#i will never get over how amazing this is

[bluewxrld07]

Soap (2)

Lando Norris X F!Reader

Summary: Y/N has always loved hard and shows that through affection. Especially lately. She's a touch-starved kind of lovergirl, and Lando has always been okay with it. At least she thought so.

Guess I better wash my mouth out with soap

Warning(s): angst, possessiveness, physical altercations

A/N: Tag list is completely full!! You guys are amazing wtf😭🩵 The keyboard got away from me, guys. Good luck getting through this🤧. Oops hehe. There's a poll at the bottom, so feel free to vote after reading. See u soon, friends

The world was quiet.

It was calm, especially after all the noise from the race weekend.

Y/N was tired. She couldn't keep her eyes open, her mental state just shutting down the more she stayed awake.

It felt as if she was feeling everything at once, and that brought her to the point of numbness. Feeling nothing at all. Just complete tiredness.

Max looked back from the front seat, seeing her state, fighting the exhaustion from all the crying and debriefs they had stuck around for. He could see her mind shutting down, her eyes lazily following the objects that they passed by.

She had told him she would come out with them, despite the way her eyes were puffy as she assured him.

At this point, he would put a chair in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. There would always be another opportunity for her to go out with them. He couldn't bear to see how she'd try to hold herself while being out at a loud restaurant. Not after what happened.

It was the way Max's heart broke as he heard her sob to herself in his arms.

The last time he had ever seen her cry, let alone cry like this, was when her childhood cat had to be put down. That was almost six years ago.

She's the strongest person he's ever met, ever seen. Especially with what she deals with on a daily basis.

The girl was now slowly letting her eyes close, barely fighting it. Her eyes felt too sore and heavy to put any more battle into keeping herself fully conscious.

When they arrived back at the hotel, Max couldn't help but jump out of the car and quickly open her door.

He didn't hesitate to wrap one arm under her legs, the other around her back, before lifting her into his arms. His security guard scurried over with his arms out to take her instead, Max shaking his head. "I've got her, don't," he sternly orders, the guard nodding slowly before backing away and guiding them inside.

Max felt her grip tighten on his black button-up, clenching and unclenching as she tried fighting her tiredness.

He reached his hotel room, letting his guard swipe the keycard as Max nodded at him. "I won't be long," he says to him, receiving a nod as he holds the door open for the pair.

His guard closes the door behind them, standing outside to give Max privacy, while the driver walks Y/N over to his bed. He sets her body down softly on the mattress, watching her stir slightly to look at him with a furrow.

"Max," she mutters, her eyes barely able to keep her eyes open. "What's-"

He shook his head with a hum, sitting by her side and caressing her cheek. "No," he says. "You need to rest."

Her puffed eyes tried to look up at him through her lashes, and Max rubbed a thumb over the dried tears that sat on her cheek. "What about dinner?"

He chuckles softly. "There'll be plenty more," he nods down at her. "You need to let your body and mind rest after today," he tells her. He watches her softly grab his wrist, only to hesitate before her fingers could wrap around his skin, deciding against it and putting her hand down.

Max frowns as she turns away from him. "Schat?" he asks in confusion.

She shook her head. "Please just don't," her voice sounding shaky. "You're doing enough. I don't want to suffocate you."

Max swears his chest tightens at her words. She had never pushed his touch away. Let alone anyone's. "Schat, you aren't."

"Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe I shouldn't be this way."

Oh, he was going to kill Lando.

Instead of saying anything else, knowing if she turned away, that she was truly done talking, he stood up and leaned over her with both of his hands caging her small figure in, holding him up from crushing her. He lets his lips press to her temple.

"You're never suffocating," he assures her. "Your love and affection with everyone is my favorite thing about you."

With that, he stands up slowly and turns around to walk towards the door to leave. He doesn't miss the way he hears her sobs quietly leave her lips, Max fighting with himself to just stay there and hold her the rest of the night.

Yet he knew that when she wanted space, which was a rare sighting, to give her the space she was creating.

Once he let the door shut softly behind him, he kept his head down while his mind raced a million miles a minute. His guard spoke up after a few moments. "Max?"

The Dutch driver clenches his jaw for a second, his head snapping up with a darker look in his eyes.

"Let's go, or we'll be late."

They were both off shortly after that, Max's pace faster with every step he took. He could feel his insides burning. Twisting.

The drive was quiet as they made their way to the restaurant, Max keeping his gaze out the window as he fidgeted with his bottom lip. His jaw was clenching and unclenching every other moment.

He didn't hesitate to whip his door open once they arrived, not giving the valet driver a chance to open it for him.

He was walking like he had a purpose, and in that moment, he did.

Once his eyes found the large table where the other drivers were sitting, he felt his face harden when he didn't see the familiar McLaren driver there.

The drivers all smile at Max when they see him, some of them soon frowning at his glare.

"Where's Norris?" his voice boomed out, not missing the flinches from a few of the guys that were close to him.

Oscar, being the only one who knew what was about to happen, answers first. "Max, don't."

Max scoffs and swats at him. "Geef me die onzin niet, where is he?" (Don't give me that shit, where is he?)

Everyone's demeanor had dropped immediately, knowing that when Max started speaking Dutch, he was not to be messed with. He was already pissed, and when a pissed off Max is near, nobody wanted to be in that damage path.

"Where?" his voice booms, getting some stares thrown his way. He didn't care.

"I think he went to the bathroom. Said something about needing to freshen up," Pierre announces, not failing to watch as Max makes his way over towards the direction of the restrooms.

Once Max found the hallway leading down to the men's room, he pushed the door open, seeing Lando in front of the sink, patting water over his face. His gaze slowly turned over when he heard the door slam open, his entire face falling and turning white.

"Max-"

"Jij verdomde klootzak," (You fucking bastard) he laughs bitterly, stalking closer to Lando, who was backing away slowly as the Dutch driver got closer.

"How dare you?" Max growls. "Hm? How fucking dare you?" his tone getting louder before he pushes Lando hard. Lando put his hands up in surrender, trying to sputter out apologies.

"I give you my fucking blessing for her, and this? This is how you treat her? Are you fucking serious, Norris?" his voice booms, echoing across the bathroom walls. He pushes Lando harshly with every word that leaves his mouth.

"Max, look. I was upset with the race, I didn't-"

"I don't give a fuck if it's about the DNF. I wouldn't give a fuck if you got a disqualification penalty! You don't fucking treat her like she's some fucking scum on the bottom of your shoe!" he screams, giving one final hard push to Lando's chest, the thump of his back meeting the marble walls behind him echoing loudly.

"I didn't mean it, I just was frustrated-"

"Jouw gevoelens kunnen mij niks schelen, Norris!" (I don't care about your fucking feelings, Norris!) Max yells back bitterly, his hands slamming against the wall right next to Lando's head. Lando clenched his jaw, holding himself back as he let Max scream at him. He deserved that. He deserved a lot worse if he were honest.

Before he can even put another hand on Lando, Lewis and Oscar scurry inside, grabbing Max by his shoulders to pull him away from Lando.

"Let's not do this," Lewis says to Max as the Dutch fights his hold. He points at Lando.

"You realize you made her cry, Lando? She rarely does, and you made tears fall from her eyes!"

Lando felt his heart clench, his stomach dropping as he remembered the tears glossing over her eyes. "I didn't mean-"

"I held her there, as she sobbed in my arms. Sobbed! Saying she felt like an inconvenience, like she suffocates people. What did you fucking say to her?"

Lando couldn't get the words out, but Max already knew in that moment. His eyes widened, seeing that just by Lando's face alone, it really was all true. He said she was suffocating. Clingy. Lando said her touch was too much. Max scoffs bitterly, rolling his eyes.

"You're fucking dead to me, Norris," he spat, letting Lewis guide him out of the bathroom. "Verdomd dood!" (Fucking dead!) he yells back once more before leaving with Lewis.

Oscar has his arms crossed, turning back to face Lando, who just stands there in shock. "Mate, what did you do?" he asks in a knowing tone, more so making it sound like a rhetorical question.

Lando lets out a strangled sob as he begins to rub his face, sliding down against the wall. "I fucked up is what I did."

"He's going to have your head," he tuts, walking over to his friend and extending a hand. "Literally and figuratively. He's going to kill you next race."

Lando shook his head, keeping his stare over at the door, waiting for Max to come barging back in. "He's gonna kill me before we even make it to practice day."

Once Oscar had helped Lando clean himself up, looking more presentable, they left the men's room.

They made it to the table, seeing Max's spot was still empty, Lando felt his insides churn. Waiting for Max to pop up behind him somehwere.

"Where's Max?" Oscar asked as they sat down.

Lewis answers this time. "He left," he admits. "He said he'd rather be taking care of Y/N than be here. Said if he stayed any longer, he was going to throw something at Lando or drag him out by his ear."

Lando let out a groan, letting his head fall onto the table with a thud.

"Mate, what the actual fuck did you do to piss him off so badly?" Charles asked across the table. Lando just shook his head.

"He made Y/N cry from my understanding," Lewis reveals, causing every single head at the table to turn to Lando.

"What did you do? She never cries," George spoke up, a frown on his face. Most of the guys agreeing, being just as confused as Russell was.

Oscar spoke up this time, pursing his lips. "He let his anger out on her. Said she's suffocating and clingy basically."

"Oscar!" Lando seethes, snapping his head over at his teammate, a glare on his face. Oscar shrugged while sipping his drink, all the guys exchanging whispers and groans at Lando.

"Mate, you fucked up. Bad," Oscar says, not backing down.

"You're absolute toast."

"Max is going to have your head on a stick."

"I'm shocked he didn't drag you out already."

"Mate, you're in deep shit. Max doesn't play when it comes to her."

Lando groans before raising his hands to stop them from commenting more.

"I know. Guys, I know!" he snaps, making them all go quiet. "I just- I let my anger get hold of my emotions at the wrong time. I regret it with everything in me. I do."

"You don't realize how bad that is. You're lucky he let you even get a chance to be with her. His possessive ass," Lewis scoffs more to himself as he shook his head, sipping on his drink. The entire table looks his way, Lando frowning at his words.

"What's supposed to mean?" Lando sputters, feeling offended by Hamilton's words.

Lewis set his drink down, crossing his arms over the table while leaning towards Lando's direction.

"It means he doesn't share," he admits. "Not Y/N at least."

Lando feels his heart drop to his ass.

No. There was no way. He would've known.

Lando tilts his head, eyes squinting knowingly. He shook his head. "No. He's not, there's no way."

George cuts in, eyebrows furrowing. "What am I missing?"

Lewis leans back in his chair. "Max has been in love with Y/N for years," He says, reaching for his drink once more. Everyone at the table stays silent. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"When she told him she wanted to be with you, he wanted her to be happy. After everything she helped him through growing up, she was his escape. Especially when his dad was harsh on him. He vowed to always make sure she was happy. He knew you could give her that, but he fought himself a lot with going against it."

Lando feels his insides caving as Lewis reveals every word. "He saw how happy you made her. That's all he ever wants for her, even if it's not him," he chuckles, seeing Lando's face. "He did say if it didn't work out between you two, that he would make that move."

Lando leans back in his seat with a groan, head falling back while he rubs his face out of stress, curses leaving his lips.

"So, if you thought you had any chance to win her back, Max is going to try and beat you to it. You probably have lost your chance," Lewis points out, sipping on his drink.

"And if we know anything about Max." George trails off.

"He never loses. Especially when it's something he wants."

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It was the next morning. Clouds covered the sky as it cried.

Max sat with his back against the headboard of his bed, hearing the door open from the bathroom. Y/N just finishing up a shower.

She hadn't really slept. When she would finally hit a deeper level of slumber, she would jolt up crying.

She didn't even let Max get close to her, not wanting to be touched, which was a new thing she was doing. Max hated it. He hated that she felt as if her needing and wanting touch to calm down was too much.

So he would sit there, feeling helpless, as she just held herself.

He had snuck down the hallway earlier that morning while she was somewhat asleep, packing up all of her things that were in her hotel room, bringing them up to his own. Knowing full well she'd end up doing that in the morning anyway.

She hated being alone when she was hurting. It was rare, but when it happened, Max was always there. He could always pick up on it.

He straightens up slightly when she walks around the corner, donning a pair of her sweats and one of his Redbull t-shirts. Deciding to stick with comfier pair of clothes for the flight back home.

Max had declined going to the F1 premiere, wanting to focus on Y/N as well as just not liking the idea of being stuck in New York around the press. Or having to keep things professional with Lando when he wanted to run him over with his car.

"You all packed up?" he asks softly, watching her nod.

He doesn't miss the way her face was blotched and puffy again, signaling she had cried a bit more while in the bathroom.

"Schat," he trails off in a sadder tone, getting up from his bed to walk to her. Y/N backs away from Max, shaking her head. "Please," she croaks. "Just don't touch me. Not right now."

Max stops in his tracks, feeling his heart hurt at her words. He nods reluctantly, deciding instead to busy himself with gathering both of their bags. His gaze going to see outside by the entry, seeing some fans and paps already waiting by the cars.

"They're lining up outside," he says slowly, handing her a hoodie to throw over her head. She says nothing, only sniffling as she puts it on.

The pair don't say anything more as they finished grabbing their things, leaving the hotel room to head downstairs.

Max would usually stop to take a few photos with the fans that stood outside, but he was only keeping his mind on getting Y/N past the crowd.

The security guards held the front door open as they saw Max and Y/N making their way outside, another guard going over to open the car door.

Max makes his way in front of her to shield the other side from seeing her, keeping his gaze on her figure. Y/N didn't hesitate to scurry into the car, Max pressing a hand softly on her back to help her up into the car. The man ignored the calls and pleas of his name before stepping inside the car behind her.

The door shuts behind the guard who climbs in after Max, soon being driven off towards the airport.

It was quiet the entire way there, Max keeping a close but safe distance from her in the shared backseat. He doesn't miss how her phone buzzes, seeing her peer down at it only to double-click the home button to decline it.

Lando had been blowing up her phone since the night before. Especially after Max had left, her phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Y/N declined every call, putting his messages on Do Not Disturb. The more she sat with what he had said to her, the more it made her think back to every time he made a face when she would touch him.

She didn't know how long he felt that way with her, Y/N letting her mind overthink to the point it made her feel sick.

It wasn't good for her, and she knew that. She couldn't help it. Not when she had given herself fully to Lando in every way. Thinking he was it for her. That he was all she wanted. She was all he wanted. So she thought.

Max watched as she began to pinch at the skin on her wrists, something she did when her mind wouldn't stop running.

"Genoeg lieverd. Je zult je huid weer beschadigen," (Enough, darling. You'll damage the skin again) he says softly to her. She doesn't acknowledge his words, only pinching harder to try and stop her mind.

Max didn't hesitate in the next few moments, not caring if she yelled or glared at him as he touched her. He reached over to grab her hands, holding onto them. She snaps her gaze away from the window with a frown.

He looks at her. "If you're going to pinch skin, pinch mine. Not yours," he instructs. Y/N doesn't see anything but assurance in his eyes, Max nodding slowly with a hum. "You can't hurt me. You never could."

Y/N bites her lip before nodding. Max has her lean into his body as she begins to fidget again. But this time, with his own hands.

Max lets his head fall onto her own, watching her whole body, for the first time in the last day, soften. The more she fidgeted, seeing how it didn't hurt or affect him in any way, the more it relaxed her mind. She didn't know why.

It brought her a calming sensation, feeling Max's touch against her own body, and it made her whole body begin to relax.

Once they had arrived at the airport, Max didn't release her hands once. He kept his hands laced with her own. He only removed them once to adjust his hold, having her walk behind him as he made her lace her hands with his behind his back. They stayed that way as they walked up into the jet.

Max helped her set her backpack down on one of the cushioned chairs, and that was the time he released her hands.

He thanked the flight attendant crew as they loaded their things onto the jet, then exchanged a few words with his security guard and publicist.

Y/N stood there with an exhausted look in her eyes, just wanting to finally sleep. Let her mind and her body rest.

Once Max was done talking to them, he made his way over towards her figure. He didn't say anything, only guiding her to the back of the private jet. Y/N followed him slowly, Max opening the door to the small bedroom.

A bed in the corner, a TV sitting in front of it, while there was a recliner chair embedded into the floor on the other side of the room with a table in front of it.

This was usually where Max disappeared to when they had long flights, knowing he tried sleeping whenever he could get the chance.

He shut the door behind her softly before crawling into bed and getting comfy. Max turns back to her, seeing her stand there looking absolutely defeated.

"Come on," he assures, motioning for her to come lie down. Y/N shrugs. "I don't want to take up your space."

Max gives her a knowing look, clenching his jaw. "You could never. You know that," he says, his tone more stern. "Lay down."

Instead of her prying and arguing more, knowing she wouldn't win it, she doesn't fight it, not having anything left in that moment. Y/N cautiously goes to climb in, keeping her distance as best as she can. Giving him his space.

Max notices her actions, immediately ignoring the eyeroll he wanted to do, and wraps his arms around her waist to pull her back towards his figure.

She lets out a low squeak at his actions, and Max turns her to lie against him. He doesn't miss the way her body instantly caves into his side, him helping her lie her head on his chest as he laces their hands together in case she begins to pinch and pick at her skin again.

"Je hoeft je geen zorgen te maken, ik heb je lieverd," (You don't have to worry, I got you darling) he mumbles against her temple. He hears her sigh, the way he knows she is fighting with her body in her head. The way she tries to tense, but her body craves every touch that's being given to her. "Sleep."

That's all he has to mutter to her before her eyes finally begin to close, the closeness of another one's body heat lulling her into a deeper slumber.

Max kisses her head, letting his thumb caress the top of her hand as he feels the tenseness in her body falter away. He kisses her head once more.

"I've got you."

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A/N: Me after pressing "Post now"

Sooooooo hehe.... That got away from me, and I'm not sorry. Lando is a dumbass as we know. Are we loving a protective Max? How're we feeling overall, friends? Vote below. I love you guys <3, I'll see you soon ;)

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[rawme-price]

So, food aggressive ghost, but this time its reader having a bad day. (Cw explicit ED discussion)

Sure, you've gotten pretty good at regulating ur emotions, but sometimes something sets it off and u feel like ur back in sophomore year. Simon notices instantly, despite how well you hide it. He's enamored with you, constantly staring, so even the smallest change sets off his alarm bells.

The issue is that hes not sure what to do with the information. His upbringing wasnt exactly mental health positive, and he doesnt have that instinct for comfort that his teammates seem to. So he tries to help how you help him. By being a calming presence.

When you show up for lunch and pass him a portion significantly bigger than your own, he doesnt point it out. Doesnt ostracize you. People always tried to 'save' you whenever they noticed, and it just ended up with you embarrassed and ashamed and them upset that you weren't happy for their 'help'. But simon doesnt do that.

Its a fine line, between gentle acceptance and mean indifference. but you can tell from the way simon is tense that its not lack of care keeping him quiet. He hates when people comment on his eating habits, why would he comment on urs?

But the bad day turns into a bad week, and by halfway through the second when you forego splitting the usual package of fruit gummies simon decides something needs to he done. He spends hours in his kitchen that night, recreating the food you once mentioned was ur favourite but too time consuming to make all the time.

"You dont have to eat it." Is the first thing he says when u sit down at lunch, making you pause. He brings out a container of food, slides it over to u while u slide ur whole lunch box at him, not having packed urself lunch. You cant help it, your tears get wet when you see what he made.

"Simon? I- i thought you couldn't cook? When did you...?" You question, knowing for a fact simon hadn't even known how to make rice just last week. At this, ghost looks away, and without his mask u can see him flush a bit. "Last night. I uh- learned last night."

Your eyes widen, you've never had someone deliberately learn a skill just for you. When u take the first bite, you actually do cry. It tastes amazing, fucking perfect. There's no way he would have made this first try. He probably went through five different batches before this one. Feeding you, making sure you weren't hungry, It was important enough he spent hours last night learning how to cook. Just for you. "...thank you." You mutter.

Simon just nods, eats the food you gave him, and when ur both finished you split the fruit gummy package, just like always. He doesn't say it, not in the way others do, but he cares about you. From then on, ghost brings his own cooked food for you, sharing even as his fingers twitch at giving away food. He's willing to push down the voice that screams to hoard food if it means ur fed.

[explicit-tae]

hii, can u write prof!jk x student!reader?

fuck it why not??

Not Until I Say So

That time you got caught masturbating in your professor's classroom after hours.

Word Count: 7.531

Warning: camgirl, teacher/student, masturbation, smut, voyeurism, dirty talk, sex toys, fingering, dom jungkook, submissive reader, ass slapping/spanking, chemistry questions bc this is a jk professor fic, begging, edging/orgasm denial, cock worship, oral, deep throating, overstimulation, creampie, unprotected sex,

Taglist

You knew doing this was risky and maybe, just maybe, that was your problem. You loved risks. The way your heart pumped outside your chest so rapidly, allowing hot, anticipated blood to flow throughout your body. Your breathing would become just as rapid, unable to hold in the energetic excitement that bursts through you.

What was the risk you were taking?

You, a camgirl, were going to go live in your professor's classroom. 

Of course, something like this was insane. Incredibly heinous if you got caught.

You weren’t going to get caught - you were sure of it. Not only was the weekend, but this certain professor was never in his classroom outside of class hours.

Professor Jeon - named Jeon Jungkook - was young, close to his thirties. Most Professors are the same age as your parents or older, however Professor Jeon was no older than the students he taught. 

Professor Jeon wasn’t just young, but he was also dangerously handsome. You recall when he strutted through the door 10 minutes late, glasses hanging on his shirt holding a black briefcase. He had apologized profusely about being late and admitted that he overslept - and did a dramatic bow. 

When you laid eyes on Professor Jeon, dressed in a tight fitted v-neck shirt with fitted dress pants that showed just how tiny his waist was… you couldn’t concentrate in the slightest. Not when your Professor was a hot piece of ass and a total slut in what he was wearing.

The wooden door creaks when you open it. The sensor lights come on as you stroll in, closing the door behind you. Your heels click against the floors beneath you as you walk, echoing off of the empty classroom walls. 

The classroom has amazing bright lighting that would do good for your cam. You go towards Professor Jeon’s desk and release a short sigh. He had a few books stacked on top of one another that caught your eye. You go towards them and pick them up, placing your cell phone - that is fully charged and ready for this moment - on top. You stroll towards the array of desks and place the books on top of one. 

You throw your bag down on one of the seats after unzipping it. You’re a bit giddy at the thought of doing this here out of all places. You just know the tips that you were going to get were going to be insane - possibly the most you’d receive thus far!

When you decided  for this camshow, you were going to look the part of the slutty student - a sheer white top that’s tied at the end and too tight for it to not be inappropriate in formal settings. You aren’t wearing a bra so your nipples are hard against the shirt. Your skirt is plaid and short, your ass hanging out of the bottom of it and matching thigh high socks.

Most of your “fans” have fantasies - you managed to fulfil most of them. However, you had your own fantasy. You always got wet at the idea of public indecency and the thought of being caught. You, however, weren’t a complete idiot. You knew doing this would be marking it off your bucket list. However, you understood doing it during the weekend and after hours would be best. No one would be here besides the janitors, and knowing them, they were possibly off somewhere milking the clock.

You came prepared. You were fully intended on going all out - and clean up afterwards. Your bag had more than sex toys. You had towels, clorox wipes and even multi-purpose cleaner. You didn’t want Professor Jeon to come back to your cum all over his desk - how embarrassing.

“Heelllooo.” you sing-song once the live starts. Your phone is leaning against the stacks of books. The look of you through the camera is amazing - dark desk with Professor Jeon’s desk chair in the background. A large white board with the Philosophical messages written on it; it was truly a scene right out of a porn shoot.

“I told you all I always imagined fucking myself in this very classroom.” you take a few steps back to lean against Professor Jeon’s desk. You tilt your head cutesy-like - just how your viewers like. “And today…I’m going to do just that.”

Jungkook’s dress shoes click against the marble floor as he makes his way down the long hall. His glasses are low on his nose, one hand lazily in his pant pockets. He didn’t want to be here on an off day, but he was already behind on grading and if he procrastinated any more, his grades wouldn’t be in the system in time for finals.

So, like any other professionally responsible Professor does, he goes to do his job. He passed one janitor that was playing a game of Candy Crush on high volume. It echoes down the hall even as he reaches his classroom. From underneath the closed door, he witnesses light passing through. 

Jungkook furrows his eyes, but doesn’t think too much into it. Possibly another janitor is inside cleaning and actually doing their jobs.

Jungkook twists the handle and opens the door. Immediately, he stops in his tracks as his ears pick up moaning. 

Jungkook stops in the doorway, his head, ever so slowly, turns to where his desk sits. You, an average student with decent grades, is sitting on his desk. You’re dressed like a modern slut that he’d see in a cheap, oversaturated porno or on Halloween night. Your head is pushed back, mouth agape and releasing such pleasurable moans that his cock twitches at just the sound of it. Your eyes are squeezed shut and for a moment, he doesn’t hear the buzzing sounds.

Jungkook shuts the door behind him slowly, his eyes zoning in on you and then glancing towards the desk where your camera lays against a stack of his books. 

You were recording this? Jungkook licks his lips, a bit ashamed at how hot he thought this was. Of course, this was utterly disrespectful and unacceptable, but he was just a man himself. He watches useless porn that excites him in the moment, and disgusts it once he cums all over himself. 

And now, witnessing the way the rough vibrator lays against your clit, it excites him. He feels his mouth salivate, his mind going through dirty thoughts that he shouldn’t have for you or anyone he teaches for that matter.

“Excuse me.”

Your eyes dart open and the vibrator drops from your hands. Your head snaps to the left and your soul nearly leaves your body. Your vibrator buzzes against the marble floor as your heart leaps from your chest. 

“P-Prof-fessor!”

You drop from Professor Jeon’s desk, wrapping your arms in front of your chest - that was now unbuttoned and fully displaying your bare chest. 

“W-What are-”

“What are you doing?” Jungkook responds, glancing from you to your phone. “You…do realize you’re being recorded right?”

You swallow, nodding shamefully. “I-I..I cam…from time to time.” you murmur sheepishly, your body trembling underneath his gaze. “I’m so sorry, Professor Jeon-”

Jungkook furrows his brows at you. So you were a camgirl. Now it made sense what you were doing here at this time and hour, dressed in such a way. But Jungkook only chuckles for a moment before shaking his head. 

“No, I mean there’s a camera in this room.” Jungkook corrects. He points to the ceiling where one, circular dome sits. “It’s new. I use it to assure no one cheats.”

Your eyes follow his pointing hand. You close your eyes, feeling utterly stupid right now. It was just your luck that you would get caught - and on camera that that wasn’t the camera you intended on being a part of.

“You do realize what you’re doing could get you put on a registry?”

Jungkook begins to stroll closer to you. His steps are cool and relaxed and they do not match that of someone upset at finding one of his students being indecent in his classroom. 

“I’ll go!” you plead, shaking your head. “I-I’ll clean up before I do and-”

“No,” Jungkook stops a few feet away from you. “continue.” 

You're completely still after Professor Jeon speaks. He stands tall, shoulder relaxed. His eyes, ever so dark, are watching you behind those round glasses he wears that makes him look like the hottest geek you’ve ever seen. Your eyes turn towards your phone, the amount of chats and cash coming through has it buzzing up a storm. From where you're standing, the viewers can see you attempting to cover yourself, but Jungkook is out of sight. 

“Professor…” you trail off, your voice low. “...I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

Jungkook tilts his head at you. He ponders how much money you make being a camgirl - maybe even more than him as a Professor. There were always men (and the occasional woman) who were willing to pay thousands for whatever fantasies you were willing to fulfil.

Jungkook knows full well that him being here as long as he is, allowing his eyes to skim over your half naked body, is wrong. He was in a position of power, after all. He was your professor and he could use this to get you to do whatever he wanted you to do - the possibilities were endless.

But Jungkook wasn’t an asshole. You're a decent student in class who does well on exams and always turns in work on time. You were a pretty girl that now has his attention that shouldn’t be on you - but it is. Especially with the way he’s positive that your pussy is wet right about now.

“Continue.” Jungkook repeats. “You do have an audience waiting, don’t you?”

Your body is hot. For a moment, you’re still. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing the entire time, messages and tips flying through. You ponder if they think this is an act or has reality hit them like it had you.

Jungkook’s eyes are intense. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, he thinks. After all, you hadn’t stopped trembling since he arrived. He doesn’t blame you - he would be highly humiliated too if someone walked in on him in such a vulnerable state that could possibly get him kicked out of college and put onto a sex offenders list. He had no intention of truly reporting you - even if you decided to end your stream now and haul ass; he would respect it. 

“You…you won’t tell?” you murmur, swallowing a lump in your throat. Was it idiotic to say this when there were hundreds already watching you now?

Jungkook takes another step forward and nods his head. “I won’t tell.” he murmurs, voice calm but low. “I want to watch…you’d let me, right? It can’t be any different than what you’re already doing.”

