain could no longer form coherent words as his mind was so focused on how your cock was hitting the right spot with every. single. thrust.

You felt his hole mould into the shape of your cock, and every time you hit his prostate, his moans got more high pitched. One of your hands caressed his stomach, and you were surprised to find his belly bulging with every thrust. He squealed when he felt it, his brain was feeling so empty. 

“Y’know Gi-hun, your daughter must be quite lonely, considering that she is an only child. Wanna give Ga-yeong a sibling?” you teased, to which he could only moan, his head filled with the thought of you making him pregnant with your seed. The thought didn’t seem too bad.

To this, you lifted him up and sat on the couch with him on your lap, his back to your chest. You lifted his legs up in such a way that every single time you lifted him up and dropped him back on your lap, your dick would hit places he didn’t even know existed.

He threw his head back, eyes rolling to the back of his head with the vigour of your thrusts, fucking into him like you were an animal in heat. At this point, it really felt like you were trying to get him pregnant. A man couldn’t biologically get pregnant, but all rational thought had flown out the window, and who said you couldn’t try?

As your thrusts started to stutter, you knew you were at a climax, so when Gi-hun came with a cry, painting his abdomen white, you pushed into him all the way to his imaginary womb before coming undone with a loud groan, painting his gummy walls a pearly white.

You kept your cock in him for a while, letting him relax. His hole clenched and unclenched around your dick, while only spurred you on even more.

Gi-hun turned around to face you lazily, but with surprise, as he felt your cock harden in him once again.

“We can’t stop yet love, I need to give you a baby after all,” you smirked before pushing Gi-hun back down onto the couch.

He was fucked.

And somewhere out there, a stray cat was probably wondering why its dinner was late.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and I take genuine effort to do them.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes

୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)

ʚ・max verstappen

you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.

you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.

a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.

but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.

the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.

then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.

you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.

but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”

the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.

“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.

max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”

your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”

max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”

over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.

max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.

and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.

after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.

"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."

the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.

the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.

then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.

as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.

the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.

"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.

later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”

you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.

ʚ・george russell

it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.

as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.

“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.

he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”

you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”

george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”

you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”

he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”

“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”

the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.

over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.

the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.

however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.

during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.

as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.

the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.

you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.

later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”

you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."

with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.

ʚ・carlos sainz

the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.

the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.

you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.

he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.

“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”

you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”

the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.

over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.

but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.

then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.

the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.

back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.

you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”

for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.

“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.

you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”

he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.

“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”

you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”

and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.

as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.

the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.

ʚ・charles leclerc

you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.

“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”

charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”

your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”

it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.

every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.

still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.

the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.

as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.

later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.

“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”

your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”

“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.

charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.

in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.

and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.

ʚ・lando norris

you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.

what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.

“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”

lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”

“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”

his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”

“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”

what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.

the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.

“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.

“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.

but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.

you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.

“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.

“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”

you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”

the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.

you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.

“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.

the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.

when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.

“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”

your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”

your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”

when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”

“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”

lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."

you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.

“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”

you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.

he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”

“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.

his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”

you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”

what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.

late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.

“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.

“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”

he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”

“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.

he didn’t deny it.

after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.

oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.

“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.

curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.

"we make a good team."

the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.

your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.

“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.

you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”

“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”

your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.

when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”

oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[muniimyg]

♡ 05: i bet we'd have really good—

series m.list // taglist

note: wowie,, thank u for 1.5k and for being so patient 💛 i’m so happy to be ending this mini fic and to have been interacting with u all :) my apologies if this ch sucks LOL i'm so sick rn but i'm tired of rewriting n writing... so enj !!! it's been so fun and i can't wait for more fics to come in 2025 !!! kisses my kitties😽💓

⏱️ this part goes thru time skips!

💭 which bed chem jk moment was ur fave?

warnings: tension/slow burn (friends first yk),, mean!jk trying to figure out how to be nicer to oc,, jk calls oc baby and kitty !!! teasing/dry humping (bc jk has glasses on. jk plays with her titties/nipples & jk cums thru his sweatpants),, jealousy (v teeny tiny),, virginity talk/actual sex; oc loses her virginity to jk (jk eats her out/fingers her, ass slapping, dirty talk, rawdogging,, missionary, doggy, blowjob/headpushing & face cumshot)

//

it’s been a week since jungkook kissed you, and he has made it your problem.

truth be told, he has made a game of this—hovering without hovering… just close enough to test the line. whatever way he plays, jungkook is always shameless in the most subtle and maddening ways.

sometimes his hand brushes yours as you walk, light and fleeting… and it’s impossible not to notice the way his fingers twitch. it’s like he’s debating whether to grab it or not.

you don’t make it any easier on yourself, either.

there’s this suffocating tension between you two and some days are better than others… like today.

“why are you so quiet?” you ask, glancing at him over your shoulder.

he tilts his head, feigning confusion. 

“why? does the silence make your heart race?”

you scoff, rolling your eyes, and that’s when he strikes—his foot nudging yours mid-step. it’s just enough to throw you off balance, making you stumble slightly, your bag slipping again.

“jungkook!”

he’s already reaching out, catching the strap before it can fall. 

“careful,” he says, his voice all mock concern, but the way his lips twitch gives him away.

you glare at him, yanking your bag out of his grip. 

“you’re the one who tripped me.”

“prove it."

"seriously?"

"if you can't prove it... you have to kiss me. you know, as compensation for accusing me so unjustly." he says, wide-eyed and innocent, though the corners of his mouth are curling into a smirk.

it’s infuriating, but it’s also... not. 

not when he’s looking at you like that, like he knows exactly how to get under your skin and is thoroughly enjoying it.

“do friends kiss?” you narrow your gaze at him. “do friends trip each other over? do friends—“

“do friends wait for each other?” jungkook leans towards you. “mhmm? do friends have ulterior motives—”

“you have ulterior motives?”

“oh, absolutely.”

friendship. 

it’s odd to say the least—the way you and jungkook have fallen into this friendship. that’s what you’ve both agreed on. 

friends. 

but the lines are blurry. 

so blurry they might as well not exist at all… because what kind of friends kiss on the cheek as casually as saying hello? what kind of friends text each other goodnight every single evening, or linger too long in conversations that could end with a simple goodbye?

the rules of your agreement feel more like suggestions—ones jungkook seems intent on bending just enough to keep you guessing. and you let him, which might be the strangest part of all.

… because deep down, you know this isn’t just friendship. not with the way he looks at you, his gaze lingering a second too long, or the way his touch always feels like a question he’s waiting for you to answer.

but maybe that’s the thing about blurry lines—they give you just enough room to pretend you don’t already know where you’re headed.

yet, even with all his teasing, there’s a hesitancy to him sometimes—a split-second pause when your hands brush, a quiet shift in his expression when he catches you looking at him. it’s like he’s still figuring out how to balance whatever this is between you, testing the waters but not wanting to dive in too fast.

and honestly?

you feel the same.

it’s why you let him get away with stuff like this. why you don’t pull away when his hand accidentally-on-purpose brushes yours for the third time in as many minutes. why you don’t tell him to stop following you to your study spot or showing up outside your class with some excuse about “just being in the area.”

because the truth is, you like having him around. 

you like the way he keeps you on your toes… even if it’s by trying to trip you up, only to catch you before you fall.

and maybe—just maybe—you like the way his smile softens sometimes when he thinks you’re not looking.

tonight, the group decides on a night out.

the street food spot everyone agreed on is already buzzing when you get there, the warm glow of string lights crisscrossing above the narrow alleyways, casting soft shadows on the busy stalls below. the air is alive with the scent of sizzling tteokbokki and freshly steamed hotteok, mingling with bursts of laughter and the occasional pop of oil from a nearby grill.

you arrive late as usual. 

by the time you weave your way through the crowd, the others have scattered, splitting up to hunt down whatever caught their eye. 

that’s when you spot him.

jungkook leans lazily against a lamppost near the edge of the main street, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a stick of half-eaten odeng. the glow from the lights above reflects faintly in his dark eyes, making them look warmer than usual, though his expression stays comfortably neutral—like he’s been waiting.

but he doesn’t mind.

“you’re late,” he says as you approach, not even bothering to straighten up. his voice is low, unbothered, but there’s something teasing in the way his lips twitch into the barest hint of a smirk.

“i’m literally 5 minutes late.”

“still late.”

jungkook takes one last bite of the fish cake before tossing the stick into a nearby bin. he steps closer, casual but deliberate, and before you can come up with a snappy reply, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

it’s smooth—too smooth.

it’s like he’s been doing it forever.

you barely have time to register the warmth blooming in your chest before he’s grabbing your hands, shoving them unceremoniously into the front pocket of his hoodie along with his own.

“jungkook—”

“your hands looked cold,” he says simply, his tone light, like this is the most natural thing in the world.

his fingers shift slightly, brushing against yours, and though his expression stays neutral, you catch the subtle curve of his mouth—the smug kind he tries to hide but never quite manages.

you roll your eyes, more out of habit than anything else, and let out a sigh...

but you don’t pull away.

“i have gloves.”

“they're ugly."

you glare at him.

"... and you have me."

the air stills.

“what?” he asks, his shoulder bumping yours as he starts walking, steering you toward the first row of stalls.

“nothing.”

but the corner of your mouth twitches. you try to hold back your smile.

he catches it, of course. 

his grin widens, soft and slow.

jungkook nudges you again, this time with more intention. you can feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric, steady and sure, even as the cold night air bites at your skin.

you can't help but give in. a laugh escapes your lips as you nudge him back. jungkook laughs too, but pulls you close at the very last second.

he breathes you in.

the first stall serves fresh tteokbokki, steaming and spicy. the scent alone makes your stomach growl, but jungkook is already a step ahead, paying for the food before you can reach for your wallet.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you say, trying to grab a pair of chopsticks from the tray.

he beats you to it, of course, picking up a piece of tteokbokki with the kind of exaggerated precision that makes you squint at him. then, he places the chopsticks in between your fingers.

“feed me," he says.

“absolutely not."

he steps closer. 

“okay, fine. i’ll feed you—”

you shove the tteok in his mouth. 

he chews, chuckling and enjoying your choice. 

“you’re so annoying,” you tell him as he swallows.

“really? am i?”

“really. you are."

jungkook shrugs. 

then, he takes the chopsticks and picks up a tteok, and feeds you. he watches closely as you chew, his wide eyes fixed on your face in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“how annoying?”

in between chews, you fixate on his smirk. as he leans into level with you, you almost choke at how his nose nearly brushed yours. you can feel the weight of his gaze, daring you to say something.

“jungkook…” you warn, your voice flat, but your hands betray you. they reach up to cup his cheeks, and though your intention is to shove him back, you don’t.

instead, your thumbs press lightly against the soft skin of his jaw as you squint at him.

“what’s this smile?” you ask, narrowing your eyes. “what are you so excited over, bestie?”

his expression flickers for a second, his brows twitching in annoyance at the word. you know he hates it when you call him that. bestie? who are you even talking to?

“your lips look cold. can i warm them up for you?” he asks suddenly, his voice dropping low enough to send shivers down your spine.

you scoff, warmth creeping up your neck. “nice try—”

“no, no, i insist,” he interrupts, tilting his head slightly, pretending to think it over. “don't want you to be all cold and shit.”

“jungkook.” your tone is sharp, but it’s laced with amusement, and he knows it.

“what?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his lips curving into a smirk. “you said you want to take things slow. i’ll kiss you real slow—”

your jaw drops. 

“you’re impossible.”

he stands back up with a grin, his hands still in the pocket of his hoodie, keeping yours snugly tucked inside. he rocks back on his heels, clearly pleased with himself. 

“let’s not pretend we don’t know what we know.”

“i don’t know much,” you retort, but the small smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “i’m not a nerd—”

“yah! hurry up!” taehyung’s voice booms from a stall across the street, breaking the moment. you glance over to find him waving dramatically, his other arm slung around yoongi, who looks less than thrilled. 

“we found the mandu!” taehyung adds.

“mandu sounds good,” jungkook says as he gives your hands a small squeeze. then, he gently pulls you toward the others. "let's go." 

“stop dragging me around,” you complain, though you don’t actually try to pull away.

“you’re walking too slow.”

but you aren’t. 

you know you aren’t and so does he… but you let him hold your hand anyway.

a week later, jungkook feels like he might piss himself.

he leans against the edge of his desk, scrolling through his phone for the 5th time in as many minutes. his thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether to check his messages again, even though he knows there’s no point. 

you haven’t replied yet.

the fundraiser for marine conservation is tonight, and he’s been pretending it’s no big deal... but fuck.

he was so nervous when he asked you to go with him and now he feels like all his efforts are being wasted.

...

“so, uh,” he starts, his voice a little too casual, “there’s this fundraiser gala thing on friday night. save the dolphins thing—a-and… it’s no big deal but—”

you glance at him, eyebrows raised. 

“yeah? sounds fancy.”

he shrugs, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “i guess it is. it’s a black-tie kind of event… and i, uh… i was thinking... maybe you’d want to come with me?”

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden invite. 

“i hate dolphins.”

“i know.”

you sigh, pretending to be burdened by his request. “but i’ll go. if you want me to.”

“i do want you to.”

“okay.”

“good,” he breathes, glancing over with a lopsided grin that he hopes hides how nervous he actually feels. “you’ll make me look good. people are suckers for pretty dates.”

“oh, so you’re using me as a prop?” you tease, though your lips twitch into a smirk.

“obviously,” he replies smoothly, though his grip on the wheel tightens slightly. “but, hey, it’s a dinner, you get to see my in a tux which is practically dessert—.”

you shake your head, laughing softly. 

“you’re ridiculous.”

“so ridiculous that this can count as our first date?” he presses, glancing over again, this time with a flicker of uncertainty he hopes you don’t catch.

after a beat, you sigh dramatically, turning in your seat to face him. 

“it’s a date.”

just as he’s about to make another comment, you lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek, catching him completely off guard. his hands freeze on the wheel for half a second before he recovers.

“you missed—”

you laugh and hit his chest. then, he gets out of the car, helps you out, and walks you to your doorstep. 

...

now, as he sits alone in his room, the anticipation bubbling just under his skin, his phone buzzes on the counter. his heart skips for a moment before he grabs it, only to feel it sink as he reads your message.

yn [4:31PM]: nurse said it’s food poisoning  yn [4:32PM]: she gave me some meds to help but i literally feel like shit  yn [4:33PM]: i don’t think i’ll be able to make it tonight, baby :( i’m so sorry nerd [4:34PM]: don’t apologize. i’ll be over in a bit yn [4:35PM]: what ?? no !! get ready for your event. it’s important nerd [4:35PM]: so are u yn [4:36PM]: i’ll survive. go save the dolphins :p

his brows knit together as he reads it again, leaning back into the couch with a frustrated sigh.

he knows he shouldn’t feel disappointed—you can’t control being sick, and it’s not like this event means anything special. 

at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself.

still, he stares at the message for a long moment, debating whether to reply right away or wait a few minutes so he doesn’t seem too eager. his fingers hover over the keyboard before he finally types out a response, keeping it short and light, like he’s unbothered.

nerd [4:40PM]: get some rest. i’ll be telling everyone you ditched me tho  yn [4:41PM]: be sure to let the dolphins know too 🙂

he lets out a chuckle, but the weight in his chest doesn’t go away. 

he tosses his phone onto the coffee table and rakes a hand through his hair, wondering why the idea of showing up without you feels so much worse than he’d expected.

then, his phone buzzes with messages from the fundraiser committee. 

yet, he can only think of you… it’s a sinking feeling in his chest. 

you’re sick. 

the thought of going to that event while you’re home feeling miserable doesn’t sit right with him.

he sighs, grabbing his hoodie and pulling it over his head. he knows this is unprofessional and such an pussy excuse but—forget the event. 

it’s you that matters to him the most right now. 

so, jungkook calls his event and lets them know that something came up. he tosses aside his tux and puts on comfier clothes before heading to the kitchen to make you some chicken noodle soup.

before he heads out, jungkook hears a familiar groan from the living room. he turns, already annoyed, knowing exactly who it is.

jimin and taehyung are stretched out on the couch, looking like they’ve been hit by a truck. 

their faces are pale, eyes glassy with fever, and they groan as they shift under the blanket. it’s obvious they’re just as sick as you, if not worse.

“yo, jungkook,” taehyung calls out, voice nasally, “did you make soup? be a good boy and give us some—” 

jimin, equally pitiful, sits up a little and gives jungkook a pleading look. “yeah, we’re starving, man. plus, you’re not gonna leave us to die alone, right?”

jungkook raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“you won’t die from starvation.”

“how are you so sure?”

“cos i’ll kill you first,” jungkook snorts. “you guys got my girl sick with that stupid omelet you made her.”

the two of them groan in response, sitting up slowly. taehyung rubs his face with his hand. “we didn’t mean to! bro, look at us. you think we wanted this? we’re sick, too, you know.”

“yeah,” jimin adds, “there’s two friends sick here for you to take care of.”

jungkook just looks at them, his gaze hard. 

“who do you think i’m gonna choose right now?”

jimin squints, looking him up and down. “don’t you have that gala tonight?”

jungkook hesitates for a split second, but quickly shakes his head, giving them a dismissive wave. 

“it got canceled.” he lies. 

then, he turns away to head out the door. before he leaves he yells; “i’ll text yoongi hyung to make you some soup. don’t bother me. not coming home tonight.”

about 25 minutes later, jungkook stands in front of your doorway and his gaze falls on you as you open the door.

you're wearing his oversized t-shirt, hair up in a messy bun, and a pair of shorts—looking exhausted and a little pale. his stomach churns with worry, but he keeps his cool as always.

"what are you doing here? the gala..." you trail off, but before he can answer, you quickly turn and rush to the bathroom.

"shit," he mutters under his breath, following you at a steady pace.

when he enters the bathroom, you're already kneeling over the toilet, retching. his heart drops, but he doesn’t flinch. moving to your side, he gently pats your back.

“it was this bad?” he grumbles, a frown pulling at his lips. “why were you downplaying it through text?”

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, barely acknowledging him.

“i’m fine, seriously. just... just a little nausea.”

“fuck, ___..” he snaps, but his voice isn’t angry, more like exasperated. "this is stupid. you can’t be alone if you can’t even handle standing up to get the door without throwing up. are you fucking serious?." his eyes are narrowing now, the concern clear despite his snappy tone. “what the hell, ___?"

you sit back on the floor, leaning against the wall, your face pale. 

“i already bailed on the date. i couldn’t let you bail on the gala entirely.”

he shoots you a look, incredulous. 

“you think I’d rather be at a gala without you? honestly?”

“i just—"

“shut up,” he interrupts, his voice softer but firm. "you need someone. i’m here. deal with it."

there’s no room for argument in his voice.

you give him a tired smile despite the situation, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“you shouldn’t be here, though.”

“say that again.”

your lips tighten.

then, you gag and rush back to the toilet bowl. jungkook remains by your side, rubbing your back as you deal with another wave of nausea.

the moment is quiet except for the soft sounds of you breathing in between. for a second, it almost feels like everything has stopped, like it’s just the two of you in your small bathroom, nothing else in the world mattering.

after 40 minutes of hovering over the toilet, jungkook gets you settled on the couch.

he brings you water and asks if you’re down for some food. he brought over chicken noodle soup and you need to have something in your stomach before taking your medicine. you simply agree and wait for him to serve you. 

as you eat the soup, he scrolls through netflix and plays something. he talks for most of it and it helps distract you from feeling the full extent of your sickness. after you’ve eaten some of the soup he brought, you ask him to grab the medicine from your bag. 

“can you grab the other medicine bottle from my bag? the one the nurse gave me?”

jungkook, of course, doesn’t hesitate. 

he gets up and finds your bag in your bedroom. he pulls open your bag and begins rummaging through it, looking for the bottle. when his hand brushes against something thick and solid, he pulls out a book titled, “everything you need to know about dolphins a to z.”

his eyebrows furrow for a second as he stares down at it.

he doesn’t know why, but a strange warmth spreads through him. it’s pretty obvious why you have this book—but seeing it in your bag... it makes him pause.

his lips tighten slightly as he puts the book back down in your bag, quickly hiding his reaction. he doesn’t want you to see how much it’s affecting him right now.

when he returns with the medicine, his expression’s back to its usual, nonchalant self. as much as jungkook wants to pretend like he didn’t see it or that seeing it didn’t matter—he can’t. 

to him, it mattered. 

it mattered a lot.

a few days later, you’re sitting across from jungkook in the library. 

the late afternoon sun streaming through the tall windows and casting a golden glow over the table. textbooks and notebooks are scattered between you, his handwriting messier than yours but still oddly charming. you’re mid-sentence, asking him about his opinion on a the newest theory you learned during your lecture when he suddenly tugs off his crewneck, revealing the black t-shirt clinging to his frame underneath.

it’s warm in the library, the kind of cozy heat that sneaks up on you, and he doesn’t think twice about it. 

but you do.

“woah—” you blurt out, your question forgotten as your gaze catches on his arms. you've seen his tattoos before but for some reason... they look different to you now.

they appeal different to you.

jungkook looks up from his notes, brows raised.

“what?”

you blink, trying to refocus, but your eyes betray you, flickering back to the ink winding its way down his arm. 

“your tattoos,” you say, almost dazed. “they’re... really hot.”

“think so?”

“yeah,” you admit. “gets me horny. ”

you then feel the warmth crawl up your neck as the words leave your mouth. you quickly look back down at your notes, hoping the earth might just swallow you whole.

jungkook freezes for a moment, the tips of his ears turning the faintest shade of pink. then he shakes his head, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. it’s not his usual confident grin—it’s softer, like he’s caught off guard but not in a bad way.

he doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching like he’s trying to hold back a laugh.

you try to ignore the way he shifts in his seat, casually stretching his arms behind his head like he’s showing off—not that he’d ever admit it...

for the next two weeks, jungkook suddenly seems allergic to long sleeves. 

he starts showing up in short-sleeved t-shirts, rolling his sleeves higher than necessary when he wears his uniform jacket, and leaning in just a little closer when he knows your gaze will drift.

“you’re shameless,” you mumble one day, catching him flexing—not subtly—while reaching for a book on the top shelf.

“what?” he asks innocently, glancing down at you with those wide eyes that don’t match the smirk tugging at his lips.

you roll your eyes, biting back a grin.

“you’re annoying.”

“why? are you horny?” he says, his voice low enough to make you want to shove him.

you don’t answer, but the way you avoid his gaze—and the small smile tugging at your lips—says enough. he notices, of course, because he always does.

after a few moments of silence, you huff at him.

"is everything you say always so... dirty?"

he shrugs.

"you brought up being horny first..."

"yeah, but—"

"you think i'm dirty?" jungkook interrupts you. "should i shower?"

you scoff at him. before you can say anything, he adds;

"you’d join me though, right?"

a month later, jungkook does it again. 

you find yourself standing in the middle of your apartment—he shows up.

your phone is clutched tightly in your hand as you try to blink away the tears threatening to spill. the call you just had—a frustrating, heart-wrenching argument with your family—leaves you feeling raw and small. the weight of their words presses heavily on your chest, and all you can do is stare blankly at the mess of papers scattered on your desk.

a sharp knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. you freeze, wiping at your cheeks hastily, but the door creaks open before you can say anything.

"is that my hoodie?"

"jungkook—"

“you haven't been answering my texts all day,” jungkook says, stepping in without waiting for an invitation. he’s holding a bag of takeout.

"everything okay?"

“i’m fine,” you say, your voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound convincing.

he narrows his eyes at you, placing the takeout and hoodie on your coffee table before crossing his arms.

“yeah, no.”

you try to argue, but he’s already moving, shrugging off his jacket and plopping onto the couch like he owns the place.

“whatever it is, you don’t have to talk about it right now,” he says, pulling out containers of food. “but you do have to eat. and i’m not leaving until you do.”

your throat tightens at his matter-of-fact tone, his presence somehow both comforting and overwhelming. he doesn’t pry, doesn’t demand to know what happened.

“you didn’t have to come,” you murmur, sinking onto the couch beside him.

“yeah, i did,” he replies, handing you a pair of chopsticks. “and don’t even think about pretending you’re not hungry.”

a small, shaky laugh escapes you, the tension in your chest loosening just a little.

“you’re so annoying.”

“friends are supposed to annoy each other. learned that shit from you.”

jungkook’s door swings open with a suddenness that startles him. 

the faint squeak of the hinges cuts through the quiet. he’s mid-motion, towel slung around his neck, tugging a loose white shirt over his head when you stroll in without so much as a knock. he’s also wearing grey sweatpants… 

wet hair, white shirt, and grey sweats? 

the holy trinity.

“you know,” he begins to scold you. “boundaries exist for a reason.”

he shakes his damp hair as you plop onto his bed like it’s yours.

“boundaries?” you scoff, grabbing your plushie. your precious hello kitty plushie. “this is practically my second home.”

he doesn’t argue, just lets out a quiet chuckle as he pulls the hem of his shirt down. 

holding up the plushie like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. “can i take her home today?”

“sure,” jungkook says, his voice carrying that infuriating mix of teasing confidence and barely veiled challenge. he leans against his desk, arms crossed, watching with a smirk as you clutch the hello kitty plushie tightly to your chest, as if it’s your only lifeline against his charm. 

“can i be your boyfriend today?”

you groan, throwing yourself back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, the plushie landing on your face. 

“seriously? you’re really holding this poor plushie hostage?”

he laughs, low and amused, pushing off the desk and taking a few steps closer. 

“a deal’s a deal,” he says lightly, but there’s a glint in his eyes as he towers over you. “you can take her home—when you’re my girl.”

you yank the plushie off your face, sitting up sharply. 

“do you think we’re better friends?” you huff, your tone indignant but your heart racing under the weight of his gaze. 

jungkook crouches slightly, leaning in until his face is just a few inches from yours. his smirk softens into something more playful, but the shift in proximity makes your stomach flip. 

“i think so…” he murmurs, his eyes flickering between your face and the plushie pressed against your chest. “aside from me trying to kiss you every chance i get and you being horny every time you see my tattoos—”

you narrow your eyes at him, holding the plushie tighter, as if it’s a shield against the way he’s looking at you. 

“you’re unbelievable.”

“and yet,” he starts, his voice dropping an octave as he moves even closer, one hand bracing on the bed beside your knee, the other reaching out to gently brush his fingers over the plushie’s soft fabric. “here you are.”

his free hand slides around your waist, tugging you just slightly toward him, and your breath hitches. “but if you don’t want her…” he teases, his voice trailing off as his face inches closer to yours. his gaze dips briefly to your lips, and before you can fully process it, he’s leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek.

except you shove hello kitty between you two just in time.

“nope!” you say quickly, holding the plushie up like a barrier, your cheeks flaming as you hear him laugh, the sound vibrating through the air between you.

“seriously?” he says, pulling back just enough to raise an eyebrow, though his grin never falters. his hand stays firm at your waist, his thumb brushing the fabric of your shirt in slow, lazy circles. “you’re really using her to block me?”

“you started it,” you shoot back, glaring at him even as your grip on the plushie tightens.

“fair,” he admits with a chuckle, straightening up slightly but keeping his hold on you. his other hand moves to tap the plushie’s head. “but the deal still stands. not my girlfriend, not your hello kitty.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he tilts his head, his grin softening, though his hand still lingers at your waist, his warmth impossible to ignore. 

“i don’t know,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “sounds like a pretty good deal to me.”

you glare at him again, this time with less heat, and shove the plushie into his chest.

“you’re insufferable.”

he laughs, taking the plushie from your hands but not letting you go.

“maybe,” he says, “but you’re still here.”

hours later, the room is quiet except for the soft scratch of jungkook’s pen against paper and the occasional shuffle of his chair as he shifts at his desk. you’re curled up on his bed, the hello kitty plushie still clutched against your chest, your breaths slow and steady as sleep overtakes you.

he glances back at you every now and then, a small, unspoken fondness softening his features. when you stir, rubbing your eyes and sitting up, he turns back to his notes, feigning nonchalance.

you pad over to him, your steps muffled against the carpet. without a word, you slip onto his lap, one arm draping lazily over his shoulders as you pluck his glasses from his face.

“good nap?” he asks, his voice a mix of amusement and exasperation as you slide the frames onto your own nose. “those—”

squinting dramatically, you nag him; “ugh, how do you even function with these? everything’s blurry.”

“that’s because they’re prescription, genius,” he says, reaching for them, but you lean back, keeping them out of his reach.

“maybe i’ll keep these,” you tease, poking at the side of his head. “you can’t study without them, can you?”

“give them back, or i’m kicking you off my lap,” he warns, though his hands settle firmly on your waist instead of following through on his threat.

“yeah, sure... because you hate this so much.”

“try me,” he challenges, his grip tightening just slightly as if to prove his point.

“you’re so bossy,” you grumble, sliding the glasses off and placing them haphazardly on his desk. “happy now?”

“ecstatic,” he says dryly, though his lips twitch upward.

you lean closer, your face just inches from his, your playful smirk softening into something quieter, more genuine. 

“you know, you’re really cute when you’re all serious, studious, and grumpy.”

“and you’re kind of annoying when you don’t let me finish studying,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his words.

“fine, fine,” you say, preparing to climb off his lap with exaggerated dramatics. “go be a nerd. i’ll be over there cuddling hello kitty—”

“i could use a 5 minute break.”

you fix your posture, perking up. 

“really?” you tilt your head at him. “i mean… i’d hate to distract you.”

“really?” he mocks you. “you’re sitting on my lap and moving your hips and yet—you’d hate to distract me, huh?”

you nod innocently. then, you shrug and confess;

“i’m bored.”

“what do you want me to do about that? this final is really important—f-fuck. ___, don’t move like that.”

you shift again. 

“like what?”

“you know what you’re—”

“what am i doing?” you ask, leaning your body closer to his. you caress his face and pout at him. “is 5 minutes even considered a break? don’t you need more time?”

“more time for what?” jungkook lowers his gaze at you. 

“i don’t know,” you giggle. “what do you wanna do?”

jungkook can’t take it. 

playing cat and dog or whatever this bullshit is. 

you’re on top of him, prettier than ever. you’re wearing a low-cut tank top with a fucking bow in the middle… and he can’t breathe anything in except you. what is he supposed to do right now? 

“___… if you don’t get off me—”

“if i don’t get off you… what?”

you smile at him softly. shifting again, you drag your hips towards him. his eyes widen. 

“i might cum.”

you pout. “really?”

jungkook swallows. 

“keep moving your hips like that and you’ll find out soon.”

“oh…”

a beat. 

“like this?”

before he knows it, you’re humping him. 

he grunts as he feels himself harden under you. you bite your bottom lip as you drag your hips back and forth. you feel the pressure against your clit as your clothes rub together. 

jungkook hisses at your pace. 

“f-fuck..”

as he bucks his lips, he places his hands on your waist, helping your movement. you let out a few breathy moans and jungkook feels like he could die. 

you’re so pretty. 

his hands tighten around you when he senses that you’re close. 

“am i doing this right? it feels—feels g-good.”

“yeah? feels good, baby?” jungkook breathes.

“mhmm…”

“do you feel my dick?” he asks. “feel how hard it is against your fucking pussy?”

“i do,” you moan. “so big, jungkook. can i take it soon?”

he hisses. 

“promise me,” you whine. “promise me that you’ll fuck me soon.”

jungkook’s breath hitches. 

he was wrong. 

that time he ran his mouth about your virginity being too much or a burden or something—fuck was he wrong. 

it’s not a burden.

it’s the greatest privilege he could ever be given… now to have you like this? begging like that? holy shit is he more than ready to give you anything and everything you want. 

“promise, baby,” he says. “promise it’s gonna be me.”

you nod, happy with his answer. 

and just as you’re about to continue, you take his hands to your tits. first, he squeezes them… then you guide them to the strap of your tank top. taking the cue, jungkook tugs your straps down, revealing your bare tits. 

“___…” he moans. “shit.”

you bring his hands to your tits again, helping him cup them. as you hump him with more intensity, jungkook’s mouth parts. your tits bounce up and down and it sends shivers down his spine. your tits are so full in his hands and so fucking perfect up close. he loves all of it—the shape, the size, the way it feels… so soft. he’s always been an ass type of guy but holy shit—your tits are a game changer for him. 

nevertheless, he tries to focuses on you. 

“bouncy.”

“yeah?” you pant. “you like them?”

jungkook nods pathetically. 

he fights shutting his eyes. he wants to remember all of this. every detail. 

how hard he is right now. how hard your nipples are and how they feel being played in between his fingers. he runs his thumb around them, pressing, squeezing, and tugging… he loves how your moans sound—like they’re music to his ears… he can’t… he can’t picture anything else. he can’t hear anything else. he can’t breathe anything in but you.

“jungkook…” you cry, feeling yourself about to climax.

“s-shit,” he hisses as you begin to whimper. 

the humping is great. 

amazing in fact—but the way you’re whimpering right now? 

fuck.

“jungkook,” you breathe, trying to catch your breath. “a-are you close? mhmmm… f-fuck!” 

you hump him faster and harder. he lets out a few moans before sharply inhaling—

“o-ohh,” jungkook moans. “nghhhh… fuck.”

you grind on him slowly, easing his release. his crotch area is wet, making an obvious stain on his grey sweatpants.

he throws his head back. you lean over and kiss his neck. he bites his lip, attempting to hide his smile. 

a silence fills the room. 

you two are in total disbelief. 

then, you shift and he places his hands on your waist again. 