Your heart pounds. Your body is warm and flushed with embarrassment - and flattery? This was Professor Jeon out of all people. A young professor that has all the girls (and a few boys) swooning. This was an opportunity of a lifetime - even if it was nerve wracking. 

“Consider it…extra credit.” Jungkook shrugs. “Besides, no one has to know what you and I do here. It can be our little secret.”

You, his & the viewers - but they were just as perverted as you and he was. They were getting off to this; the innocently slutty student and the perverted, but sexy teacher using this all to his advantage.  

“Okay.” you nod, slowly allowing your arms to fall to your aides. Your breasts are plump, nipples hardened. He doesn’t hide his gaze in the slightest, dinding you entirely enticing. “What…what do you want me to do, Professor?” 

Jungkook’s cock twitches again. You got over your nerves fast. He liked that. 

“Pick up your vibrator and turn it off.” 

You do as you’re told, glancing at your phone screen. The comments were going rapidly - your phone chiming with tips. How were you ever going to top this live stream when it was all over? 

“Place it on my desk.” Jungkook speaks, watching the way your ass sits in the short skirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice so deep that the words shoot straight to your core. “now sit on my desk and show everyone how wet you are.”  

Your heart thumps so loudly out your chest, but you do ss Professor Jeon says. You would be lying if you said this didn’t excite you - to witness your own professors lust over your body. It was an ego boost. 

You open your legs, your eyes staying on Professor Jeon for his next instruction.

“Touch yourself.” 

You haven’t touched yourself without a toy in who knows how long. After a while, your fingers just weren’t enough. You enjoyed fucking yourself on a dildo while your audience watched - bonus if you had a vibrator against your clit in the process. 

But your body is entirely hot and your pussy is wet and pulsing - this was such a turn on. You follow your instruction, placing the pad of your fingers against your clit. Professor Jeon’s eyes were so intense, full of dark lust. You almost wanted to ask what he was thinking right now - if he would ever touch you in this way. 

Jungkook licks his lips, eyes trained on the way your fingers twirl against your wet clit, dampening your digits in seconds. This isn’t how he was supposed to spend his weekend. This wasn’t grading papers - but it was even better. A complete treat he wasn’t aware he needed until now - one he would have forever when he reviewed the camera footage back. Was that legal, he thinks. He didn’t tell you to come in here and get off. Besides, you also knew there was a camera in the room now and hadn’t said no so…

“You have a pretty pussy.” Jungkook blurts out, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. 

“Tha…thanks.” you huff, halting for a mere second before continuing to play with your coit further. “I’m glad you think so, Professor Jeon.”

Jungkook blinks his eyes to look at your face. He tilts his head a bit and snorts. “You’re full of shit.” he says. “You’re saying whatever you think you need to in order to please me.”

“Is it working?” you ask, your fingers going closer to your entrance. 

It is, but Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you that. Instead, he decides to watch the way your fingers, slowly and teasingly - to yourself, him and the audience - enter you. The way it appears that you’re stretching yourself so good that he ponders when was the last time you’ve been fucked. The thoughts couldn’t be that obscene as watching you pleasure yourself right now.

“Why my classroom?”

Your eyes, that had begun fluttering close, snap open at Professor Jeon’s words. Your free hands reach up to cup your naked breast, your hardened nipple against your palm.

“You know why, Professor.” you murmur, not saying his name. 

For a moment, you forget about your phone facing you, hundreds of people watching you and hearing Jungkook. If they knew he was your actual professor, or thought this was all a skit, you weren’t sure. But you know that at the end of it all, the amount of tips you were going to get could possibly pay your bills for months to come.

“Sometimes, I think of you when I do my streams.”

You’re teasing him, but you did think of him sometimes. When he was teaching, you’d think about the way his shoulders flexed. When you sat closer to his desk, you’d oftentimes find yourself looking down at his tattooed hand, the veins in his hand tightening when he wrote something. It was hard to not imagine those same hands wrapped around you.

“I think about you…” your fingers pump inside you, your pussy making a slightly squelching noise that interests Jungkook. “...about you doing this to me.”

You can hear Jungkook breathing now. It increases the further he watches you. You were good at this, he thinks. You’re talking to him the same way you'd talk to your audience, your voice so sultry and full of intense lust that could not be fabricated in the slightest. 

“You think about my fingers fucking into you?” Jungkook asks. The thought alone excites him. The act of getting to feel your wet pussy - that’s currently dripping on his desk - in the palm of his own hands has his breathing increasing even more. “And here I thought you were just interested in the lesson.”

Your fingers tug at your nipple, your thumb and index finger pinching the sensitive bud as your other hand pumps your fingers inside of you. Your thighs shake a bit just when you bite your lip.

“I can’t help it.” you continue. You know full well that you’re turning him on. You noticed the bulge in his pants, twitching to be released. You lick your bottom lip, continuing with your lewd talk. “Sometimes my thoughts get even dirtier…” you trail off, making sure to bat your lashes at him.

Swallowing, Jungkook steps closer. He stretches his shoulders and neck, his eyes darkening at you.

“...I think about you bending me over and fucking me in front of everyone.” you gasp. You tug at your nipple even harder, your thrusting fingers hitting a sensitive spot inside of you. Your head falls back a bit, eyes shutting for a moment. You think about your words - about Professor Jeon indeed doing just that. How wet you’d be for him. How powerful his thrusts must be - how well he could take you and just how vulnerable for him you’d be.

Your back arches, your walls tightening around your fingers.

Jungkook grunts. He takes a few steps closer to you. His hand wraps around your wrist and pulls out your wet fingers from inside of you.

Your eyes snap open with shock and confusion. “Prof-”

“You won’t cum.” Jungkook hisses, slapping your hand away. “Not until I say so.”

Those words shoot straight to your core. You were a whore for a man to dominate you - bonus points if it was your hot Professor who, admittedly, you had thought about fucking you from time to time. But respectfully, you hadn’t acted out on it like others had. The amount of flirting he had to turn down from fellow peers was insane.

Yet here he was with you. Of course, it was just a matter of time and place. He wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t brought yourself here.

“Yes, Professor.” you murmur.

Jungkook supposed that his cover was blown. He was now in the camera and there wasn’t a point in going back to his hidden position now.

“Turn around.” 

Jungkook had to take back control - even when he technically still had it. You were far too enticing to him. Those sultry eyes followed by your words of pure submission for him. He was going to melt if he didn’t get you to turn away from him.

You do as you’re told, falling to your feet and turning around on his desk. You face the dark chalk board.

Jungkook forces your legs apart, showing the camera an amazing view of your ass and glistening pussy.

“Everytime you’re in my class, it seems you don’t pay much attention.” Jungkook says. He should’ve asked first if it was okay to touch you, but you don’t say anything when he does. He feels electricity shoot throughout him when his hand grips your bare ass, a low growl releasing from his lips. “I’m going to ask you some questions and I expect you to answer them correctly.”

The desk is cool and hard against your breast. You nod your head, slight anticipation building up.

“Let’s start off easy.”

Jungkook’s hand grips your ass once more, enjoying the way it feels in his palm. 

“Are two atoms of the same element identical?”

You gasp when you feel Professor Jeon’s fingers slide past your clit. “No.”

“Good girl.” Jungkook hums, continuing to rub at your clit. “Can water remain a liquid below zero degrees Celsius?”

Your own breathing increases, wanting to feel his fingers deep inside of you. “Yes…?”

“Seems like you’ve listened to something.”

Though you found chemistry boring, you understood Professor Jeon was going easy on you at the moment. Maybe he was spewing out easy questions just to feel your wet pussy even more.

“Can you light a diamond on fire?”

“...No?”

You yelp this time, feeling a sharp strike against your ass.

“Wrong.” Jungkook sing-songs, gripping your stinging cheek. “It can be.”

You sigh.

“What determines the degree of completeness of a reaction?”

What the fuck? You close your eyes, attempting to think back into any chemistry class you had to remember - but it doesn’t dawn on you. You couldn’t remain concentrated regardless.

“Um-”

Another slap lands on your ass, this time harder. The stinging sensation feels entirely too good for you to be upset.

“You don’t know.” Jungkook tsks. “That’s because you’ve been daydreaming about me fucking you instead of paying attention in class.”

Another slap - then another, and another. Jungkook slaps both of your cheeks until your thighs are shaking with overstimulation. Your back is arched, fully anticipating more and more, and he gives it each time. You were enjoying this just as much as he was, your ass throbbing but your pussy leaking for even more of the stinging sensation.

“I’ll start paying attention more, Professor Jeon.” you moan, legs quivering. “I prom-”

Smack!

Jungkook slides his fingers between your legs, rubbing your throbbing clit. He grunts at the way your arousal pools right onto his palm and he shakes his head. 

“This isn’t much of a punishment for a whore like you.” Jungkook spats. “Dripping all over my desk and the floor. Slutty pussy clenching around nothing in hopes I’d fill you up.”

Professor Jeon was just as a good dirty talker as you were. While your words were soft and sultry, his was lewd and rough - just how you liked it. 

“Let’s see how easily I can get my fingers in your pussy.”

Jungkook slides his fingers slowly towards your entrance, assuring that the camera has a perfect view of you. You’re so wet and warm that he himself has to contain himself when his fingers sink inside of you. 

“P-Professor.” you stutter, your pussy immediately squeezing greedily around his fingers. You couldn’t believe that you were in this position now, wrapped firmly around the same hands you’d often imagined about. 

“Let’s see how much you could take.”

Jungkook begins to pump his fingers aggressively in and out of you, curling them a bit. His free hand lays on your ass, gripping and rubbing it as his fingers pound.

Your thighs open wider, your cheek pressing against his desk. Your eyes are fluttering and you don’t attempt to hide your loud squeals. The room is full of squelching noises that could surely be heard down the hall if anyone was truly paying attention, but none of the janitors were. It made this moment even more of an adrenaline rush.

“Feels so g-good!” you gasp out.

Jungkook grips your ass cheek in his palm, his knuckles slamming against your clit with how deep his fingers were pumping. “Such a slutty little thing you are.” he hisses. “Are you going to cum all over my fingers?”

“Yes!” you exhale, nodding your head. Your cheek rubs against his wooden desk. “Yes, Professor!”

“No,” Jungkook removes his fingers from inside of you, slapping his hand down onto your clit. “not until I say so.”

You let out a loud whine, eyes widening. “But…but-”

“A whore like you should be begging.”

“Please.”

Jungkook steps away. “That’s not good enough.” he snickers. Your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing and he makes a mental note to ask just how much you made when this was all done. Out of curiosity, but because he expected anything from you.

You manage to pull yourself off of Professor Jeon’s desk. You turn to him with pleading, glossy eyes. You were so close to cumming that the lack of it has caused your eyes to water pathetically. Your shirt, that’s already open, is pulled off of you. You throw it aside, and then go for your skirt.

Jungkook watches the way you strip for him, before getting on your knees. This had to be demeaning in a way, but you were such a whore in the moment that you didn’t care how this made you look.

“Professor Jeon…” you murmur, crawling closer to him. 

Jungkook feels it - his cock twitching right in his pants. The sight of you on your hands and knees before him, those glossy, pleading eyes…

“Yes?”

You swallow, eyes slowly trailing down his body until they land on the obvious bulge. You lick your lips.

“Can I suck your cock?” you ask, eyes flashing back up at him. “Please?”

The twitching doesn’t stop this time. Jungkook is completely off guard by your request.

“You could fuck my mouth until you cum.” you suggest, a hand reaching out for his waist. “I always wanted to have your cock in my mouth, Professor.”

How could you be so submissive, but still have complete control over him? Jungkook didn’t know. He doesn’t stop your hand from tugging at his pants until they’re down, his underwear sliding with it.

This was really happening, you think. His cock, tip so pink and wet with pre-cum staring right at you. Your mouth salivates to have him in your mouth. You haven’t realized just how long you wanted him until the opportunity presented itself to you.

Your hand wraps around his shaft. Jungkook watches between unblinking eyes as your pink tongue comes out and slides against his wet slit. He shudders, mouth falling open.

“Your cock is so pretty, Professor.” you murmur, his tip against your lips. “So big…I knew you’d have a big cock for me to suck.”

Jungkook clenches his hands as you lick his tip once more, before sliding it across your face entirely. You were so filthy, he thinks, and so close. How could he have not known something as dirty as you was right in his classroom this entire time.

“You’re such a dirty little whore.” Jungkook hisses. “Rubbing my cock all over your face like this.”

You hum, your tongue sliding across his shaft. Your eyes look up at him innocently. “Want you to fuck my mouth with your big cock, Professor.”

“You do?” Jungkook allows a hand to lay onto your head, patting it slightly and further adding to the demeaning. “You’re gonna be a good little whore and let me fuck your mouth?”

You nod your head, opening your mouth and twirling your tongue onto his wet tip. You suckle on it greedily, sucking your cheeks in.

Jungkook allows you to suck on his cock, bringing it deeper and deeper into your mouth. You were so sloppy, drool trickling down the side of your lips, watery eyes staring up at you.

Your filthy sounds of your slurping bounces off the walls and high ceilings of Professor Jeon’s classroom, only adding to the obscene sight - and his excitement. His cock hits your uvula and you’re proud that all the times you’ve practiced - on live - deep throating, that you managed to not make a full of yourself.

“Look how slutty…” Jungkook trails off, a growl in his voice. His hand, that had been on the top of your head like he would have his own dog, had slid down to your cheek. His hips jerk forward. “…you’re a natural at this. How often do you suck on cocks?”

There’s a single tear that slides down your cheek, one that has Jungkookk even more excited to fuck your face. His thumb swipes the tear away, his hips continuing to jerk.

“Aha,” Jungkook chuckles. “I suppose you can’t answer me.”

Your mouth is so hot and wet, gummy-like walls inviting him entirely. More and more saliva pools into your mouth just for him and his pleasure. Though your eyesight was a bit blurred, you could see Professor Jeon’s handsome face. Dark eyebrows stretched together with concentration, plump pink lips parted slightly to let out exhales and moans.

Jungkook couldn’t wait to watch his cameras back at this. Dare he say this was the most excitement he had in months. Blood pumps through his veins,a rush going through him at getting to fuck your mouth without any hesitation from you. Your gagging noise only fuels him further.  

“You’re so beautiful like this. A little whore on her knees for me. Gagging around my cock just like you’ve imagined.”

Your mouth aches and you have little motivation to continue to suck, but you allow him to use your mouth as he sees fit. Your thighs clenched together, friction shooting straight to your already throbbing cunt. 

“Fuck, fuck-“ Jungkook throws his head back, eyes clenching shut. “-you stupid fucking whore. With a mouth like this I might have to live out your little fantasy. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me stopping my lecture just to fuck your mouth open like this.”

Jungkook would never do it - you know that just as much as he does. But the fantasy still lives free in both of your minds. It’s so obscene and forbidden that the desire grows with each passing moment. You feel like the luckiest student here by just being in this position - no matter how wrong this was.

Jungkook is close. You can feel him with each passing thrust, his hands on the back of your head. Your throbbing clit is dripping all over the floor while his twitching cock assaults your throat. You whine around him, wet, blurry eyes blinking to continue to look up at him. Your nose is against his abdomen when you feel the warm, salty cum reach your throat.

A long groan comes from Jungkook’s lips, his legs twitching as he fills your throat. You’re salivating entirely, the drool pooling down your chest. You’re able to breathe again when his cock pops from your wet lips, a trail of saliva connecting the two of you together. You take several breaths, even coughing a bit.

Jungkook stumbles back a few steps, rolling his neck a bit to regain his composure. 

“Professor Jeon,” you sigh out. You lift the back of your hand to wipe away the saliva on your lips. “please fuck me.”

Oh.

Jungkook blinks his eyes open to look at your pathetic position on the ground. 

“Please make me cum, Professor Jeon.” you plead. “I’ll be good. I’ll do better in your class.”

Jungkook watches you crawl closer to him, those watery eyes looking up at him pitifully. Jungkook snarls, something growing in his chest at just the sound of your words. 

You were already doing alright in his class. You showed up and participated only if you knew the answer - which wasn’t all the time, but it was enough. 

“You’re a lying whore.” Jungkook hisses. He grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks it so you’re looking at him and now his already hardened cock. As if he hadn’t already cum enough down your throat, he was ready to go again. “You just want to be fucked good, don’t you? Why should I fuck you?”

Your heart pumps with anticipation. “Because,” you whine softly. 

“That’s not an answer. You couldn’t even get my questions correct. But you want to be rewarded with a good fuck?”

You swallow, eyes watching him just as he watches you. 

“I’m so wet for you right now, Professor.” you whine. “It’s not my fault I have a hard time concentrating during classes.”

And it’ll just be a bit harder, you think, now that you know just how pretty his cock was. 

And just how much you wanted it in you at any given moment.

Jungkook closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. He can hear the faint vibrating sounds of the stream - he almost forgot just how alone you and he truly weren’t. 

“I’m on birth control.”

Eyes snapping open, Jungkook gawks down at you. Eyes pleading as ever.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” you question, a tilt to your head. “Cumming in me right where you teach all of your students.”

Jungkook’s breathing hardens - it would be fun, wouldn't it? 

“Turn around.” Jungkook rushes, letting go of your hair and you away. “Ass up. Since you’re begging to be stuffed, I’ll just do exactly that.” 

It didn’t take much convincing on Jungkook’s end - how embarrassing. He hasn’t cum in someone raw in he doesn’t know how long. All of this was just feeding into a fantasy he wasn’t aware he held; especially for a student. 

You do exactly as Professor Jeon tells you to. Your chest is against the cool floor, thighs apart. He has a view of your glistening pussy, waiting for him. 

Jungkook’s right hand slams on your ass as he comes onto the ground in front of you, then he slides it to your waist and yanks you toward him. His free hand wraps around his cock, pumping it before he slides it between your wet lips. 

The stinging sensation on your ass only has your cunt growing wetter. You squirm when his wet tip rubs at your clit, only further taunting you and your pathetic whimpering. 

“Let’s see how good of a fuck you are.” Jungkook says, his voice meaning to sound more demeaning than it was. His voice cracks just a bit when he begins to enter you. “I might just keep you around.”

This had to be a one time thing. He couldn't risk being caught up with you - his student. Though you and hebwere both grown adults, it was ethical. 

But damn was it good, Jungkook thinks. 

Jungkook enters you in one thrust, groaning at how tight, warm and wet you were. Your velvety walls are caging him in, assuring that he would be thinking about you for months to come.

Jungkook places both of his hands on your hips, sliding out just to thrust back in. His nails dig into your skin, hips continuing to rut, growing faster and faster with each pump.

Your nipples are hard against the ground, slamming into it with each thrust of Professor Jeon’s hips. He’s so deep, his cock hitting your sweet spot. Your walls tighten around him, feeling that pleasurable pressure as before - you weren’t meant to last long. 

Your ass is amazing to Jungkook. The way it slams off of his abdomen as he pounds his cock into you. His tall ceiling bounces off the leed sounds of skin slapping. He doesn’t hold back his groans, needing to express just how good your pussytruly was. 

“Shit,” Jungkook groans, his head hanging. “your pussy’s so wet.”

“Your cock feels so good, Professor.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook snickers. His right hand slides up your bare back, stopping at the back of your neck. “Aren’t you lucky to finally have your fantasy come to life?”

You yelp when Jungkook yanks your neck, bringing you back to him. Your completely naked body against his clothed one just adds to his dominance nature. 

Sliding his hand from your neck to your chin, he juts it to look at him. This new position allows his grinding cock to go deeper. His lips are close to yours, his rushed, warm breath tickling the skin of your face. 

“I would’ve fucked you sooner if I knew you felt this good.” Jungkook murmurs, 

Professor Jeon’s lips are on yours before you could respond. He groans into it when your cunt squeezes around him. He lets go of your chin to reach between your legs, rubbing at your throbbing clit. 

There isn’t any way you’re going to concentrate during lessons. Not when you’d look down at his hands and recall the way he’d rub your clit so possessively as he is now - or had those very same fingers deep into your pussy. 

Jungkook lets go of your lips, but he doesn’t go far. He watches the way your face stretches in pleasure, your eyebrows knitted together and plump lips pulled apart.

“Are you going to cum?” Jungkook asked, his cock continuing to stretch you out. 

“Yes!” you nod. You place your head against his chest, squirming with overstimulation as Jungkook’s fingers add pressure onto your clit.

Jungkook pushes you away and removes his cock - much to his own dismay. He listens to your whimpering protests and finds that he enjoys tormenting you any way he could. “Not until I say so.” he sing-songs, repeating those same wretched words from earlier. They are beginning to haunt you.

“Please!” your legs are shaking as you turn to face him, your back against the cold floor. Your mind couldn’t understand why he was being so cruel - his own cock had to be throbbing to cum right into you. He was a sadist, you think. “It isn’t fair you’re doing this to me. I’m a good student!”

You were protesting now, eyes wide with irritation. You were seconds away with just stuffing your own fingers in you and finishing yourself off - but it wouldn’t be the same. You couldn’t fuck yourself like Professor Jeon can and that realization alone was going to drive you insane.

“Are you?” Jungkook asks. Your eyes glances down at his hard cock, doused with your creamy arousal. “You snuck in here, or did you forget?”

Your bottom lips juts out in a pout.

“Come here.”

Jungkook drops onto the ground in front of you, his pants at his ankles.

Your eyes furrow, but you don’t hesitate. You get into his lap, your thighs on either side of him. 

“Make yourself cum.” Jungkook says, his hands immediately settling on your waist. “Before I change my mind.”

You’re far too eager. Your arm reaches back to grasp his cock and center it at your entrance. You’re far too wet that it’s easy to slide it in.

The cry that came from Jungkook’s lips was embarrassing. You sit directly onto his cock, your soft hands on his shoulders. You begin to rock your hips back and forth, your head rolling slowly from side to side. Your walls are so tight, Jungkook thinks, completely captivating him. You know exactly what you’re doing and Jungkook ponders if you do this often - with sextoys or other men - that makes you this good at riding.

Calloused hands roam up your sides then to your breasts. Professor Jeon captures them, squeezing the mounds in his hands tightly. His thumbs play with your nipples, twirling and pinching them just right.

“Fuck, baby.” Jungkook groans, burying his face into your bosom. He peppers quick, wet kisses onto them as your hips rise and fall.

“Your cock’s so big, Professor!” you wail. Squeezing your eyes shut, your hands begin to tighten their grasp on his shirt. 

Jungkook shakes his head. He pokes his tongue out, tracing your skin until they reach your nipple. He suckles on it, his tongue twirling around the bud. His left hand captures your ass, gripping the flesh harshly as you bounce on him.

You weren’t made to last long. All your frustrations had built up greatly for this moment - nor does Professor Jeon go easy on you. His hands gripping your ass with the way he sucks on your chest has you cumming in mere minutes since you started. 

“-gonna cum!” you moan, both arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close.

You’re leaking onto him entirely, arousal coating his thighs. Jungkook isn’t sure how it’s possible for someone to be this wet, but he isn’t complaining. Your pussy was so perfect - and so were you. You were the right amount of filthy he never knew he needed in his life.

Popping your nipple from wet lips, Jungkook decides to take over. “I’m going to cum in this pussy, baby.” he growls, hand squeezing your ass as his hips begin to rut into you. “Fill you just like you want.”

Your body is limp against him, walls squeezing him as you are riding your high. You’re unable to say much besides soft “please”’s. Your eyes are fluttering, your insides feeling every ounce of pleasure until it becomes unbearable. 

Jungkook’s cock drills you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again. He doesn’t intend on being quiet - especially not now. He wants anyone that’s around to hear how good he’s fucking you - his student. Someone so off limits to him, but that doesn’t stop either of you. He wants you to remember this moment forever. To have you thinking of him every time you go live - or happen to fuck someone else.

To let you know that it wouldn’t be the same because it wasn’t him.

Professor Jeon slams his right hand onto your ass, holding you in place. He continues to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping bouncing off of the walls loudly. Juices flow out of you as your body trembles, overstimulation taking over you. 

“Gonna stuff you good.” Jungkook grunts, thrust growing sloppy. Your squelching pussy is so melodic to him and he knows the sound will replay in his head over and over again. “Then send you home with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

Warm cum pools into you. You can feel Professor Jeon’s legs shaking as he cums, a soft whine in your ear. It’s so warm, you think, and weird having your professors cum stuffed in you. Your body feels heavy and you don’t move for a few moments as the both of you attempt to regain your composure.

You're not the one that stops the live. You had to admit that you do possibly look entirely pathetic crouched on the floor like this as Jungkook cleans himself up, but you weren’t used to be fucked by someone else.

“We should probably…talk.”

Now things were awkward. 

You manage to come into a seated position, cum covering your clit and possibly pooling out of you.

“I won’t tell anyone.” you say. 

Jungkook straightens his shoulders. “I wasn’t going to say that,” he murmurs. He wasn’t that much of an asshole. “Are you okay?”

Your cheeks are warm. You cross your arms, though it’s pointless. Your body is already exposed to him.

Jungkook hands you your revealing clothing and watches as you get dressed.

“I’m okay.” you assure, buttoning up your top. You pull your trench coat on next, feeling his eyes on you. “I’m…sorry for doing this.”

You go towards your bag where your cleaning supplies were. Coming down from your high after sex was always so awkward. Maybe this is why you avoided that and chose to fuck yourself.

“I’m sorry, too.” Jungkook says. He grabs the clorox wipes from your hands and decides that he could help, too. After all, it was his mess, too. “I hope I haven’t made things difficult for you. I am your Professor and…the dynamic is complicated.”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“But we’re both adults.” Jungkook continues. He turns his back to wipe his desk, unsure where he’s truly coming from. “And though I may have said it at the moment, I don’t think you’re truly that way.”

“A stupid whore?” you joke, giggling to yourself. “I know. We both got way into it.” 

It doesn’t take a long time for the mess to be cleaned. You grasp your phone and put it into your trench coat pocket. 

“I should get going.” you say.

Professor Jeon nods his head. He’s leaning against his desk now, dark eyes watching you. 

“I’ll see you in class in a few days.” Jungkook calls as you make your way out of the classroom.

“Tomorrow.” you correct, opening the door a bit. You turn to him as he speaks.

“You don’t have to come.” Professor Jeon waves off. He proceeds to go to his chair and plop down onto it. “I planned on having a surprise quiz tomorrow.”

“A quiz?”

Jungkook nods. He puts his glasses on and turns towards you. 

“I’ll give you a passing grade.” Professor Jeon states. “You should rest tomorrow.”

Your eyes begin to slowly widen. “You don’t-”

“Rest.” Jungkook interrupts. He turns his eyes away from you and down on the stack of papers on his desk. “It’ll be fine.”

You clench your thighs together at his words. Your heart is pumping loudly in your chest. For some reason, you feel giddy. The familiar rush of adrenaline flows through you. 

“I can’t wait for you to fuck me again, Professor Jeon.” you say, opening the door wider. You don’t wait for a response this time and maybe Jungkook is a bit too stunned to give you one before you close the door behind you.

What Jungkook did know was that he also couldn’t wait to fuck you again, too.

@songbyeonkim @investedreader @joonwater @spreadmysushi @internetbelle @seokjinkismet @sweetempathprunetree

[seneon]

NOTHING AND SOMETHING ──── jinu × fem¡reader.

about. in which, from a courtesan girl with nothing but beauty, to a girl with something to the singer boy. set in ancient rural¡korea au. pure sweetness and romance with the minor mentions of blood. 2700+ words.

notes. this is actually an old piece which i never published, and it kinda fits jinu. i lied about posting next week LOL. also, the courtesan part is only at the start btw

IT WAS IN THAT MOMENT, that a young boy with black hair was captured by such beauty.

he was fifteen, and by the greatest fate, was already well known by the entire kingdom for his heavenly voice. so what will happen when a young junior courtesan’s beauty catches the eyes of a royal singer?

jinu was on a mission to deliver plentiful harmonies to a higher ranking courtesan. instead, he came across the youngest girl who they have in the brothel.

you only spoke a little, very much aware of the existence of the well honoured singer recognised by the emperor himself.

so polite and kind in a rather closed off way, he wishes you would bloom and smile like a shining diamond.

soon a senior courtesan came to pay her undivided attention to the young and talented boy. but not before seeing your existence as a mere nuisance in the midst.

why, a young girl who barely even knows how to please a man dares to breathe the same air as the older woman?

the beauty you held is dangerous enough for the other courtesan. with repulse, the older woman landed a slap on your face, then a string of vile words came out from the woman’s mouth. and soon the salty tears rolled down your soft cheeks.

your existence ceased to exist after the older woman declared your presence to be erased from the room. after all, you were just a mere fifteen girl who was traded in for the price your parents couldn’t pay.

you were nothing.

the singer boy frowns at the way your body slumps just as you retreated far away to who knows where in this brothel that seemed to be your newfound hell.

so when dusk arrived, jinu set out to commit a crime worthy of his life. he wanted to rescue the girl he thought was so beautiful. it was simple when his soul demanded a reason—he wanted to see her beauty again and forever.