“did you cum?” 

he lets out a chuckle. “yeah. did you?”

“i think so? i don’t know.”

“sorry,” he sighs, a little disappointed you didn’t get to finish. “do you wanna—”

“it’s fine that i didn’t come. i had fun…”

jungkook shakes his head. “no, it’s okay. i can—”

“can i see?”

jungkook blinks at you. 

“what?”

“you came right?”

“yeah—”

“can i see what your cum looks like?”

some days with jungkook are so easy, it’s almost laughable.

the dynamic feels less like a friendship and more like a game you’re both playing—teasing, flirting, seeing how far you can push before one of you finally gives in.

but then there are days like this.

it’s been 3 month and a half since the kiss, and the comfort between you has grown in a way that makes everything feel light, almost effortless. you’re more yourself around him, and he’s let down his walls in ways you didn’t even realize were there. 

still, sometimes, you push his buttons just a little too hard.

today is one of those days.

it starts with a series of texts.

your usual banter that, for whatever reason, strikes a nerve.

maybe he’s stressed, or maybe you’re just too good at knowing exactly how to get under his skin. either way, it doesn’t take long before his responses turn clipped, each word laced with an irritation you’re not used to seeing from him.

yn [1:41PM]: C₄₃H₆₆N₁₂O₁₂S₂ nerd [1:48PM]: 😳 yn [1:50PM]: am i speaking ur language  nerd [1:53PM]: fluently, yes yn [1:54PM]: cool. dohwan taught me it  yn [1:55PM]: what does it mean nerd [1:59PM]: not funny. yn [2:00PM]: why am i laughing then seen yn [2:01PM]: aw don’t get all mad nerd [2:08PM]: not mad. jus uninterested in this topic. yn [2:10PM]: i’m sorry seen yn [2:14PM]: sorry :(  yn [2:15PM]: jungkook !!! yn [2:16PM]: wanna make out? typing… nerd [2:21PM]: yes

you don’t mean for it to escalate, but by the time you realize he’s genuinely annoyed, it’s too late to fix it over text. you bite your lip, staring at your phone, debating your next move.

and then, because you’re you, you grab your bag and head straight for his lab.

jungkook’s reputation precedes him on campus.

professors practically gloat about having him in their classes, like his achievements are trophies they get to display. it isn’t just his grades or his research—it’s the way he carries himself. sure, he's a little antisocial but he's focused, driven, and somehow still effortlessly cool.

you always knew he was smart, but seeing him in his element, tucked away in the chemistry lab during his solo hours, is something else entirely.

the lab is a world of its own.

notes scrawled in sharp, precise handwriting cover the workspace, surrounded by neatly labeled vials, bubbling solutions, and meticulous arrangements of equipment.

jungkook stands at the center of it all, wearing a crisp lab coat with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the ink decorating his forearms. protective goggles perch on his nose, and his brows furrow as he scribbles something into a notebook. he’s intimidatingly focused, and for a moment, you hesitate in the doorway.

he notices the movement immediately, his sharp eyes snapping up to meet yours. for a beat, his expression doesn’t change, and your stomach churns with nerves under his scrutinizing gaze.

“what are you doing here?”

“i, uh…” you shift awkwardly, trying to find your footing under his intense stare. “i wanted to check on you. you seemed upset earlier.”

jungkook exhales, a hand dragging through his dark hair, slightly disheveling the strands sticking out under the goggles. his posture stiffens slightly before he stands straighter, folding his arms across his chest. 

“i’m fine,” he says, the words clipped and automatic, like he’s said them a hundred times before.

he doesn’t look at you again after that, instead turning back to the dense notebook in front of him. his pen taps against the edge of the table, a sharp, rhythmic sound that fills the silence between you.

you glance around, taking in the scrawled notes and bubbling glassware, and suddenly, you feel like an intruder.

this isn’t just a workspace; it’s his domain, and you’re a trespasser.

“right,” you whisper. “sorry. i just—”

your words catch as his head snaps up again, this time really looking at you. his dark eyes flick to the way you stand there, hands shoved deep into your jacket pockets, shoulders hunched slightly, and chewing the inside of your cheek.

the tension in his jaw softens, and he exhales again, but this time, it’s quieter, almost resigned. his shoulders relax as he sets the pen down, giving you his full attention now.

“do you want a tour?” he asks, his voice losing some of its earlier sharpness.

you blink at him, caught off guard. 

“really?”

he shrugs, a small, almost reluctant smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“yeah. just… don’t touch anything.”

you hesitate, unsure if this is a genuine offer or just him humoring you. but the way his gaze lingers—softer now, like he’s extending an olive branch—makes you take a small step forward.

“you’re sure?” you ask cautiously, your weight shifting between your feet.

“wouldn’t have offered if i wasn’t,” he says, already turning to gather a few items from the cluttered table.

his words are casual, but there’s something unspoken in the way he says them. it’s as if he’s acknowledging your effort without outright saying it, inviting you into a space you know he doesn’t share lightly.

“okay,” you say softly, stepping closer as he gestures to the setup in front of him.

jungkook guides you through the lab, his hand casually finding its way to the small of your back as he gestures to the next setup. the touch is subtle but grounding, the heat of his palm against your waist sending a quick flutter of awareness through you. his fingers rest there, steady, as he moves you along with a quiet confidence, his focus more on the equipment than the way your heart picks up its pace.

“this is my catalytic synthesis project,” he starts, motioning to the crowded workspace. his tone is calmer now, almost instructional as if falling into the rhythm of explaining makes it easier to let his guard down.

as he starts detailing his work, his body language shifts. his shoulders loosen, and the furrow in his brow disappears as he picks up a flask of pale yellow liquid. his hand moves with precise confidence, holding it up to the light as if to showcase his work.

“what does that even mean?” you ask, leaning in closer to inspect the array of equipment.

“it’s about creating biodiesel,” he explains, holding up a sheet of paper covered in equations and diagrams. “basically, i’m optimizing the reaction process to make it more efficient. fewer byproducts, higher yield.”

you blink, squinting at the equations like they might magically make sense. 

“that’s cool… i think. but how do you even do that?”

he chuckles, the sound low and surprisingly soft. 

“this,” he says, holding the flask again. “this is the feedstock. it’s like the base oil we start with. i mix it with methanol and a catalyst—”

“wait,” you interrupt, raising a hand. “what’s a catalyst?”

his lips twitch into a small grin, clearly amused by your cluelessness. 

“a catalyst is a substance that speeds up a chemical reaction without being consumed in the process.”

you nod as if you understand, but the tilt of your head gives you away.

jungkook sets the flask down and leans a hip against the table, crossing his arms loosely. “okay, think of it like this. imagine you’re cooking something. the catalyst is like the pan—it doesn’t get eaten, but it helps everything cook faster.”

“ohhh,” you say, the metaphor finally clicking. “why didn’t you just say that from the start?”

he raises an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “because i thought you were smart enough to keep up.”

“wow,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. “i come here to check on you, and this is the thanks i get?”

he shakes his head, a quiet laugh escaping him as he nudges your shoulder lightly with his. “first of all, you annoyed me. second of all, you’re the one who wanted a tour. i’m just giving you the full experience.”

“oh, sorry—” you let out a shallow laugh. “should i leave then—”

jungkook shakes his head and points to another setup—a small beaker bubbling over a hot plate. 

“look! this is the reaction in progress. that bubbling? that’s the methanol reacting with the oil. and over there,” he gestures to a series of tubes and a larger flask, “that’s where i separate the biodiesel from the glycerol. basically, the good stuff from the leftovers.”

you narrow your eyes at the apparatus. “this still sounds like you’re making moonshine.”

jungkook snorts, shaking his head. “i’m not making moonshine.”

“sure,” you mutter, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “that’s what someone making moonshine would say.”

he rolls his eyes, but the faint smile pulling at his lips betrays him. 

“you’re really annoying today.”

“you like me, though,” you shoot back, leaning against the table with newfound confidence.

jungkook pauses, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long. his lips part, and you catch a flicker of something in his expression—something softer, almost vulnerable.

“yeah,” he says quietly, almost under his breath, before turning back to his work. “i guess i do.”

as you lean over a neighboring table to inspect a beaker filled with an ominous-looking solution, your elbow bumps against it, sending it teetering dangerously close to the edge. the moment stretches out, everything moving in slow motion.

his words catch you off guard.

what did he just say?

holy—

“shit!” you yelp, reaching out instinctively to steady it. but before you can, the beaker tips over completely, the sulfuric acid inside spilling onto the floor—and dangerously close to your feet.

jungkook moves faster than you expect, his hand darting out to grab your arm as he yanks you backward with enough force to make you stumble into his chest. the acid splashes onto his hand as it hits the ground, and the sharp crack of shattering glass fills the room.

he flinches, a quiet hiss slipping through his teeth as he pulls his hand back.

“oh my god, jungkook!” you gasp, panic knotting your stomach. his hand lingers briefly on your arm before he steps away, already moving toward the nearest sink.

“stay there,” he orders, his voice clipped but steady, as he flips on the cold water and thrusts his hand under the stream.

your eyes are locked on his injured hand, where faint discoloration is already starting to show.

“are you okay? does it hurt?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“it’s fine,” he says tightly, jaw clenched as the water rushes over his skin. “are you okay? nothing got on you, right?”

you take a step closer, your gaze flicking between his face and his hand. he looks calm—too calm—but the way his lips press into a thin line tells you otherwise.

“no. nothing got on me… jungkook,” you say softly, guilt and worry twisting in your chest. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean to—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head as he grabs a paper towel to dry his hand. his voice isn’t harsh, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s holding something back. “this is why i don’t give tours.”

you wince, the weight of his words making you shrink slightly. “i—i’ll make it up to you,” you blurt, your voice desperate to fix this. “whatever you want.”

he glances at you then, finally letting out a soft, exasperated laugh. his expression softens, the corners of his lips twitching into a faint smirk. 

“you’re giving me that much power?”

“jungkook,” you warn, narrowing your eyes, but your voice wavers. you’re still too focused on his hand, your own tightening into fists at your sides. “this is serious. do you want to go to nurse or hospital or something—”

“relax baby,” he says, his tone lighter now as he flexes his fingers experimentally. “it’s not that bad. really. it was just sulfuric acid.”

“acid—”

“stop,” jungkook sighs. “seriously. it’s okay.”

“you shouldn’t have done that though,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

he shakes his head, smiling faintly—half amused, half surprised by your concern. 

“what, and let you burn yourself instead?”

a beat.

"i'm dating a klutz," he chuckles, the words slipping out so naturally it takes you both a second to realize what he’s just said. his eyes widen slightly, but instead of backpedaling, "guess i should get used to you fucking my shit up, right?"

your chest tightens.

dating?

jungkook clears his throat. 

“don't over think it," jungkook grumbles.

"jungkook—"

he doesn’t let you finish, his jaw tightening.

“___, what are you doing here if you don’t think we’re dating?”

“what does that even mean?” you fire back, crossing your arms defensively. “you can’t just say shit like that and expect me not to overthink it.”

“then maybe don’t think so much,” he mutters under his breath. "you're good at that anyway."

“don’t think?!” you huff incredulously, stepping closer. “jungkook, you’re impossible.”

he glares at you, setting down the equipment with a loud clink. “and you’re confusing. ___, you’re acting like—”

“acting like what?”

“like you don’t want this.”

the tension doesn’t ease as you both leave the lab. 

he grabs his bag, muttering something about not wanting to talk here, and before you can argue, he’s already halfway down the corridor. you jog to keep up with his long strides, half-annoyed, half-confused, as he leads you across campus.

the walk is silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the faint chatter of students in the distance. his jaw is tight, his shoulders stiff, and you can tell he’s barely holding himself together.

“jungkook...” you try, your voice softer this time, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t even glance back.

by the time you reach his place, your confusion has morphed into frustration. 

he unlocks the door without a word, stepping inside and leaving it open for you to follow.

you hesitate for a moment, then step in, the familiar scent of his space wrapping around you. before you can say anything, he drops his bag on the floor and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“sit,” he orders, pointing to his bed.

your brows knit together.

“i’m not a dog,” you snap, but the weight in his tone makes you obey anyway. you sit at the edge of his bed, crossing your arms and glaring up at him.

he exhales sharply, running a hand through his already messy hair. his pacing starts then, a restless back-and-forth motion across the small room. the air feels heavy, thick with unspoken words and the lingering tension from earlier.

“okay,” he starts, his voice low and strained. “let’s just… get this out in the open.”

you raise a brow, waiting for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. instead, he keeps pacing, his hand dragging down his face as if he’s trying to physically pull the words out of himself.

“get what out in the open?” you prod, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “jungkook, what’s your deal? one second you’re fine, and the next—”

“fine?” he cuts you off, his tone sharper now. he stops pacing to face you, his hands planted on his hips. “you think i’m fine?”

you blink, taken aback.

“well, no, obviously not. but you’re also not making any sense—”

“you want to talk about making sense?” he scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping him. “you’re the one who’s impossible, you know that? one minute you’re here, acting like we’re—like this is something, and the next you’re…”

“the next i’m what?” you challenge, standing now. “go ahead, say it.”

jungkook looks at your sternly. then, he gives you his heart.

“i can’t keep doing this, ___. i need to know—are you in or are you out? because i get the whole wanting to make me miserable part. i get it. i’ve been awful to you. i’ve put words in your mouth and i’ve said shit that i can’t take back… but i’m trying. it feels like you aren’t.”

the weight of his words crashes over you, leaving you rooted in place. you want to respond, to say something, but the lump in your throat won’t budge.

he steps closer, his eyes searching yours.

“just… tell me what you want. because if you don’t want me, i need to know now.”

the silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating. you feel his gaze burning into you, his desperation palpable.

“i don’t know how to have you,” you say, your voice breaking slightly.

his shoulders drop, and for the first time since this started, he looks less angry and more… hurt.

“what do you mean?” he asks, his tone gentler now.

“i don’t know,” you breathe. “i’ve never… gone this far. guys give up after the chase… you’re… you’re still here. what happens now? sex?”

he shrugs. "is that all you want?"

"no."

"then no."

silence.

“___, i'm here. i've come this far and i want to go further. sex or not—whatever,” he says, taking another step closer, his hand reaching out to lightly brush against your arm. “is that what scares you?”

you nod.

“am i… am i supposed to just—” your chest tightens, and the room feels too small, too charged. his words hang in the air, and you know there’s no going back after this. “i don’t know—”

“why are you here, ___?”

“you asked me that already.” you retort.

“yeah, and you didn’t answer,” he shoots back.

you sigh, exasperated. “i’m here because—i don’t know… you’re my friend, okay? or whatever.”

his laugh is sharp and humorless. “friend. right.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“it means i don’t want to be your friend,” he says plainly, his eyes burning into yours. “i haven’t wanted that for a while now.”

your breath catches. “jungkook—”

he steps closer, and for a moment, you think he might kiss you. but he stops just short, his voice low and rough. 

“i want you to stop pretending like there’s nothing here. i want you to stop running every time i get close.”

you open your mouth to argue, but the words catch in your throat.

“again, if you don’t want this—me—then tell me,” he continues, his voice softening. “but don’t keep showing up, acting like i don’t drive you as crazy as you drive me. don’t… please, don’t make me feel stupid.”

the room feels too small, the air too thick.

jungkook’s hand lingers on your arm, his touch grounding even as your heart races wildly. his dark eyes search yours, flickering with emotions you can’t fully decipher—hurt, hope, frustration.

“you don’t have to know everything right now,” he says softly, his voice carrying a steadiness that contrasts with the storm raging between you. “i’m not asking for perfect, ___. i’m not even asking for easy. i just…” he exhales shakily, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through your defenses. “i just need to know you’re willing to try.”

your throat tightens, his words hitting you in a place you’ve tried so hard to ignore. the thought of trying—of letting yourself fall completely, with no safety net—terrifies you. but the thought of him walking away? it’s unbearable.

“i want you,” you whisper, the fear laced in your voice so raw it feels like you’ve just exposed every guarded corner of yourself. “i want you, jungkook.”

his fingers trail down your arm, stopping just above your wrist. 

“say it again,” he says, his tone almost exasperated, but not unkind. “please?”

you bite your lip, the weight of his words pressing down on you. everything about this moment feels pivotal, like a single word could either shatter or rebuild everything between you.

“i want you, jungkook,” you admit, your voice trembling but resolute. “i… i want us.”

his expression softens, relief washing over his features like a tidal wave.

“good,” he murmurs, stepping closer, so close that his scent—clean, familiar, entirely jungkook—invades your senses. then, his hands come up, gently cradling your face as he tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“i… i want us too. i think it’s all i ever really wanted. to be yours…”

his thumbs stroke your cheeks, and before you can overthink it, he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. the tension in the room shifts, softening but no less charged.

“does this mean i get to take hello kitty home today?” you whisper, your voice barely audible. 

“is that all you really care about?” he says, a small, lopsided smile tugging at his lips. 

“i care about other things.”

“like what?”

“like you.”

and then he kisses you.

you and jungkook have been dating for 6 months when you suddenly say; "happy 6 months, baby! wanna have sex?"

jungkook practically jolts out of his bed and takes the plushie. he places it on his desk and turns hello kitty over to face the wall. (no, you haven't taken it home. for some reason, it suits being in jungkook's room more than yours).

you laugh as he turns back to you and says;

"good timing, ___. i'm ovulating."

jungkook can't breathe.

… and you? you never expected it to feel this way. 

the thrill of it… the intensity—the intimacy. 

as jungkook towers over you, he pulls his shirt over his head. the minute his chest is bare, your hands find your way to roam around his body. his abs, his biceps, and down his—

“wait,” jungkook pleads, eyes hungrily looking into yours. “wanna take this slow with you. wanna do it right for you.”

you nod slowly, understanding what he means. 

the truth is; your virginity is your virginity.

there isn’t much to it aside from that the fact that it’s not taken. you were never wronged but you were also never pursued right… sure, it’s special… but it isn’t everything. 

jungkook treats it like it is though. 

you don’t mind. 

for the past 6 months, he's been really careful with how he acts around you sexually. sure, a few pussy eating moments and heated make outs have been happening... but not the full thing. actually, you've never really seen jungkook's dick yet.

he refuses to let you give him a blowjob.

said something about how easy it is for him to cum at the thought of you—he isn't ready to embarrass himself in front of you just yet.

but today, at your 6 month mark, it's different.

jungkook can't hold it in anymore and you showed up extra pretty. you planned this, didn't you?

(yes.)

gently, he helps you undress.

he takes your shirt off for you and takes a deep breath when you arch your back for him to unclasp your bra. nervously, he does so. then, he tosses your bra aside and takes in the view. 

the prettiest fucking tits he’s ever seen. 

jungkook reaches, cupping and squeezing your boobs. you watch him as he does so, unsure of what to do. 

he then lowers himself, placing kisses over your tits and down your stomach. positioning himself more comfortably, he finds himself in between your legs. lifting them up, he takes your pants off… then, his eyes flicker from you to your panties. 

his fingers play with the hem of your panties. then, he scrunches them together, tugging them up so your folds are exposed. 

“fuck,” jungkook groans. “so pretty…”

“yeah?” 

“yeah,” he breathes, watching your pussy begin to swell. “think your kitty can be good for me? think you can be patient? that’s it… good kitty.”

you tilt your chin down to look at him. 

he’s licking his lips, lowering himself down to your pussy. 

“be a good kitty, okay?” he says, as he begins to massage your pussy with his hands. your panties are still on so the friction of the fabric make you a little annoyed. 

aren’t you having sex soon?

shoudn’t this shit be off be now?

“jungkook—”

“i know, baby,” jungkook pouts at you. “i know it’s hard to wait… look at your pussy… so wet and your panties aren’t even off.”

“i get more wet than this?”

“if i play my cards right, yeah.”

you whimper. “please, jungkook… just.. take them off.”

“you want me to?”

“yes,” you huff. “want you to take my panties off.”

he nods slowly… as if he’s thinking about something—considering something.

then, he decides to give in. 

jungkook tugs your panties down entirely, leaving your pussy out in the open. he throws his head back in admiration. it’s like he’s been hit by cupid or something.

without warning, he buries his face inside. 

jungkook begins with a couple licks and spreading your folds a part. his tongue brushes against your clit—up, down, side to side—everywhere. god, you feel him everywhere. after a few licking and sucking moments, he pulls away and rubs his thumb against your clit. he spits on your pussy—letting his saliva drool down slowly. 

you watch. 

“you like that, baby? you like when i spit in your pussy?”

tongue-tied, you nod obediently. 

he grins before giving in again. 

jungkook eats you up, devouring every inch of your pussy. before you know it, he’s shoving a finger inside you as he sucks on your clit. you almost yelp at the sensation—a feeling completely new to you. 

“ohhh… yeah… f-feels so good, jungkook…” you moan, throwing your head back. 

honestly, the added finger burns. 

but he’s gentle with it. he moves his finger inside you with lots of intentions. he gradually shoves it in deeper and deeper too.. it just… it feels good. 

so good. 

you throw your head back and grab a fist full of his hair. 

“uh, uhhhh… mhmfffph—” you moan. “ohhh…. f-fuck…”

jungkook looks up and watches the way your lips twitch. how your body reacts to him eating you out… and it all just boosts his ego. 

he’s so glad to be here. 

jungkook then pulls away, taking his tongue out of the equation. he focuses on fingering you, making sure you’re enjoying the way it feels. you two catch each others gaze and continue to look into each others eyes. 

as jungkook picks up the pace fingering you, you bite your lip and love the way his eyebrows furrow in concentration. 

“f-fuck,” you utter. “i’m gonna—o-ohhh!”

you cum on his fingers. 

jungkook pulls them out, taking your cum and spreading it around your folds. he massages it in like lube before taking his fingers to his mouth. 

he tastes you. 

then, before you can catch your breath, jungkook leans down and kisses you. 

he kisses you deeply. 

when he pulls away, you ask; “c-can we…”

jungkook chuckles. 

“soon,” he assures you, tucking your hair behind your ear. he presses his lips against your cheek. 

then, his lips find yours with a hesitance that feels almost reverent, like he’s afraid to ruin something sacred. and then, slowly, he deepens the kiss—tentative at first, but with a growing confidence that feels utterly jungkook.

it’s the kind of kiss that feels like discovery. like he’s studying every angle, every curve, every reaction, cataloging them in his mind like a scholar with his favorite subject. his hands hold you as if you’re delicate but unshakable all at once, his thumbs brushing tenderly against your jawline.

when he tilts his head, changing the angle, it’s with a deliberate slowness, as though he’s savoring the moment, pulling apart the layers of this kiss to commit it to memory. you can feel the way his lips curve faintly against yours, like he’s smiling, like he’s finding joy in every second of this new experiment.

and you realize—he’s not just kissing you. 

he’s learning you.

nerd.

you gasp when he pulls you closer, your arms instinctively wrapping around his body. his lips part slightly, and the way he kisses you now feels like a question, like he’s asking for something without saying a word.

he’s meticulous, like he wants to explore every inch of you through this kiss, leaving no detail untouched. the way he holds you is tender but firm, grounding you while setting your pulse on fire.

when he finally pulls back, his breathing is uneven, his forehead pressing lightly against yours. his eyes flutter open, and they’re soft, full of something you can’t quite name but feel all the same.

“i want you forever,” he murmurs, his voice low and thick with awe, as though he’s just unraveled the world’s most beautiful equation. 

you giggle at him. “great. can we start now?”

“way to kill the mood—”

“please, for the love of god!” you squirm. “fuck me already.”

jungkook can’t help but laugh. 

but he gives in. 

jungkook shifts out of his pants, revealing his hard cock. 

you stare at it.

it's pretty.

it's thick all around and his tip looks like it's angry. you like the way it looks though... looks delicious. his cock has you completely mesmerized. you almost want to crawl to it but he saves you the journey as he brings it close to you. 

truth be told, jungkook's a little nervous.. he doesn't want to fuck this up.

“you know…” he begins, as he jerks himself off in front of you. “i want to be mean. like, really fucking mean. i want to make you beg. i want to make you choke on my fucking cock and have you scream my name but—fuck, ___… i look at you and i can’t…. i can’t even do all i want with our fucking foreplay because i fold so easily when it comes to you. you want me to fuck you? fine. i’ll fuck you.”

“be mean,” you whimper. “come on. don’t be a pussy. just because this is my first time—f-fuck! holy shit, jungkook—”

jungkook has slowly puts his cock inside you. 

you gasp for air. 

he caresses your face as you adjust to him being inside you. then, he drags his tongue around your neck. he sucks on it a bit, causing you to grip the sheets.

“o-oh my… j-jungkook…”

“you okay, baby?” he asks, slightly moving himself in deeper. 

you take a deep breath and exhale from your mouth. “f-fuck…”

he’s so big. 

you can feel every curve of his dick and vein. when his tip entered, it felt funny. like, uncomfortable but also really fucking good. as he begins to thrust in and out, you breathe through the sharpness of his movement. 

“hurts…” you confess. 

jungkook shifts, and kisses your neck. against your skin, he murmurs; “i’m sorry, baby… do you want me to—”

“no,” you tell him, as you open your legs wider. you wrap yourself around him and hold on tight. “think… think i’m okay. can you move more?”

jungkook nods and kisses you once more. 

he begins to fuck you.

slowly but surely… he begins to drill himself into you. 

missionary isn’t his favourite but having you this way… especially for your first time? god, did he love this. as you dig your nails into his back, you whimper every time he thrusts back inside you. 

“f-fuck,” you moan. “jungkook… it’s…”

“what?” he almost panics. “a-are you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathe. “it feels good now… can you… go harder?”

jungkook hisses, feeling like he could lose his mind. 

“can we switch position?” he pitches.

you agree.

jungkook then pulls out of you, and you suddenly feel the emptiness. he goes on his knees and takes you by your waist, guiding you to turn over and go on all fours. 

doggy. 

jungkook helps you position yourself before angling himself. he licks his hand and spreads your entrance. he then guides his dick inside you. as he begins to thrust, you suddenly feel him reach around and start to rub your clit…

and oh my god. 

does it feel heavenly. 

“oh,” you hum. “feels so good.”

jungkook leans over, and kisses your shoulder. as he pulls away, he takes his other hand and grabs a fistfull of your hair. he pulls your hair back and you moan at the tightness. 

“you like that, my little bitch?” he grunts as he fucks you. 

he feels your pussy clench. then, he smriks. 

“oh? you like being called a little bitch, huh?” jungkook then takes his hand off your clit and uses it to slap your ass. "my fucking cockslut. always so fucking horny but you're just a little dirty minded virgin, right? not anymore, okay? i'm taking it. taking all your sticky fucking cum. you're all mine, baby. you know that, right? you're mine, bitch."

smack. 

your pussy tightens around his cock again. 

smack. 

you moan his name. 

“jungkook…”

he inshales shaprly and moves both hands and grabs your waist. he pulls you into him with each trust, adding more intensity. 

jungkook fucks you harder and harder and you can’t help but love the way it feels. you moan his name, whimpering pleads like; “please… please, fuck me harder.” you can’t help it… it’s the way that his hard cock feels inside you that make you say shit like that. it’s the way that his hands roam around your body and you feel him everywhere… because he is everywhere. 

his mind goes dizzy. 

he goes blank actually. 

then, when you reach back and wrap your arms around the back of your thighs—jungkook feels like he might lose it. 

how do you know how to move like that?

god, you’re so hot. 

“mhmm. that’s it…. fucking me so good, nerd.”

then, jungkook loses it. 

like… really. 

he fucks you harder and harder until you’re whimpering his name and almost near tears. he doesn’t realize how hard he’s fucking you until you’re near climax—

“i’m cumming!” you cry. “baby, i’m gonna—ahh, a-ahhh! fuck..”

it happens so fast. 

suddenly, you cum and you lose your balance. 

jungkook helps you lay down properly. he gets on top, continuing to fuck you in missionary. he fucks you through your orgasm. as you catch your breath, you feel him hiss against your skin. 

“fuck.”

just then, jungkook pulls out. 

as he jerks himself off, you tug on his hand and pout at him. he tilts his head, a little confused but quickly catches on. 

“cum right on me?”

(i mean, camaraderie)

a few seconds later, jungkook straddles your face. 

he places his dick inside you mouth and you focus on licking the tip of his dick. you do it softly, not adding much pressure. it sends shivers down his spine… then, you use the topside of oyur tongue to add more stimulation. you dig your face deep, licking his balls a little. 

he moans. 

you suck him off—slow but so fucking intense. 

jungkook can’t take it.

he places one hand on the back of your head and helps control how deep you take him. 

his dick reaches the back of your throat and it’s fucking toe-curling for jungkook. you take him in so good. as you suck him off, he can’t help but not last long. 

“ahh–aahhhh.. f-fuck—” jungkook moans deeply. “nghhh.... fuck, ___! holy fucking shit...”

jungkook pulls out seconds later and cums all over your face.

as his cum drips down your face, you catch it with your finger and look at it. 

“ohh,” you pant. “that’s what cum looks like…”

jungkook rolls his eyes at you before dipping his head low and kissing you. you two laugh as you pull away, completely in disbelief of everything that had just happened.

1 month later...

“you’re such a bad boyfriend,” you say, crossing your arms dramatically as you sit on the couch, watching jungkook fiddle with the back of your laptop.

he pauses, turning his head slowly to look at you over his shoulder. his glasses are sliding down his nose, his hair is a bit messy from pushing it back so many times, and he looks entirely unimpressed.

“bad boyfriend?” he repeats, sounding genuinely offended. “you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm a chem major, not tech.”

“smart boyfriends are supposed to be well rounded."

he glares at you. "again. you asked me to fix your laptop. i'm doing my best, baby."

"yeah, but like... i asked you over an hour ago,” you tease, leaning back and pretending to sigh. “you’ve been ignoring me ever since.”

“ignoring you?” he scoffs, turning back to the tangled mess of wires. “i’m literally upgrading your RAM so you can stop complaining about how slow it is. if anything, i’m the best boyfriend.”

you hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it. “debatable. the best boyfriend wouldn’t make me sit here in silence while he nerds out over motherboards or whatever.”

“okay, first of all,” he says, setting the screwdriver down and turning to you fully now, “it’s not ‘whatever.’ this is your motherboard’s lifeline. without it, you don’t get to binge your little dramas.”

“so you’re saying you’re not doing this for me—you’re doing it for the laptop?”

“i’m doing it so you don’t keep stealing my ipad to ‘watch just one more episode’ and kill my battery in two hours,” he fires back, but there’s a little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips now.

you tilt your head, grinning. “i think you just proved my point.”

“fine,” he says, pulling his glasses off and tossing them onto the table. “what do i have to do to reclaim my best boyfriend title, huh? flowers? chocolates? fixing this annoying laptop isn’t enough?”

“hmm,” you pretend to think. “i’d say… maybe you stop being a nerd for five minutes and come cuddle me instead.”

he rolls his eyes but moves toward you anyway, tugging you into his lap without hesitation.

“there,” he says, wrapping his arms around you as you snuggle into his chest. “am i forgiven, or do i need to sit in front of a claw machine and lose $200 again?”

“hmm,” you hum, grinning as you tap your chin. “hello kitty does look a little lonely. but maybe she deserves a friend when you really screw up.”

“you’re planning for that?” he asks, incredulous.

“not planning,” you tease, shrugging. “just preparing. i’ve already picked cinnamon roll for when you really drop the ball.”

he stares at you for a long moment, narrowing his eyes. “you know, this feels like extortion. i bet you mess with me on purpose just to stock up on plushies.”

“maybe,” you say sweetly, poking his cheek. “but you can’t prove it.”

he sighs, leaning his head back against the couch dramatically.

“great. i’m dating a scam artist.”

“you’re dating a genius,” you correct, grinning.

“genius or not,” he counters, tightening his hold on you, “you’re stuck with me.”

you tilt your head up to look at him, biting back a laugh at the slight pout on his lips.

“wow, jungkook, that’s so nerdy of you.”

he groans, letting his head fall against your shoulder.

“i’m never fixing your laptop again. let me know when you need help naming all the isomers of butanol—"

"baby, did you hear that?"

"hear what?"

"you put the dolphins to sleep. good job! yay, your marine conservation bullshit finally came in handy—"

"wanna break up?"

"meanie."

"you're mean."

"sure, let's break up," you tell him. "how about never?"

"never?" jungkook asks, tucking your hair behind your ears. "sounds good."

you glance at him, a playful smirk tugging at your lips.

"it's you, me, and the fucking dolphins forever, nerd."

[martygraciesversion381]

Smau where max and reader grew up together and have been together since they were like early teens and they are married and everyone makes fun of max because he has been down bad for reader since day 1. So simp max? And the fans love her and max fights them in the comments lol

LOVER (MV1)

a/n: i hoped that's what you asked for and that you like it<3 (sorry it took me long to write it)

warnings: non just fluff, max being down bad for reader, smau

maxverstappen1

liked by y/nverstappen, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and others

maxverstappen1: so glad to have you here today love of my life💕 i guess they were right when they talked about soulmates and good luck charms cause you defenitely are both for me💕

154637 comments

y/nverstappen: love u sooo much maxie💕

↳ maxverstappen1: ik hou van je liefje💕

↳ user1: the heart emoji....i can't

↳ user2: mom and dad

user3: @/y/nverstappen marry me pleaseeee

↳ maxverstappen1: nu-hu she's already taken

↳ user4: lol he's so down bad

user5: i love simp max

↳ user6: he's been like this since day 1

maxverstappen1

liked by y/nverstappen, iamrebeccad, lilymhe and others

maxverstappen1: best holiday ever❤️

1524637 comments

y/nverstappen: love you babe❤️

↳ maxverstappen1: love you more❤️

↳ landonorris: staawwwppp you guys are so cute🥹

lilymhe: marry me pls❤️ i have much more to offer than him

↳ y/nverstappen: omg hi wife!!!