ROSES ARE SYMBOLS OF LOVE. the flower that bathed in exquisite and rich crimson red was placed down at the fingers of the boy. brown eyes lock themselves onto the single flower that rests atop jinu’s soft palms.

he scanned it while perking a brow up. confusion took over his mind as he looked at you who had given him a single rose. you stood there, awaiting for his next move as you sipped on whatever amazing juice that jinu had brewed for you.

“what is this?”

“a flower, silly.”

it has been a few months since jinu had taken you away from the brothel, bringing you back to the palace to vouch for the wonders your beauty you could do. up until then, you’ve been working with the boy and serving as his graceful dancer while he sings and plays the bipa for the crowd.

you kept your silence and watched him. he was such a mysterious and kind soul. yet, there was always something deep down inside that made you curious. you did not understand why, but you had always wanted to be by his side.

maybe it was because you owe him for saving your life, or maybe it was the mysteriousness that ate you away.

perhaps something else entirely different.

“and it’s a flower for...?” he questioned, holding it up to inspect every detail of it.

an inward laugh escaped from your lips applied with the softest and lightest colored lip balm.

“for you.”

now jinu was even more confused.

“for me?”

you hummed in response. “i thought it would be perfect to give it to you since it reminded me of you,” you explained, nodding your head slowly with a cheeky smile and blush. “as handsome as a flower could get in the flower kingdom.”

honestly, jinu has no idea how to react to what he just heard. how could he, when sweet words of poetry invaded his ears and found a spot in his heart to create a veil of warmth that surrounds him?

only a simple flower from you could bring the ultimate warmth out of him, and he was going to treasure it until the very day it withers into oblivion, along with the cheeky smile you have on your face.

LIFE IN THE FORM OF DARK RED RIVER. your gaze was fixed on the boy of seventeen, his hands stained with a warm red that itched at the back of his mind. marks ingrained on his skin as they slowly crawled up his neck and down his arms.

under your beautiful eyes, he covers his arms immediately, fear making its debut at how you would react to them.

it cannot happen so soon. not when he has everything he had ever wanted. not when his voice reaches out to the souls of the people, granting them joy. not when you tell him how much his voice is a soothing balm to your soul whenever he sings to you every night.

not when he has you.

you remained stoic in your spot. your eyes are unreadable this time, the way they bore into jinu’s gave him the initial fear that you might just see him in a fearful and different way than the usual soft and affectionate gaze that you always gave him.

jinu takes a step back, suddenly wary of your eyes looking over the blood on his hands. he wanted to flee, wanted to run from you, all just so you would not be the next one whose soul he is going to consume. so you will provide the next blood in which he will bathe in.

before the boy could even take the next step of his sandals, you reached out in three quick strides and wrapped your gentle fingers around his bloodstained wrist.

jinu wanted to protest and pull his hands away from your grip. but he could not, not when your fingers were so warm against his cold wrist.

“i’m dangerous, you shouldn’t.”

“and i do not care,” you replied after taking out your handkerchief which he weaved for you in his free times. you wiped his bloody fingers with such gentleness that it silenced the singer boy.

you could not care if his hands were stained with the blood of others. his hands will always remain something that made you feel safe every time he held you in his arms. nothing could compare to his gentleness when he braids your hair every morning.

gentle and kind with your touch, the boy felt some warmth around his cheeks. a field of roses had spread across his face, the colours almost as prominent that the blood which were splattered across his fair cheeks. he tried his hardest to contain that fuzzy little feeling in him.

your fingers now stained red too, and jinu brushed his thumb against your skin before planting a chaste kiss onto the bloodied spot.

“i don’t want to get your skin dirty,” said the boy as he took the handkerchief, tossing it away. “i’ll get you new ones. keep your hands off of dirty things.”

“but—”

“no buts. we get out of here and get you new handkerchiefs. come,” jinu said and grabbed your hand, walking away from the scene where the air reeked of blood.

he is going to abandon everything and run away with you.

IT BEGAN AS A WHISPER IN THE AIR. the day had been beautiful and the sky was like a dome of plasma-blue. the clouds had looked like airy anvils drifting under the gleaming disc of sun. now, the heavens rained down the cries of the celestials.

cold and wet gems rained onto the canopy cloth, emitting the echoes of millions and millions of tiny taps. demon boy jinu shifted his umbrella just a few inches above his view, observing the girl who stood in the middle of the walkway.

the look you held while looking up in the sky was exactly similar to a child that had gone stargazing for the first time. it was golden and angelic. with the rain that planted cold kisses on your skin, the water found its way to shelter itself into your clothes, slowly soaking them.

“jinu, it’s raining…” you murmured softly, extending a hand out to feel the gentle droplets tapping themselves onto your palms.

it was no surprise to jinu that you knew he was behind you, watching, and admiring you. even in the soothing weather, you resembled an ancient portrait of a maiden.

“huh, i can see that,” the boy walked over to you and shifted the position of his umbrella, so you two could share instead of you getting your skin even damper.

a smile slithered across your face, glancing up to the tall boy, “course’ you can, umbrella boy.”

he cringed at the silly nickname, a frown surfacing as you pursed your lips together. yet a soft chuckle emitted from the depths of his throat later on, arousing a mutual chuckle from you.

it was music to his ears amidst the voices that haunted him from within. even the way the corner of your eyes crinkled was enough to form spluttering butterflies in his stomach.

“you’re really beautiful,” he incoherently murmured, so softly. it does not reach your ears. so you tilted your head in confusion, a visibly confused expression took over your entire mind.

“what?”

a lightly tinted blush— not very much visible to one's eyes, started to sprout across his cheeks.

“what did you say?” you asked again. and his lips then curved upwards into a short smile that you managed to capture,

“i said, you're really beautiful. like an angel.”

the sight of him with a quick smile so genuine has your insides turning into a mess. it was not one of those fake smiles he gave to the kings or noblewomen or the courtesans just to please them.

this smile is special.

it was just for you and you alone.

IT HAS BEEN TWO YEARS. even so, not a single moment went by where he was never left intimidated by your beauty. you brought him out of his little dark and claustrophobic void, introducing him to a whole new world that one fateful night.

slowly with just you being in his reach, he could feel his heart thumped and thumped louder. with each soft, slow-paced thump, it grew into loud and fast-paced beats. you never failed to create butterflies that would flutter and dance about in his soul, enjoying themselves in the meadow.

the both of you are nineteen now. with each day that went by within a blur, you grew even more beautiful. it was breathtaking whenever he laid his eyes on you, even though he had gotten so used to your beauty.

all while he now had to hide within the darkness of gwi-ma, the king of the underworld, and the voices that lingered at the back of his mind was enough to drive him into a state of madness—something he wanted to conceal from you completely.

his golden eyes shifted to your form, where you sat by a lake, gently dipping your fingers into the cold waters to wash off one in a million of the handkerchiefs jinu had bought you which you had stained dirty with the blood of his victims after cleaning him up.

under a sky of perfect midnight velvet, under stars so brilliant they drew the eyes heaven bound. regardless of the strange situation you now live in with jinu, your hair was dripping with jewels, diamonds too perfect for anyone to gaze upon without stumbling in awe.

they were the diamond jewelry he had gotten you for your eighteenth birthday.

wild serenity filled every moment. dark light honoured the earth, and everything was as still as a moonlit lake.

everything was peaceful, quiet and so calming. yet, you could not shake off this… odd and fuzzy feeling. it lingered around your chest too often, demanding for an answer on the inside.

what was it that you kept feeling around a jinu after all these years? in your heart, you quietly asked the silvery midnight of a moon reflected in the lake.

“what are you doing out here so late?” the oh so familiar voice questioned.

you snapped out of your trance and looked at him momentarily, patting the spot beside you. “cannot sleep. my mind is too clouded right now.”

“ah,” jinu replied and sat down beside you. he followed your gaze—which went back to admiring the starry night instead of the lake. your fingers and the handkerchief were still dipped in the lake, gently swaying back and forth from the colliding waters.

it was a moment to treasure.

“jinu, do you ever feel this weird, annoying and fuzzy feeling around your chest?”

“what do you mean?”

you held your clenched fists near your chest and looked down at your. “i always get those feelings whenever i am with this one boy. he makes me weak, if not for his perfect presence that cleanses my sins.”

wasting no time, you pointed your free fingers at the boy beside you, a frown taking over your smile. “you. you’re the one making me feel like this. but... why?”

why?

does the now demon boy himself even know? if only he knew the answer, he could have helped you understand it more. deep down, he guessed and debated about it, as he was feeling the same thing, even right now. being close to you was something he had learned to appreciate.

time had seemed to stop around everywhere. the street, the village, the entire universe. but, the moon continued to illuminate the secrets of the heavens onto the two young souls—one pure, and the other tainted.

it was silent. a comfortable yet uneasy silence that could bring forth the ultimate summer and it felt as if there were snakes slithering around. jinu did not know how to feel, what to feel. as he only felt the moon of the frozen sky painted a warm palette into his chest.

the male could not take it anymore. he needed to get it off his chest, if not all he would think about is you, a blessing from heaven, the forgiver of all living things on earth. a burst of emotions exploded, overpowering the whispers of gwi-ma, and he groaned in silent annoyance.

“look, in the books of the palace i read, that those feelings are what’s called love. and i—”

“love you.”

“yes that, thank you. i love you too.”

...

oh.

he facepalmed once the realisation hit, a deep red blush sprouting from both your cheeks. an awkward tension filled the air. you played with the lake waters shyly, and the boy looked away, silently cursing himself for the humiliating thing he said out loud.

what had he just said?

jinu, what the hell is wrong with you?

...

after a long stretch of silence, jinu finally breaks it.

“i… i don’t know if it’ll work out,” he admitted, his golden gaze lowering to the lake beneath, seeing solace in the gentle waves. “i mean, i’m cursed. a demon, i’m not lovable. i abandoned my mother and sister and left them to suffer.”

jinu continued, his hands reaching out into the lake to gently take your hands out from the waters, setting your soaked handkerchief aside and taking his own clean handkerchief to wipe your hands.

you watched in silence as he cleaned your hands, letting his words seeped into your soul. his gentle touch so comforting, even though if his hands were cold and his nails were as sharp as a monster’s.

“regardless of all your imperfections and mistakes and flaws, i still love you,” you said softly, thumb brushing his cold knuckles before you looked at him. “even if you are a demon, i still love you. and even if you will live for an eternity and i will die anytime, my feelings for you will never change. i love you. i was nothing back then, but now i am something with you.”

oh, you.

what should jinu do?

a smile so everlastingly sweet formed on jinu’s face just as he intertwined his fingers with yours, pulling you closer just so he could feel your skin and bask in your warmth.

“i’ll never understand why you love me, but i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispered before pressing a soft kiss onto your forehead, keeping you close like you are the only thing he ever needs.

“you’re my pretty girl. and you mean everything to me.”

CENTURIES OF LONELINESS CRACKS, at the exact moment you approached the table, a poster and a silver marker pen in your hand. you looked as radiant and beautiful as jinu had always remembered.

nothing changed in the way your hair flows and the way your smile could warm even the coldest of hearts.

he took the silver marker pen and the saja boys poster, signed his name on it before looking up at you again, a familiar smile surfacing on his cheeks.

“i’ve miss you, my pretty girl.”

your excited grin drops to a more softer smile, retrieving a piece of diamond jewelry out from your hair to set it on the table, one that he gave you centuries ago.

it seems like fate is a funny thing, making nothing into something, mending your destinies together.

“i’ve missed you too.”

TAGS 𖥔 ݁ ˖ @kaiser1ns @angeliicheartt @scytheblooms @skriblobz @solvisun @everandforeveryours @anqelkoz @queenofspades403 @calebsamor @lsunncy @itoshiism @thesimppotato11 @jmwink27 @gloriousqueen101 @lighthouseraven34 @luvlyycy @luvrism777 @cherrycrvsh @skriblobz @n0tbelle

© SENEON 2025 ♱ do not repost, alter, or translate.

[nixnbob]

THIS. This was one of the best scenes for writing and acting (to me) around heartbreak. Actual, real, shredding heartbreak. Whether you see it as platonic or otherwise. It felt so real. Like it really tapped back into the energy from the Fishes episode.

Especially to open the season with them reconciling and Carmy literally telling her that's what he wanted. He wanted them in the kitchen. No dysfunction. How she opened up to Claire while her dad was in hospital and everything pouring out about needing consistency, while her one piece of it lies in a hospital bed. And how it had felt like her and Carmy were starting to get that.

And the conversation with Carmy's mom. After all of the set-up each season around Sydney and Carmy's partnership and then like, when she felt it like a gut punch, so did we as viewers. She had chosen him over Shapiro and the Bear over anywhere else. And then... It was *chef's kiss*...

Hell of a way to end the season. Hoping there's another, but we'll see. I don't hate Claire, I just feel like she's a bit of a nothing character. She's just kind of there. And I feel like they've constantly gone well out of their way to have every character tell us 'how amazing' and 'how awesome' she is.

Like, so is Sydney, but they really haven't shied away from showing us her flaws either. Or any other character in the show. Sydney feels REAL. To the point it feels odd with Claire that they're not showing her flaws, or at least trying to actively tell us as viewers that there's no flaws, she's perfect.

Selfishly, I want another season just to finish a few arcs off, as it feels unfinished at the moment:

- It feels like Carmy is burnt out and has never had freedom to reconnect with what he loves in a healthy way. And that's why he's noping out if things. I see him trying to retire and it not really being possible for him. Especially with the chat with Sugar around how he had such a spark with it. Maybe he gets a few episodes of just cooking to enjoy it, or travelling again with some of the chefs that cared about him and helped him develop.

- Ibra's sandwich franchise is teased as maybe a bigger plot point for another season. Why have Unc and Albert only almost meet?

- What's going in with Unc and his money. Downsizing by choice or was there more going on?

- The (food and wine?) review hasn't been published, the one the guy called Sugar about.

- Frank, Tiff and Eva haven't visited the Bear yet. I would love them all to see how far Richie has come and for Tiff to tell Richie how proud she is of him. And even sweeter would be if it came from Eva, because she can see how together her dad is now, compared to where he was at the start of the series.

- The guy that came in the restaurant on his own and asked for a Beef. Was he another reviewer? Are we ever going to get an answer to that? It feels a little weird to focus in on him like that, more than with other guests.

- Whether there's something more going on with Donna. Felt weird to have Lee just say something hinting at it as a throwaway line.

- If they're hunting a star, maybe that's one of the main drivers for the next season and it would feel amazing after everything the characters have been through, if that's how they ended.

- There's a suggestion Carmy and Claire have reconciled, but they haven't really shown them back together-together. Maybe Claire is who Carmy thinks he needs, but then with her finishing her residency she'll surely be even busier now? Maybe they try to make it work and he sees how much she loves what she does, but how she can't give that up just for him. I feel like that might be a way to explore where their relationship is going.

I dunno. I just think Sydney deserves to realise her dream and Carmy deserves to be happy. And I don't think either of them are quite there yet. IMO it's being hinted that where things are heading, they might get there. But let us see it. Please.

Anyway, this was meant to be a short post and has now turned into something with paragraphs 😅.

i got shot a million times

[bballesbolol]

The Game we Play

Paige x Azzi boarding school roommates AU

Warnings: none

a/n: I’ve pretty much fully reworked this chapter from the original draft, so if you read the first one, trust me, you’ll think this is way better.

wc: 3.3k

Chapter 1

Paige:

Paige’s freshman year basketball season was perfect. She was the starting point guard at Hopkins High. She was recognized as a first team All-Star in her region. She led her team in scoring. She helped carry her high school team into the state tournament, one of it’s deepest runs yet. She was successful, no doubt. And she loved Hopkins, but she dreamed of playing basketball in college.

And not just at some mid-major university. She wanted real, all-American Division one basketball. She wanted to be the best. And to be the best, she had to play with the best.

And so came her hunt for a new school. One where she could really focus on developing her game.

Luckily, her skill was enough to draw scouts from some pretty elite private schools, all willing to throw scholarship money at her if she decided to play with them. Of course, she had found herself hoping to go to some big athletic school, somewhere like IMG: big and modern and basically a year round skills camp with a side of learning.

But her parents refused to let her, they thought that school should come first, a philosophy that Paige utterly despised. I mean, it was her basketball talent that got her into the school in the first place, and unless she wanted to play basketball at Harvard, her grades were really just background noise.

But according to her parents, “her future was undecided” and “she was only going into her sophomore year”, and “basketball wasn’t everything”. Obviously out of touch with reality.

She had never been an academic, and if her future unfolded how she hoped, she definitely wouldn’t be one anytime soon. So it was a given that seeking out a school known for athletics and academics was a nightmare. After months of emails, phone calls, and a never ending push pull with her parents, Paige had finally reached a compromise.

Montverde Academy. A school near Orlando with a standout basketball team and “excellent” academics.

Her athletic scholarship covered the whole year, room and board and all. The coach’s selling points were simple. She was filling the program with the best young basketball players she could recruit. Paige would get maximum exposure to the colleges the coach not-so-subtly bragged about attending each game. It would run like college. Two a days. Weights and skills and conditioning and competition.

A dream. That’s what it sounded like. And Paige was ready for it all. To get out of Minnesota. To compete. To be seen. To win. To excel.

It all sounded amazing a week ago.

But now, she found herself sitting on her bedroom floor, phone open to the Montverde Athletics instagram page, pondering a key aspect of school she had massively overlooked.

Roommate's.

It was a boarding school, so she would have to stay with another girl. a stupidly obvious fact that Paige had entirely forgotten in the flurry of committing. She had decided she wouldn’t settle for a random roommate. She couldn’t risk rooming with a NARP. And not just because she couldn’t stand some non-athletes. No, this was also for their sake. Her early morning trips to the gym, bottomless drawers of practice clothes, and over-the-top competitive personality were decidedly a disturbance she did not want to plague an unassuming student at Montverde with. So she settled on searching for a future teammate to reach out to.

This, however, was proving to be a bigger challenge than she expected.

She was naturally outgoing, of course, having grown up playing basketball she had to be. Loud. Funny. Confident, almost to a fault. She fit in with new AAU teams like she’d been playing with them for years. Honestly, her outgoing personality might be more standout than her basketball at times.

But, for some reason, her chest tightened at the idea of going to this new boarding school. Florida was a long ways away from Minnesota, and these girls she was going to school with were all so new, and so good.

Scrolling through the tagged posts on the academy’s website felt like snooping through a college scouts clipboard. These girls weren’t just going to be teammates she’d see for two hours a day. Actually, she was pretty sure they would be lucky to get two hours apart. They were going to be living together. 24/7. An entire school year. And for some reason, the thought was nerve wracking.

What if they’re rude? Or stuck up? Or what if they're all rich preppy girls and I can’t stand them? It is a private school after all…

Scrolling through the page felt like she was swiping through tinder.

Too nice.

Scroll

To intimidating.

Scroll

Too…blonde?

Scroll

She let her head sink deeper into the hood of her sweatshirt as she let out a frustrated sigh, scrolling past a post for some international player from Croatia. That was when one post caught her eye.

Azzi Fudd.

She had posted her commitment a few days ago, her post was a simple picture of her on campus with a wide grin and a thumbs up, captioned with some “i’m so grateful” speech. She knew she’d definitely heard the name before, but she could have sworn she’d seen the girl before. Maybe at AAU?

She clicked on the girl's profile, and was met with a flurry of pictures of Azzi. She was tanned, with toned muscles (that paige wasn’t jealous of at all), dark curly hair, brown eyes, and a slightly wonky smile that made her feel…less intimidating? She let herself dig deeper into her posts, In which she found that:

1. Azzi was a year younger than herself

2. She played for Saint John’s in Virginia

3. She was definitely dedicated to basketball

Check, check, and check. This girl was building a pretty good case for herself.

she came across a post from an AAU tournament, with a gym that was eerily familiar to her. Then it clicked. She had never met Azzi—like formally, handshake kinda meeting—but she had played her. The details were fuzzy, but she remembered bits and pieces. Azzi was a guard. She wasn’t super shifty, but she could definitely run. She wasn’t loud. Not cocky either. And she could shoot—like really shoot.

She let herself stare at the picture a little longer. Ran back through her very exclusive future roomate mental checklist.

Girl?

check.

Athlete?

check.

Looks nice enough?

check.

And she had to get bonus points for being in the same room as herself at least once in her life.

Overall, she was a good prospect—well, good enough to end the 3 hour roommate spiral she had been falling into.

So she drafted a message. Actually, it was more of an introduction. Sickly sweet and definitely fake and all very un-Paige.

She read it back to herself, holding back the full body cringe that threatened to take over as she looked over her text.

I know we haven’t really properly met, but like, I saw that your going to Montverde this year and I just wanted to reach out and say hi, yk ‘cause there aren’t a lot of people my age committed for this year? soooo hi

soooo, hi? Soooo I’m actually gagging. About 3 too many o’s and oozing with cautious kindness.

Paige snickered at how cautiously sweet her message was. But she hit send anyway, watched message deliver.

Her problem was that it stayed on delivered. For an hour. Then two. Then three. What could this girl even be up to?? it’s 9:45 at night, she should be home by now, is she really just just gonna ignore me?

She let a frustrated groan escape her lips. whatever. She turned off her phone and plugged it in on her dresser. she wasn’t going to wait on this reply like her whole year depended on it, worse comes to worse, she would just room with another teammate. Or even just another athlete. Either way, she could easily find someone else, right?

an exasperated sigh slipped from somewhere deep behind her ribs.

Right.

She slipped into bed and turned off her light. She would check back in the morning, and if she didn’t respond she would just ask someone else. Easy.

Azzi:

Azzi had already gotten to the gym late. She was stressed out, the school year was ending soon, and she had just fought through a day of finals and weeks of stress about her new school. Long day to say the least, and Azzi needed to decompress.

The summer was coming up quickly, with it—unfortunately for her—came the thought of moving into a new school, in a new state, with an entirely new team.

The problem was she had played with the same girls since she was in diapers, and befriending an entirely new team intimidated her to say the least.

She had posted her commitment to Monverde 2 days ago, and had received a few comments from juniors and seniors on the team congratulating her, but nobody her age had really reached out personally. Maybe that was the norm. Or maybe they could smell fear. Either way, she was stuck with barren DM’s and one pressing, unresolved problem.

Roommate's. More specifically her lack thereof.

Unfortunately, Azzi was not the type to reach out herself. so, obviously, she decided she would let herself suffer through random roommate selection and pray that the team took a liking to her when she finally met them on campus. Did the thought of it freak her out?—yeah, she would be living with some random girl for a whole school year—but it seemed simple and less life threatening than hunting for a roommate. And it was certainly less humiliating than asking and getting rejected. She would just have to leave her sanity this year up to chance by some roommate lottery.

Hence the late night gym trip. Basketball was a way for her to destress, she could turn her brain off and shoot for hours, it was an easy way to clear her mind. But fuck, today it wasn’t helping.

tween, cross, brick.

“Come on Az, that’s your shot!” Azzi dad called out, snatching the rebound and snapping the ball back to her at the top of the key. Azzi scrambled to grab the pass, but it hit her chest before dropping into her hands. Dropping back into triple threat, she sucked in a breath, tried to quiet her mind, and tried again.

tween, cross, brick.

Her mind wasn’t any quieter. Actually, it felt like the gym was making it louder. Like her thoughts had slipped through her skull and were now rattling through the rafters. Azzi let a frustrated groan slip from her lips as she used the hem of her shirt to wipe the beads of sweat from her forehead. This was her shot, it always was, but tonight she just couldn’t fucking hit it.

“Azzi, you're goin’ to a better school next year, you’re good, but these kids are better. this isn’t gonna be like home, if you want to compete-“ her’s voice added to the noise she was so desperately trying to ignore.

Azzi rolled her eyes. Her dad had always been her coach, but he had ramped up the whole tough love thing after she committed to the academy. She needed it, of course, but jesus, tonight she just couldn’t deal with it. She had already been in the gym for an hour, and her arms and legs felt like jelly. That, combined with the worries about her new school made the normally effortless task of making a shot feel like an impossible feat. She felt like sisyphus pushing his boulder up the hill—except her boulder just happened to be an all-to-familiar orange ball. Her frustration with herself had already boiled over, and she could feel herself accidentally letting it slip out as she responded to her dad.

“I know I know, if I want to compete I need to outwork these girls. I’m too young, I'm not experienced, these girls are basically olympians compared to me right?” Her dad looked surprised at the tone she snapped back at him with. He shook his head, sighing as he passed her back the rebound from her missed shot.

“Look, in here I’m your coach, not your dad, and I'm not gonna go easy on you. I’m just preparing you for what you’re gonna deal with at this school. they’re are big recruits going there, and if you want to see the floor you need to make these shots” Azzi looked away from her dad with a huff, dropping the ball to her waist as she prepared to shoot again

tween, cross, sidestep, and surprise!

brick.

The sound of the rim recoiling as the ball clanged off of the side rattled through the gym.

Her dad sighed and rubbed his temples. “y’know what? I'm gonna go wait in the car, you clearly need some space. Just meet me in the parking lot when you’re done.” and with that her dad turned and walked away. Azzi could sense his disappointment, but pushed down the feeling, turning her eyes back to the stupid hoop and her thoughts to her stupid broken jumper.

She stomped towards the hoop in pursuit of her rebound, grabbing it and taking one hard dribble before walking the ball back to the three point line. She lifted the ball again, about to shoot, when she suddenly became aware of how tense she was. Her traps were wound tight, her shoulders felt like they could touch her ears, and she hadn’t taken a breath—like a real, deep breath—the whole time she’d been there.

She took a second to be still. She let her shoulders drop, shaking them out for just a second. One breath, then another. A third. The category 5 mental spiral slowly died down, even if it was only to a category 4.

You’re just frustrated, c’mon you do this every day, just forget about school for a second and chill.

She prayed what little self-soothing she tried would work, because honestly? If this ball didn’t go through the hoop, its next stop would be through a window.

she took one last deep breath and repeated the move, slower this time:

tween,

cross,

swish.

A sigh of relief escaped from her she chased the rebound, moving to another spot on the floor before shooting again.

swish.

Every shot that fell helped pull her—inch by inch—out of her head. Off of school, off of finals, off of room—

off of that. She could feel herself slowly falling back into rhythm. Smooth. Comfortable. Mindless. The gym was quiet, only interrupted by the faint swoosh of the net as she fired up shots one after another. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she was satisfied with how many she had made. By the time she looked up at the clock it was 8:45, and she could feel a slight sheen of sweat coating her skin, sticky and hot. Her body was practically screaming for her to put down the ball and crawl into bed.

She decided to wrap up with free throws before she re-racked her ball and sat down to untie her shoes. She slipped them off, tucking them into her basketball duffel before slinging it over her shoulder and slipping on an old pair of slides.

Opening the door to the gym offered little relief from the heat of the gym. She was met by a gust of Virginia heat, making her feel sticky after her hours of shooting. Her dad had pulled around to the front of the gym and was parked near the doors, and she silently thanked him as she jogged to the car to escape the heat.

She sighed with relief when she opened the door and was met with the AC blowing a cool 65.

“you figure it out kid?” her dad looked over to her expectantly. he must’ve noticed the change in her demeanor, because his tone wasn’t cautious. Not like he was talking to the ticking-time-azzi she was before he left.

“yeah, I just needed to not think about that school, y’know?” she responded, a weak smile on her face, until she was rudely interrupted by a yawn breaking free from her lips.

“mhm, glad you could stop stressin’ over it, but next time, try and figure it out before you get to the gym, don’t wanna be leavin’ at 9 pm every night” he jabbed at her shoulder, eliciting a giggle from Azzi as she leaned back and looked out the window.

“yeah yeah, whatever” she buckled in and pulled out her phone as the car pulled out of the lot. Azzi scanned through her notifications and let out an absentminded “hm” as one in particular caught her eye.

A dm from Paige Bueckers.

She’d seen her in posts before, an effortless—maybe slightly cocky smile permanently plastered on her face, like she couldn’t feel the cameras on her. She’d been posted almost everywhere you could imagine basketball, on Overtime, Bleacher report, USA Basketball, her schools page, and recently, had seen her commitment post to Montverde.

She’s played against her before too, once. some AAU tournament. And she could understand why Paige was going to Montverde. She was talented, of course, almost impossible to pick up on D, but that wasn’t what made her stand out. It was her confidence. It was the kind of self assurance that Azzi wished she had. A noisy, and sometimes cocky aura that screamed “I know I’m good, and you’re gonna know it too”.

she clicked on the notification, opening up instagram and reading her message.

paigebueckers:

I know we haven’t really met, but like, I saw that you're going to Montverde this year and I just wanted to reach out and say hi, yk ‘cause there aren’t a lot of people my age committed for this year? soooo hi

She tried her hardest to hold back the laugh trying to escape her chest, and failed. A sort of snort slipped out. Not at the idea of the message, but at the absurdity of how it came across.

No way she’s scared to reach out to me, she must be trying to make a good impression.

She was sure that the Paige she saw all over Overtime wouldn’t be so cautious, hell, she wasn’t this cautious on the court, that’s for sure. From what she’d heard, she wasn’t scared to speak her mind. And her “mind” never spit out kind words, let alone any so painfully awkward and cautious. She found herself wondering what Paige wanted, because clearly, it was something.