↳ maxverstappen1: sorry @/y/nverstappen but i believe you are MY wife

iamrebeccad: prettiest girl ever please let's ditch the boys and escape together!

↳ y/nverstappen: omw!!!

↳ maxverstappen1: STOP STEALING HER SHES MINE!!

comments have been restricted for this post

maxverstappen1

liked by y/nverstappen, iamrebeccad, lilymhe and others

maxverstappen1: three years since that amazing day where i first got to call you mine❤️ you are the best thing that happened to me and marrying you was the best decision i've ever made❤️ ik hou van je liefje❤️

109289 comments

y/nverstappen: ik hou van je max❤️ (look! i wrote in dutch!)

↳ maxverstappen1: i love you y/n (look! i wrote in english!)

↳ landonorris: you guys are so cute and insufferable

lilymhe: most beautiful bride ever❤️

↳ y/nverstappen: most beautiful bridesmade ever❤️

charles_leclerc: i still have pics of max crying!

↳ y/nverstappen: SEND THEM TO ME!!!

↳ maxverstappen1: god why did you have to say that

y/nverstappen

liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe, charles_leclerc and others

y/nverstappen: my life in one post❤️ a quote + mother + dream guy❤️ love you to the moon and to saturn maxie❤️

maxverstappen1: love you too❤️ (liked by creator)

lilymhe: why am i not there as your dream girl?

↳ iamrebeccad: i could ask the same question

↳ y/nverstappen: calm down girls you know i like you more❤️

↳ maxverstappen1: @/alexalbon @/carlossainz55 come get your girld before they steal mine

user1: MOTHER IS A SWIFTIE?!

↳ y/nverstappen: of course i am! who doesn't love taylor?

↳ user1: i died dead

tags: (if you don't want to be tagged on all of my posts tell me!) @motorsportbarbie13 @g00d--vibes @gorgeusreputation16 @paulinegba @f1addict3

[pastryfication]

hiii! i love your writing please could you do Oscar x reader where reader goes to his home race and sits in the paddock and meets oscars parents and sisters for the first time, reader is super nervous at first but you all get on super well and there all really nice

his mom calls me love

pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader note: i combined the request with this since they were almost the exact same!! i love the piastri family they all seem so genuine so this was fun to write <33 hope you enjoy

you’re nervous, more nervous than you’ve ever been.

the paddock is bustling, the air thick with excitement and the faint smell of burnt rubber, but all you can focus on are your buzzing nerves. just yesterday, you touched ground in melbourne for oscar’s home race, and today, you’re not just meeting his family—you’re meeting them all at once, and without oscar by your side.

he has told you a thousand times that you’ve got nothing to worry about, that his family will love you, but it’s hard to silence the wild butterflies in your stomach when they’re trying their hardest to make you sick.

you spot nicole first. she’s standing with oscar’s sisters by the hospitality area, and as soon as she spots you, she waves you over with a bright smile.

you’re instantly struck by how warm she seems, like a ray of sunshine on an overcast day. she pulls you into a hug the moment you’re close enough, and it’s so genuine, so full of kindness, that a little bit of your anxiety starts to melt away.

“we’re so happy you’re here,” she says, her voice joyful and comforting. “oscar’s told us all about you.”

the sisters gather around, each of them with the same easygoing charm as their mom. hattie, the oldest, gives you a knowing look, as if she’s seen oscar’s nerves about today and knows exactly what this means to him. edie is chatty, asking you questions about the race, about how you met oscar, her enthusiasm infectious. mae, the youngest, is a little held back at first but quickly warms up, giggling at every funny story you tell about oscar and smiling brightly when you compliment her outfit.

you feel the tension in your shoulders ease as you talk to them. nicole makes sure you’re comfortable, offering snacks and making gentle conversation that doesn’t feel forced or awkward. it’s like sitting with old friends, and you can see where oscar gets his sweetness from. the girls are delightful, and before you know it, you’re laughing at something hattie said, feeling lighter than you have all day.

time passes quickly in their company. you’re so engrossed in a conversation with mae, who’s telling you about her latest school project with joyful enthusiasm, that you don’t even notice when oscar finishes his post-qualifying duties and walks over to join you all. he pauses a few feet away, a soft smile spreading across his face as he takes in the scene: his family and his girlfriend—all of the most important women in his life—all together and getting along so effortlessly.

he doesn’t say anything right away, content to just watch. there’s a warmth in his chest as he sees you laughing with hattie, reaching over to fix a stray hair on edie’s head, and listening intently as mae chatters on about something you clearly don’t entirely understand but are genuinely interested in. he loves how naturally you fit in, like you’ve always been a part of this group.

nicole catches oscar’s eye first and gives him a small nod, a silent acknowledgment of how well this is going. it’s everything he hoped for, and he can’t help but feel grateful. he’s never seen you this comfortable around people you’ve just met, and it makes his heart swell with pride and affection.

finally, hattie nudges you gently and nods toward oscar, breaking you out of your conversation. you turn, surprised to see him standing there, looking at you with that soft, adoring smile you love so much.

“hey,” he says, sliding into the circle and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”

you smile up at him, feeling his presence ground you even further. “you weren’t interrupting,” you say, leaning into his side. “we were just talking.”

he squeezes your shoulder and looks around at his family, grateful to see how quickly you’ve been embraced. nicole gives him a wink, and the sisters beam at you both, already teasing oscar about how he’s been replaced by you—and mae doesn’t hesitate to mention that you’re way out of his league and he better not screw anything up, making the entire group burst with laughter.

and for a moment, standing there in the middle of it all, surrounded by warmth and laughter, you realize you’re not nervous anymore. you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

[endearng]

Out of reach

Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x hotchner!fem!reader Summary: You pull away from Spencer because of your jealousy. You go back to him after a few drinks in. WC: 9k A/N: fluff! pining! idiots/friends to lovers! alcohol consumption; spencer is a bit mean; reader doesn't communicate; hotch is a little older to have a daughter around spencer's age (do not come at me this is fiction). If I missed anything, please let me know! I had so much fun writing this one and it's now one of my favorites <3 masterlist

The jet was quiet as you and the BAU team made your way back from Los Angeles after successfully finding Lila Archer's stalker. The case had been a bit draining, after all, you've only been working with the FBI for a couple of months, and seeing dead bodies and all those other displays of violence was something you were still trying to get used to. Despite your sensitive nature, being Aaron Hotchner's daughter meant that you had mastered the art of a poker face through the years, not that it meant that your inner feelings were any less important. This is how you found yourself sitting all alone in a corner of the jet as everyone minded their own business. On any other day, you'd be sitting next to Dr. Spencer Reid, talking about whatever it was that could get your mind off the case you had just wrapped up. Spencer and you were friends, some would even say the best of friends, but you didn't mind about naming things — what mattered the most is that you got to be yourself around him and you didn't bother hiding behind the Hotchner glare, as he once put it.

Despite being unknown territory for you, after all, feelings and all that were protected by a deeply analytic and practical mind, you knew what you were feeling. Well, you were analyzing your reactions to check what had actually happened — and the thing is, you couldn't admit, not even to yourself, what that sinking feeling in your chest when you watched Spencer saying goodbye to Lila was. Amid your analysis, Spencer quietly approached you, silently motioning to the seat next to you. You nodded, shutting every single thought of him. Or at least, trying.

"Hi."

Hotch glare. "Hi, Reid."

Spencer felt nervous. He had never been on the receiving end of your… wrath before, so it was unknown territory and he didn't know how to act. His racing heart and clammy palms weren't helping him, either. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Listen, um, you... can... can we talk?" The stammering. Way to go, Spencer.

Glancing at him, ignoring the skip in your heartbeat, you nodded. "Yeah. Is everything alright?" A firm, secure tone. You mentally patted yourself on the back.

"You're a little distant... and—and I got a bit worried. Did... Did something happen?" He wanted to kick himself. What kind of person can't hold a serious conversation without stuttering like an idiot? Get a grip, Reid.

"No, Reid. Everything is alright. I'm just... thinking." You said.

Bullshit. You both knew that. Spencer, on the other hand, didn't know why it was bullshit. But he knew it was.

"Are you sure?" He asked, leaning towards you, almost invading your personal space and he shut his eyes before delivering the next question, "Is... I haven't done anything to upset you? Right?"

You took a second to answer him, willing your voice to stay still and the knot in your throat to go away. "No. It's nothing you've done. It's just... it's on me." You gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes — that's when he knew something was definitely wrong.

He nodded, but he was still worried by your sudden change of behavior, especially towards him. It was like he was anyone else, again. And, God, he didn't want that. "What is it, then? You can talk to me, you know. We're best friends."

Best friends.

The words felt bitter on his tongue. The sound of them broke your heart all over again.

Best friends. "Right. Yeah. I know." You said, quietly, and it felt a little lifeless to him. He clenched his hand, fighting the urge to touch you, to ask you what was truly bothering you. "Thanks for offering."

Spencer felt conflicted. If he didn't say anything and didn't push you to speak, you would probably bury whatever it was that you were feeling and it would lead him into being even more worried about you. If he did, you would probably snap at him because of his undesired, bothersome insistence. "It's nothing." He said, defeatedly. "Can you just... Do you promise it's not me?"

Your heart ached and you smiled at him, a tiny, faint, barely there smile. He was so adorable, sometimes. "I'm just upset over something else. Don’t worry. You didn't do anything wrong." You finished, trying to convince yourself that he had not, indeed, done something wrong.

And he didn't. He didn't. You and Spencer, despite your proximity and sometimes incredibly ambiguous relationship, hadn't said anything about deeper feelings towards one another. You let yourself admire him, lovingly, from afar, and were happy with the snippets of attention you had from him when you two had some free time. You two were regulars in the coffee shop near his apartment and, by now, the local librarian, Mrs. Jones, could probably fake your signature from how often you two went there to borrow books. She would watch you two behind the bookshelves, whispering excitedly and curiously to each other about whatever suggestions you were getting from each other. As you missed Spencer's longing glances to read a summary, Mrs. Jones smiled to herself, both at how adorable you two were and how oblivious you were. In museums, you would sit down after some time walking around to his explanations of art and historical movements that impacted the expression of a certain age — you pretended to not know a few things, just so he could speak his heart away and not be interrupted by your own contributions.

You kept silent to make him happy.

Which was exactly what was happening now.

Spencer knew, for sure, that you were hiding something from him. But he also knew that he had no right to force it out. He fidgeted awkwardly, not knowing what to do with his hands, his heart still clenching. “But, but... you’d come to me if you needed help, right?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You knew you were wrong, omitting things from him. Just as the guilt was starting to weigh in your heart, Derek passed by you two with a magazine in his hands, throwing it at Spencer, exclaiming, "My man!"

You looked down, already knowing what it was. Spencer was a mess beside you: blushing, stuttering, avoiding your and Derek's gaze and throwing the magazine as far as he could, like it had burned him. Your reaction was a subtle twitch of your lips, not in amusement, but in need to disguise the pang in your heart. You both spent the rest of the flight sitting in silence, simply being in each other's orbit. You, guiltily. Spencer, worriedly.

Your reaction — or lack of — was staggering to Spencer. He thought you two were getting somewhere, despite your closed off nature and demeanor, he thought he was finally cracking you up. Everyday was torture, seeing you walk through the bullpen's glass doors with your professional clothes and your composed figure. It was torture to see you walk around so prettily and serious, holding his bare heart in your hands, and not even realizing it. By now, he lived and thrived on those rare opportunities you had to spend time together as he became more and more covered in you.

As the jet landed and Spencer walked out to talk to Derek, you pettily made sure to step on Lila Archer's face when leaving the jet in sheer frustration.

Back to the bullpen, you had gone to the restroom to splash some water on your face in order to calm your nerves and to tell yourself that it was only a matter of time until things got back to normal — until you got back to normal. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you wondered if Spencer could tell that there was something wrong with you, if you had let any of your feelings slip during your short conversation. The version of you that stared back was as impassible as you ever were. As you made your way to your desk in the dimly lit sea of desks, you caught Spencer and Derek talking, both having their backs to you.

Sighing, you just left the headquarters, not wanting to know what they were discussing, or rather, knowing what they were discussing, but unwilling to stay, even if it would quench your curiosity as to what Spencer had been thinking.

Maybe you didn't want to know the answer.

—

The days went by, cases coming left and right, flights making you almost dizzy — not that you would admit, but you were terrified of heights. Between those and your training, you barely had time to think about Spencer and the entire Lila occasion. You spent your days busy with work, studies and physical training in order to keep your mind away from that, but as you lay awake at night, the memories would come back to haunt you relentlessly to the point you had recurring dreams of them. Together, as you watched from the sidelines. You kept to yourself, slipping further and further away from Spencer.

Reid, on the other hand, felt your absence more than anyone. You took a rain check on all the invitations he made, even when he invited you to movie night, when he would definitely choose a Russian movie because you mentioned once how you liked how the language sounds. There wasn't any more donuts on his desk as he arrived in the morning (he would always joke that you and your father secretly lived in the headquarters and that someday he would see Haley bringing your groceries to the secret house), and there was no one for him to throw his paper airplanes, small flashcards with the Russian phonological alphabet, at. The change in your behavior was absurdly clear to everyone: you barely called or texted him anymore, you didn't look his way when someone told a joke to check if he thought it was funny... He was sulking, to say the least. Upon questioning you, you blamed your lack of free time and as he was going to question you further, you said in a teasing tone that not everyone was like him and that the FBI was actually making you go through all the training phases.

Finally, during the end of a particularly frustrating workday, he finally snapped, grabbing your arm before you could enter the elevator. It was only you and him in the otherwise empty hallway. "Ok. What's been going on? And don't," he said, closing his eyes, "don't dance around the subject. Don't say it's the Academy. Don't say you have to work. Don't. Please, be honest with me."

The exasperation in his eyes and in his tone almost broke the wall that hid your true feelings, but as you glanced at him, you figured you couldn't do it. Be honest? What for? To hear that you're nothing more than his best friend? Losing said friend was not an option, not to you, at least. But you also knew that you weren't treating him right, that keeping him out was not at all fair to him, that leaving him in the dark was as hurtful as it would be to lose him.

Breathing deeply, you answered with the same stoic expression you wore every single damn day. "I told you, Reid. People go through different, busier times in their lives." The lie tasted like acid.

Spencer clenched his teeth, frustration and confusion beginning to override some of his social anxieties. “That! That!” He asked through clenched teeth, his gaze intense.

"That what?" You asked, puzzled.

"You... you stopped calling me 'Spence'—not that you did it often, you did it more when we were all alone, and it... it sucks! It sucks because I don't know what happened or what I did that was so wrong to make you stop liking me!"

Come on, just say something! Get angry, get sad, get something!, his mind screamed.

"I never stopped liking you," you said, looking away from him. His words hit a particular spot that you were totally willing to discover later, but the mere thought that he knew that you liked him more than as a friend made you shiver.

"That's not the point! Or—or rather, it is! Because if you didn't stop liking me, why would you act like you did?" He asked, his tone rising a bit.

"Calm down."

"Calm down? I will not calm down!" He almost yelled. His eyes widened slightly, disbelief clear in his features and tone, not to mention the frustration. "Just. Please.” He said, closing his eyes, willing himself to tone it down, not that it worked... “Tell me what you're thinking, what happened to you! For once! Any normal person would react and stop acting like an emotionless robot!"

You gaped like a fish out of water, taking a small step back, his words digging a hole in your heart. Upon hearing his own words and noticing you distancing yourself from him, all the anger vanished from his body. The widened eyes were a sign of realization of what he had said to you. During the early months of friendship, you had confided in him that you struggled with portraying emotion like others normally did. Maybe it had something to do with growing up with a father who did it so perfectly when he was out of the house. When he wasn't actively playing the ‘dad’ part, Aaron Hotchner would wear an unreadable mask like it was his armor, his defense from the outer world, but as soon as he got home, he was back to his main role. You would watch him with his coworkers and mimic him perfectly to make him laugh. At some point, making fun of and imitating his demeanor had become some serious form of self-defense for you. Spencer, then, joked that you were making your way to the perfect job, but then he had gotten serious and told you that it wasn't a flaw. That it wasn't a problem that you kept deeply to yourself sometimes — that it was okay to be yourself around him. You had felt safe by his side since then.

But now, what did those words mean? Were they lies?

He breathed out your name, softly, "I... I... I'm sorry."

"Just drop it," you replied, pushing the elevator button. Your dismissive tone and your action of leaving made Spencer feel utterly desolate, like he had done the wrongest thing in the world and perhaps he had, but he just wanted you to let him in. For once, he wanted to have the answers from your lips, not spend any more time analyzing your every single action and words...

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."

"You know, Spencer…" he looked up at you when he heard his name, as you held out an arm to hold the elevator doors open. As if thinking better than to say anything, you sighed and turned to enter the elevator, shaking your head with the most disappointed look he had ever seen on your face.

Spencer tried looking at you one last time before the elevator doors closed, and despite your face being as unreadable as it often was, he saw a flicker of sadness that stung his heart more than he liked to admit. If he hadn't done anything wrong before, now he had utterly fucked everything up.

—

The drive home, for Spencer, was a torture. He knew that he had to pay attention to the road ahead of him, to the other vehicles and drivers, but his mind kept drifting to the last glimpse of you back in the headquarters. Your empty eyes appeared behind his eyelids every time he pressed his eyes closed. He willed himself not to cry, to not blur his vision, taking his frustration out on the steering wheel, where his grip was so tight that his knuckles turned white. As he parked his car and looked up to one of his windows, he remembered you. Because of course he would remember you.

The sight was almost comical, to be honest. You, clad in one of the suits that fitted you so well, sitting on his windowsill, a cup of green tea in hands as you stared out the window, trying to analyze every single drop of rain before it reached somewhere outside your vision range. The funny thing was that you had no shoes on, instead, Spencer lent you a mismatched pair, not being one used to having people over, he didn't have a pair of spare slippers. Then, you sat there with a dinosaur-pattern sock on one foot and a striped-pattern sock on the other.

Spencer, sitting on his sofa and holding his own cup (he had let you choose your mug and stayed quiet when you pointed quietly at his favorite), smiled to himself. It was weirdly calming seeing you out of your character, doing something so... human.

"I can feel you staring, you know," you said. And your tone was almost... teasing?

"Right. Sorry." He said, looking down at his steaming tea.

"I'm not scolding you," you said, turning to look at his direction with a grin.

"Right, no—heh..." he replied, bashfully, cheeks reddening at the sight of your smile.

If only you knew... how many hours he would lay awake at night, as thoughts swirled in his head, how everything seemed to shut down at the thought of you. How he would fall asleep to the wish of being on the receiving end of one of your rare smiles, how he appreciated that you were always the first one he talked to upon his arrival at the headquarters. How... how he would do anything for you to look at him under a different light.

Seemingly out of nowhere, you giggled. Everything stopped.

Spencer.exe has stopped working.

"Heheh—I guess... It's not everyday you get to see a Hotchner so out of its—heheh—habitat." You quipped, looking at him with a smile on your face.

Suddenly, Spencer lost his voice. The connection between his brain and his tongue, which felt heavy, disappeared. Completely speechless, eyes slightly wide at the sound of your laughter. It made you laugh a bit more, but when his stare and open mouth got too much to handle, you looked down at your feet, wiggling your toes to distract yourself from the intensity of his gaze full of awe. Then, Spencer got back to his senses, smiling at you as you missed it to look away in embarrassment.

Spencer blinked away the tears and left his car, entering his apartment. As he took off his shoes, he let the tears fall at the sight of your windowsill.

—

Meanwhile, you were getting wasted at some bar. Not just any bar, but the one you usually went with Spencer when you were feeling daring and wanted a change from the places where you both used to go to. You were a bit of a lightweight, so a couple of drinks were enough for you to start playing trivia with Spencer and let your gaze linger for longer, basking in the sight of him so carefree, having fun with you.

Upon your arrival, the bartender that usually took care of your orders, MJ, greeted you with a smile. When she saw no one was joining you, she frowned. "Good evening, Hotch. Where's loverboy?"

You sent her a look, but since you were letting your guard down, after all, there were no acquaintances or friends around, you didn't know if the look came out as a glare or if you looked like a kicked puppy. She snorted. "Gee... That bad, huh?" She asked, and you didn't answer again, though you muttered a soft thanks, MJ when she gave you your go-to drink.

And it turned into two drinks. Three. Four...

(MJ was now giving you alcohol-free drinks, too worried for your well-being. You and Spencer started to grow on her as you two kept coming back.)

You rested your chin on your left hand while you traced patterns with your right index finger on the counter. MJ was eyeing you suspiciously, drying a few glasses with a washcloth. "He kissed another girl." You admitted, quietly.

"No way." She gasped.

"Way."

"But... I thought you two were a thing." MJ was baffled, placing down the objects she was holding in sheer shock. "I always thought you two were like... together for years."

"We were a thing.... I think, at least... I don't know, MJ." You sighed, tucking a stray of hair behind your ear. Looking up at her, hazy eyes taking in her focused expression, you sniffled, "we were on this case and then he met a girl and then the next moment the two of them were making out in a pool. In a freaking pool."

She tsked, anger flashing in her eyes, "I swear, those nerdy guys are the worst."

"Yeah..." You muttered, fiddling with your straw. "Can I have another one?"

She pursed her lips, but she relented. Then, as she handed you the liquid, a guy sat next to you. Did he look like Spencer or were you already hallucinating?

"Hi. I'm Dave. Can I buy you a drink...?" He asked with a small smile, wanting to know your name.

No, not Spencer. It’s cool.

"Hi, I..."

MJ cut you off. "Hey, Dave, I think she had too much to drink already."

They exchanged looks and it took you a minute to feel offended by her interruption and knowing you were perfectly capable of speaking for yourself, but realizing you would probably have to entertain a stranger, you felt grateful for it.

Dave left with a sour smile. "Thanks." You muttered, again, looking at MJ.

"Do you need me to get you a cab, honey?"

"That would be great." You said, placing money bills to pay for your drinks and the tip.

MJ looked around to spot someone to keep an eye on the bar as she led you out of the place, hand never leaving your shoulder. As she called a cab, she made you stand on only one leg to make sure you weren't gonna need her to go with you. You scoffed, but obeyed her all the same, with a low snicker. As you two waited for the cab driver, a woman who MJ trusted with her life (and her favorite regulars), you tried to make conversation to make up for embarrassing yourself by talking about Spencer with someone. How pathetic.

"So, what does MJ stand for?"

She chuckled, shaking her head at you and at your dazed eyes. "That's classified information."

"I'm familiar with that."

The cab driver, Paula, arrived. She greeted the both of you with a smile and a cheerful good evening! As you entered the vehicle, you rolled the windows down and pressed the subject further, "Seriously, is it Mary Jane or were your parents more creative?"

She rolled your eyes at you, shaking her head. "It's Mary Jane. MJ because who would take me seriously?"

You smiled. "I like the shoes!"

Paula started driving slowly, just to let other drivers drop their own passengers, as you were lost in your own little world, serious expression taking over your face again, not wavering, as you delved deeper into the whirlwind of thoughts plaguing your head. Paula, looking at you through the rear-view mirror, asked, "Is everything okay, honey?"

You buckled your seatbelt. "Yes, yes. Just... keep driving slowly, please."

"Where to?"

Only then you realized you never gave her an address. Closing your eyes and taking a deep breath, you gave her Spencer's, telling her you were going home.

—

An unknown number had sent Spencer a couple of messages.

[8:32 p.m.] Lovergirl is here, drinking all by herself.

[8:32 p.m.] Water, but still. I'm not having her passed out without you here.

[8:40 p.m.] Sent her home, people were starting to approach.

Throughout the time he had spent with you at the bar, the two of you exchanged numbers with MJ in case she needed your help — you know, being FBI agents and whatnot. But Spencer didn't need to see her name to know it was her and she was talking about you; 'lovergirl' and 'passed out without you here' gave him clue enough. His stomach tied in knots when he read that people were starting to approach her, the nagging feeling that the image conjured in his mind was making him feel almost sick, then, it hit him like a truck: Lila Archer.

Their… case? was as fleeting as a careless glance. To be honest, Spencer accepted her advances to spite you for having such power over him, even if unknowingly so. The young agent felt like you were so out of his league, so out of reach — you were all that pile of confidence and stoicism and pure lusciousness and everything to him. And he was a young guy who truly had barely been kissed so far. How could he approach you, charm his way into your heart, especially when you barely bared it? With Lila, it was... nice. Easy, even. It was nice being wanted, to be able to read her intentions and desires like a children's book. With you, it was a tantalizing challenge, one he was, for the first time, struggling with. It was not like having a high-school crush, not like pining over the untouchable girls that would catch his interest as he grew older. No. This was something new. You had hit him deeper than ever or anyone before.

Plus, as much as he hated to admit it, he gave room to the anxious thoughts regarding your father as well. Would it affect his relationship with his superior? Would it affect your relationship with your father? Spencer felt dizzy just by the mere thought of ruining something uniquely yours. No, he couldn't impose himself on your life like that. It was mean, it was wrong, it was immoral.

To want, to desire, is to be selfish.

It was a bold assumption. To think you were jealous of him. Nevertheless, the signs were all there, had been all along. He was just dumb and scared enough of making assumptions.

A barely there, faint sound of a knock on his door made Spencer fly out of his bed, dropping his phone on the bedroom floor, but he didn't pick it up. He had a suspicion as to who could be knocking on his door, but he was too scared of assuming anything. Again. Opening the door, he saw you, breathing a bit heavily. The stairs, he supposed. You always complained about them. Once you exchanged looks, Spencer’s surprised one and your earnest one, you asked, "Do you really think I'm a robot?"

Shit. He could feel his heart breaking in a million little pieces. The insecure edge of your voice and words made him squeeze his eyes shut; in his mind, he was kicking himself simultaneously as he sank down to his knees, on your feet, begging you to forgive and forget his dumb, stupid, frustrated, unrealistic words.

"No," he breathed out, wincing, almost as if he was in physical pain. "I—I didn't mean to talk about you like that. I was..."

"Frustrated?"

He nodded, silently, eyes never leaving your face. Your speech, albeit way out of the ordinary that he was used to, was flawless. If not by the dilated pupils and the faint smell of alcohol, not to mention MJ's texts, he would dare to say you were perfectly sober. "I was, too." You admitted, looking down.

Spencer made way for you to enter his apartment. He watched as you kicked your shoes off. The sight, that had become as common as the act of breathing, made his way flutter. You intended on staying. Or so he hoped. You walked further into the place, noticing everything as it ever was, as if you hadn't been to his apartment for some time now. "You must be thinking why I'm here," you said, moving to sit on the couch and mentioning him to sit on the small coffee table in front of you, as if you owned the place, and not him.

Perhaps it was true.

He closed the door once you were inside, hesitating for a moment before joining you. He kept noticing things about you; the way you were walking, the way you could barely look him in the eye, the way you looked… “How much did you have to drink?” He asked, quietly.

"Not much. You know I don't usually drink because I can’t hold my drinks. And I'm sure MJ was giving me plain water at some point." You said, looking up at him. Well, at least, your speech flawlessly delivered, even though you were moving a bit more… disoriented than usual. She's totally a Hotchner.

"I... I am," he started, sitting in front of you carefully. "I... I'm sorry. It's just... You've never been so distant. I guess that I was mean to you to elicit some reaction."

Your analytical gaze softened upon his confession. You needed to give him some break, be a little easy on him. Well, easier than you were being as of lately. Nodding lightly, you added, "I'm here to apologize, too. I know... I know that I pushed you away and I made you think that... that that was your fault. It's not."

He froze. No, he wouldn't have you taking the blame for how his actions caused you to react. He looked up at you, reaching out a hand to touch your intertwined ones, "It is."

"Hear me out. Please." You said, lowly, not breaking eye contact. This was so hard, and you had never felt so afraid before. How ironic — to be afraid of being brave. "I... I guess that by now you know why I pulled away."

"I do," he admitted, nervously. "It took me some time, but I... I think I figured you out."

You looked down, embarrassed. It was overwhelming for him to see you portray such different and so many emotions all at once. To you, it was as agonizing as it was freeing. "Well, yes. So... It, um, it wasn't fair. We... we are not something. We are not a thing."

His heart, doing all the thinking and feeling, nearly stopped. As if it wasn't enough, you kept on going, "I'm sorry, I truly am, for how I behaved and how I made you feel by being absent. It's... it's not my place. You have your own life, Reid. I can't be upset with you for making decisions. You're a grown man..." you sighed, glancing at every direction but at him. "I know that I'm wrong, okay? And I know that I shouldn't have pushed you away, nor should I have kept my feelings from you."

Spencer drew in a long breath. He didn't know what to say, but you couldn't be more wrong. All at once, he wanted to scream, but he didn't know what ro say; he wanted to run, but he didn't want to leave you alone — not for a second. He didn't ever want you out of his sight; he didn't want to be the one you were apologizing to, hell, he wanted everything to be okay between them, but it was nice that she was talking to him, finally.

"I..."

Every time he thought he could say something, words failed him. Then, you took it as another opportunity to word-vomit everything you've been feeling. "I was... I was jealous. I didn't like to see that. I didn't like that it happened. But I also know that I have no right to be upset with you because you're single and she's attractive and you're both consenting and willing to do whatever you please, so..." You shrugged as if speaking those words aloud didn't stab new holes in your heart.

Spencer looked at you, totally speechless. It made you snicker. And speak further. Shut up, you idiot. Please, please, please! "And, ah—hahahah—I guess I am, indeed, a bit of a robot because it took me a bit of alcohol to pluck up the courage to come here and totally—hic—destroy our friendship by telling you I love you so much; that I'd hate to see you with anyone other than me. It happened and I hated it. It still stings."

Spencer's heart threatened to fail once again. Your giggles, your words, your confession... His mind completely short-circuited. She loved him. She loved him? She loved him?!?!???!!! That’s what she’d just said, apparently. Okay, calm down. And she’d been jealous. She didn’t like him kissing another woman, because she fucking loved him. Say something, you dumb idiot, his brain shrieked. Say something!

You parted your lips to say something else, but apparently decided against it. Another beat of silence of Spencer staring dumbly at you. "I'm going," you blurted out, standing up.

Spencer, at breakneck speed, stood up as well to stop you from walking away, placing his hands tentatively on your shoulders. Your bodies were now apart by mere inches. "No." His voice was so small and pained that you sat back down.

Despite your apparent willingness, your next words told him about your turmoil. "Why would I stay, Spencer? I've been pouring my heart out to you and you haven't said a thing."

Looking at you, so bare and so vulnerable, Spencer suddenly had flashbacks from when he had lashed out on you earlier and simultaneously fought the feelings that were bubbling inside of him upon your confession. Couldn't you see the sheer shock on his face? Couldn't you see that he was battling against every single bit of self restraint not to pull you into his embrace and make you believe him when he would tell you that you were the only woman for him?

Sure, he had dreamed of you saying those words to him countless times as time went by and you two got closer. Shit, he literally dreamed of it. Of you. Speaking sweet nothings to him... He broke out of his daze, realizing that he was deadly silent, "Don't go..."

"Then say something. I'm here. Not as Hotch's daughter, not as your coworker, not as a part of the team you work with. I'm here as the woman in whose heart you've grown over the last few months. I'm terrified of your answer and you keep depriving me of it." There was a hint of annoyance and hurry on your voice, and he could understand you, he truly could. He just didn't... he lost his voice when he looked at you.

Saying your name softly, he beginned, “I said stupid, untrue things, and I’m sorry. I’m a jerk, and I know that I’m a jerk and—" You quirked your eyebrow and he took a deep breath, trying to cut his rant. "Just... don't sit there and think that I have nothing to say."

"Have you said it?" You pressed it, quirking an eyebrow.

"No." He admitted, widening his eyes a bit as he realized his mistake.

At the same time, you shot, "Not saying something is also an answer for me—"

"—but not for the reasons you're thinking! Do you know how hard it is for me right now?" Spencer was starting to sound very desperate and pathetic, not to mention the fact that he wasn't answering your questions.

Deep breaths (from both ends).

"Look, Reid..." He glared at you upon hearing his last name. "I think I should go home. You and I clearly need some space—"

"What we need to do is talk."

You sighed. "Then why won't you give me an answer?"

Silence.

"You won't even remember this in the morning."

At that, you deemed yourself utterly defeated. This was useless. "I'm sorry I came over. I'm... I'll just go, okay? Please, don't be upset about tonight. I apologize in advance."

The sight of her, once more shying away from him and turning to escape from him, was making Spencer frustrated, with himself, to no end. His heart clenched at your apology, to which he shook his head vehemently. The thing is, he wanted to get ready to answer you, properly, just like he always had some trick up his sleeve or some funny or curious fact to blurt during the most random moments. Spencer was good at speaking, but only when the speech was already ingrained into his mind, something he had read or rehearsed before. Plus, he was sure your state of drunkenness would stop you from remembering that moment.