Her theorizing was interrupted by the car slowing as her dad pulled into their driveway. Eventually it rolled to a stop near the side of their house. Right now, all she cared about was getting out of this car and into the coldest shower she’d ever had, and then into the biggest, softest sweat set she owned. She grabbed her bag and hopped out of the car wordlessly, excused by her tired eyes, which had singly handedly told her dad that she was done talking for the night. She shuffled up her front steps and opened her door before kicking off her slides and slipping her bag off of her shoulder, dropping it where she stood before rushing up to her room. She was desperate for that cold shower, but decided it would be rude not to send Paige a quick reply, especially since she had reached out—shit—almost 4 hours ago. She quickly typed up her reply:

Hey Paige! Glad you reached out, tbh I’ve been worried that the first time I talk to anyone from that school would be orientation lol.

It was a short response, but it would have to be enough, she desperately needed to shower and her body was screaming for her to sleep. She chucked her phone onto her bed and set out for her bathroom, struggling to keep her eyes open.

Her shower was quick and cold, but it made the dull ache in her muscles a little more bearable. She pulled on a pair of baggy plaid pj pants and a loose t-shirt and crawled into bed, relishing in the relief she felt at finally being horizontal. she reached out for her phone, checking instagram for a response from Paige. There was nothing, of course, it was nearly 10:30 and any respectable student-athlete would have long been asleep by now. She sighed, placed her phone back on her bedside table, and rolled over, letting sleep finally take over.

[c4tluver02]

best friend!Steve Harrington x shy!reader where you get asked on a date, something that has never happened before/never been something he had to worry about because usually the combination of you being so reserved and him hovering kept men from trying any funny business. Steve knows the guy, hates the guy, and spends days trying to convince you not to go on the date (because he doesn’t like the guy… certainly could not possibly be for any other reason…) and eventually you confront him and ask why he cares so much and tooth rotting fluff ensues. Steve dials the guy’s number himself after so you can cancel.

last minute cancel

wc: 3k

cw: mentions of cheating (not from Steve or r), hurt/comfort, angst?, fluffffffff, happy ending, maybe Steve being rude?

a/n: thank u sooo much for the request<333 i hope you enjoy it :D!!!!

Steve has been your best friend for years. 

You met him in high school, just before his “King Steve’ era, and from the moment you two became friends it was like you were glued to the hip. 

During school he was boyish and charming, always alluring to anyone near him.  But with you he was different. Not that he wasn't any of those amazing qualities, but he was far more than that. With you he never faltered when it came to taking care of you. Thinking of you before himself, making sure you are always okay, it was a protectiveness that you were continuously thankful for. 

No one else got this version of Steve, not even Kathy or Stella. The two recent girls on his roster. However recently Steve told you that Kathy dumped him because you went to the movies with them so maybe it’s just Stella. 

Unlike all of the other girls in school you weren't all over him, which could be the reason all those dates were shocked– feeling like they were interrupting something when it came to you two. Which in a sense they were. You and Steve had a way of doing things, a system that has been going for about 5 years. So when Kathy threw a fit about movie nights it’s not even an issue for Steve to call her the next morning saying they won't work out. 

You were too shy to do the things Steve did, it’s what made you two work so well together. He would go to the parties and date the girls while you sat there listening. Interested in all the gossip you're not involved in but still get to know about. For some reason people tell Steve everything, never thinking when he gets home that he would call you to spill all the secrets. 

–

Both of you sat on Steve's bed with your first bowl of popcorn laid between the two of you. The movie was ready, all you had to do was press play, but you had just gotten to his house so now is the time he tells you all the gossip. 

You felt like you were already watching a movie, the way Steve was so animated with his storytelling. His eyes would go wide as his hands would copy the words he says. You could sit and listen to him tell you stories for hours, he reenacts things so well and all the drama added is the cherry on top. 

Only once he was done talking it was your turn, and truly you don't know how you've kept this from him for this long. You have never been able to lie to Steve, not that this was a lie, more of a kept secret. Still something happened to you and you didn't immediately call Steve about it which was weird for you. 

But a guy asked you out a few days ago and it was something so out of the blue for you that you just had to tell Steve in person. Knowing your best friend will have the best reaction to your exciting news, along with help on how to go about it. 

So when he went quiet you began to start. 

“Okay so y’know how I was at the bookstore the other day?” You ask, the smile you have on your face makes Steve smile. This must be good, he thinks. 

“Yeah, you wanted to find a new diary right?” 

“Exactly, and while I was looking I was just so into the journals, I guess, and I took a step back and a guy caught me!” The way you gleam almost fools Steve in that moment. 

“Did he catch you or did you just walk into him and his body was right there?” Steve doesn't really know where this conversation is going but he’s not sure he likes it. 

“His hands literally wrapped around my waist Steve, he caught me, like my literal hero. Anyways, I ended up talking to him, and you’ll never guess what happened!” 

“Uh, he said sorry for being in your way?” His eyebrows raise with the question. 

You roll your eyes at his antics. “No. He asked for my number. My number, Steve.” 

“And did you give it to him?” 

Steve hasn't really had to deal with you and guys. In school guys knew not to ask you out, Steves hovering too extreme for any of them to try anything. And now that you are out of high school, you don't go to any gatherings to meet new people. A little bit too much of an introvert for it. But now Steve isn't always around, no one knows their place when it comes to the two of you. Kathy was pure proof of that. 

“Well yes, of course. It’s not everyday a guy asks for my number.” You’re kneeling on his bed now, so hyped up from your retelling of your own story.  

The way he doesn’t really move makes you a little worried. You always give a great big reaction to his stories, let alone his dates. A little cheer or a smile would help you out. 

“Well who is this guy anyways, you get a name?” 

“Um, Dean Mills.” You say drawing back to your conversation with him. 

“Dean Mills as in from English class that always snored?” His hand goes to his mouth in a faux gasped expression. 

“I don't know Steve, I wasn't in that class with you.” Your body deflates from his witty comeback that is unhelpful in every way. 

His questions have ruined your mood, you back hits his headboard and your irritation spikes just a little higher. He isn't being supportive at all, if anything he’s just making fun of you. It’s understood to not take you seriously, you never get asked out by guys. But does Steve really think you’re so awful that the idea of a guy being into you seems so funny?

“You do know that he totally got kicked from the football team for sleeping with all the cheerleaders right?” Steve sits up now, a hand pressed deep into his mattress to hold himself up. 

“You don't even know if this is the same guy Steve, how are you just gonna write off the first guy I tell you about?” 

The fold of your arms and the slight pout of your lips has Steve feeling bad. He’s really trying to look out for you here, nothing more nothing less. 

“M’sorry, honey. You're right, has he called you yet?” 

It takes you a second to respond because no, he hasn't called you yet. But the last thing you want to do is tell Steve that, it would just further prove his stupid point. 

“It just happened two days ago Steve.” You say with a huff. Movie night doesn't feel needed anymore. You weren't even supposed to have it today, normally it’s saturdays but Steve has a date on saturday so you moved it. One that you helped him pick an outfit for, with no quips or jokes coming from you. 

You pull yourself to the edge of his bed, not really wanting to leave your hang out, you even wanted to sleep over. But right now Steve doesn't feel like he has even a hint of happiness for you. It feels devastating, and you don't even know why he’s being so unsupportive. 

“I think I should head home.” Your legs dangle from the edge of his bed, his long legs get into it way easier than your short ones. 

Steve's sigh is loud from behind you. You can also hear his hand run over his face and into his hair. He didnt mean for you to get upset with him, but if he has the right Dean Mills, which he 100% does, he knows this guy is just using you for a hookup. 

“I am just trying to make sure that you’re doing the right thing, going out with this guy.”

You still don't look at him when he says it. The only thing that could be heard in his room is the sound of you putting your shoes back on. It’s a quick motion, like you positively need to get out of there and it makes Steve’s heart break in two. 

“Why is it so hard for you to think that a guy could just like me?” Your head turns sharply to look at him, finally. But the look on your face makes him wish you didn't, your brows are furrowed, eyes squinted. 

“Honey that’s not..I meant that-” 

“I’ll see you later Steve.” You say it so quickly as you leave his room that he almost misses it. The slam of his front door, however, can't go unmissed. It’s loud, saying everything that needs to be said. 

Yeah, maybe Dean hasn't called you yet, and so what if he was some douche in high school? Like Steve wasn't? You weren't the same as you were in high school, people change. The growth from high school to now is what you hope to see from people and Dean seems to have grown, unlike Steve and his stuck in set ways. 

It was really heartbreaking that Steve just wrote this whole thing off. You never do that to him, despite how badly you want to. Stella isn't lasting you knew that the second you met her. And the same thing happened with Kathy, but did you tell him that? No, you stood there and helped him pick things out for these girls who didn't know him half like you did. 

–

That night Dean had called you asking you out on a date. It was in two days, at a nice restaurant that just opened but had great reviews. You said yes, trying to wipe everything that Steve had said to you from your mind. There was no way his opinions would ruin this for you, the first date you've had in a while. 

 Steve even tried to call you for your nightly call but you didn't answer. Too upset with him to act like everything was normal and hear about the things he did while you supported every breath and movement. There was a split second that you forgot you were mad at him, it was right after Dean called you. Your next immediate response was to dial Steve's number to tell him how Dean had officially asked you out, but you didn't. 

Once morning reached your window the light flowing through your room, waking you up, your anger still sat in your chest. Heavy and painful just as it was the day before. Possibly even worse since the loud sound of a ring stopped you from going back to sleep. 

The phone on the wall was too far, and your body was still limp with the grip of sleep trying to pull you back in. You let the phone go– trying to find that dream that left you all too soon. But it rang again, somehow even louder this time now that your foggy mind didn't halfway block it out. 

Your body brought you to the wall before your mind knew where you were, picking up the phone. 

“Hello?” The grogginess in your voice was present, anyone on the other line could tell you had just woken up. 

“Hey, sorry did I wake you up?” Steve's voice boomed through the phone, loud and perfectly clear unlike your mumbled words. 

“Steve, it's so early.” Your words come out in a stern tone, like you could lecture him on why he shouldn't call people early in the morning because they might just be sleeping. 

“I know, I'm sorry, but I really just needed to talk to you.” 

He could apologize, tell you how bad he feels about the way he reacted. Maybe talk to you about the things you could wear and say to make the date go well. Or at least that's what you hope he'll say, just wanting to talk to your best friend about an important thing that happened to you. 

It’s what makes you stay on the phone, humming as if to say ‘go on’. 

“I talked to Stella about Dean, I was just trying to see if she knew anything about him and what he's been up to y’know? And she told me that she saw him at a party cheat on his girlfriend with three other girls. Three girls!” 

Of course Steve asked Stella, he had to know everything about this dude. And thank god he did or else you would be going out with him. He would hate to see you heartbroken over some idiot who didn't deserve you in the first place.  That was his whole intention with all of this, nothing else. 

“Is that really what you called me to say?” The new tone in your voice is laced with venom. No longer stuck in a sleepy state. 

“I am just trying to protect you–” 

“I don't need your protection Steve, next time you call I hope you have something a little more sincere to say.” And the line goes quiet. Only a quiet beep letting him know you hug up on him. 

What Steve didn't get to tell you was that question to Stella got him another slammed door. Apparently asking the girl you're seeing about another girl isn't the best idea. But Steve had to do it, for you. 

Everything he does is for you. You're on his mind the second he wakes up from his dream about you and right before his eyes shut letting sleep take him away. The way you care about him way more than any of his dates ever would, or how you sincerely understand him. Why he is the way he is and how despite him not being the best, you don't run from him. Always sweet and generous in every sense of the word. Steve doesn't think he could ever live without you, even with this day and a half long fight he finds himself struggling to get by. 

And deep down you felt the same. Maybe that's why this all hurt so much. 

This realization in Steve was what brought him to your doorstep the next day. A beautiful bouquet in his hands as an apology along with a script he's currently going over in his head as he waits for you to open the door. That is if you open the door. 

Steve knows he hasn't exactly been fair. Telling you what you should and shouldn't do has never been something he does regularly. 

Too stuck in his own mind he misses the sight of you coming down the stairs through the window. But when you open the door with your hair curled and a nice dress that snaps Steve right out of it. The lipstick you have on makes the blush on your cheeks pop, a perfect match. 

“Steve, I really don't have time, I have a date and–” You say, turning your head to look at the time on the clock near you. 

“Cancel it.” Steve didn't even know you had a date, you hadn't told him. 

“What?” This makes you look back at him quickly. Any quicker and he thinks you might have given yourself whiplash. 

“Cancel it. Stay with me tonight, please.” His plea sounds so heart wrenching. As if it might utterly ruin him if you left. 

“Steve, I can't just cancel, it's like 40 minutes.” Your wide eyes widen even more at his begging. 

“He’s not gonna give you what you need. He doesn't know you or get you like I do and no one ever will. It’s me and you and you know it.” It comes out in one breath, quick and hurried. He removes one hand from the bouquet and grabs for your own. You don't move away or even flinch at the touch. 

“What about Stella?” He could almost laugh at your question, how could you even think about that right now? It proves his point of you always being so thoughtful, even when he didn't deserve it. 

“Stella was never anything serious, nothing like us. I promise just cancel, we can talk everything out. I just need you here, with me.” His grip on your hand tightens, not wanting you to pull away. Almost as if the tighter he holds onto you the less likely you will leave. 

And after a minute of thinking all you do is nod. It’s enough of an answer for Steve as he elopes you in a hug, your arms immediately follow suit as they wrap around his neck. You can feel the leftover water from the flowers on your back and it makes you shutter. 

“You got me flowers?” You ask, letting go of the hug to get a good look at them. 

“Yeah, I wanted to say I'm sorry, for y’know, being a ass.” 

You look even prettier with his flowers in hand, it somehow matches your dress perfectly. As if you two were the ones that had a date and planned it all out. And maybe you should, you did get all dressed up. But for right now that seems quite far away. 

“I can't believe I’m canceling.” The laugh that comes out sounds genuine like the situation you're in was only possible in your dreams. 

“I can cancel for you if you want.” His hands on your hips feel so soothing and relaxing in this moment, like he was the perfect thing to ground you. 

“Yeah? You’re gonna tell Dean how I need to cancel because a much cuter boy came to my door with flowers?” Your arms revert to their spot around his neck, flowers in hand and all. 

“I mean it is the truth isn't it?” You throw your head back as you laugh, Steve pulls you closer and when you are face to face with him again your noses almost touch. 

“I’d hate to lie.” The smile you show is paired with a shrug. 

“Well, let's get to it honey.” Steve says letting you go, squeezing your hips lightly before letting you turn to go inside. 

Let’s just say Dean didn't really appreciate Steves message. 

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

Adorable!

You spot it from across the room. You've been watching him on and off all night. Not in a creepy way— At least, you hope not. Just in a way that's...careful. Curious. Quiet. Like you always are with Bob. Because if you let yourself feel it too hard — the pull, the fondness, the way he talks with his hands when he's excited — you might never stop.

I wouldn't stop either 🤭

Because you've had a thing for Bob Floyd since the first day you saw him fiddling with the collar of his flight suit, too quiet for the room but, damn, if he didn't hold his own in the air. Because he always remembers how you like your coffee. Because he asked how your dog was doing after his surgery, even two weeks later. Because he makes you feel seen.

To be loved is to be known 👀

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

Of course Hangman says stuff like that lol

The drive to his is short but pleasant. Well, if it wasn't for the scent of beer slowly sinking into his shirt and your car seat. The windows are rolled down and you can feel the wind on your face. Neither of you talk but it's a nice silence, like the two of you are just content in each other's company. You like it that way. Like you don't have to fill the silence to be comfortable; you can just co-exist.

Being able to be comfortably silent with someone is something special!

You like the relationship you have with Bob; it's easy and natural. You just feel...at home with him, like you don't have to pretend to be social or talkative. But there's always that warmth that buzzes just below the surface when he catches your eye or when he smiles. Or when he laughs. Or when he fiddles with his glasses. Or when he does literally anything.

Mood 🤭😍

"C'mon, let's get you inside, mister." He leans against you as you walk up to his house. He's so warm and he smells good, despite the spilt beer. He's wearing that aftershave his mom got him for Christmas again. It's citrusy and sweet but still masculine and fresh. He smells amazing.

Bob smells amazing is canon to me

"Upstairs, first door on the left." He points vaguely towards the stairs before continuing to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off and pulling off his undershirt. He's always so conservative with his clothes; never wearing anything too revealing. Hell, even at the beach, he wears a shirt when the rest of the squad is more than happy to run around half-naked. You look back from the stairs to find him shirtless and it's almost impossible to look away.

What the change for him 👀

God, he's gorgeous, almost to the point where it's at odds with his sweet, boyish smile. Strong shoulders, perfect biceps, broad chest, narrow hips; he could be carved out of granite and you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference— You shake the thought from your head before it can take root.

Valid lol

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

Not sure if that would only make my fingers tingle 🤭

You stand by the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking over his bedroom. There are certificates lining the walls and pictures of him and his parents at birthdays and holidays. It makes your chest feel tight. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer, rifling through to pick out a pair of loose sweatpants. As he pulls out a pair, the towel comes undone from around his waist and pools on the floor. Your eyes go wide and you jerk your head away but not before getting a perfect view of his round, peachy ass. This is cruel and unusual punishment but you're too weak to complain.

His perfect, biteable ass 😍

Once he's pulled on the sweatpants and slid into bed, his hair still damp against the pillow, he takes off his glasses, folds them up and places them on the nightstand before looking at you as you linger in the doorway, looking awkward and out-of-place. "C'mon." He mumbles sleepily. "It's late and you're tired too." He weakly pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed; a silent invitation. One you want to jump at. But you can't.

I wanna grab her by the shoulders and shake her while yelling: do it!!

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

The cutest 🥹🥰

You eat in relative silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of your coffee cups and between forkfuls of bacon and eggs. The morning light filtering through the window casts a warm glow over his features. He looks peaceful — content, even — sitting across from you, like this is something you do on the regular. You wish it was regular. You want these quiet mornings with him; sharing coffee in comforting silence, surrounded by the scent of fried eggs, the silence only broken by the soft chirping of birds outside.

Truly a dream

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean." "I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

He truly deserves it!

"You think so?" He asks and you nod. There's a pause before he clears his throat. "Would you— Can I— Can I tell you something?" You nod again, lifting your gaze to meet his as he mutters something under his breath. "Okay..." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think you're amazing. And not just because of how you were on the mission or taking care of me last night or making breakfast..." He sets his coffee cup down, hands tapping restlessly on the side of the table. "I just think you're amazing. Just...as a person." You just stare at him for a moment before heat creeps along your cheeks and you smile widely. "I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

Ahhh finally!!

"So... Hypothetically..." He starts, not daring to look up at you as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt. "If a guy hypothetically really liked you — like really, really liked you — what would he need to do?" You turn around to lean against the table, looking pensive.

I likee where this is going 👀

"I mean..." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If he wanted to be with you, like, properly. Not just friends or whatever... What would he need to do to make you notice him? To make you...want him?" He asks, voice wavering slightly. There's a flutter in your chest as you stiffen slightly. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Don't fumble this— "Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly. "He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Awwww rats so cute and perfect for them 🥰

The second you kiss him, he's done. Finished. Over. His heart is completely yours and he never wants it back. Your lips are soft and warm, just like your smile, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You take it; slowly inching your tongue into his mouth and tasting the bitterness of the coffee, moaning softly. God. You can't make that sound. His brain short-circuits. That one small, needy sound from you against his mouth has blood rushing south and he stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

That kiss truly sounds life-changing 🥰

"Shh..." He whispers against your mouth, warm hands roaming your body, touching you like he's dreamed of doing a million times. He pulls back just long enough to take off his glasses and set them aside. Then he's kissing you again, deeper this time. It takes you by surprise. You never thought he could be this...passionate. You always figured, if you ever got this far, you'd be coaxing it out of him, bit by bit, encouraging him with little kisses and your fingers in his hair.

I would never let go again 🤭

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds. "When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs. "You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath. "Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

"Wh-What...?" You just stare at him owlishly because, God, if that isn't the biggest cock you've ever seen in your life. Thick, throbbing, leaking... And you thought his body was slightly at odds with the personality of sweet, shy, wallflower Bob Floyd but this? This takes the cake. "You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

Maybe not a casual lunch topic 😅

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm. "Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard. "You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees. "God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

🤤🤤🤤

"I'm...getting real close." He warns you, his voice strained with effort. "If you don't want me to...finish in your mouth, you should probably stop now." Still, his hips are flexing, desperately trying to fuck your hand. You take a moment to decide before flicking your tongue over the head and his hands fly to curl around the seat of his chair, nails digging into the wood. "God...! I mean it... I'm...really close..." He gives you one last warning.

Urgh obsessed with him warning multiple times

When he opens his eyes, he sees your face pressed against his inner thigh as you gently squeeze the base of his cock, gazing up at him adoringly. He runs a shaky hand through your hair, still trying to blink away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. "That was... Holy shit... I..." You smile and press a kiss to his hipbone, nuzzling his thigh, as he tries to find words in the jumbled mess of his orgasm-addled brain. "You... Bedroom... Yes, bedroom." He manages breathily and you nod, getting up from the floor and letting him tug on his sweatpants again before you eagerly pull him upstairs.

Yes bedroom 🙂‍↕

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..." "I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly. "I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

The cutest man alive

Large hands find your thighs, lifting them until your toes touch the headboard, essentially folding you in half and leaving you completely exposed to him. "God, you're so perfect..." He whispers under his breath, holding you in place as he lines himself up, his cock sliding deliciously against your aching, swollen pussy. "Look at me. Look at me." He urges and you lay your head back against the pillows as he slowly pushes in. He feels absolutely massive but it's not painful; just this pleasant, warm ache that seeps through your body as you stretch around him. You grab onto his biceps for support as his fingers wrap around your ankles, holding your legs up. You're so tight around him, it's almost unbearable. He can feel every swell and curve of your inner walls squeezing around him. Your brows knit as he sinks in deeper, your fingers squeezing his arms.

🥵🥵🥵

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs. "Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes. "I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

Great conversation 😌🤭

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

One of the best headcanons for Bob

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

I have a feeling that this secretly spurs him on 👀🤭

"I know... I'll pull out, promise..." But, even as he says it, he feels the heat mounting and he desperately wants to finish inside you. His hips keep rolling against yours in a deep, steady rhythm. You drag your nails across his shoulder blades, your body clenching down around him, throbbing around him rhythmically because, deep down, you'd love if he could cum inside you, leave his mark. But you can't take that risk.

And he doesn't break a promise more importantly!

He gives you a few more slow deep thrusts before pulling back to look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, face flushed. "Gonna pull out now, okay?" He pants out and you nod as he pulls out just in time, sandwiching his cock into the crook of your thigh and grinding against it until he cums, decorating your body with slick, white ribbons that ooze across your skin. You run your fingers through his hair as his orgasm hits, his arms clenching around you, hanging onto you for dear life.

Why is it so hot that he checks in before he pulls out? 1😮‍💨

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his. "Mhm. You?" "Perfect."

Truly perfection 🥰

"It wasn't just a one-time thing for me." He says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't do this kind of thing lightly, y'know? I wanted you and I still want you. But, if you're not on the same page, that okay too. We can still just be...friends, if you want." God, he's too sweet for his own good sometimes.

He truly is the sweetest 😍

"And you don't regret it?" "God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you."

🥰🥰🥰

"I mean, we could do that." He says slowly. "But, if I'm being completely honest, I don't want it to be just that? Friends with benefits implies casual and what we just did? It didn't feel casual to me." You cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. "I like you. A lot." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. "But if that scares you off, I understand." Without a word, you lean forward, licking your way into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. When you break apart, you're both breathless.

I think the answer is clear after that kiss 🤭

"That sounds perfect. But first..." You roll your hips against his, a gentle reminder that he's been inside you for the better half of ten minutes. "Can we do that again?" He wets his lips and rolls you back over onto your back, leaning down to press kisses to your neck.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen. "Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him. "According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!" "In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

The "please say yes" 🥹🥰

Absolutely 100% yes🙂‍↕

I absolutely loved this! If you ever feel up to it, I would love to read more of these two 🤗

> ENTRY: ITS_ALWAYS_THE_QUIET_ONES

RATING: explicit

CATEGORY: top gun: maverick (2022)

PAIRING: bob floyd x afab!reader (mc's call sign is 'pez'.)

EST. READING TIME: 37m 0s

INDEX TAGS: (not actually) unrequited love, cock-warming, friends to lovers, love confessions, masturbation, not beta read, oral sex, pov second person, size difference, size kink, vaginal sex

SUMMARY: after the mission with mav, you find bob drunk at the resulting party at the hard deck. as a designated driver, you take it upon yourself to get him home and into bed safely but staying composed proves harder than expected

ACCESS MATERIAL ON AO3 OR BELOW

The Hard Deck is louder than it's been in weeks. Rooster and Hangman are fighting over the jukebox. Payback's halfway into a dramatic retelling of the mission to a captivated circle of admirers, punctuated with exaggerated hand gestures and Maverick's quiet chuckling. Fanboy's mixing questionable liquors together like he's auditioning for a bartending job no one asked for. It's celebration in full swing. The mission's done. Everyone's alive. Everyone made it home.

And Bob — quiet, dependable, sweet, baby-faced Bob Floyd — is drunk.

He doesn't look it at first. But you can see it in the tilt of his shoulders, the soft pink in his cheeks, the vague squint he gives the bottles behind the counter like he's trying to read through a fog.

You spot it from across the room. You've been watching him on and off all night. Not in a creepy way— At least, you hope not. Just in a way that's...careful. Curious. Quiet. Like you always are with Bob. Because if you let yourself feel it too hard — the pull, the fondness, the way he talks with his hands when he's excited — you might never stop.

You've had a drink; just the one. You're a designated driver tonight. That and watching Bob lose his balance trying to sit on a barstool has very effectively sobered you up. You finish your water, nod to Phoenix and move across the bar like the world isn't tilting just a little because he's looking at you now.

Why?

Because you've had a thing for Bob Floyd since the first day you saw him fiddling with the collar of his flight suit, too quiet for the room but, damn, if he didn't hold his own in the air. Because he always remembers how you like your coffee. Because he asked how your dog was doing after his surgery, even two weeks later. Because he makes you feel seen.

"Hey." You say gently, sliding into the space next to him. "You good?" He blinks at you. Then his face lights up; not like a flash but a slow dawn that warms everything it touches.

"Pez." He says, soft and too fond for how casual he tries to sound. "You're here." You smile.

"Been here the whole time, Bob." He looks at his drink like it's betrayed him.

"Oh. Yeah. Right."

You glance him over. His collar is a little crooked and his glasses are ever-so-slightly askew. His usually neat hair is slightly mussed and there's a half-moon mark on his palm where he's been gripping his glass too hard. He's not swaying. But he's definitely drifting. You rest a hand lightly on the edge of the bar.

"How many have you had?" He frowns.

"Three. No— Wait. Hangman said the one he gave me didn't count 'cause it was pink."

"That doesn't sound right." Bob leans closer and squints at you.

"You smell like mint."

"That'd be the gum I've been chewing instead of drinking." You reply, amused. "Come on. Let's get you out of here." He straightens. Sort of.

"I'm fine."

"You're adorable." You correct. "But also definitely tipsy and I'd rather you didn't fall asleep like last time."

"I didn't fall asleep, I—"

"You nodded off against the jukebox for twenty-three minutes." He considers this.

"It was playing Fleetwood Mac." You arch a brow.

"That's your excuse?" He almost looks offended.

"I like Fleetwood Mac." He mumbles. You can't help it; you laugh. And, across the bar, the other Dagger Squad pilots exhale in collective relief like finally. It goes unnoticed by you.

You help Bob off his stool, a drink forgotten in his hand, and he goes to steady himself on the edge of the bar but misjudges the distance. In trying to recover, the remnants of his last beer spill all over his uniform shirt, making it cling to him like a second skin.

"Woah!" You grab onto his shoulders. "You okay?" He stumbles slightly as he tries to catch himself, hands reflexively reaching out to hold onto your arms for support. His cheeks turn a bright shade of pink as he feels the cold beer seeping into his shirt, looking down at the mess with embarrassment.

"Sorry..." He murmurs and you haul him upright.

"Don't apologise." You glance across to see Phoenix chuckling and shaking her head. "I think I need to take you home though." He laughs nervously, pushes his hair out of his eyes and tries to straighten his glasses.

"Yeah... Yeah, that might be a good idea." He leans against you for support as you start helping him to the door. You yell over your shoulder that you're taking him home, wishing the rest of them a good night. Some of the Dagger Squad murmur something you don't quite hear as you reach the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the cool sea breeze.

He takes a deep breath, trying to clear his head, as you help him out to the parking lot. You open the passenger-side door for him and he near-collapses onto the car seat. "Thanks for doing this." He says softly, looking up at you with those sweet, grateful eyes. You watch him fumble with his hands as he tries to buckle himself in.