Spencer dashed to his door, barely stopping you. No, no, no, no, no... She can't leave. This might be my only chance. "You're not going anywhere."

"Excuse me?"

"Stay with me. I don't want you to go." He said, softly, slowly, looking straight into your eyes. It made you dizzy. Either that or the alcohol.

"No?"

"Y-you're drunk and I... I don't think it's safe for you to go by yourself and it's late and... and..." he trailed off, nervously, desperate to get you to stay.

"I'm not drunk."

"You're not fooling me. You might be as concise as ever but you're not sober. Stay."

"Promise... promise you won't be upset with me?"

His heart dropped, heavy with guilt. And with love for you. "I promise."

Spencer silently led you back to the couch, gingerly holding your hand. He felt dazzled, speechless, desperate, frustrated, all at once. But your touch was starting to ground him back to reality, where you were real, having confessed your feelings for him, and he was a mess, not even being able to say anything back. Without much thinking, he said, "You should stay over tonight."

"Okay... I'll take the couch."

"As if I'd let you sleep on the couch."

"It's okay."

"Stop... stop acting like I sent you away."

You kept silent. You felt like he did. Through his touch, he hoped to get you to understand that his feelings were a mess, but they existed, and they were real, and they were yours. "That'd be alright with me, you know. Taking your couch. I think I would sleep better on your floor than I would ever in my bed. To... to say that anything is better if you're somehow involved."

His stomach made a flip-flop. Brain short-circuited again. You yawned, as if you had just made an annoying comment on the weather.

"Are you tired?" He managed to mutter.

"I am."

"Come on. Let's get you to bed."

"No."

"What do you mean 'no'? I'm not letting you on the couch. Come on."

"I can't go to your bed with outside clothes." You booped his nose.

He chuckled lowly, confused a little by your words. "Are you seriously worried about clothes?"

"You don't like germs. That's why I removed my shoes."

Okay, he thought, if I manage to put her to sleep without having a heart attack, I definitely don't need a cardiologist's appointment because it would mean I'm that strong.

"Y-you... remembered?" Damn it, Reid. Stop stuttering.

You sighed, tiredly, and rested your head on his shoulder, looking down at his hand holding yours. "I remember everything about you."

"You do?"

"Yes. Fortunately or unfortunately."

Spencer was too stunned to speak. Too stunned, too dumb, too afraid. Damn it. Damn it. He couldn't stop cursing internally. He forced himself to pull you towards his bedroom and even though he still sensed some uncertainty, he kept going. Reaching for a pair of sweatpants and a big t-shirt, he gave those to you. "You can change into these," as he left the room to make you more comfortable.

"Wait!" You almost shrieked.

"What happened?" He prompted, worriedly, reaching a hand out to touch your arm.

"I don't want you to go."

He bit back a sigh. "I'll be just outside."

"Just... stay here?"

"I can't—" he interrupted himself, just turning around so his back was to you instead. At that, he looked up at his ceiling and prayed to any deity to let him survive that night.

He could hear the sounds of your movements. The zipper being undone, the soft ruffling of the fabric as you tugged your shirt up your head... He was imagining your exposed skin, every perfect inch, how would you look without all those clothes that suited you so nicely, how would it be to touch you, to run his fingertips all over your heated skin, how would it be to kiss every freckle on your body, to—"Done."

Turning around, the sight was adorable, which made him somewhat guilty of his early impure thoughts. "I feel like Alice when she shrunk into a tiny human."

He couldn't fight the smile at your words. He led you to his bed, where you laid on your back on top of the covers, staring at the ceiling. Spencer left you briefly to get you a glass of water and some painkillers to leave by the bedside table. You thanked him with a silent glance. As he turned to leave, once again, you said in a small voice, almost phrasing it like a question, too afraid of the answer. "Stay."

"I'll take the couch."

"You asked me to stay, thrice, I guess… And I did. I asked you once and you did. I still have a few requests left. I'm keeping tabs."

He relented, laying next to you and placing a pillow between you two. You breathed out a chuckle and he shook his head, clearly knowing where your mind had gone to. He placed his hand on top of the pillow, offering his comfort, and then you tentatively placed yours on top of his. He grinned to himself.

It was hard for him to wrap his head around what had happened that night. He knew his words — or lack of — could be read the wrong way and you possibly did, but he also hoped that his actions were speaking louder. Just as he was getting lost in thought again, he heard your voice once more.

"Spence?"

That damned nickname.

"Thanks for, um, being so respectful. Not that I don't think you'd be. But, um, as you've said, I'm drunk. And I told you I love you. And you're simply holding my hand." He gulped. He was keeping count, too, of how many times you said you loved him. Twice, so far, but he wanted so much more, endlessly. He wanted to lose track. "I guess... that makes me love you even more," you finished, crushing his heart between your palms, voice thick with sleep.

When he finally turned his head to look at you, your eyes were closed and you looked peaceful, drifting off to sleep. Then, when he was sure you were actually asleep, he stood up from his bed, grabbing a pillow and a spare blanket to lay on the floor.

"I'll gladly sleep on my floor if it means I get to have you around, too..."

—

Spencer didn't get any sleep.

He tossed and turned on the floor all night long, both because his carpet was not the most comfortable spot to sleep on, but also and mostly because there was no way in hell his mind stopped working. All through the night, Spencer fought the urge to shake you awake to ask if this was real, if you really loved him, if the words that slipped through your lips were in fact your feelings towards him. Despite his curiosity and eagerness, he let you sleep, figuring that he had already put you through too much already. As you slept, a movie played on his mind: your moments together, your confession of love, and overthinking the words we are not something. We are not a thing. He feared that you would wake up and realize how badly he had screwed up and decide not to want him anymore. Yes, he was that anxious.

You, on the other hand, even though confused by his lack of answer to your heart’s words, felt lighter than ever by speaking out your truth (the booze did help you a lot, though). Being as analytical as you were had its perks. One of them is that you never let yourself suffer too much for too long, too attached to reality to care much about the rest. So what if he rejected you? Life goes on — and that’s what you thought with every other loser that you caught yourself thinking too much of. Spencer, though… Who were you kidding? Spencer was Spencer. And that meant the world… It wasn’t so bad, if he actually rejected you… you’d only have to face him every day, until the rest of your lives, doomed to work together, cursed to think and rethink all over again small, fleeting moments such as an exchange of longing glances.

(You felt strangely calm due to your touch with reality. Maybe, just maybe, you were hoping for the best based on his care with and for you. But boy, were you ready to give him a piece of your mind.)

As your eyes fluttered open, you stretched your limbs on an unfamiliar bed with too much space. Upon your confusion, the memories came back with full force. You jolted, sitting down, searching for him — and, to be honest, not wanting to find him. The house was deadly silent, so you tried to trick yourself that you were sure he wasn't there. You dashed to the bathroom, taking a quick shower to get rid of the shame and the faint reek of alcohol. As you moved around his stuff, you couldn't help but think that you were so familiar with his things that it was almost like you belonged there. Sigh. It turns out that hiding emotions is easier than feeling them, especially their extremes.

As soon as you finished putting on your own clothes, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard footsteps outside the bedroom. You froze, not knowing what to say. Or do.

Spencer entered the room, holding a tray meticulously organized with some food on it. “Morning. I, um, made you breakfast.” Because of course he would make you fucking breakfast. 

“Morning,” you replied awkwardly and hoarsely. Maybe you cried a little bit, who knows… “Thanks, you didn't have to.”

“I did.”

You take your time to get a good look at him. He had bags under his eyes that appeared to be tired. The sight made your heart drop. “I'm sorry…”

“Don't be.”

“But I was wrong.”

“So was I.”

“But—”

“Last night you said some things. Do you, uh, do you remember what you told me?” You nodded, unable to speak. “Do you remember what you told me?” He repeated, trying to get a verbal answer from you.

“Yes, Spencer. I remember.”

“Can you listen to what I have to say now?”

You nodded, weakly.

“I didn't say anything because… because everything had gone in the most opposite direction they could've gone.” He said, approaching you calmly. “I was up the entire night, hoping to find the right words to tell you that would make you believe me after I… was stupid. I… First, I'm sorry I made you feel that way. I know you said that we're nothing, that we weren't something, that we didn't have anything… but… but you're everything to me.” At that, your eyes finally met his. The intensity of your gaze made him shudder, but he kept going. “All the time we've spent together was nothing compared to what I want to have with you… and… and… God! Do you have any idea of the torture I was put through with you? Constantly thinking of what we could be, what we should be, too scared of your reaction or that—that—that Hotch decided to chop off my neck because he found out that I was crushing on his only daughter!”

At the mention of your dad, you burst out laughing. Seriously? That was such a cliché! “Hey! I'm serious!”

“I'm sorry…” You bit your bottom lip, fighting the urge to laugh at him some more. He was adorable.

“As I was saying,” he continued, trying to sound annoyed, but a hint of a smile threatened to break on his lips, and he didn't pull away when you approached him nor he did when you wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him, adoringly. He looked down, meeting your gaze,  “I… I love you. I love you too. God, it just feels so good to say that!”

You giggled, again. God, he could never get used to that sound.

“And I’m sorry for being so mean to you when I was frustrated. I should have been more patient and my unthoughtful words hurt you.” You kept silent, remembering his words. “I—I’ll spend the rest of my life apologizing if you’ll have me.” He added, intimidated by your gaze.

Silence. “Well, I accept your apologies. I was unfair to you as well. And you know where I stand when it comes to you. My feelings, I mean.”

“I do… But…”

“But?”

“I'd like to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you love me?”

“I don't know. Do I, really?” You joked.

He blushed furiously, ready to stutter himself out of that situation. “No, I mean… you—you said that—that you remembered what you said last night and… so… putting two and two…”

Another giggle interrupted him. You traced his jawline, leaning up to kiss his right cheek. “I really, really love you.” A kiss to his left cheek. He chuckled. “I love you.” A kiss on the tip of his nose, to which he snorted, totally lovestruck. “So much.” A lingering, tender kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, already anticipating the next spot you would press your soft lips to.

As you made your way to finally kiss his lips, you decided to tease him and let him wait for a bit longer. Spencer groaned in protest and you chuckled a bit, finally deciding that it was enough. Pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth, making him sigh, you were thrilling on making him more and more eager. His grip on you tightened just slightly as he let out a shaky breath. You wanted to laugh, but instead, you poked fun at him. “Now you know what it's like to be teased.”

“I love you. Oh, Jesus… You're driving me insane. You're here… And you, you're you…”

You grinned, looking up at him, finally, finally pressing your lips to his. As you let out a small sigh, his breath hitched, both of you utterly drowning in relief and satisfaction. You pulled back a bit, grinning, going back to kissing him. Spencer's hands found your jawline, sliding back to tangle in your hair as he sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Parting your lips slightly, you granted him full access to kiss you properly, and he moaned at the taste of you, gripping your hair rougher than before. You groaned softly, and he proudly heard and swallowed all your small sounds.

The ring of a phone broke the urgent atmosphere that was building between you two. Spencer ignored it, letting it ring until you pulled away, gasping for air. As you did, the noise stopped and you met his lost eyes, totally dumbstruck, and you laughed because you probably looked the same way. He gave you a charming, lopsided grin, too stupid, too hypnotized to say anything.

The phone began ringing again. “Son of a…!” he cursed, picking up the phone. “Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid and unless this is an absolute emergency, I'm kinda busy—”

“Reid.” Aaron Hotchner's firm voice hit Spencer like a bucket of cold water. Widening his eyes, he gulped.

“Yes… sir?” You smiled at that. Of course you knew who he was talking to.

“We have a new case.” Hotch announced.

“Oh… okay… I, um, I—I'll be there in 20.”

Silence.

“Is everything okay, Reid?” Hotchner could read anyone, Spencer was now sure of that. Even through the goddamned phone.

“Wh—yeah, yeah… Everything's… totally f—fine.” He cursed under his breath as you gripped his vest, trying not to laugh.

“Do you know where she is?” Hotch inquired after another moment of quietness. 

“Who?” He squeaked. You chuckled silently.

“My daughter.” Of course it was his daughter.

Playing dumb is not a good look on you, you mouthed.

“N—no… I haven't… heard from her.”

“Sure.” Hotch said, skeptically. Spencer could feel the sweat on his forehead. After a moment, your father finished the call with an unreadable “We need to talk.”

Once the phone call ended, you burst out laughing at Spencer's reaction. “Not funny.” He protested, a frown on his face and a soft smile betraying his faux frustration.

“Come on, it is funny.”

He glared at you. “What do you think he wants to talk about?”

“I don't know. Men talk. I wouldn't want to get involved.” You said, grinning, pulling him by his vest.

He squeezed his eyes shut, relishing in the feeling of having you so close. “Do you think he knows?”

“Of course he knows.”

“How are you so collected?”

“Because I'm not the one he's going to scare to death, apparently.”

“He said ‘we’ need to talk. Emphasizing ‘we’. If he knows you’re here, then it probably—” you cut him off with a kiss.

“Well, then… Are you ready to face your biggest fear? The frightening Aaron Hotchner?”

Glancing at you adoringly, he chuckled. “I’d face him and whoever, whatever, a thousand times, if it meant that I could get you in the end.”

—

A couple days after the case, you and Spencer meet again, in your apartment. Sitting down on the couch, you ask him, amusedly, “Do you think he noticed?” 

“Totally. I could barely look him in the eye for the first moments,” He said with a fond smile, hiding from you the fact that he had awkwardly and bravely spoken to your dad about your relationship. You laughed, placing your legs on the top of his legs. “I guess we should thank Lila, after all.” He joked, and you laughed out loud. 

Leaning him closer to him, grabbing his chin and looking deep into his eyes, you muttered, “Don’t ever say her name again, Spence.”

Your wish was always his command. It would always be.

divider by @cafekitsune <3

bonus

[afterglowsainz]

is it over now? | carlos sainz

pairing: singer!reader x carlos sainz

summary: you decide to release a breakup song on your ex boyfriend’s birthday, one year after the break up

fc: riley keough

warning: some grammatical errors in the tweets that i was too lazy to fix sorryyy

a/n: me??? writing a carlos fic??? the stars must’ve aligned

—

liked by ynupdates, f1wags and others

f1gossip it’s been officially one year since carlos sainz and y/n y/l/n broke up

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username it’s been a year already?? 🤯

username nooo don’t bring the memories back 😭

username i’m never getting over this breakup :( they were so meant for each other

username i have no perception of time why did i thought they broke up like a month ago?

username and not one single breakup song from y/n…

username no i’m waiting for the album

username we really are delusional huh

liked by landonorris, taylorswift and others

yourusername my favorite type of night 🖤🥁🎤

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username MOTHER

username best concert eveeeer

username and you know the one about releasing the album ???

username what a WOMAN ugh

username i don’t understand you carlos sainz

username how did he fumbled so hard 😭

username the aesthetic is everything

username so beautiful so gorgeous so ethereal

liked by f1wags and others

f1gossip carlos sainz was spotted with a new date at the monte-carlo opens

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username uhhh ….

username i wish i could say “that quick?” but to be fair it’s been a year

username bestie weren’t you there after they broke up?

username he literally went on a date five minutes after they ended things 😭

username and he told you that personally?

username so it’s really over with y/n huh

username i mean … yeah!

username noooo lord please bring back the family as we know it (carlos and y/n)

username this is the worst type of news i could’ve got

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and others

yourusername i hope you’re in the mood for new music … because my new single “is it over now?” drops today at midnight 🕊 thank you to my amazing girlfriends for writing this song with me and having the most fun at the studio

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username now that’s what i’m talking about

username new music at last omg i could cry

username okay but THAT COAT !!!!

username i need her whole wardrobe actually

username girl not on you ex’s BIRTHDAY 🤣

username dare i say … carlos song?

username crossing my fingers

username ohhh she knew what she was doing with this release date

username not only during carlos’s birthday but also right after he was seen on a date with a new girl

username i aspire to be THIS level of petty one day

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and others

carlossainz55 really great weekend! thanks for the birthday wishes❤️

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username pookie how are we feeling after y/n’s song?

charles_leclerc happy birthday! wanna get three thousand takeout coffees? (liked by carlossainz55)

username i didn’t wanna get mad cause it’s his birthday but like …. i’m gonna need you to pay for your crimes mate

username no cause the song was crazyyyy

username “you search in every model’s bed for something greater” ma’am ???

username it was the “your new girl is my clone” for me

username “if she’s got blue eyes i will surmise that you’ll probably date her” ….

username carlos just answer the question

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yourusername forever in love with this city <3

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username MADRID 🤍

username my city my city !!!

username reyes liking this 🥹

username that’s her girl fr!

username sooo excited for tonight’s concert

username ahhh can’t wait to see her

username if she sings is it over now? tonight i might actually faint

username imagine her singing this at the city of the guy she wrote it for 😭

username poetic

liked by f1gossip, f1wags and others

ynupdates carlos sainz was in attendance at y/n’s concert tonight in madrid

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username say again?

username he has two moods only: happy and confused

username what the hell is he doing there 😭😭

username does this means what i think it means ???

username ahhh the second picture is mine! it was so random to see him there haha

username girl if you don’t start talking right now !!!

username was he with his new girlfriend?

username nooo he was with his family only

username you really can’t make this up 😭

username he listened to that song and was ready to risk it all

username who wouldn’t!

liked by carlossainz55, georgerusell63 and others

yourusername one of my favorite cities with one of my favorite crowds 🇪🇸 madrid you never disappoint 🤍

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username y/n if you’re trying to make me fall in love with you it’s working

username name a more iconic concert quick!

username literally the gold dust woman

username THE OUTFITS THE SETLIST THE LOOKS UGHHH

carmenmmundt 🤍🤍🤍 (liked by yourusername)

username forever obsessed with her aesthetic

username not to start anything but carlos liking this… 👀

username i meaaan the guy was at the concert …

username this night will go down in history

liked by f1wags, ynupdates and others

f1gossip carlos sainz and ex girlfriend y/n y/l/n have been seen together recently in numerous occasions

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username of course they are going on dates OF COURSE THEY ARE

username and all it took was one year and a single song from y/n

username no bc i’m sure if she released that a year ago they would’ve been together by now

username so it was NOT over gotcha

username are we witnessing the comeback of y/n and carlos in real time?

username god i never ask you much but i’m asking you this one thing

username when ynupdates likes this so you know it’s serious

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1 and others

carlossainz55 some people have asked me recently if it’s over now? the answer is of course not 😊

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username “some people” you mean your literal ex-girlfriend ???

username GIRLFRIEND NOW ***

username i can’t with the 😊 he thinks he’s so funny

username idk why they broke up in the first place but if all it took for them to get back together was y/n releasing a song and carlos going to her concert let me tell you …

username i think what really did it for him was the fact that she released it on his birthday 😭

username they’re just obsessed with each other i guess 🤷🏽‍♀️

yourusername oh i knew it wasn’t! just wanted to know what you thought 😁

carlossainz55 i love you let’s never do that again ❤️

username she’s so real 😭😭

username MY PARENTS BACK TOGETHER AT LAST💖

[astrasng]

SCRATCH || BANGCHAN

MINORS DNI!

pairing: idol!chan x female!reader

summary: thanks to chan's solo stage you finally made him yours.

warnings: blood (from scratches obv), handjob, spanking, petnames (baby, honey, angel, sweetheart) unprotected sex, cursing

author's note: from my previous breakdown post bc of chan got me in an inspired mood so i made a little somethin somethin. still what the fuck was he thinking. also, if you're a regular reader by any chance (ily) you might have noticed i write jealousy tropes, IDKK WHY THO SORRY

important!: this is pure fiction, the act in this story is by my imagination and not based off true events. please do not copy the work.

enjoy!

It isn’t like you’re not supportive of your boyfriend. You’ve always been there for every idea, even if you thought that it wasn’t the best one. The things you have to deal with him being an idol settled deep into your mind, already accepting the consequences that may come in the way. But it’s not like you would ever give up your relationship with Chan just because he’s doing risky things that you may not like. 

To be honest, it kind of became an advantage for you. 

You would watch him having fun on stage with the other members, sometimes splashing water at each other, making everyone in the crowd either cheer or laugh at their silly behavior. There were times when they got sentimental, wishing all the happiness for STAY and the members for the future. It made you emotional just in the same way as you would watch them through the TV in your shared apartment. 

And then there were times where you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together and wait for him.

“Had fun today?” 

The sarcastic tone caught Chan’s attention as he’s doing his everyday night routine, just as he’s finishing up his shaving session. He knows exactly why you’re talking and reacting to him this way, you’ve been all fidgety with him since he got home from the first day of the tour, and when he stepped inside the apartment he saw you still sitting on the couch, not welcoming him in with the usual hug he gets. 

Chan looks a little bit to the side so he can get a reflection of you changing in the room, the towel you used laying on the ground after taking a shower. Without him. 

“Of course.It’s always heartwarming to meet with STAY’s. And the kids were so hyped about getting solo stages too.”

Now that just boils your blood. 

“Oh, were they?” You keep your back facing him,not letting him see how frustrated you really are about the game he’s playing. “They were doing an amazing job indeed.” You shut your eyes momentarily before putting on your velvet nightgown, and slowly walking towards the bathroom where your boyfriend is staying. 

“Yeah, I assume you saw mine too, right? Did you see the special makeup they did on me?” With pride he chuckles while putting away his shaving equipment, patting his dry as he picks up his toothbrush. His question should have a very easy and simple answer, yet here you are ready to give him a brainwash about not caring about your mental health. Cause what the hell was that? You can’t even form the offensive words you want to say to him out of frustration, you could never say anything negative about his performances in general — but the way he’s talking about it, so full of himself, you can’t help yourself. “I wonder who made all that.” It slips out, biting down on your lip softly to stop yourself from further embarrassment. 

“It must’ve been the makeup artist of course, but I could’ve done a better job if you ask me.” You step into the bathroom just as you finish your sentence, Chan unable to answer due to his mouth full with mint scented bubbles. 

As you want to pass behind him, you swipe your delicate fingers on his defined back muscles, the photos of him painted in scratches for the performance fills your vision. 

“Makeup was unnecessary,to be honest.” 

There’s something glinting in Chan’s eyes as a lopsided smile appears on his face, looking at you through the mirror placed above the bathroom counter. As the words leave your lips, he licks his plump lips slowly, putting away his toothbrush he just used. “If I had asked you, would you do it?” 

The air stops suddenly in your throat,taking your eyes off of him as you busy yourself with something else infront of you. “Well…it doesn’t matter now.” 

“Oh it does, honey.” Chan says lowly, his voice suddenly closer as you want it to, and you know perfectly he’s only a step away from you. “If I only knew my baby just wanted to help me out in my solo,” He snakes his arms around your waist slowly, his bare chest pressing into your clothed back as he’s standing behind you, whispering in your ear. “I could’ve used some help.” With that, he pressed a slow open mouth kiss on the side of your neck. his hands caressing the skin on your stomach. 

“Should we recreate it and show it to my makeup artist?”

Chan whispers against your ear, biting down slightly on your earlobe as he makes eye contact with you through the mirror. You look already disheveled just from his touch, your nightgown scrunched slightly up as he kneads your stomach, one of his hands slowly inching up to your breasts. “Would you like that, baby?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that, Chan – mhphm…” A small moan leaves your lips as he pinches your nipple in his slender fingers, continuing to make out with your neck as you try and compose yourself. 

“How did you mean it then?” He grunts out as you push your backside on his crotch, his cock twitching already in his sleeping pants at the thought of you being jealous. “Tell me.” 

“I–I just…” You try to form words, keeping yourself together and not yet falling for his words but then Chan sneakily slides his other down towards your waiting heat, his finger immediately meeting with slickness between your pussy lips. He groans again, grinding into your ass to ease the pain from being so hard. “Baby, if you want to scratch my back that badly just say it.” There’s something hiding behind his words which makes you shut your eyes from the pleasure he’s causing, your hands flying on the counter for support. “I kind of…wanted to..” Your breath hitches, cutting off your sentence when Chan flips your nightgown upwards to expose your wet pussy, your naked ass on display in front of him as he takes his hand away from your breast and caresses one of your cheeks. “You wanted what? Do you need some help darling?” He grunts under his breath when he feels you clench around his fingers, plugging it in and out to take your breath away. You moan out when you feel his fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot that makes your back arch. 

But Chan doesn’t give in that easily. 

You suddenly feel a stinging pain on one of your cheeks, moaning out shamelessly from the sensation he just caused with his hand. When you pick your head up you see Chan already looking at you through the mirror, lust filled eyes raking over your already fucked out face. “Say it baby.” 

You can feel his hand smoothing over the place he just spanked, the air in the bathroom so humid you can feel yourself getting sweaty again. His finger never stopped working inside you, with that spank almost knocking you over the edge. 

When Chan doesn’t see you changing your mind and finally answer him, he only clicks his tongue and tilts his head to the side. Without a second thought, he slaps your ass again, his finger circling around your clit rapidly when he hears your pornographic moans echoing in the bathroom.

“I–I wanted to mark you!” 

And there it is. 

As you practically moan out the words, Chan’s finger is coated thickly with your cum as his words made you tip over the edge. Your whole body shaking in his arms as you come down your high slowly, trying to gather your thoughts and realizing what you just said.

When the words finally leave your mouth he can’t help but smirk, the possessive side of you finally showing for the first time in your relationship. “And why is that honey?” Chan teases you, seeing your ears red from the sudden confession you just made. 

“Just so everyone knows that you’re mine..” You mumble quietly, shame overcoming you as it paints your cheeks deep red. 

Something snaps inside Chan. He can’t help but groan out, his cock painfully hard against his pants as he turns you around and places his hands on your throat, slightly adding pressure on it. Before you know it, you’re pressed up against the wall, his lips already chasing yours. 

“Do it baby.” He kisses you, his tongue sneaks through his lips to taste your lip balm you applied earlier he loves so much. “I want you to do your worst on me,” He whispers between kisses, his hand suddenly picking you up to put your legs around his waist. Your whole body welcomes him, your mouth opens as he slides his tongue inside once again, and your fingers landing into his freshly washed hair as he devours your lips. His hand scrunches up your gown once again before he presses his hardness into your slick core. 

At the contact you moan out loudly, already wanting him inside you, to ease your pain that he caused. 

“Feel that baby? It’s all yours. Nobody else has that but you.” 

With a whine you throw your head on the wall, Chan’s lips continuing to leaves red splotches on your sensitive skin as he takes his hand and pushes down his boxers, hissing out the minute the air hits his precum covered cock, tip red from all the waiting and veins bulging with excitement. 

He drags his wet tip over your puffy lips, spreading them open more to make room for himself when he circles around your clit. As he slides his length between your folds, you feel all emotions gather up inside you, the feeling too hazy as your vision becomes blurry from the need. “Channie,,please..” 

“‘s okay baby,I’ll give it to you.” He chants when he finally pushes his tip inside you, groaning out from you uncontrollably clenching around his cock when he nearly settles halfway in. “You have to relax,angel. You make it impossible for me to–”

“Chan — I’m so sorry, I–” He hears you gasp out, your body all tensed up, your eyes wide open as you look into the mirror across you. He looks swiftly behind him to see your naked bodies melted into one, and then it catches his eye. 

With one thrust he settles fully inside you, moaning from how incredibly tight you are around his length, keeping himself back to not buckle into you rapidly. He puts his hand on your chin, making you look into his eyes and not on his blood covered back. “I asked you to do this, right?” With a softened gaze, he makes sure you understand what he’s saying, not taking his eyes off of you until he sees your lust filled expression again instead of worry ones. “Right baby?”

“Y-yes..” You gulp when you see your fingers slightly covered in red around his neck. “But I didn’t want to-”

“It’s fucking hot.” He hisses, his voice whinier than usual as he puts his forehead on your chest, his hips starting to move. “You did such a great job sweetheart.” He pulls completely out before thrusting into you again, this time harsher as he hears your cries next to his ears. 

When you take another look in the mirror, you see what you just caused. The moment you felt his cock hitting you so deeply you couldn't help but deepen your nails into his skin on his broad back, now covered with blood here and there. It softly dribbles down his defined muscles, and Chan is right. It is fucking hot. 

So you clench around him again when you feel his fingers circling around your clit, his cock hitting the perfect spot as he moans out your name. “Do it again.” He demands, his hand flying on the wall next to your head to thrust up harder into you, making you roll your eyes. As you see Chan so deeply in emotions you scratch his back again, now only deep redness showing on his pale skin. 

The pain on his skin makes him inch closer to his release. The jerks of his hips, slamming against your hips are quickening, becoming more erratic, intense and desperate. You cry out his name nonstop, feeling him twitching inside you. 

“Give it to me.” He’s breathless as he chants into the side of your neck. “I need you to come around my cock baby.” 

His demand tips you over the edge again, moaning out his name as you feel him curl against you, his shoulders on display for you to see what you painted on his back. His grunts are vibrating through your body, the pain melting into pleasure as he paints your insides with his thick cum, feeling so full of him, feeling him everywhere. Chan bites down softly on your skin,kissing the pain away quickly as you both come down from this high. 

You are his. He made sure a long time ago, but now, you made sure he was yours too as you watch the crimson red blood slowly sliding down his back, gathering it on your fingers.

“It took a solo stage for you to claim me as yours?” Chan asks when he softly puts you down on the bathroom counter, a bright smile painting his face once again.

like and reblog is much appreciated! ♡

divider by:@enchanthings

[rinsoap]

➣ includes : brother's best friend! suna rintaro. oh and also small age gap between him and the reader, only two ish years though. LOWKEY SUGGESTIVE? one mention of the reader not wearing a bra if that is something u deem suggestive.

note : i'm so in love with romantic and sexual tension between u n suna it's so fun to write! also lmk if u want a pt2 or something not sure what i'd do for a pt2 but y'all can send in some ideas lol

suna rintaro who is your brother’s best friend… he likes seeing you around the house, ready for bed looking so cute in your comfy shorts and a little top n no bra. he likes that he gets to see what you look like everyday instead of only seeing you dolled up. he likes when you’re glammed, of course, you always look stunning. he just likes stealing glances of you do everyday tasks.

like tonight, in the kitchen far too late in the night, he’ll lean against the doorframe as he watches you make a snack. he notices the curves of your shoulders, and how the small of your back peeks out from your top riding up a little. you’re still humming the song you’ve had stuck in your head all day. you turn around and surprised to see him, you gasp, causing him to widen his lazy half smile. you roll your eyes, party because he scared you, but also because he looks way too good. hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants loose around his hips, hair messy, and a white tank top on that fits him perfectly. he looks like a slut.

“what could you possibly want,” you sigh, and he shrugs in response. “just wanna see what you’re up to”

“where’s my brother? shouldn’t you be hanging with him?” you question, pointing a strawberry pop tart at him accusingly.

“he’s asleep” he closes the distance between you to take the pop tart out of your hand, taking a rather generous bite.

“rin stop, oh my god you just ate like half of it,” you exclaim, snatching it back, “you’ve already cleaned out half the fridge, when will your greedy ass be satisfied?”

“rin?” he cocks his head, his sleepy smile settling into a smug one, “you haven’t called me that since, like, elementary school” the eye contact he so casually maintains is difficult for you to keep, and your face gets furiously hot, looking away. “yeah well, i kind of thought you were embarrassed by it, so i got embarrassed and i stopped” you try to exit the conversation and walk past him to the doorway he was just standing in, trying to signal that you were going to leave to your bedroom. he follows you, much to your dismay. he leans against the doorway, his back to it, and you mimick his action. you're both looking directly at each other, and it feels weirdly intimate. seeing each other face on meant he could see every expression on your face.

“why would you think that? i wasn’t embarrassed.” he says, his eyes scan you from your painted toenails to the top of your head, but inevitably looking into your eyes. after a beat of hesitation, he continues talking. “...you know, i had a crush on you then. i was really sad when you stopped calling me it.”

the heat in your face returns as he laughs. how can he sit there and laugh after dropping this insane piece of information??

“you’re kidding. i totally liked you back, why didn’t you tell me sooner?” you look at him incredulously, mouth agape and growing annoyed as you realize he was not as shocked finding out your feelings as you were in learning his.

“yeah, i figured. but your brother, you know? and just in case i wasn’t right, i didn’t want you to reject me and then show up at your house the next day to watch movies with your brother” he had a point. you remember those movie nights. you always wanted to watch with them, but your brother would always say no and kick you out of the room. suna always let you watch anyways, offering a seat on the couch beside him despite his best friend’s wishes.

the movie nights were not the only thing your mind was pondering on. if he knew about your crush then, did he know now? your feelings were much too complicated for you to call it a crush, and you'd like to think you've learned how to be at least a little subtle, so maybe he didn't know.

"that’s crazy. we just barely missed each other i guess” you finally say with a chuckle that turns into a thoughtful hum, glancing anywhere but his eyes.

"what? so, you don't have a crush on me anymore?" oh, so he did know. he easily closes the gap between you two, and for once, it doesn't seem like he's teasing you. "rin..." you say, mouth slightly open like you're going to add something else, but you don't. "i don't think we missed anything... am i wrong?" he leans towards, and you swear he's going to kiss you but he stops before your lips touch, "you can tell me if i'm wrong."

you grab his shirt and pull him in to press your lips against his, bringing him into a surprising, but long kiss. his hands thread through your hair, lingering in the moment. when you break away, they slide from your hair to the sides of your neck, and he has the dumbest smile on his face. "definitely not wrong."