"Stop being so damn polite." You smile, shutting the door and rounding the hood to get in the driver's seat.

The drive to his is short but pleasant. Well, if it wasn't for the scent of beer slowly sinking into his shirt and your car seat. The windows are rolled down and you can feel the wind on your face. Neither of you talk but it's a nice silence, like the two of you are just content in each other's company. You like it that way. Like you don't have to fill the silence to be comfortable; you can just co-exist.

You like the relationship you have with Bob; it's easy and natural. You just feel...at home with him, like you don't have to pretend to be social or talkative. But there's always that warmth that buzzes just below the surface when he catches your eye or when he smiles. Or when he laughs. Or when he fiddles with his glasses. Or when he does literally anything.

Safe to say, you like him a whole lot; pretty much since you were brought on board for the Dagger Squad.

But you don't want to say anything because what if it makes things weird between you? What if he's not into it and everything just gets awkward? What if you accidentally gush about how gorgeous he looks in his uniform and he thinks you're an absolute creep for admiring the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders and the way his pants hug his ass perfectly? He probably already knows and just pretends not to for exactly the same reasons. He probably knows and has also made up his mind that you're not really the one for him. He would've said something by now if he was into you but he hasn't so he probably isn't. It's not something you like thinking about.

Finally, you pull up to his house and park outside. You get out, open his door and stand there, just in case he needs the support again.

"I'm fine. I'm good." He starts to protest before immediately losing his balance and grabbing onto your arm. "Actually..." Rolling your eyes, you hang onto him and close the door.

"C'mon, let's get you inside, mister." He leans against you as you walk up to his house. He's so warm and he smells good, despite the spilt beer. He's wearing that aftershave his mom got him for Christmas again. It's citrusy and sweet but still masculine and fresh. He smells amazing.

When you haul him up the short flight of stairs and reach the front door, he digs his hand into his pocket and struggles to get his keys out for a moment. He must try to insert the key into the lock a good three times, each time stabbing the door just shy of the lock.

"Can't seem to..." He mumbles and you gently place your hand over his, guiding the key into the lock with a satisfying click, turning it and opening the door.

"There we go." You smile warmly and he stares at you for a moment, swallowing hard, before grabbing onto the door frame and stepping inside.

Once inside, you turn the light on and close the door behind you. He kicks off his shoes and pats down his chest. His uniform shirt is still clinging to him, now sticky from the spilt beer. His nose crinkles as you unlace your shoes and place them on the rack.

"Gotta shower..." He slurs softly. By the time you stand up to look at him, he's already halfway done unbuttoning his shirt. Your eyes flick down over the angles of his collarbone and, before you can look further, you avert your eyes.

"Okay, which way's the bathroom?" You ask a little too quickly.

"Upstairs, first door on the left." He points vaguely towards the stairs before continuing to unbutton his shirt, shrugging it off and pulling off his undershirt. He's always so conservative with his clothes; never wearing anything too revealing. Hell, even at the beach, he wears a shirt when the rest of the squad is more than happy to run around half-naked. You look back from the stairs to find him shirtless and it's almost impossible to look away.

God, he's gorgeous, almost to the point where it's at odds with his sweet, boyish smile. Strong shoulders, perfect biceps, broad chest, narrow hips; he could be carved out of granite and you wouldn't even be able to tell the difference— You shake the thought from your head before it can take root.

He tosses his shirt on the floor and yawns. "You don't have to wait for me or anything." He says and you bring yourself back to the present, your eyes flicking back up to his face. You just pray, in his inebriated state, that he didn't just catch you eyeballing his bare chest.

"No, I don't need to go to the bathroom, Bob. I'm taking you up because I don't trust you on the stairs." You tell him and he protests weakly but you help him up anyway.

When you reach the bathroom, he leans against the sink for support and you have to look away as you notice the veins in his arms and hands become more pronounced from the pressure. Maybe that one drink you had was a little stronger than you thought. God, what would those fingers feel like in your mouth? Or in your— "You gonna be okay in the shower?" You ask him and he runs a hand through his hair.

"Mhm. I'm not that drunk." He assures you. "You can go watch TV or something." He reaches down to unbuckle his belt and you pin your gaze to the floor.

"I-I'll stand outside the door just in case, alright?" You manage and he gives you that wonderful, lopsided smile that makes the tips of your fingers tingle.

"Alright." He reaches down for his belt and you almost slam the door shut, stepping back to lean against the opposite wall. You let out a slow exhale. You're heart's going a mile a minute.

Distraction. You need a distraction; something — anything — to get your mind off what it would feel like to have your lips on his or your tongue on his neck or your hands on his chest... Heat pools in the pit of your stomach; a desperate, deep-seated ache. You pull out your phone and start flicking through your socials, trying to find something else to focus on but it's no use.

You hear the shower hiss to life and you can't help but think about what he'd look like if you poked your head in for just a moment; shiny from the water, dripping with soap suds and wreathed in steam. Goddamn... But you couldn't breach his privacy, betray his trust, like that, especially while he's drunk and vulnerable. Even thinking about it feels like a betrayal but you can't get the thought out of your head and the aching between your legs only grows stronger.

Maybe you should've let someone else bring him home.

Eventually, the shower turns off and the bathroom door opens, letting out a cloud of steam as Bob steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist as he uses another to dry his hair. His skin gleams in the low light of the hallway, flushed pink from the hot water, damp hair falling in front of his face. He's being unknowingly, impossibly cruel.

"Better?" You manage, somewhat breathless.

"Yeah. So much better." Thankfully, he doesn't seem capable of noticing your — very obvious — attraction to him right now. He positions his glasses back on the bridge of his nose as you push off the wall and onto your feet, your own knees slightly weak.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

"You don't have to baby me, Pez. I'm sobering up now." He responds softly but lets you guide him anyway, his hand dwarfing your own. He's still a little unsteady on his feet as you reach his bedroom.

You stand by the door, leaning against the doorframe, looking over his bedroom. There are certificates lining the walls and pictures of him and his parents at birthdays and holidays. It makes your chest feel tight. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open a drawer, rifling through to pick out a pair of loose sweatpants. As he pulls out a pair, the towel comes undone from around his waist and pools on the floor. Your eyes go wide and you jerk your head away but not before getting a perfect view of his round, peachy ass. This is cruel and unusual punishment but you're too weak to complain.

Once he's pulled on the sweatpants and slid into bed, his hair still damp against the pillow, he takes off his glasses, folds them up and places them on the nightstand before looking at you as you linger in the doorway, looking awkward and out-of-place. "C'mon." He mumbles sleepily. "It's late and you're tired too." He weakly pulls back the covers on the other side of the bed; a silent invitation. One you want to jump at. But you can't.

He's drunk and not thinking straight and you don't trust yourself. Not that you'd touch him; never that. But you're devastatingly wet and you already know you need to take care of that and you can't do it next to him. To take your mind off that thought, you grab a glass and fill it with water from the bathroom sink before placing it on the nightstand.

"I'll sleep downstairs. Just yell if you need anything, okay?" You tell him and he nods, a flicker of disappointment flashing across his face.

"Okay... Thanks for taking care of me." A smile curves at your lips as you brush a couple of damp locks out of his face. It brings you some modicum of relief, just that little bit of tender skin-to-skin contact.

"No problem." You sigh longingly, almost ruefully. "Night, Bob." You turn on your heel to leave the room and he catches your wrist with a hand, making you stop in your tracks.

"Hey, could you stay?" He asks, voice small. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder. "Just until I fall asleep?" Your heart melts in your chest as you turn back toward him.

"Sure." You sit on the edge of the bed, holding his hand and brushing your thumb over his knuckles. He looks up at you, eyes lidded with exhaustion. His fingers tighten around yours slightly and you feel your pulse racing.

Finally, his fingers loosen on yours as his eyes drop shut. You let out a soft sigh, releasing his hand and rising from the bed. You watch him for a moment, considering, before leaning down to brush a kiss to his forehead. "Sleep tight, Bobby."

You turn off all the lights and head back downstairs. You set up a little bed for yourself on the couch and slip out of your uniform, laying back against the couch cushions in your t-shirt and underwear.

After a moment, you find your hand drifting down between your thighs, pressing your fingertips against the gusset of your panties. It's absolutely sodden. You sigh in defeat, sling one leg over the back of the sofa and push the gusset of your panties to one side, sliding your fingers inside yourself with a sigh, pressing your thumb to the hood of your clit and working in slow circles. With your free hand, you grab a pillow and press it over your mouth to muffle the soft moans that fall from your lips despite knowing that Bob is probably dead to the world right now.

You finish yourself off quickly; imagining it's his fingers buried inside you, his tongue drawing slow, languid circles around your clit. The only sound is the buzzing of the fridge in the kitchen and the soft whines you try to drown out behind the pillow pressed against your face.

As soon as you're done, you pull your underwear back on properly and collapse onto your side, huddling into the blankets, cheeks flaming with heat. You're a mess for him but he can't know that, even if the rest of the Dagger Squad does.

Finally, the sun rises and you pack up the blankets and pillows you'd used before pulling on your pants from the day before. You yawn and stretch before heading into the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot. Your stomach rumbles. After all, you haven't eaten since before the party last night.

Looking up, you check the clock above the fridge. About 10 am. Not too bad.

While rummaging around for the creamer, you stumble across a carton of eggs and a packet of bacon about to go out of date. Pulling them out, you grab a skillet from a nearby rack and set out to make some breakfast.

Upstairs, Bob rubs the sleep from his eyes and replaces his glasses, the glass of water from the night before thoroughly drained throughout the night. He pulls back the covers, swings his legs over the side and pulls on a t-shirt before heading to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he pads down the stairs, drawn toward the scent of bacon and eggs wafting from the kitchen.

You hum to yourself as you flip the bacon over, the eggs growing crispy around the edges but the centre staying soft and jammy. You notice Bob leaning against the doorframe out of the corner of your eye, staying quiet as he watches you work. It's domestic, comforting and you find yourself wishing you could do this for him every morning. Finally, you turn to face him and he smiles warmly. Thankfully, he doesn't seem hungover.

"Morning." He says softly, voice a little lower and scratchier from sleep.

"Morning. How'd you sleep?"

"Like a brick." He responds with a small smile, pushing away from the doorframe and walking further into the small kitchen. His voice drops to a more serious tone "Thanks for taking care of me last night. And for making breakfast." He pauses by the counter, looking at you appreciatively. "You didn't have to do all this."

"I know." You reply simply. He pauses before he quickly looks away, grabbing some plates and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers.

"Need any help?" He asks gruffly, setting the plates next to the stove.

"No, I'm nearly finished here." You turn off the heat and plate up the bacon and eggs before setting the empty skillet on the cool side of the stove. "Order up."

You carry the plates over to the small table in the corner of the kitchen. Bob digs in eagerly, making appreciative noises between bites. The food is simple but perfect; exactly what he needs after shifting a good amount of alcohol the night prior. You set a couple of mugs down on the table and pour the coffee before sitting down to tuck into your own breakfast, humming in satisfaction.

You eat in relative silence, stealing glances at each other over the rims of your coffee cups and between forkfuls of bacon and eggs. The morning light filtering through the window casts a warm glow over his features. He looks peaceful — content, even — sitting across from you, like this is something you do on the regular. You wish it was regular. You want these quiet mornings with him; sharing coffee in comforting silence, surrounded by the scent of fried eggs, the silence only broken by the soft chirping of birds outside.

"Thanks." He says again. "For everything."

"Really, it's fine." You laugh softly, clearing your plate and setting it to one side with your cutlery. He does the same, leaning back in his chair and taking a long sip of coffee.

"Y'know, you're really good at this." He murmurs, the words half-muffled by his coffee cup. "Taking care of people, I mean."

"I try my best. Especially when I know it's someone who deserves it." You reply easily as if it's just common knowledge. Perhaps you said too much but it's early and the atmosphere is cloying; peaceful and almost romantic as it is. He stares at you for a moment before taking another sip of his coffee and sliding his plate under yours, putting his cutlery on top. "Bobby, you're a really good guy." You say, staring down into your coffee.

"You think so?" He asks and you nod. There's a pause before he clears his throat. "Would you— Can I— Can I tell you something?" You nod again, lifting your gaze to meet his as he mutters something under his breath. "Okay..." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think you're amazing. And not just because of how you were on the mission or taking care of me last night or making breakfast..." He sets his coffee cup down, hands tapping restlessly on the side of the table. "I just think you're amazing. Just...as a person." You just stare at him for a moment before heat creeps along your cheeks and you smile widely.

"I think you're amazing too." He relaxes slightly, scrubbing a hand along his face, as you get up to take the dishes to the sink. When you cross the kitchen again, he's worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

"So... Hypothetically..." He starts, not daring to look up at you as he picks at a loose thread on his t-shirt. "If a guy hypothetically really liked you — like really, really liked you — what would he need to do?" You turn around to lean against the table, looking pensive.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. "If he wanted to be with you, like, properly. Not just friends or whatever... What would he need to do to make you notice him? To make you...want him?" He asks, voice wavering slightly. There's a flutter in your chest as you stiffen slightly. Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Don't fumble this—

"Well, he'd have to be smart and kind and compassionate and have a good sense of humour." You press your lips into a thin line as you think. "He'd have to be...a little awkward and be kind of bad at dancing but great at literally everything else." You pause and he moves forward slightly.

"And...what else?" He asks and you turn your head to look at him. He looks so open and vulnerable but not in the way he was last night. This is open and honest and completely aware. Suddenly, it dawns on you; he wants this just as much as you do.

"He'd have to be a WSO, he'd have to wear the dorkiest glasses I've ever seen in my life and...he'd have to be called Bob Floyd." His breath catches. "And if he wanted me to notice him, to want him, he'd just have to be himself and I'd be all his." He just stares at you owlishly as if he's finally come to the same realisation that you did just a few seconds before. You reach out to brush a couple of stray hairs out of his face. When he doesn't pull away you turn to face him fully before leaning down to press your lips to his in a gentle kiss.

The second you kiss him, he's done. Finished. Over. His heart is completely yours and he never wants it back. Your lips are soft and warm, just like your smile, and he parts his lips slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You take it; slowly inching your tongue into his mouth and tasting the bitterness of the coffee, moaning softly. God. You can't make that sound. His brain short-circuits. That one small, needy sound from you against his mouth has blood rushing south and he stands up, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer.

He lifts you onto the dining table and you loop your arms around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "Bobby..."

"Shh..." He whispers against your mouth, warm hands roaming your body, touching you like he's dreamed of doing a million times. He pulls back just long enough to take off his glasses and set them aside. Then he's kissing you again, deeper this time. It takes you by surprise. You never thought he could be this...passionate. You always figured, if you ever got this far, you'd be coaxing it out of him, bit by bit, encouraging him with little kisses and your fingers in his hair.

Instead, his hands are firm on your waist, tugging up your shirt just a little to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, as he kisses you like it's all he's ever wanted to do. It steals the breath from your lungs and it has confessions falling from your lips between deep, hungry kisses.

"You don't know...what last night...did to me..." You murmur breathlessly against his mouth and he groans, hands sliding under your shirt.

"Tell me." He's pushing your shirt up further and further, exposing more and more of your body to the golden sunlight gliding in through the open blinds.

"When you took off your shirt and...when you cam out of the shower and... And I saw so much of you... And I wanted all of it..." You manage. He's panting hard and you swear you can hear his heart hammering against his ribs.

"You wanted me?" He asks and you nod, running your hand down the centre of his chest, feeling the quick rise and fall of his breath.

"Mhmm... Once you fell asleep I had to... Had to come downstairs and...take care of myself..." You admit, heat rushing up your neck to spread across your cheeks. He stops for a moment before tugging your shirt off completely and sliding a hand into your hair, kissing you fiercely. You mirror the movement, clinging to him, as you kiss him back with a familiar hunger that roots itself between your legs.

He's losing his mind, control slipping. He steps between your legs, pressing closer, and you can feel him through his sweatpants. He feels perfect; pressing against your thigh desperately. "Bobby..." You move to whisper in his ear. "I need my mouth on you."

"Jesus." It comes out as a soft hiss. "You want to..."

"Please."

You— You don't have to..." He breathes but he's already reaching for the tie of his sweatpants. He wants you to. He wants you to want to.

You push him back gently so you can push off the table, guiding him back into his chair.

"I know I don't have to." You kneel on the worn linoleum between his feet, rubbing your hands along his thighs. He's straining desperately against the front of his sweatpants. "I want to." You tug at the tie of his sweatpants before curling your fingers into the waistband and tugging them down. He lifts his hips and you pull them down and off but, when you sit back to look at him—

Holy Mother of God.

"Wh-What...?" You just stare at him owlishly because, God, if that isn't the biggest cock you've ever seen in your life. Thick, throbbing, leaking... And you thought his body was slightly at odds with the personality of sweet, shy, wallflower Bob Floyd but this? This takes the cake.

"You never told me you had a..." You trail off, reaching up, struggling to wrap your fingers around the girth of the thing. It twitches, precum beading at the slit at even the slightest touch and rolling down the shaft.

"A what?" He asks hoarsely. He looks self-conscious but he has no reason to be. Your mouth waters as you feel him pulsing against your palm.

"Just...big..." Words fail you. His cheeks heat up and he swallows hard.

"You like it?" He asks tentatively and you nod slowly before rising higher on your knees.

"God, yes." No more words. You need to taste him.

You run the flat of your tongue from root to tip and a sharp intake of breath stutters in his throat.

"Ohh, my God..." His hands instinctively grab onto your hair but he doesn't pull, just resting there, as you lick along the underside of his shaft. When you reach the top, you swirl your tongue languidly around the head before taking it into your mouth. "Sh-Shit..." His head falls back against the chair with a soft thud.

He can't believe this is happening. He's jerked off a hundred times to the thought of you doing this but the reality is so much better; you, knelt between his legs, in his kitchen, sucking him off like you were born to do it.

You take more of him into your mouth, tentatively testing how much you can take. He groans lowly at the sensation of your tongue sliding along the underside, watching you with lidded eyes as his thick cock disappears between your lips. You press your head down until you feel the tip touch the back of your throat and you gag slightly before pulling away. You're panting, lips wet with saliva, and just watching you sends a shiver down his spine, toes curling against the lino. "Do that again... Please..." It's almost a beg and you can't deny him or yourself.

You lean back in, sliding down until it hits the back of your throat. Now you know how far you can take him, you cover the rest of his shaft with your hand, easing the slide with more spit as you work him over. His fingers tighten slightly in your hair, only to keep him tethered to the moment. He can feel every inch being worshipped by your greedy mouth and talented hands and his hips start to thrust upward involuntarily. "God, just like that..."

You fall into a steady rhythm, peering up at him through your lashes, and you feel another spurt of pre hit your tongue as he meets your gaze, completely mesmerised. It's almost embarrassingly clear how much you love having him in your mouth; his cock hot and thick and pulsing on your tongue. The wet sounds of your mouth and the sight of his cock sliding between your lips are driving him wild and he can feel that familiar feeling deep in his core. He gives your hair a gentle tug. "Hey..." You pull away, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Mhm?"

"I'm...getting real close." He warns you, his voice strained with effort. "If you don't want me to...finish in your mouth, you should probably stop now." Still, his hips are flexing, desperately trying to fuck your hand. You take a moment to decide before flicking your tongue over the head and his hands fly to curl around the seat of his chair, nails digging into the wood. "God...! I mean it... I'm...really close..." He gives you one last warning.

"Do it." You tell him, dragging your tongue along the cleft at the underside of the head, still stroking along his shaft, your fingers slick and shining with a mix of precum and saliva.

That's all it takes.

With a deep groan that rumbles from deep in his diaphragm, he cums hard, his hips jerking uncontrollably as his eyes roll. You lean back to watch with satisfaction as thick shots of white spurt from his cock, making your hand slicker as you stroke him through his climax. "That's it, Bobby." You encourage him softly as he unloads onto your hands and his stomach. He's panting heavily, his body shaking, as the last few shots of cum ooze down his shaft. Your gentle praise and the feeling of your spit-slick hand only intensify the pleasure.

When he opens his eyes, he sees your face pressed against his inner thigh as you gently squeeze the base of his cock, gazing up at him adoringly. He runs a shaky hand through your hair, still trying to blink away the white spots dancing in front of his eyes. "That was... Holy shit... I..." You smile and press a kiss to his hipbone, nuzzling his thigh, as he tries to find words in the jumbled mess of his orgasm-addled brain. "You... Bedroom... Yes, bedroom." He manages breathily and you nod, getting up from the floor and letting him tug on his sweatpants again before you eagerly pull him upstairs.

On the way up to his bedroom, you pull off your jeans and underwear before collapsing onto his bed with an excited giggle. Bob quickly joins you; pulling off his shirt and stained sweatpants, his body hovering over yours. You bite your lip, running your hands appreciatively over his body as you sit up slightly to kiss him, finding warm, firm muscle under your palms. He deepens the kiss, parting your lips with his tongue and exploring your mouth hungrily. But, before he can get too lost in the moment, he pulls back, heavy breaths making his chest heave.

"Wait—"

"Mhm...?" He looks sheepish.

"I don't do this often so I— I-I don't really have condoms?" Your heart melts. "Do you still want me to..."

"I still want you to." You glance down to find him already hard again, running a fingertip down his abdomen and watching his cock throb eagerly. "I trust you to pull out." You tell him and he nods quickly.

"I'll pull out." He tells you, kissing you again before leaning back on his toes. "I promise, I'll pull out."

Large hands find your thighs, lifting them until your toes touch the headboard, essentially folding you in half and leaving you completely exposed to him. "God, you're so perfect..." He whispers under his breath, holding you in place as he lines himself up, his cock sliding deliciously against your aching, swollen pussy. "Look at me. Look at me." He urges and you lay your head back against the pillows as he slowly pushes in. He feels absolutely massive but it's not painful; just this pleasant, warm ache that seeps through your body as you stretch around him. You grab onto his biceps for support as his fingers wrap around your ankles, holding your legs up. You're so tight around him, it's almost unbearable. He can feel every swell and curve of your inner walls squeezing around him. Your brows knit as he sinks in deeper, your fingers squeezing his arms.

"B-Bobby!"

"God, it's so good..." His eyes drift shut as he tosses his head back, starting to move slowly, deliberately rocking his hips against yours. The position is just perfect; hitting all the right spots all at once with every deep, purposeful stroke.

Strong fingers dig into your ankles as he slowly starts to pick up the pace. "You like this?" He asks, sweat beading on his brow as he looks down at you. You open your mouth to speak but all that comes out is a breathless whine. "Fuck, you're so tight..." He huffs through his nose as he targets that sweet spot inside you over and over, drawing these adorable, breathy whimpers from you. Your back arches, hands moving to claw at his broad shoulders.

"Please... Feel good... Feels so fucking good..." You pant out and he nods, his hips snapping forward. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as he pounds into you, rutting against you desperately.

"I... I didn't know you'd be into..." He murmurs.

"Wh-What...?" "I didn't know you'd...like my... My dick so much..." He leans down, spreading your legs a little wider, as he kisses along your neck. His skin is warm and damp with sweat as he presses against you., his breath hot on your skin. You grin lopsidedly as tears of pleasure prick the corners of your eyes.

"I-I like them big..." You manage and that draws a low, near-animalistic sound from him as he drives into you with renewed vigour. The headboard bangs against the wall with each thrust.

"You like them big..." He repeats and you nod, whining as he hammers your sweet spot with pinpoint accuracy.

"Mmhmmm... I didn't...think you'd be so...big... O-Ohhh... It's so fucking good, Bobby..." You manage and he wraps your legs around his waist, coiling his arms under the small of your back, hugging you against him. His thrusts turn shallow but stay deep, your bodies pushed together from shoulder to hip. You hook your arms over his shoulders, nails raking red lines up his back.

Who would've thought that Bob Floyd — sweet, kind, nerdy, adorable Bobby Floyd — would fuck like an animal? You never expected it but, Christ, does it feel right.

You nuzzle his hair, breathing in the scent of him; yesterday's aftershave lingering on his skin, sweat breaking out all across his body. "Love having you like this..." You murmur in his ear and he nods.

"Mhmm... I love it too..." His thrusts grow slower but no less deep; each movement designed to draw out the pleasure, make it last. He stretches you out and fills you up perfectly, holding you through all of it, eagerly soaking up every moan, plea and whimper you give him. He's rubbing up against the deepest part of you now, the crown of his cock sliding perfectly against the swell of your cervix.

"B-Bobby... You can't...cum inside... You'll...knock me up..." You remind him and his arms tighten around you but he doesn't stop.

"I know... I'll pull out, promise..." But, even as he says it, he feels the heat mounting and he desperately wants to finish inside you. His hips keep rolling against yours in a deep, steady rhythm. You drag your nails across his shoulder blades, your body clenching down around him, throbbing around him rhythmically because, deep down, you'd love if he could cum inside you, leave his mark. But you can't take that risk.

He gives you a few more slow deep thrusts before pulling back to look at you. His hair is plastered to his forehead, face flushed. "Gonna pull out now, okay?" He pants out and you nod as he pulls out just in time, sandwiching his cock into the crook of your thigh and grinding against it until he cums, decorating your body with slick, white ribbons that ooze across your skin. You run your fingers through his hair as his orgasm hits, his arms clenching around you, hanging onto you for dear life.

Finally, his body goes slack. He's panting heavily, tilting his head up to claim your lips again in a soft, slow, lazy kiss. He rolls over onto his back, pulling you with him so you're lying on top of him. He's still semi-hard against your thigh but he's given you all he can for now so you sit up and sink back down onto him before curling up on top of him, enjoying the feeling of having his huge, softening cock nestled inside you. He lets out a low groan, gathering you up in his arms, fingers drawing idle patterns along the small of your back. "Gonna keep it in?" He asks softly and you look up at him.

"Is that okay?"

"More than okay." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Makes me feel close to you... Comfortable?" You nod and rub your nose against his.

"Mhm. You?"

"Perfect."

A soft silence settles over the room, almost jarring after the slamming and slapping and moaning from just a few moments ago. But you aren't complaining.

You card your fingers through his sweat-damp hair, pushing it away from his face.

"You wanna talk about what just happened?" You laugh softly before sobering. "And where we go from here?"

"Mhm." He hums thoughtfully. "You mean like the 'was this a one-time thing' talk? Or the 'do you regret it' talk?" His thumbs rub the small of your back soothingly.

"Both." He takes a breath and you feel his chest rise beneath you.

"It wasn't just a one-time thing for me." He says softly, his eyes searching yours. "I don't do this kind of thing lightly, y'know? I wanted you and I still want you. But, if you're not on the same page, that okay too. We can still just be...friends, if you want." God, he's too sweet for his own good sometimes.

"And you don't regret it?"

"God, no." He answers, arms tightening around you possessively. "Best sex of my life. No regrets here." He lifts a hand to play with your hair nervously. "Can I be honest?" You nod and he sighs heavily. "I think about you a lot. More than I should. Like you're in my head, under my skin. And I... I want to do this again. With you. Only you." He swallows hard, finally meeting your eyes again. "So where does that leave us?"

"Like friends with benefits or...?" You trail off and he makes a noncommittal sound.

"I mean, we could do that." He says slowly. "But, if I'm being completely honest, I don't want it to be just that? Friends with benefits implies casual and what we just did? It didn't feel casual to me." You cup his face and run your thumb along his cheekbone. "I like you. A lot." He turns his head to press a kiss to your palm. "But if that scares you off, I understand." Without a word, you lean forward, licking your way into his mouth, kissing him slow and lazy. When you break apart, you're both breathless.

"Honey, I've been wanting to ask you out for months. I just didn't know where to start." You admit and his eyes widen.

"Really?" A huge grin spreads across his face. "Why didn't you?" He laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips. You find yourself laughing with him.

"According to the rest of the squad, I've been dropping hints left, right and centre and not even subtle ones at that!"

"In my defence, I thought you were just being friendly." He replies and you laugh softly against his lips. "So... Can we date? Please say yes."

"I'd like that a lot."

"Thank God." His arms squeeze tight around you. "Should I take you out properly sometime? Coffee, dinner, all that stuff?" He traces your bottom lip with his thumb.

"It'd be nice, yeah." You reply and he gives you that sweet, beaming, boyish grin.

"Then it's a date. How about tomorrow night? We can grab some dinner and maybe catch a movie if you're up for it?" You nod and ruffle his hair lightly.

"That sounds perfect. But first..." You roll your hips against his, a gentle reminder that he's been inside you for the better half of ten minutes. "Can we do that again?" He wets his lips and rolls you back over onto your back, leaning down to press kisses to your neck.

"Mhm. As many times as you want."

Bob's call sign may be just 'Bob' but, in your head, it's 'Tripod'. Sweet, shy Bobby 'Tripod' Floyd.

TAGLIST: @ingoldthewizard @judeval @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @starwarskawaii

[airybcby]

જ⁀✦ one foot out the door (and the other on the court)

(tobio kageyama x fem! reader)

♡ a/n — i'm not the biggest kageyama girlie but this idea hit me like a truck

♡ word count — 1.3k

♡ content — kageyama tobio x fem! reader, set before (only for a bit) and after the timeskip, no real age mentioned (26 like once), emotional distance, established relationship, angst, uh yeah idk what else, spoilers ig? if you don't know abt the timeskip?, not proofread

♡ synopsis — You'd spent half of your twenties waiting on Tobio Kageyama to pick you. You just weren't sure how much longer you could hold on.

── .✦ i know why we had to say goodbye like the back of my hand

When you first started dating Tobio Kageyama, everyone told you to be prepared to always come second to volleyball.

You laughed at them back then. 

Because they didn’t know him.

Not like you did.

They didn’t see the way his ears turned pink when you complimented his tosses. 

They didn’t know how he used to triple-check the convenience store to find your favorite drink.

They didn’t hear the way he mumbled “good morning” like he was still getting used to having someone beside him.

Tobio was quiet, blunt, and completely unaware of how to be romantic—but he tried.

And in the beginning, that was enough.

You started dating him during your second year of high school. It was a slow, unsure sort of love—like stepping barefoot into the ocean, not knowing if the waves would pull you under or let you float.

It was easy at first. 

You waited after practice, he walked you home with his bag slung over his shoulder.

You stayed up late to help him study, even if most of the time he fell asleep mid-sentence. 

On your birthdays, he gave you hand-wrapped gifts that looked like they’d been stepped on, but you still kept every crooked ribbon.

You knew what volleyball meant to him.

He never had to say it out loud.

You loved him anyway.

After high school, he made the Olympic team. Of course he did.

You remembered the press release, the way the gym smelled like sweat and something burning when he found out.

He didn’t jump or cry or pump his fist like the others. 

He just stood there, blinking slowly, like the weight of his dream had finally landed on his shoulders. 

You hugged him so tightly the zipper of his jacket dug into your collarbone. 

You told him he was amazing.

“I wish I could come with you,” you whispered that night.

You were sitting on the floor of his apartment, your feet tangled under his, your eyes on the half-packed duffel bag in front of you.

“I won’t have time,” he replied, not unkindly. Just distracted. 

Already somewhere else. 

“I need to start training right away.”

That was the first time you felt it—the quiet truth blooming in your chest like a bruise.

You weren’t part of the plan.

Not really.

But you kissed his shoulder and told him you were proud. 

You always were.

Then came Italy. Ali Roma. A contract with a club that treated him like gold.

You moved with him.

Left your job, your friends, your family.

Because that’s what people did when they loved someone chasing something extraordinary. 

Right?

At first, it felt like an adventure. 

A new apartment in a city full of ancient stone and hidden cafés. You learned to love bitter coffee and late dinners. 

You practiced Italian with an old neighbor who smelled like lavender and cigarettes.

And when Tobio came home from practice, tired and sore, he’d collapse beside you with a soft sigh. 

You cooked when he forgot to eat, held out ice packs when he came home limping, whispered encouragement when he doubted himself.

But the silences between you stretched longer.

He talked more about his serve accuracy than your life together.

He missed dinners, forgot anniversaries. 

Not because he didn’t care—but because his brain was filled with formations, rotations, rankings.

You wanted to go to his away games, wear his number on your back, scream his name like the other girlfriends did.

But he asked you not to.

“It’s just easier,” he said, brushing a hand through his sweat-damp hair. “The travel… the stress. You can see more on the replay anyway.”

You said okay. You always said okay.

You watched him on the TV, your heart thudding as he got his third ace in a row.

You memorized his stats.

You clapped even when no one else in the room did.

Off-seasons meant packing everything again. 

Japan for a few months. Then back to Italy. 

Back again when he got the call to rejoin the national team alongside Hinata. 

You moved so often that your clothes never truly left the suitcase. You didn’t bother hanging things on the walls anymore.

You got used to goodbye. Got used to changing your mailing address every six months.

But you never got used to feeling like a ghost in your own life.

You smiled beside the other wives and girlfriends, women with diamond rings and tiny strollers, women who whispered excitedly about honeymoons and nurseries.

Some asked when it would be your turn.

You always gave the same answer:

“I want it to be a surprise.”

But the truth?

There was no proposal hiding in the linen closet. No ring burning a hole in his gym bag. 

Tobio Kageyama didn’t talk about forever. 

He talked about his vertical jump. About teams. About the next tournament. 

He loved you, but love was never first.

You started wondering what it would be like to be first.

One winter, you found yourself alone in a quiet kitchen, making dinner for a man who hadn’t texted you back all day. 

His team had lost a match earlier that week. You already knew he’d punish himself with hours in the gym.

You looked around the apartment. Not a single photo on the fridge.

The only thing that felt like yours was the coat on the chair.

You set the table for two anyway.

When he came home—close to midnight, shirt damp and shoulders tense—he kissed your temple, mumbled a tired “thanks,” and stared at the food like it was wallpaper.

You watched him eat in silence.

And you realized, somewhere along the way, this had stopped being a partnership.

You weren’t building a life together. You were just orbiting him like Earth orbits the sun.

You were twenty-six when it all unraveled.

You had followed him to four different cities. Two countries. Two Olympic cycles. Seven different apartments.

And all you had to show for it was a name that was never written beside his in the articles.

No wedding ring. No home you could return to.

Just years of being the girl who clapped from the stands.

It wasn’t a dramatic breakup. No slamming doors. No tearful screaming.

It was a quiet Tuesday.

You were folding laundry on the couch, and one of his old matches was playing in the background. 

A younger version of him, gritting his teeth, spiking with the fury of someone who wanted to conquer the world.

And you realized something.

You knew him better than anyone.

You knew what made him tick.

You knew when he was about to serve just by how he stood.

And you knew, just as clearly, that this couldn’t go on.

He would never choose you the way you had chosen him.

So when he came home that night, sweat still clinging to his hair, you looked up at him and said—

“I can’t keep doing this, Tobio.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

You tried to smile, but it cracked in the corners.

“I think we should end this…us. I can’t keep following you waiting for when you choose to follow me.”

And for the first time in a long time, he was speechless.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t fight, didn’t beg.

He stood in the hallway, hands at his sides, the silence ringing louder than any spike you’d ever watched him land.

“I didn’t know,” he finally said. “I thought… you were okay.”

You laughed softly. Not to mock him—just because it hurt.

“I was always okay, Tobio. That’s the problem. I had to be.”

You left with a single suitcase and the coat you’d bought in Rome.

You didn’t cry until the train left the city.

And even then, it wasn’t the kind of sobbing heartbreak you expected.

It was something softer.

Something that felt like peace.

You had loved him. More than anything.

But love—real love—needed to be seen. Heard. Chosen.

You knew that now.

Years later, you still catch clips of him sometimes.

A replay on a café TV. An article online. 

He’s still brilliant. Still quiet. Still chasing gold.

You don’t check his socials. You don’t need to.

Because even if your love didn’t last forever, it was real.

You know it was.

And you also know why it had to end.

Like the back of your hand.

yall fw how i made the pics his back bc he never rlly looked at you?

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

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⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[softvalentines]

Saw your into invincible let's go!!! Can I request some with with mark grayson? Cam be anything just want to see your amazing writing for it

pairing: mark grayson x reader cw: smut, afab reader, somno, breeding, descriptive details of bodily fluid (cum)

thinking about just how thick mark’s cum is — syrupy, heavy, clinging to your insides in a way that makes your stomach flutter and your thighs stick together hours later.

it’s not something you thought about the first time you fucked him, back when everything was still awkward and hurried and too sweet. but god, it became impossible to ignore after that. especially when you learned just how easy it was to get him there. how sensitive he got, how his pretty brown eyes would glass over and his lips would part like he forgot how to form words, body made for it, bred for it.

viltrumite biology was a cruel, indulgent thing. built for dominance, for breeding, for passing down genes sharp and unrelenting. it meant mark got needy in ways you couldn’t quite keep up with, woke up in the middle of the night to the warm press of him between your thighs, tip leaking, cock rutting desperately against your cunt like he’d been chasing it in his sleep. and it wasn’t gentle, not when the heat of his body felt like it could melt right through you, not when he whined out your name, voice breaking on a moan the moment your hips tilted to meet his.

"fuck— fuck, i didn’t mean to—!" he’d pant voice cracking, teeth grazing your shoulder as his hips stuttered, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you so fast it made you gasp, made you feel full in an instant. "shit, 'm sorry, baby, you were just so warm, i— god, you smell so good, i couldn’t—"

and he’d keep talking, babbling out messy, breathless apologies, swearing he was gonna stop, that he’d pull out — but his hips never actually left yours. still grinding up into you in shallow, desperate thrusts, slick, filthy sounds filling the room with every movement. and you’d arch for him, already drunk on the feeling, on the way his cum dripped down your thighs and the stretch of him pressed so deep it made your vision blur.

it was always like that. a feverish need, an ache in his bones he could never quite shake. viltrumite instincts gnawing at him until he gave in. until you were pinned beneath him, your knees nearly up by your ears in a sloppy, possessive mating press, mark’s broad hands trembling where they held your hips down, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat-damp curls sticking to his brow.

"love you so much," he’d mumble, voice cracked and wrecked, "gonna fill you up, promise i’ll make it good, you’re so fuckin’ perfect for me—"

and you could only whimper, shivering under him as another thick wave of heat spilled into you, his body tense and trembling as he buried himself as deep as he could go, chasing the feeling like it was the only thing keeping him alive. and maybe it was.

because it wasn’t just about sex. not for mark. it was about claiming. about instinct, about some primal viltrumite urge that bloomed ugly and beautiful in his chest whenever he touched you. it was about need. and he had so much of it.

[formulafanfics13]

Healing & Thriving - LN4

Masterlist || part 1 || Part 2

Two months. Sixty-two days, to be exact.

That’s how long it had been since Lando Norris had torched his own career in front of a global broadcast audience. Since the McLaren floor turned silent. Since her world collapsed.

She hadn’t set foot in a paddock since. Not since the day after. Not even in passing. She’d stayed away, stayed out, stayed quiet. No statements. No interviews. Just a clean break. The grid had moved on, or pretended to. Media outlets speculated, endlessly, and social media tried to guess where she was, if she was okay, if she and Lando were still together. None of them got it right.

She hadn’t seen Lando since the Singapore GP. But the invites kept coming. Not from McLaren. From Mercedes.

From Lewis. From George. And eventually, from Toto. He didn’t pressure. Just sent her an email. No subject line. No signature block. Just the message:

"Final race of the season. You’re wanted here. Let me know. —T"

And now, here she was. Abu Dhabi. Paddock pass heavy around her neck, branded not with orange but silver. Her black tank top clung to her skin in the desert heat, layered under a breezy open linen shirt in soft white. No makeup. Gold hoops. Fresh nails. The Mercedes lanyard caught the light as she stepped through the gates, hair pulled into a low twist, sunglasses perched high. She looked like she hadn’t aged a day, but everyone who saw her felt the shift.

No longer McLaren’s. Mercedes'. The paddock reacted like thunder had cracked the sky. Phones lifted instantly. Group chats pinged. A Red Bull comms girl actually gasped. Sky Sports producers scrambled. Cameramen angled to catch her in frame. Drivers did double-takes. Team principals stopped mid-sentence.

She walked with purpose. Not alone. With a Mercedes rep at her side, clipboard in hand, walking her through schedule points and garage access rules. Every few steps someone greeted her.

"You look amazing," someone whispered.

"Welcome back," said another.

The first familiar face she saw properly was Oscar. He stopped walking completely. Eyes wide. Like he couldn’t believe it. She smiled softly. A real one.

He stepped forward, pulled her into a hug so tight she nearly laughed. "Jesus. Took you long enough."

"It’s good to see you," she whispered.

He looked at her for a moment. "You okay?"

She nodded. "I am now."

He stepped back. Smiled gently. "Mercedes looks good on you."

Then came Charles. Then George. Then Lewis. All of them wrapping her up like she'd never left, like the last two months had just been a bad dream someone could wake her from. "You ready for the circus?" Lewis murmured as they approached the Mercedes hospitality suite.

She exhaled. "As I’ll ever be."

The door opened. Air conditioning blasted out. And there was Toto, standing near the coffee bar in conversation with Susie and two engineers. He looked up. Saw her. Smiled. It was subtle. Controlled. But warm. He walked over, blazer sharp as ever, eyes scanning her face like a father checking for signs of bruising. Then, softer than she expected: "You came."

She nodded. "I didn’t want the season to end without being here."

Toto dipped his head. "I’m glad. You belong here."

He turned to Lewis. "Get her a headset. Full garage access."

Lewis smirked. "Already in motion."

And just like that, she was home. The Mercedes garage welcomed her like she'd never left. Mechanics offered fist bumps. Strategists gave her smiles. Someone handed her a cold water bottle. She slipped on her headphones as the FP1 countdown began and stood behind the engineers, eyes on the screens.

There, just through the blur of mechanics and soft engine purrs, Lando. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to. But she could feel the shift in the air when he realised she was there. She didn’t flinch. Because this time? She wasn’t watching from his garage. She was watching from the one beside it. Drenched in silver. Surrounded by loyalty. Standing tall.

She was back. And she wasn’t his anymore. She was Mercedes.

The paddock didn’t know how to behave. Not with her here. Not when she wasn’t wearing orange anymore. Not when her lanyard was silver and her smile came easier, freer, less like a girl gripping the edge of something breakable and more like a woman who had survived the wreckage and come back stronger.

She didn’t look at Lando. Didn’t need to. He was everywhere and nowhere at once. Floating in the corners of her vision like a ghost. Haunted. She knew what she looked like, sun-warmed, perfectly casual, dangerously calm. The kind of woman who didn’t need to say a thing to turn the whole paddock upside down.

But what really killed them? Was who she walked with now.

George Russell was glued to her side, all soft teasing and big-brother protectiveness. She wore his black sunglasses when hers slipped, his water bottle when she got handed too many coffees. At one point, she sat in his engineering chair while he ran through simulator feedback, and no one questioned it. Because George looked at her like she belonged there.

"You better not disappear again," he said that afternoon in the garage, one hand resting on the back of her chair. "Toto’s gone feral without you. Keeps rearranging the hospitality lounge furniture like it’s going to fill the emotional hole."

She laughed, head tilted up toward him. "He does have control issues."

"Don’t tell him I said this," George stage-whispered, "but he’s low-key obsessed with you."

Across the garage, Lewis snorted. "Not even low-key. He yells at anyone who calls you 'Lando’s ex'."

"Swear to God," George added. "Nearly decapitated a comms guy last week."

She blushed but didn’t protest. Because… it felt safe. It felt good. Being with them again. Being held in their loyalty like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She followed Lewis to debrief later. Sat beside him in the corner, knees tucked under her, flipping through telemetry like she used to. One of the interns dropped their iPad when she smiled at them. Another whispered is she back? like she was folklore. When they left the room, Lewis threw his arm around her shoulders. "Come on. Let’s go cause chaos in catering."

George caught up. "You already beat me to it."

"That was one time-"

"Two," she corrected. "You threw grapes at Esteban."

"I was aiming at Christian."

They were halfway into a story about Charles accidentally locking himself inside a hospitality bathroom when someone called her name. She turned. Oscar. Hair messy, lanyard skewed, fresh off the sim. He looked like he’d just spotted a shooting star.

"Hey," he said softly.

She smiled. "Hi, trouble."

He pulled her into a hug that lingered. Held. "I really missed you."

She swallowed. "I missed you more."

"You doing okay? Really?"

She nodded. "Getting there."

He stepped back, eyes scanning her face like he was making sure. Then he lowered his voice. "You look happy."

"I am."

Oscar grinned. "Good."

And just as she opened her mouth to ask about practice, another voice chimed in from behind. "Still stealing engineers' chairs, I see."

She turned around, and there he was. Andrea Stella. Soft smile. Eyes warm. Wearing team black and orange, but standing with a gentleness that had nothing to do with McLaren. Only her. She didn’t hesitate. Hugged him tight. Like nothing had changed.

"Hi, darling," he said into her hair. "You look well."

"You’re not allowed to make me cry in public."

"I’d never."

He stepped back, brushing his hand along her shoulder. "I was hoping I’d see you again."

"You really didn’t have to stay in touch, y’know."

He raised an eyebrow. "You think I’d let PR get in the way of someone I care about?"

She smiled. Nodded. "Thanks, Andrea."

George stepped forward then, gently slipping his hand into hers. Lewis flanked the other side, looking at Andrea with polite caution.

Andrea took the hint. "You’re well protected."

"Too well."

"Good. You deserve it." Then softer, "I’m always here. If you need someone to talk to. On or off record."

"I know."

He nodded once. Then disappeared back into the flow of media and mayhem.

She looked at George. Then at Lewis. "Still want to do catering?"

"Fuck yeah," George grinned. "Let’s go break into Ferrari’s dessert table."

She burst out laughing. But the moment they reached the Mercedes hospitality entrance, Toto was standing there, arms crossed, sunglasses off, his entire posture radiating calm murder. He looked her over once. Then raised an eyebrow. "You spoke to Andrea?"

"Yes."

"And?"

She smiled. "It was nice. He's still him."

Toto nodded, just once. "Alright."

"You’re not mad?"

"I’d be mad if you spoke to Zak. Not Andrea."

She smirked. "You didn’t threaten anyone today."

"Not visibly," George muttered.

Lewis laughed. Toto looked at her then, full face, real emotion. "You’re not here to be invisible. You’re not here to shrink. You want to sit in the pit wall today?"

Her eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"I’d love to."

"Good," he said. "Because the comms boys have missed your corrections."

George groaned. "You mean she’s still better than half the engineers?"

"She’s better than most of you," Toto deadpanned.

And for the first time in weeks, she felt something crack open in her chest. Not pain. Not grief. Peace. She wasn’t an accessory anymore. She wasn’t a secret. She wasn’t his. She was herself. And she was home.

[lucygraysboy]

as much as billy would like to present lucy gray his pale ass, he doesn’t want to be that crude. he keeps his shorts on even once he’s waist-deep in the lake. looking over his shoulder as she calls out to him, he laughs and shakes his head. “oh, wouldn’t you want to see it, hm? freaky woman,” he lightly teases, making sure his privates are fully submerged before pulling off his shorts. he swings the wet fabric over his head a few times and tosses it onto the shore. “what are these? oh, this is so fancy, babe. we get to use actual toiletries? thank you!” he was fully prepared to use just water, but this is a very pleasant surprise, he thinks as he examines the contents of the float. he takes the washcloth off his shoulder and waves it at lucy gray. “you really did think of everything!” it never fails to amaze him how well-prepared she is at all times. “are you gettin’ naked, lucy gray? gettin’ naked behind me?” he asks, covering his eyes and turning around to give her some privacy, but mostly to spare himself a moment of serious embarrassment if he as much as catches a glimpse of her perfect body. “i don’t want you lookin’ at my butt and gettin’ turned on,” he playfully muses, sending a small wave of water her way but without glancing at her. 

“oh, even without your surprises, you’d never be just another ordinary gal,” the cowboy insists, propping himself up on his elbows just to watch as she piles up dirt on his legs. “you’re just like my ma when it comes to that. she always had everything we needed in case of an emergency.” which has his smile faltering a bit, thinking about those harsh times that made them who they are. “i’ll just tell him i’ll make him my home screen,” he laughs, taunting right back, growing amused when she begins to get all riled up. “mhm, sure, you don’t.” it seems to him that lucy gray and jesse have been in some sort of competition for years now, which is hilarious because these two relationships can coexist peacefully. he can spend time with both his best friend and his girlfriend who isn’t really officially his girlfriend. “that’s ‘cause i’m pretty sure you’re puttin’ ants and bugs on my sunburned legs. does this work better than aloe gel?” laughing, he thinks it’s a good thing he isn’t too squeamish. “it’s a known fact. out of the two of us, you sure are the better actor.” it’s a genuine sentiment. she would play dead until he got seriously confused and started to dial 911. “lucy gray! lucy gray, can’t leave me like that! what if these ants eat me or get in my cutie crack?” he calls out after her, moving his legs to dust off this combination of dirt and grass and bugs, and picks himself up, ready to chase after her.

[bkghq]

ᝰ GRWM ft. y/n & bakugo

— INCLUDES pro hero! bakugo katsuki x pro hero fem! reader

— CONTENT WARNING ⋮ v wholesome bkg, lwk ooc i think, y/n being a woman of taste

— BONUS ARYA ⋮ i absolutely love this sm!! i think im gonna turn this pro hero yn/ tiktoker thingie into a series hehe

"Hey guys get ready with me for work while i tell you 10 facts about me and my boyfriend!" Y/n spoke to the camera, getting ready for her patrol, already wearing her hero suit.

"So me and my boyfriend— Katsuki, we met back in highschool. We were classmates and started dating around our second year." She said using toner pads on her face and neck.

She then moved on to the next step in her skincare routine, "Next i'm using this COSRX vitamin c serum— which by the way my very amazing boyfriend got me! i swear this guy does not, and i mean does not let me run out of anything—" She applied the serum on her face with the dropper, "— it's like he has this magical power of knowing when my essentials are almost finish and he'll just get it for me, UNasked!"

"In our relationship, Katsuki does all the cooking." She continues, now using the Milk makeup cooling water under eye gel but not before showing it to the camera. "And yes he definitely is the better cook— I try to cook from time to time, and he really appreciates when i do, but it is as clear as day that his cooking is wayyyy better than mine."

"Oh and he does the dishes too!" She adds smiling at the camera.

"When me and Kats met, we absolutely hated each other." She said putting emphasis on the word hated. "I used to call him potty mouth, and he used to call me spoilt brat, so it was quite shocking when he told me he liked me!" The girl chuckled putting on her moisturiser from clinique.

"Even though I am a pro hero myself and earn hefty, 'suki pays all our bills—" she said next putting on her sunscreen. "— He insists that it's his job since he's the 'man in our relationship, and it's a man's responsibility to provide for his girl' girls, take tips, don't settle for less!" She added acting like an older sister.

"Okay I'm done with my skincare, so moving on to the minimal makeup i do everyday." She said, while showing her too faced concealer.

"Even though he comes off as extremely mean and rude on camera, 'Ki is one of the most thoughtful people you will ever come across, he will not think twice before doing something for the people he loves." She spoke to the camera, unaware of the new company of the said man, who now stood at the door watching her, his figure also coming in the frame.

"Now im using this sacheu lip stain, this is literally my holy grail! it lasts me all day. I could be fighting like 10 villains and it will stay intact." She remarked, applying the lip stain.

"Fact number seven, we never go to bed mad at each other. It's a rule Kats made. No matter how big the fight we always resolve it before hitting the bed, and honestly it's such a healthy way to deal with fights and arguments." She said as a smile made her way to her aswell as Katsuki's face. A soft look in his eyes, as he watched her, arms crossed over his chest.

Y/N moves on to her blush. "Even though we've been dating for a long time now, we never stop going on dates!" She says putting blush on the apple of her cheeks. "This is a great way to keep your relationship interesting i feel like, since due to our work there are times when we are unable to see each for weeks at times."

"On that note— when either of us get assigned any mission overseas, we make sure to facetime atleast once a day even if it's just for 10 minutes. time differences suck, but we pick a time which is suitable for us both." The girl says as she puts her hair down from her messy bun.

"Last but not the least—"

"Is that i love this dummy here s'fuckin' much." Katsuki grumbles, finally making his presence known as he makes his way towards the girl, kissing her forehead. Y/n chuckles at his sudden appearance, because he wasn't one to make constant presence in her tiktok videos.

"You'll be late for patrol now ge'ddup dumbass." He says with no bite behind his words, giving her another kiss this time on her lips.

"Yeah!—" She smiles up at him, and looks back at the camera again, "See you guys soon, b-bye stay safe!" She concludes, hitting pause on the record button on her phone.

"You look cute today." Katsuki hums, as Y/n gets up from her chair, interlocking her hands around Katsuki's neck, his hands instinctively grabbing her waist.

"Thanks ki." She replies with a smile, standing on her tiptoes and kissing the blond man deeply.

Later that day, after patrol when Y/N posted that video. Not expecting it to blowup as much as it did, getting around ten million views, 2.5 million likes and a few hundred thousand comments.

@/ynsluvr : LOOK AT THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER !!!! @/greatexplosionmurdermypussy : if he ain't like this I DONT WANT HIM @/dekusillegitimatechild : omg queen drop links for the products @/pinky : ugh! get married already! @/chargeboltofficial : mama e papa MAMA E PAPA @/redriot : bakubro this all is so manly! proud of you @/serophane : @/chargeboltofficial he's so whipped LOL @/deku : I'm so glad kacchan treats you well y/n san ☺️

She sure was having a field day reading all these comments.

THNX 4 READING <3 RBS + COMMENTS APPRECIATED ིྀ

[velaris-fic-repository]

What the Tide Brings In Part Eight

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Azriel had been living mostly in his head for the past two months. Every bit of mental energy that he didn’t need always found its way back to you.

You were his mate.

He had always wanted to meet his mate - should The Cauldron have blessed him with one - but had started to think he’d never find them.

And then you quite literally swept into his life. Shipwrecked and nearly drowned on the shores of Velaris, somewhere you were never meant to be. Perhaps it truly was fate that you landed here, more so than either of you had suspected at the time.

And the first thing he’d ever done to you, his mate, the female he was made to love, was trap and interrogate you.

No bond snapping for him, though you had warmed to him pretty quickly. Azriel shook his head at that particular thought. You’d given him no indication that you even knew about the bond at all, much less if you would accept it.

You two were friends, great friends, and perhaps that was all he would ever be to you. Azriel didn’t know, wasn’t sure how to bring it up to you. If he even should at all.

All he knew was the legion of memories between the two of you and how much more each and every one of them now meant to him.

You leading him on a wild goose chase through Velaris just to mess with him. Your constant pushing of his buttons, poking and prodding him more than Cassian had ever dreamed of doing. The look on your face whenever he offered his support. That beautiful, blinding summer smile of yours that had come to light up his world more than Starfall.

You were amazing and, unbeknownst to you - bond or no bond now that he really thought about it - had the dreaded Spymaster of the Night Court, Azriel, the most notorious Shadowsinger Prythian had ever seen, wrapped wholly around your finger.

“If you’re finished brooding, I’d like to see you in the study, please,” Rhys’s voice filled his head and Azriel groaned and stood, shifting through the shadows to get to the room his brother had summoned him to.

Another little complication to this whole situation was Rhysand’s unfortunate presence in his mind at the time the bond had snapped. Azriel felt that if Rhys sent him another knowing look in your presence, High Lord or no, brotherly bond or no, he’d kick him into the cobblestones of Velaris.

Azriel appeared in front of Rhys’s desk. “What.”

Rhys took Azriel’s agitation in stride and simply said, “you have to tell her.”

“I don’t have to do anything in that regard.” There was no point in obfuscation or denying it, not when Rhys knew exactly what he’d felt on Solstice.

“Brother,” Rhys said, diplomatically, “allow me to be frank with you.”

The look on Azriel’s face was unimpressed.

“I swear, for once,” Rhys said with a long suffering sigh, “I’m being serious. Sit.”

Azriel rolled his eyes but did so.

Rhys took a second, organizing his thoughts, finding the right words, before speaking.

“Azriel, you really should tell her, I feel it would go over well.”

Azriel raised a brow, “and how many mates have you had the opportunity to drop the bombshell of a bond onto?”

Rhys sighed. “None, that’s a fair argument,” Rhys conceded, having never been in Azriel’s shoes before. Having not yet found his own mate.

“But,” Rhys continued, “I really do think it’s worth doing, in this instance. The choice is ultimately yours but, brother, I have never seen you in your own head as much as you’ve been these last few weeks. I have no doubt she has noticed too. She’s asked me about you, wondering if you’re alright without the courage to ask you herself.”

That was uncharacteristic of you, but Azriel said nothing.

Rhys forged ahead, “she deserves an explanation whether she asks for it or not. But, my biggest point on the matter is this. Az, not to put too fine a point on it but, you almost lost her before you ever had a chance to meet her. The Cauldron saved her for a reason. She was brought here for a reason. You have to have thought that.”

Azriel finally nodded.

“Az,” Rhys said gently, reaching a hand out toward the tortured Illyrian he’d been raised with, “she’s comfortable here. She’s home here. Why do you think that is?”

The doubt in his head won out. “Velaris is a beautiful city with good people and a wonderful port for her. It has everything she needs.”

“Close, but you missed something. The city, the people, those are all well and good. She does enjoy those things, but those pale in comparison to what really warmed her to this place.”

“And what’s that,” Azriel asked sarcastically.

“It has nothing to do with the city, Azriel. It had everything to do with you,” Rhys let the comment settle before he said, “whether she knows about the bond or not, the way she looks at you is not the way someone looks at their friends. She’s never looked at Cassian or I the way she looks at you.”

A small feral itch in the back of his brain snarled at the brief insinuation, but logic won out. Rhysand and Cassian held absolutely no interest in you, nor you in them, beyond friendship and he knew that.

“Tell her,” Rhys urged, “If she doesn’t accept the bond then I suppose I’ll be named the worst judge of character in all of Prythian.”

“I mean, you did keep Cassian,” Azriel said.

Rhys laughed, “you never would have made that joke if it wasn’t for her.”

Azriel knew he was right, before he even knew about the golden string trying to bind you two together, you were breaking him out of the shell he’d built around himself. You’d brought out his humor, his joy, more than anyone else.

“I’ll,” Azriel said tentatively, “I’ll think about it. I want to do it right if I’m going to do it.”

“The Inner Circle is at your disposal,” Rhys responded.

Azriel’s gaze narrowed, “does everyone know?”

“Little difficult not to guess.”

Azriel huffed and winnowed from the room.

Rhys smiled, then mentally searched for his cousin. “Mor, I have an idea.”

“A girl’s night?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at Mor over the ship manifests you’d been perusing. She’d caught you just after lunch, right when you were busy.

“Yes!”

“And,” you said, amused, “Amren agreed to this too?”

Mor nodded, settling down in the teal upholstered chair across from you, draping her legs over the arm as if it were a long couch.

You smirked and set the paperwork down. “I find that incredibly hard to believe.”

“She’s deigned to go - with the caveat that she can leave whenever she wishes-“

“-naturally,” you chuckled.

Mor shared your amusement, “-right. As long as all three of us went. It’s not an opportunity that arises very often.”

“So you’ve trapped me,” you said.

“No!” Mor said, though her amused tone suggested otherwise.

“The situation, as you’ve laid it out, means that I either go, or don’t and ruin everyone’s evening.”

Mor shrugged.

You snorted and leaned casually over the papers on your desk, “And if I’m too busy to come?”

Mor’s smirk, if it were possible, got even smarmier, “You may be the busiest bee in the harbor, but I have never known you to be too busy for drinks and revelry. You’re a pirate for Cauldron’s sake.”

“Former pirate,” you corrected.

“So you keep saying,” Mor’s voice turned sing-song-y, “It’ll be fuuuunnn…”

“I’ve got a lot to doooo…” you shot back in the same tone, a laugh bubbling up with it.

“So hand the reins over to Evander for the evening,” Mor suggested easily, “isn’t his boyfriend out of town? Besides, what is the point of having a right hand if you never slough your work off on him?”

You sighed, cocking your head to the side as you really thought it over. The last time you’d gone out with friends had been a few weeks ago and you’d been half consumed with work anyway.

Mor raised her eyebrows in childlike anticipation.

“Okay fine, I’ll meet you at Rita’s-“

“-Nope!” She grabbed you hand and pulled you through your office door, calling out down the hall. “‘Vander! The harbor’s yours for the evening!”

Evander popped his head around the corner looking at you with a confused expression. Your expression nearly mirrored his as you stumbled out of your office behind Mor.

“Uh, the manifests are on my desk, you know where everything is. The lighthouse keepers don’t change shifts for another week. We have… four ships coming in and… two going out-“

“He knows all that already, come on!”

Evander smiled kindly and waved at you, “all will be well, Harbormaster! Have a nice evening!” He, your friend, had the audacity to laugh at your befuddled state. Traitor.

“I-“ But Mor had already pulled you out into the Dockyard.

Evander could handle this. He was more than capable. You trusted him. And you knew if you walked back inside, Mor would drag you out as many times as she needed to.

Finally, you fell into step beside her. “Care to tell me what is so urgent that I had to be dragged from my office?”

“Because if I didn’t you wouldn’t have come.”

“Yes I would have!”

Mor raised a brow at you.

“I would have!” You protested.

“You’re almost worse than Az when it comes to pulling you away from your work, you know that?”

“We’re dedicated to our positions! I’ve had a lot to do, especially with raising up a navy-“

“This is what I’m talking about! You need to get out of that cave you call an office!”

Feeling challenged, you glared at her. Was she insinuating that you weren’t fun? Oh, you’d show her fun, alright. “Fine.”

Mor grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.

“Great! Now we can find you something to wear tonight!”

Your expression turned deadpan, “Mor. I have plenty to wear at home. Besides, it’s just the three of us going out, why would I need to dress up?”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve never ‘dressed up’ to go out in my life.”

“Well, tonight,” Mor said, taking your protests and molding them to her purposes, “you and I are going to look hot.”

“We look hot everyday,” you said, earning an amused snicker from her.

“There’s the party girl I was looking for!”

“Mor.”

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Mor finally said but there was a wicked gleam in her eyes.

When your expression hardened, then shifted to an equally challenging smirk, one befitting your previous life, she knew she had you. Phase one on her end: complete.

After several ‘nope’s and ‘absolutely not’s from you, eventually you found an outfit you were happy with. Very reminiscent of your usual dress but a bit more tailored to the vibe Mor was looking for. Black shimmery trousers. A strapless tank to match up top with a very low back. Finished off with a shiny blue silk vest with ripple-like cuts in the back like waves.

“See? Gorgeous,” Mor said appreciatively.

“Is there a particular reason that I’ve become your dress up doll?” You asked after paying and thanking the seamstress and stepping outside. Mor had already changed into another gorgeous form fitting red dress.

“Can’t it just be fun for fun’s sake?”

“With you it rarely is,” Amren said, sidling up to the two of you silently, as if she’d been there the whole time and you’d just now noticed her. She gave voice to your own thoughts so you didn’t have to.

“Live a little! This’ll be fun!” Mor exclaimed.

“So you keep saying,” you chuckle as the three of you worked your way to Rita’s.

The boys were already inside.

Getting Cassian to agree to come was so simple it was more of a footnote than a step. The rest was peer pressure from there.

The circular booth Rhys had selected for the three of them was sequestered near the back. Hidden enough that Azriel wouldn’t catch on to what he and his cousin were attempting to do, but not far back enough to rouse suspicion.

The plan was simply outlined, and multi-pronged, allowing for a host of different avenues to reach the final goal. Which was, getting Azriel to tell you his heart’s darkest secret.

They’d both seen it on Solstice, Rhys having even more information. And the two of them were so incredibly happy for you, they just needed the two of you to be as well. You, a treasured new member of the Inner Circle deserved to find happiness. And Azriel, Mother knew how much he deserved it, whether he was willing to accept it or not.

The two of you completed each other. You just needed some nudges in the right direction.

It didn’t take long after Rhys brought the first round of drinks over for the three of you to arrive, Mor steering you well into the bar, so the boys would be able to see you but not make it obvious she knew exactly where they were.

You rolled your eyes, saying something to her the boys couldn’t hear as you took the offered shot and downed it.

Azriel, unbeknownst to him, was transfixed immediately. And simultaneously miserable. He had not words for how you looked, nor how much he was itching to rise from his seat and walk over to you. You were a siren tonight.

But he couldn’t approach you and interrupt your night. You were here to party with Mor and Amren when all he wanted was to dance with you.

“And what’s got you looking so sorry for yourself?” Cassian said, depositing his now empty glass on the wooden table.

Rhys laughed and his eyes glazed over, Cassian’s following shortly after. It didn’t last long.

Cassian slammed his hands on the table. “Shut up, no way!”

Cassian, had apparently not known. He did now.

Azriel groaned, laying his head on the table.

“What are you doing? Go dance with her!”

Azriel raised his head and glared at both his brothers, his shadows twitching in agitation around them.

“I could always go dance with her,” Cassian smirked, “if you’re not going to.”

Azriel raised his head, glare hardening even more.

“Oh yeah, Rhysie,” Cassian grinned, answering whatever comment Rhys had voiced only to him, “absolutely.”

“If you only dragged me here to make fun of me, I’ll just leave now.”

“And leave your mate to whatever plans Mor has for the evening?” Rhys asked suggestively.

Azriel was about to raise his voice in retort when a presence appeared at the edge of the table.

All three Illyrians looked up to find their swashbuckling friend smirking at them. A shadow twisted affectionately - unordered to do so, Azriel would’ve added - around your arm. You gazed at it, fondly appraising, before turning back to the boys.

“I had a feeling something was afoot this evening. Rhys, what have you done now?”

“Bold words to speak to your High Lord,” Rhys responded, amused over the rim of his glass.

“Oh I’ve only begun,” you said back with equal mirth, “Amren’s left already and Mor’s already half drunk. You two have fun taking her home. Az, wanna get out of here? I’ve got something I’ve been wanting to show you.”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised in a goofy smile you weren’t quite sure the reasoning for and you refrained from asking, especially after Azriel cut a glance his way.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing Azriel’s hands and pulled him through the bar and out onto the street.

Azriel had to school his enamored face rather quickly as you turned toward him.

Walking through the streets of Velaris, you turned and asked, “any idea why our friends were conspiring against us this evening?”

Azriel absolutely knew, but he couldn’t tell you that.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” A shadow on his shoulder whipped around to face him, looking for all the world to be chastising him. Liar.

Azriel attempted to shoo the thing before you noticed what it was doing. Luckily for him, your attention was on the harbor ahead of you.

“It’s this way!” You said, excited. You rounded a small pier, leading to a gorgeous little ship. Faelights twinkled all over it in various colors, lighting the deck like a stained glass window. Painted elegantly on the side was the name The Star Chaser.

“So, what do you think?” You asked, clearly excited as you spread your arms out towards the ship. The pride and joy in your eyes was enough for Azriel to know just how fond of the new vessel you already were.

He simply smiled at you as you couldn’t contain your excitement, reminding him fleetingly of the many steps it took to get you here.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” You asked, turning to look at the boat.

“She certainly is…” Azriel drawled, not that you could see what he was actually looking at. The ship was wonderful yes, but she was nothing compared to her captain in front of him.

Azriel coughed, and said, “so what’s the plan with…”

You turned to him, surprised, “oh, I’m not leaving! Not by any means. No. I just had the money, you know, I’ve told Rhys about a thousand times that my salary is too high-“

“-good luck winning that fight,” Azriel interjected with a small laugh. Silently relieved by your assurance.

“-right. But I thought it was time I had a boat of my own, so here she is.”

Azriel came up to you, smiling softly down at you, face washed in the kaleidoscopic faelights of your ship. “She’s wonderful. You’ve more than earned it.”

You beamed at him, expression quickly turning mischievous as you grabbed his hand and dragged him over the gangplank and up to the quarterdeck.

You plopped down on the wood, pulling Azriel down to sit with you. You quickly clapped your hands and the faelights dimmed and changed to a faint, starry blue.

The stars were always beautiful in Velaris. Of course. It’s how the city got its charming nickname. But as Azriel realized you had pulled him onto your ship to stargaze, he thought that the night sky had never looked so beautiful as it did beside you on that boat.

You watched and talked for hours, the two of you slowly slumping on each other the longer the evening went on. Azriel’s shadows had played and chased each other over the deck, sagging and shifting lazily the longer they were there. You hadn’t thought the little things could get tired, but that’s the best you could do to describe their state.

You were struggling to keep your eyes open, fully supported by only Azriel’s shoulder. You had stopped telling stories of your own ten minutes ago, instead responding with sleepy “mhmm”s. Azriel reckoned he could have asked you just about anything and you would’ve agreed no questions asked out of sheer tiredness. But he didn’t. He simply shifted his wing to drape it over your back like a blanket.

You hummed appreciatively and Azriel figured that was the final nail in the coffin for your wakefulness this evening.

Because you were mostly asleep, and because he couldn’t help himself, he leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Go to sleep. I’ve got you.”

You hummed once again, clearly almost lost to the realms of sleep. “Thank you Azriel,” you slurred.

Azriel smiled and was about to say something else when your sleepy speech froze him quicker than Kallias ever could.

“Hmm,” you sleepily said, “mate.”

Groggy, but not nearly as stiff as you expected to be, you awoke slowly the next morning.

Blinking in the darkness, it took you a long time to remember where you were. Then you realized that you had never been where you were.

A remarkably similar - if not softer and significantly less chained up - echo of your first moments in Velaris about a year ago. A bedroom instead of a cell, you realized.

The room was dark, with dark sheets and drawn curtains. The large and very soft bed was empty, save for you.

That was when you noticed a piece of the darkness that surrounded you shift.

A shadow sprang from the wall, shifting and twining around itself as it made its way across the room to the bed and then, across the bed and up to you.

“I’m in Azriel’s room, aren’t I?” You asked it.

The shadow moved in a way you could only interpret as a nod.

“He moved me from the boat last night?”

Another nod.

You remembered talking with the little creature’s master the previous night on the deck of your ship. Enjoying each other’s company and watching the stars. You’d been so close to telling him that night. Telling him about the bond and how much you’d thought about it, but you had also remembered every time you’d reached out. Finding nothing there. You were mates, you’d known from nearly the moment you’d met him. But, you wanted him to find out in his own time. Come to his own terms about it. So you stayed silent, falling asleep on his shoulder without having said a thing.

You did not remember your sleepy brain, coaxed by the comfort of your mate beside you, spilling the beans anyway.

The shadow twisted, almost like a dog tilting its head. It seemed to eye you suspiciously, trying to figure something out about you.

It seemed to come to some conclusion because it flitted smoothly over your hand once before bounding off the bed and under the door, where a sliver of light marked its escape.

It was back just as quickly, bouncing up and onto your shoulder, softly caressing the side of your neck and ear. You found that you quite liked the feeling.

On his way, the little thing seemed to whisper in your ear.

You startled, you weren’t aware that Azriel’s shadows would or even could talk to others.

Why you? Why now?

You think you could guess why but it felt like too much to hope for anything this early in the morning. Especially something as big as this.

The door slowly opened and clicked back shut a moment later as Azriel entered and closed the door.

The two of you stared at each other for a long, long time.

Nervous, the shadow whispered in your ear. You weren’t sure which one of you it was talking about.

Azriel sighed shakily. His voice came out hesitant, as if he were afraid the question he asked would burn him.

“You knew?”

The world stopped.

You didn’t know how to answer him. Didn’t dare to hope that what he was asking you was what you had been dying for him to talk to you about for the better part of a year now.

As if to answer your hesitation, there was a brief, probing tug in your chest. That’s what you’d been waiting for.

You gasped, “…yes.”

Azriel seemed even shakier than before, the two of you altogether unsteady. He looked about ready to kneel beside the bed but he remained standing.

“How long?” He rasped like a man dying of thirst. Surrounded by sea water without a drop of it to drink.

The both of you were in treacherous, unsteady waters. But you’d survived them before. You would weather them now. Especially when the land you sought, the bond you ached to complete, sat on the horizon of this conversation as a glowing reward.

You cleared your throat and unflinchingly met his gaze.

“The whole time.”

Azriel buckled. “What?”

“Since the moment you held Truthteller to my chin.” You laughed, but only with a pinch of humor behind it, “Not sure what that says about me, but it’s true.”

“The whole time?” Azriel echoed, stunned.

“Yes.”

“The whole time,” he said again.

“That’s what I said.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

The drama of the moment began to fizzle out for you as you smiled wryly at him. “Az, be honest with me. If I had told you, at the moment the bond snapped, would you have believed me?”

“…Well… No…”

“Thought so,” you said, humor bubbling up.

“But that still doesn’t-“

“I still had to come to terms with it in that moment. And once I had, I wanted you to figure it out on your own. If you did and accepted it, great! But I wasn’t going to drop that into your already perfect life and disrupt the waters. Looks like I screwed the pooch on that front though.”

“…I wouldn’t say that…”

You cocked your head to the side.

Knew, the shadow whispered to you.

“Az…” you said.

“The bond snapped for me on Solstice… After I gave you your present.”

“Azriel,” you said, “you do realize that was months ago, right?”

“Yes, but you didn’t tell me about the bond either!”

“And I waited a hell of a lot longer than you did!” You shouted back. “Who’s the real pining tragedy in this scenario!?”

“You! But I-“

You dissolved into a fit of giggles as you flopped on his bed, clutching your sides and struggling to breathe.

Azriel immediately rushed to your side and held your hand, checking you over in concern despite the evident joy in you at this moment.

“Mor was exactly right about just how stubborn we are,” you said as your laughter subsided.

“I guess that’s why we’re mates,” Azriel offered softly. You laughed softly, once, looking into his eyes.

“So, what’s that mean, do you- do we?” You weren’t sure what you wanted to ask, or what order you wanted to ask it in.

“You’ve always talked too much,” Azriel said before leaning forward and kissing you.

You wanted to push him off, to demand he answer your unspoken question about accepting the bond, but the way those golden strings were humming in your chest, that was all the answer you needed.

The way he was kissing you also did a wonderful job of making everything other than that sensation very hard to focus on.

When you separated, gasping for air, you looked at Azriel sheepishly and said, “now may be a bad time to tell you that I’m a really shitty cook.”

Azriel laughed loud and full, pecking your lips again before he said, “whatever it is I’ll eat it, I don’t care.”

“So-“

“-Yes.” There was so much behind that one word. So much of his heart and soul poured out to you in those three little letters.

You smiled up at him, a hint of mischief in it, but so, so genuinely happy you couldn’t bring yourself to ruin it.

“You’re everything I ever wanted,” you said to him.

The look in his eyes would have told you enough, but there was a feeling in your chest then too. Me too, it seemed to say, I’ve loved you long before I ever met you.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulled him in for a searing kiss before letting him go, and walking out of the room, down towards the kitchen.

“Come on,” you called after him.

Mother help him, he followed right after you. Wrapped around your finger that was for sure, but you were wrapped around his too. You’d seen the dark parts of each other, reflected off of one another. But you saw the light too and had helped each other stand and weather storms of all kinds. And you would continue to do so for as long as the two of you walked this world.

The tide swept you into each other and nothing in this world would ever make either of you let go ever again.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys! I really wanted to make sure I got this one just right! The epilogue should not take nearly as long!

Series Taglist: @rcarbo1 @shylahstarzz @tele86 @bubybubsters @willowpains @breemitch15 @96jnie @polli05927 @starsidesigh @i-am-infinite @ashjade19 @lilah-asteria @lexi-in-wonderland @oldernotwiser26

[neunnnnnnn]

A shifting storytime that no one asked for 🫶🏾

🙆🏾‍♀️it's a bit long.

Alright so once again the people around me decide to pmo so then I remember this magnificent juicy gift that I discovered by accident one day then I'm like you know what fuck everyone I'm getting out of here for a while.

I didn't even wait until nightime and I go take a nap, I didn't really do a method? I just listened to a calm subliminal while I counted BACKWARDS! That shits kinda weird because I kept drifting to other stuff but I like how "awake" it keeps me. Anyway my intention was an awake shift because I had recently learned that symptoms are actually signs that you consciousness, soul idk... Is trying to leave your body. So at around 23 I start feeling like there is this SHARP ringing and it's was loud and scratchy but I'm like no I'm not giving up and I say affirmation after affirmation because I could literally feel like my body was resisting, my eyes we even opening and I could see my room but I told myself that I'm not giving in.

Tbh you really need the willpower if you are going to shift awake.

Time isn't real so idk how long I was "fighting" but It felt like seconds then my subliminal stops playing and it changes to a song, I'm guessing by Justin Timberlake? Anyway so ofc my eyes are still closed and I panic tf out but then I'm like, " Hehe I fucking shifted!!" I open my eyes and guess what.... I have sleep paralysis 🥲. But looking around my room I had a lot of posters from Michael Jackson to one direction to Ariana Grande etc, so my guess was that I'm definitely in the year 2013-2015. I wield myself out of the sleep paralysis and my body is extremely heavy and feel a bit light headed, it was definitely summer because it was hot as hell!! Anyway I walk around my room and I'm looking at everything and trying to adjust to the fact that I just had to fight my body for this( and it was worth it!!)

I quickly realise that it's not any of my dr's so atp I'm like Idc I'm still staying. I look in the mirror and I notice that I am skinner and I have red hair with an anchor tattoo on my chest ( the girlies were also popping!!🙂‍↕️) I go downstairs and my parents are a different race. So I was like, "yeah I'm definitely adopted in this reality" I have an older brother that was definitely emo and a younger sister but she's my sister from my cr.

I act normal and head over to the living room and my dad stops me and tells me that my little sister wanted to go with my brother for a walk and asked if I wanted to go with them, so I say yes and right on que my brother comes down all dressed up and that's when I realise that I'm still in my pyjamas so I excuse myself and go change. Words cannot describe the joy I always feel when I open a closet and find clothes that I've ALWAYS wanted to wear 😭 anyway I dress up ( 2015 style because there's no other way?) we are at a park and I'm just looking around, really taking in everything because even though I've shifted before, it will NEVER fail to amaze me that we can literally hop from one reality to another, it will never fail to amaze me tbh. Like I'm currently sitting in a park with a different family, name, country?!

I wish I did something interesting but we just sat and chatted and got to know about the family I was in. I stayed there for 2 days before realising that I was going to open school soon and I was a senior?!! 😭 Like no thanks I finished highschool, then I went to sleep that night, with the intention of shifting back here.

~ For my subliminal users, the sub I used ⬇️

https://youtu.be/A67unsIchbU?si=fLzUqVSPhL90SZWV

[hongjoongspoetry]

ajhbdajhsbfjahdfja this was absolutely amazing, gosh the emotions I went through reading this, I hope though all my thoughts and comments makes sense cuz I'm dead tired from work as I'm writing this (apologies in advance if some of it doesn't make sense😅)

Girl you have nothing to apologise for. Never did I once expect someone to write a bible-lengthy "review" on one of my fics, but im so fucking here for it!!

First of all what a cool but also kinda scary concept of having a metal chip in your arm which showcases how much in danger your soulmate is in!! And the name?! Soulometer!! That's such a good name for it!!

Now that I think about it, I could easily have made it into a horror story instead- Thank you for the lovely comment, imo, I thought "soulometer" sounded silly but I couldn't come up with anything better 😭🩷

Not the mc having Hongjoongs laugh as her ring tone💀 but also lowkey iconic of her to just let it be and own it even if it means she might be put in some awkward situations from time to time when her phone rings.

AHAHAHAHAAH personally, id never do that. considering we both are from sweden, imagine if you were on the bus and hongjoong's maniac laugh just rings out during rush hour- I swear on my cat, I'd make the bus stop and then throw myself in front of it 😭🤭

The light bickering between her and Hongjoong as they speak while she's on her way home made me chuckle because it feels so natural and fun. They kinda sound like me and my friends when we text each other😅

Sidenote: Reading your reblog made me realize just how much value I put in creating "a good" friendship for my characters. BUT DUDE IM SO HAPPY TO HEAR MY DIALOGUES ARE SOUNDING SOMEWHAT NATURAL AND REAL. Creating a good and realistic dialogue has been one of my biggest "weaknesses" when it comes to writing, as I tend to want everything to be perfect. and we all know real life dialogues are far from perfect, considering incorrect grammar, usage of words and flow is being used in a convo. so thank you so much for saying that 🥹

Another thing, I literally live for your reaction memes 😭 They fit so well into every scenario you wanna comment or thought you wanna share 🙂‍↕️

"[...] A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue." The last sentence🥺😭 it's like the both of them can't believe that the other one is there. I think it's clear from the way Mingi is reacting to her being in front of him that this was not something he had planned. Not even sure he knew it was her place he was in front of... Oh I also get the vibe that despite her not wanting to see him her feelings are conflicting with each other, like a raging storm within which cannot decide which way to go.

I love that your vibe/gut feeling is correct! Fate (literally) and the magic sprinkle of the soulmate bond brought them together 😈 Like they can't avoid each other forever, and Mingi knows that, obviously, but the MC thinks everything is just a coincidence 🤭

I do believe a part of her is relieved to see him hence why she invites him in to her home. Because even when you're sometimes furious at someone who hurt you in the past you might still be yearning to know they're okay, thoughts floating to them from time to time as you might reminisce on the past. I do believe both of them have been doing that from time to time even if one of them might not admit to doing it.

YES! And pair that off with the fact that they are soulmates. They are literally born to be together (whether it's romantic or platonic). They are the one song stuck in their minds that they can't stop hearing in their heads, no matter what. Their meetings are inevitable and all of their choices would lead up to them meeting again. So the MC inviting Mingi to her apartment, was both her own doing but also an invincible pull from the soulmate bond.

HAHAHAHAH I CANT GET OVER THE BLUSHY MEME PICTURES- WHY DOES THE POKEMON LOOK SO FREAKING MISCHEVIOUS AFKHAEKF

And the thumb on his lips moment!! Excuse me while I go giggle a bit to myself before composing myself lol🤭💓

The thumb on the lip moment is an event that lives rent free in my mind. Like it can either be a perfectly good move or a disatser 😭 But I love to use it 😈

I also am getting the vibes here that Mingi is not over her at all, mc might be closer to letting him go but Mingi is giving me the vibes that he truly never forgot about her and wants a relationship again but is unsure of how to proceed or how to even mend what has been broken in the past, you know.

Yeah, Mingi never really forgot about her. Like she was the one that got away and he has literally no one to blame but himself. And it takes so much on him because he knows they are destined for each other. As much as it hurts him to be selfless, it also hurts him to be selfish and "keep" her with him... my mingi 😔

Not Jongho and Wooyoung distracting her with all kinds of antics💀😭 but also those two are like the best combination of distraction because Jongho tries at first to gauge and see if she wants to talk and when the answer is no he immediately goes on to distract her in different ways together with Wooyoung. Like what do you mean Wooyoung slid her a package of gummies before sprinting out of her office?!😭 that's adorable and would get anyone in a better mood🥺💕

Wooyoung would literally KILL for his friends, so I just had to include him here. And Jongho, even if hes the youngest in the group, I feel like hed go over and beyond to help his members/other people he keeps close to his heart. And if that's not enough, what better combo than two menaces 😭 I also feel like we don't get to see Jongho be included, even if hes a "side character", and I really enjoy writing Jongho whether its his fic or not.

*sniff* he cares so much about her, he even got her tangerines😭 and PEELED ONES AT THAT?! 😩💓 he loves her so much like that's true love right there, even as a teen the fact that he took his time to get her her favorite fruit cuz she didn't eat lunch and then go on and peel it and make sure it's completely "naked" with no white parts and all of that jazz. It's acts of service like this that imo shows how much someone really cares and in this instant I feel like Mingi cares so much about her, probably memorizing small details like this one. Eg. he could have just given her the tangerine and not done anything more than that but no he knew her preferences and decided to make sure it was the way she liked it before giving it to her to eat.

"HE NEVER FORGOT ABOUT THE TANGERINES!!!!" I scream as they drag me to the dungeon. No, but fr, that would be my sign to return to my ex, boxing or no boxing. Listen, everyone, get yourself a partner like Mingi who pays attention to the smallest of details and who actually listens to you.

That must have been so terrifying, realizing that first of all your ex boyfriend and potentially first love is your soulmate and then realizing if you don't do anything now you'll potentially loose him forever if the soulometer is anything to go by. Sprinting as fast as you can as the world is probably moving in slow-motion as you hope you won't be too late in body slamming your soulmate so the car won't hit him. What a scary feeling that must be and oh so overwhelming with everything hitting you at once.

Literally imagine you find your soulmate and are on the brink of losing them in the same SECOND. Bro, I fear I'd never recover mentally. Like id be gone- And if it wasn't a fluff event, believe me Mingi would've died then and there. Just because im a menace who loves angst. But that's not related to this rn AHAHAHH. but yes, I really tried to explain the panic and fear the MC was in while trying to save her soulmate, and I hope I did at least convey some of it :3

And Mingi making sure to protect her with his hand protecting her head and the other one going around her waist to make sure she won't hit the ground too hard🥺

One thing about me I will always write gentleman!teez. I believe in gentleman!teez supremacy til the day I die and no one can convince me otherwise.

I'M GOING THROUGH IT HERE😭😭 Mina how can you do this to me😭 I need them both to never get into a single bad situation ever again I don't think my heart could take it💔

IM SO SORRY ESTHER!!! 😭 (muhahahahehehhehehe😈😈😈)

SO HE DID KNOW😭

HE KNEW ALL THIS TIME!!!! DOESNT THAT MAKE EVERYTHING HURT TEN TIMES MORE

oh boy... mc is so valid in her anger but I'm so conflicted because Mingi obviously loves her so much so he must have a good reason as to why he didn't tell her. Perhaps he felt as if he was only hurting her and that she didn't deserve to be with someone who only made her worry and get upset but at the same time that's not something he gets to decide all on his own without telling her first...

bro... did you like hack into my google documents planner? because why the hell have u been correct in every theory?? What is this sorcery????

asking shyly for permission to kiss someone is one of the best tropes to ever exist😌💕✨

On god, I don't even want a kiss if the other party doesn't ask like a lil nerd... LIKE YES OFC KISS ME DAMMIT KHFWKEJF

I'm in shambles at the ending😭 what a perfect ending to their story Minaaa😭😭💓💓 this was so good, so amazing the tension, the past coming back, the love between them and the way they care so deeply even if there is anger between them. ughhhh just everything 💗 Honestly just amazing spectacular and just everything you'd need in a soulmate au🥰

Thank you so much Esther. For reading and taking the time to write everything down. From your thoughts to the amazing pictures. I honestly can't thank you enough and I don't even deserve you 🩷🥹

Sparks and Bruises | Song Mingi

🥊 Summary: In a world where everyone at the age of eighteen gets a metal meter implanted on their wrist that shows the amount of danger your soulmate is in. You and Mingi have known each other since high school, but went through a nasty fallout after his love for boxing turned into a dangerous gamble with his life as the price. Years later, you stumble over his injured form on the doorstep of your apartment building. Not having the heart to turn him away like all those years ago, you invite him inside with the intention to clean his wounds, but get a lot more than you bargained for.

🥊 Pairing(s): Underground boxer!Mingi x Real estate agent!Reader, brief Hongjoong x Seonghwa

🥊 Genres/Tropes: Soulmate AU, non-idol AU, second chance AU, fluff, exes to friends to lovers, angst (more than what I planned on)

🥊 Warnings/Tags: female reader, no use of (Y/N), reader is allergic to peanuts so go with it for the plot, brief description of bruises and cuts, explicit language, crying, kissing, car accident, pet names (love, sugar, sweets), mentioned hospital, flashbacks, not beta read

🥊 Wordcount: 12.5K

🥊 Author's Note: Click the image for a better resolution (Tumblr I hate you). I just got off work (it's like 10 pm here), so I'm super tired and can barely keep my eyes open. Anyway, this is the last instalment of the Cherry Blossom March Event and while I'm sad it's over, I'm also happy because now I can focus on finishing my other stories!! A big thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read, leave notes and comments on my works <3 Btw I am no real estate agent and everything you read in this fic is based on excessive research (which could very well be wrong).

This is all fiction and not meant to represent any idols involved in any way or form. This work is rated SFW, however it contains explicit scenes, not sexual content but descriptions of minor injuries as well as matures themes. Minors, please, read at your own risk and refrain from interacting or following my blog!

AO3 Masterpost Moodboard

The arrow inside the plate on your wrist, no bigger than a lighter, irregularly traveled back and forth, going from one end of the meter to the other. For some, it would be worrisome and  concerning, but for you, it was the opposite. You had yet to meet your soulmate. The person responsible for the occasional spike in your soulometer — the metal chip showing how much danger your soulmate was in. A mandatory procedure ordered by the government a couple of decades ago, probably one of the dumbest things the rulers of the world ever implemented into society.

“We have thought it over and… We’ll sign the contract!”

You were startled as the couple attending your showing returned from their not-so-private discussion on the other side of the kitchen. The faceless person you were supposedly destined to be with — as much as a machine could decide your destiny — occupied your thoughts more often than not, even while at work.

You put on your million-dollar smile and clasped your hands together. “Perfect. Shall we set a date for you to sign the papers then?”

The couple was expecting and in need of a bigger place than their flat, which could barely fit the two of them. After many buts and ifs, the newly wed pair eagerly agreed and a date was set. You didn’t usually have showings late into the night, but considering the husband worked early mornings until late evenings, and the wife wanted him to be present, you made an exception. Money was money, after all, and you were always in need of it.

Declining their offer to drive you home, you bid the happy couple goodbye and locked up after yourself. The apartment wasn’t too far from your place and you didn't think it would be necessary to order a cab for a ten minute walk despite it being quite late. The stiletto heels you decided to wear that morning made it feel like thirty instead and you quickly regretted being a cheapskate. Why did you have to make your life more insufferable than it already was? You only needed the sky to open up and let a waterfall of rain seep down on Seoul. At least you were smart enough to wear pants and a turtleneck instead of a dress or skirt. Despite it being late March where flowers decorated the bland parks and the trees grew out their long-awaited hair again, it felt like the start of winter. 

“This is what you get for listening to Iggy Azalea,” you hissed to yourself as a familiar burn spread through your pinky toes and the back of your feet.

A crazed laughter cut through the chilly air and you automatically reached for the phone in your purse. Setting the ringtone as your best friend’s giggle was a good idea when you were still in high school and just recently turned eighteen. It wasn’t as fun when you were a woman of twenty-something-something years old with an image to uphold and your face plastered on a few boards all through town with your phone number scribbled beneath in big, bold font followed by a text literally begging people to reach out. You swore to change it every time someone called, but the thought always got lost in the shuffle of your other hundred tasks waiting to be done.

You braced yourself for it to be another client calling in the dead of night, but it turned out to be one of your saved contacts. Swiping right and putting the phone up to your ear, you answered with a tired, “Hello.”

“Finally! She answers!”

“Some of us still have work, Hongjoong. Do you know how many times I had to apologize for my ringtone?”

The identical maniac laugh recorded into your phone years ago, erupted from the device and you rolled your eyes. 

“And yet you never change it. After all these years, you still have my voice as your ringtone… That’s quite romantic.”

“Watch it or I’ll have a wild Park come for my head.”

“Seonghwa would never do that.” You let the line fall silent and Hongjoong could hear your pointed look on the other side. “Okay, he probably would. Where are you anyways?! I can hear cars in the background.”

So the bass boosted headphones hadn’t ruined his hearing yet. All those times he ignored you were on purpose then. Good to know.

“I’m on my way home from work. Had a showing a few minutes ago and it went well actually.”

Another voice accompanied Hongjoong on the other line, but you couldn’t quite make out the words. 

“Seonghwa is scolding you for not calling one of us to drive you home and I have to agree with him, sprout. It’s not safe to be out this late.”

The nickname sent you down memory lane dating all the way back to middle school, when you and Hongjoong were the shortest kids in class but didn’t let that hinder you from showing off your talents and wits. Hongjoong a smart kid who excelled in everything from math to musical history while you burned everyone in debates, presentations, speeches, basically anything relate to public speaking. Hence your choice of profession.

“I know, but it really slipped my mind and it’s not even that far from my flat, I promise. Like I’m almost there, just a few more minutes. I can practically see the building lights from here.”

“Good. Stay with me on the call until you enter though. Now, let me tell you about this guy who tried to steal my laptop…”

If he could, Hongjoong would have talked for hours which was quite rare. The man was usually drained from being cooped up in his studio all day, running on zero sleep and five iced coffees. It was in fact how you became friends. 

The kid with round chipmunk cheeks and a menacing smile approached the girl sitting in the back of the class, not making a peep. Hongjoong kicked up a conversation by complimenting the pink bows in your hair — a little detail none of your other classmates had noticed, let alone found them pretty — and offering you a peanut butter cookie that you sadly had to decline because of your allergies. Instead of ending the interaction at your meek thank you, Hongjoong took it as an official proposition of becoming friends. Seven year old Hongjong refused to go back to his seat and even nearly threw a tantrum in class, leaving the homeroom teacher with no other choice than to make you seatmates. 

You and Hongjoong quickly became a duo. Wherever you went, he followed. It marked the start of a long lasting friendship you wouldn’t trade for the world. 

“...Can you imagine that?! He grabbed my stuff and proceeded to lie straight to my face!”

You hummed into the phone at his rambling. A smile graced your face as you neared your apartment building, but disappeared quickly. Hongjoong’s voice became background noise as you slowed down. A figure dressed in all black and a hood thrown over their head sat at the doorsteps. Both arms planted on their knees and head shoved into the palms of their hands. The person was on the taller side and looked quite buff beneath the baggy clothes. You didn’t recognize them as one of your neighbours, but the swooping feeling in your stomach hinted on something else. 

Not heeding Hongjoong’s previous warning of being cautious, you decided to approach the stranger. The clicking of your heels interrupted the peaceful silence of the night and the person immediately looked in your direction. Sharp and angry eyes met yours, and the furious spark swirling in them morphed into surprise. Your heart jumped in your throat as you recognized the person. Of all the people in the world, you certainly didn’t expect to find him at your doorstep.

“Hongjoong? I’ll have to call you back.”

“What? Why? What happened?”

“Nothing– Or well, something, but nothing dangerous– I’ll just call you back okay?”

“...You sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

“Okay. Talk to you later then.” 

You quickly pressed the red button and lowered your phone. The man was still staring at you, the fear that his imagination was playing a trick on him lingering. That if he looked away, you’d disappear from his line of sight.

Sweat spread along your palms and your pulse was loud in your ears as you walked up to the man.

“Mingi?” 

He scrambled up to his feet and took hold of the railing with one hand while the other pressed against his left rib and a surprised wince slipped through his lips. 

“Long time no see, huh?”

Your eyes darted all over him. Red and blue blemishes covered almost the entire surface of his face and trickles of sweat ran down the side of his face. You didn’t want to think what hid beneath his clothes. 

The last time you saw him was all the way back in high school. A scrawny boy with legs for days, but the coordination of a newborn foal and a smile that lit up your world. The man before you grew into his big features and lost the youthful look. The pointy nose and plump lips were still there, but accompanied by prominent cheekbones, a sharp jaw, a piercing gaze and a chiseled face that wasn’t the shape of a triangle. His hair, once black and short, was now a dark shade of brown and longer than ever, reaching below his nape and bangs falling over his brows. A lot in his appearance changed, but the cuts and bruises remained, pouring acid on your tongue. 

Ignoring the bitterness pooling in your stomach, you decided to keep the conversation civil. A stark contrast to how your last encounter went. 

”Are you… alright?”

“Yeah, no, I was on my way home, but just needed to sit down…”

You weren’t going to pry despite clearly seeing he was anything but alright. If he didn’t want to tell you, who were you to force him? 

Offering him a light smile, you tried keeping the tone light. “What are the odds of you sitting on my doorstep, huh?” 

“Yeah… How long has it been since…”

“Four? Five? Five years.”

Mingi whistled lowly and a silence occupied the street. Everyone decided to stay in as no cars or other people lingered around. You wouldn’t say it was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t pleasant either and you didn’t know what to do. Leaving him out in the cold wasn’t an option, but inviting him didn’t sound right either. After a long fight between your brain and heart, you decided to listen to the beating organ in your chest.

“Wanna… come up? To my apartment.”

Mingi looked up at you through his fringe and the soft roundness to his eyes teleported you back to high school. Keeping your composure, you hastily added on to the sentence.

“T-To, to clean up and maybe have something to eat?”

Had someone asked you five years ago what you’d say to Mingi if the opportunity presented itself, you surely wouldn’t have invited him to your home or offered him a free meal. The most he’d get out of you would be a one-finger salute. Fast forward one thousand eight hundred and twenty five days and Mingi was lent a helping hand instead. It was enough time for you to mature into a more rational woman who could, for better or for worse, put her feelings aside and think with her brain. 

Mirrors surrounded the entire inside of the elevator, even on the doors, and you held back from laughing at the reflection. There couldn’t have been an odder pair than you two. Mingi, dressed in all black with colorful blotches decorating his intimidating face, and you, wearing designer from head to toe. Even your bags were opposites — his a dingy gym bag that was a thread away from falling apart and yours from the recent Louis Vuitton collection. It was quite a funny look, but not a bone in your body vibrated with glee.

As the elevator doors closed and the mechanism carried you up the many flights of stairs, the reality dawned upon you. A multitude of questions you hadn’t thought of before inviting Mingi inside popped up like mosquitoes during summer nights — annoying, but unavoidable. The poor attempt of convincing yourself it was just a kind gesture, a friend helping a friend, you couldn’t shoo away the nagging fact that nothing of your and Mingi’s past was platonic. Shame and guilt curled in the pit of your stomach. Knowing your soulmate was out there somewhere, probably waiting for you, while you were cozying up to a man who wasn’t meant to be yours in the first place was sickening. 

The ding of your arrival sounded through the speakers and you quickly went first with Mingi hot on your heels. Unlocking your front door, you threw the keys in a bowl the shape of a fish — a housewarming gift from Hongjoong — and stripped your outerwear. It was first when you put your stuff aside that you realized Mingi was still standing by the door and hadn’t moved since crossing the threshold. The man was shamelessly taking in his surroundings and you wondered what he thought of your apartment. Was it to his liking? Did it suit you? Did he like it? Why did you care?

“Uhm, you can just hang your stuff here,” you gestured to the coat rack mounted to the wall, “while I get dinner ready.”

You didn’t wait around to see him subtly nod, instead you made an escape to the safety of your kitchen. It was weird having Mingi over. It was weird being civil to one another. The tension was still there since your last encounter, like static in the air that wouldn’t really go away. The soft pad of feet grew louder and you threw a look over your shoulder to see Mingi in the doorway, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and eyes darting all over the place. Aside from his appearance, it seemed that his habits hadn’t changed — good as bad — but it wasn’t your place to pry. Not anymore.

“Is it alright if I… wash up now?”

A heat crawled up your neck and attacked your cheeks. “Y–Yeah, of course!” You cleared your throat and continued, “The bathroom is on the left of the hallway and there are towels in the cupboard above the washing machine.”

Mingi nodded, but didn’t budge from his spot. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and leaned against the doorframe to take on a relaxed posture, yet he looked anything but relaxed.

“I… I– Uhm, don’t… I kinda don’t have a spare set of clothes to change into…”

“Oh… Oh!”

“Yeah,” he inhaled sharply through his teeth, a low hiss escaping as he tried to ignore the stiff atmosphere. 

“That’s alright! I think I have something you can use. Uhm, you can start washing up while I see what I can do.”

Rummaging through your closet for your brother’s clothes to lend Mingi wasn’t something you ever imagined doing in all your years of living, but here you were. Hunched over, searching like a madwoman for an extra hoodie and some basketball shorts or a pair of sweatpants that wouldn’t be too small on the giant currently occupying your bathroom. Your brother had been in your apartment a grand total of three times and by some stroke of luck, he’d left behind clothes he thought might come in handy for his next visit. Who knew they’d be useful for more than just that? 

You didn’t find a hoodie, but you did spot a black compression shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants that would have to do. You just hoped they wouldn’t be too tight. To be on the safe side, you even snagged one of your brother’s boxers. It was one thing to share clothes and another thing to share underwear, but if you got to choose, you’d happily accept the fresh pair instead of reusing your sweaty undies. The choice was up to Mingi in the end. With the clothes neatly folded in your hands, you marched toward the bathroom and triple knocked on the door.

“Uh, I found some clothes you can use!”

The harsh drops of the shower abruptly stopped and you patiently waited for a response, but nothing came. You raised your hand, fingers balled into a fist, and as you swung it forward to knock again, the door suddenly opened. A cloud of steam escaped from the hot bathroom and Mingi’s very naked body appeared in the slight opening. His stomach was a perfect display of muscle, each of the six abs sculpted like marble. You would’ve ogled longer hadn’t the raspberry and plum colored blemishes covered a huge part of his toned skin. His hair dripped on the tiled floor and a white towel hung dangerously low on his hips. The warmth tickling your whole body evaporated into a numbing cold at the bruises. Swallowing nervously, you forced your eyes back up. 

Mingi flicked his head sideways to move the wet strands from his face and his tongue darted out to lap at his dry lips, a motion you followed attentively. The raise of his brow, a silent question urging you to speak up, had you stumbling over your words.

“S–So, I... I, uh, found something you can… change into!” 

The clothes were thrust harshly into his bare chest, and Mingi nearly dropped the towel in order to catch them. Before he could utter so much as a "thanks," you bolted back to the kitchen and whipped out leftovers from last night. Anything to keep you busy and distracted from the jaw-dropping image that refused to leave you alone. Mingi eventually joined you in the kitchen. He leaned against the counter beside the stove, where you guarded the kimchi stew from overheating, and crossed his arms over his chest. The already prominent muscles grew more defined beneath the tight fabric. It was difficult to ignore his gaze peering down at you, and you couldn’t decide if your cheeks flared from a natural bodily reaction or from the heat of the stove.

The circular table behind you was already set, with a pair of utensils and plates aligned opposite each other. You removed the pot and placed it in the center of the table, silently beckoning Mingi to take a seat. His hair was still wet, but not dripping and despite wearing clothes, you couldn’t muster up the courage to look him in the eyes. The late dinner was done in a deafening silence interrupted by the clink of utensils and lip smacking. Not able to bear the thickness in the air, you cleared your throat and asked the first thing to pop up in your mind. 

“Um… do you... want me to treat your bruises?” 

The confidence you spent years mastering and using in your daily life deflated like a dramatic balloon flying around the room until it fell limply on the floor. Mingi was mid shoving food into his mouth and froze as soon as the words reached his ears. His lips were parted enough for you to catch a glimpse of his slightly crooked front tooth and a wave of nostalgia hit you square in the nose. The man before you had changed so much, yet not at all.

Mingi took a bite of the kimchi and rice to buy himself time to think your proposal over. It wasn’t a bad shout as you did have experience treating his wounds considering you were the one tending to him back in high school. He slowly chewed and swallowed, and you were starting to regret ever opening your mouth.

“Sure,” he answered while giving his full attention to the bowl of stew before him and you  couldn’t have been more relieved. He didn’t have to see the way you bit the inside of your cheek, tightly gripped your spoon or raised your brows to your hairline.

The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and for once, you didn’t care if it wrapped around your throat and suppressed the air from entering your lungs. This was all so surreal. There wasn’t a day where you thought you’d be eating left-over kimchi stew with your ex-boyfriend and then agree to treat his wounds — the thing that drove you apart all those years ago. The universe worked in a funny way. Instead of bringing you closer to your soulmate, it led you straight to the past. 

Putting the bowls in the sink, you gestured for Mingi to return to the bathroom while you put away the dishes. It hadn’t dawned on you that by helping Mingi treat his wounds, you’d have to merge your personal bubbles into one and actually touch him, even if it was as much as a graze of your fingertips along his skin.

Rounding the corner of the hallway and stopping before the entrance to the bathroom with a medkit in your hands, you were caught off guard by the image before you. Mingi was seated on the toilet lid, hunched over with his forearms resting on his thighs. You could see the top of his head — something you rarely did back in high school — as he faced the tiled floor. A swoop in your stomach urged you to run your fingers through his strands, but the impulse was quickly shut down. You stepped into the bathroom with feigned confidence. Mingi looked up as your sock-clad feet came into view, your big toes wiggling nervously. You placed the kit on the sink and grabbed the things you needed, starting with alcohol wipes. There wasn’t much you could do about the colored bruises already turning an ugly shade of yellow and purple, but the few cuts — like the one on his bottom lip and around his eyebrows — were easier to treat.

“This may sting,” you whispered, shuffling closer to him.

Mingi parted his legs to give you better access to his face. You put a finger beneath his chin and tilted it upward before gently dabbing the wipe against his brow ridge. A hiss filled the bathroom, but you didn’t stop cleaning the wound. Despite not being in this situation since high school, when Mingi would get his ass beat in the boxing ring and show up at your door with new cuts adorning his face every other weekend, you still remembered all the steps of the treatment. They were etched into your spine and controlled your limbs without a strain.

Your lips were pressed into a thin line, your brows almost touching from how deeply furrowed they were and Mingi wanted to smooth out the skin between them, but did no such thing. Instead, he diverted his attention elsewhere and focused on your lips, which he’d argue was the worse choice of the two. Scooping a generous amount of ointment on a Q-tip, you dabbed it on the cut and finished it off with a small band-aid that smoothly blended in with his hue. You tried to put off treating his lips, but apparently even Mingi had a limit to how many punches to the face he could take, and you eventually had to bite the sour apple and just get it over with.

It had been silent since you warned him about the sting from the alcohol wipes, broken only by a few of his grunts and hisses. Yet, the silence never felt as loud as it did in that moment when you cupped his chin in your left hand and stared intently at his plump lips. A determined heat swirled in your eyes and Mingi couldn’t look away. It took everything in him not to instinctively bite down on his bottom lip or run his tongue over it.

“Relax your lips,” you said, brushing your thumb along the bottom row. 

You didn’t realize what you had done until a second later and Mingi couldn’t chuckle at your appalled expression, as he was equally frozen in place. Both of you were left wide-eyed, mouths hanging open and brains going haywire. A pleading sparkle glimmered in his dark eyes, but you refused to give in, keeping your focus on his lips — lips that were so kissable. Warmth washed over you and there was nothing you wanted more than for the ground to swallow you whole. The weight of his burning eyes was too heavy for you to bear, so you tried to redirect the attention by doing the one thing you did best — talking.

“Are you still fighting?”

It seemed to do the trick as Mingi broke out of the captivating spell. In an exhausted tone, the one you’d hear between a couple constantly bickering and reaching their end, he breathed out your name.

“I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

You hastily applied the ointment and retracted your hand, but Mingi was faster. He grabbed your wrist, his thumb landing on the soulometer in the quick act and an electric crackle burst where your skin connected. A beat or two passed before he decided to speak up.

“I am fighting, just not as much… I kinda feel bad for my soulmate.” The corner of his mouth pulled up in a faint smirk and a chuckle followed at his poor attempt of easing the awkward air.

Your heart dropped into your stomach and you didn’t think it was possible for it to go any further from there, but hearing the rest of his sentence proved you wrong. Before the hollow feeling could reflect on your face, you forced the corners of your lips up in a fabricated smile. An identical smile to the one caught in a multiple of billboards all over Seoul. 

“I wish mine would do the same. They always seem to find themselves in some trouble.”

A thick gulp ventured down his throat and the shaking panic in his eyes morphed into a forced calm. “I’m sure if they knew you were this worried, they’d stop running headfirst into danger.”

Five years had passed since the soulometer was injected into your wrist, enough time for your soulmate to change their ways, to stop giving their other half constant fear every night. Yet, it wasn’t the distance or the lack of knowledge about each other’s lives that weighed on your heart. The true reason lay deeper — your soulmate simply didn’t care enough to stop or perhaps they lacked the means to break free from the dangerous path they’d chosen. It was never about being physically apart, but about the emotional distance — the helplessness of knowing that, despite everything, they continued to surround themselves with danger. You didn’t have the heart to confide in Mingi about it, to express the quiet ache you carried, because saying it aloud would mean admitting that the person you loved was still caught in a cycle they couldn’t escape, or didn’t want to. 

Truthfully, Mingi was also the last person you wanted to confide in about the matter.

“I guess so.”

The brief and accidental encounter with Mingi was supposed to stay a long lost media in your brain, cluttered together with other minor memories. That was what you told yourself as Mingi left your apartment, sweaty clothes in a trash bag and belly full of warm leftovers. The version of him you remembered from all those years ago still lived on in your imagination, the bitter note of how everything ended, a constant reminder as to why the encounter should just be that — short, consistent and insignificant. As the morning sun peeked from between the high buildings and the dark sky bleed out to a baby blue hue, you’d return to your everyday life of selling apartments while the dishwasher rinsed the memory of what occurred in the space of your four walls. 

The open PDF on the computer screen illuminated your face and the bazillion numbers would’ve been overwhelming if your mind wasn’t occupied by the thoughts of a certain man with feline-shaped eyes and annoyingly juicy lips. Whatever you did — drown yourself in work, spend time with Hongjoong and Seonghwa, try out the new restaurant in town — nothing was good enough to forget Song Mingi and that night. The situation just felt so right. A domestic reality you yearned for since you graduated high school and moved into your own flat. The wish to have someone by your side, to stuff your face in greasy food, stay up late at night and watch a plethora of rom-coms while cuddled up to them, and sleep until the sun was high in the sky. Mingi re-awakened those feelings you locked away in a chamber behind your heart.

A stack of papers fell on your desk with a thud and pulled you out of your wishful thinking. Jongho, your freakishly strong colleague, plopped down on a vacant plush sofa that was mainly there for clients to use while discussing potential deals.

“You excited to get drinks after work?” He asked, tugging on his perfectly made necktie.

You massaged your forehead, completely having forgotten about the collective outing you and your co-workers had every month. “Is that today?”

“Whoa, don’t tell me you, the most unforgettable person I know, forgot about our end-of-the-month-party!? Woo is gonna have a blast when I tell him!”

Jongho didn’t question your sudden loss of memory at first. The younger agent found the situation perfect for a round of teasing or perhaps even as future blackmail material. Concern flashed in his eyes when you made no attempt to defend your honor and instead buried the rest of your face in the palms of your hands.

“Hey… is everything… alright?”

“Yeah… No? I don’t know.” 

Something was really wrong because you were never tired. In fact, Jongho had never seen you without a smile or a spring in your step. You were always collected, whether it was your clothes, hair or mood. Fire alarms went off in his head and plans be damned if he didn’t at least try to figure out what was going on. It was easier said than done, though, because he didn’t know how to approach the topic and ended up sitting there with his mouth parted like a fish out of water. The overthinking was starting to trigger a headache, so he settled on the simplest, but hopefully, most effective question he could think of.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Your reply was instantaneous. “I need to not think about it.”

A mischievous gummy smile spread across his face. “You just signed yourself up for regret, my dear friend.”

As you were about to ask to elaborate, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out for the biggest menace in the company.

“Wooyoung-ya!”

Albeit curious, the pair didn’t try to fish out context clues or the story behind your emotional state. Wooyoung lived up to Jongho’s promise of making you regret joining them for drinks and it didn't stop there. They both continuously visited your office throughout the rest of the shift. Wooyoung would nonchalantly enter the room as if he didn’t have anything up his sleeve, step up to the window and inspect the wilted plant burning up from being in the sunlight for too long, when he was actually throwing you curious glances from the corner of his eye. Then, before quickly taking his leave, he’d subtly slide you a packet of gummies and run as if his life depended on it. One would believe you were engaging in some shady transaction that would definitely make you both lose your real estate license. 

Jongho was a different story. The youngest of the trio wasn’t good with his words, but the affection could be read through his actions. Although they were questionable. He, too, invaded your room in subtle fashion and touched everything that didn’t require human contact — your Sanrio figurines, picture frames, ornaments still up from Christmas. While it was annoying in the moment, their antics kept you from circling back to the one person who had made his grand return after five years of radio silence. Good thing you hadn’t planned on rekindling that flame ever again. But what was written in your calendar didn’t align with the universe. 

The happy hour had ended a while ago, and while Jongho and Wooyoung made sure to get you home first, your stomach rumbled the second you stepped foot into the apartment. What better meal to have in a tipsy state than some ramen? 

The trip to the corner shop was supposed to be quick and relaxing — a weak attempt to distract yourself from the headache blooming at the back of your head. Perhaps that was why you weren’t fully aware of your surroundings, stumbling into racks displaying different flavors of chips and accidentally knocking things out of place. You purposefully ignored the scorching gaze of the cashier and hastily moved to hide between the aisles. But what you didn’t expect was for another figure to round the opposite corner, causing you to bump headfirst into them. The ramen cups and energy drinks piled up in their basket tumbled to the floor, and you quickly crouched down to gather as many things as your arms would allow.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

The person didn’t say anything and you expected them to be very annoyed, but that wasn’t the case. The familiar face looking down at you with a tight-lipped smile caused you to freeze on the spot.

“Hey.” Mingi flared his fingers in what was supposed to resemble a wave, but it came off more awkward than intended.

A painful cramp fluttered at the back of your neck as the position wasn’t the most comfortable, your head craned uncomfortably as you looked up at him, the strain making it feel like it might snap at any moment. Yeah, the university wasn’t on your side.

“Here.” 

He knelt down to be at your level, though it would never really match, and urged you to place the belongings in the basket. It was impossible to tear your eyes from him, but Mingi didn’t notice your stare as he gathered the unscattered snacks and drinks in the carrier. Once was a coincidence, twice is a pattern, you thought and swallowed thickly.

“Alright, let’s stand up.” 

He rested his arm on his propped-up knee, while the other hand was held out for you to take. On a count of three, you both stood up simultaneously and your hand immediately returned to your side. 

“What are you doing here?”

The question came off more like an interrogation than a casual inquiry and you winced at your loose tongue. Mingi didn’t seem to care though.

“Nothing much, just wanted a late night snack.” As if you didn’t understand, he grabbed one of the ten ramen cups in his basket and gently shook it. The contents rattling together and overpowering the whirring sound of the freezers. “What about you?”

“Ah, same here…”

Mingi glanced down at your empty hands and smacked his lips together, “Cool.”

“Yeah…”

The young cashier who couldn’t be older than a high school graduate nearly suffocated from the sudden thickness in the convenience store. 

“Uhm, you gonna get anything?”

“What? Oh! Right! Let me just…” You trailed off and darted over to the refrigerators, grabbing the first thing that came into view. 

You snagged a bag of shrimp chips on your way back too. Banana milk and shrimp chips, what a combination! The reasons for your late-night adventure had started with the craving for ramen, but somewhere between the aisle mishap and the distraction of other snacks, the noodles had been completely forgotten. In the meantime, Mingi moved over to the cashier register and patiently waited for the kid to scan his items. 

You shuffled behind him and Mingi turned sideways, one of his brows cocked up. “Here, give me that.” 

Before you could protest or dodge his advances, the items in your hands were stolen from beneath your nose and placed on the counter. 

“Hey, no, I can pay for that.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Mingi–”

“I said don’t worry about it.” There was a certain finality to his tone that told you there was no point in further arguing. Mingi swiped his card as the cashier packed your things in two separate plastic bags. 

Standing outside the Seven-Eleven, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, the handles of the bag clinging to your wrist. “You didn’t have to do that. I can pay for myself.”

Mingi’s breath escaped in a cloud of vapor, lingering in the cold air before it dissolved into the sky. The corner of his mouth lifted into a one-sided grin. 

“I know.”

Never letting you pay for anything was just another addition to the long list of habits he still clung to since high school. Mingi really hadn’t changed, and you couldn’t deny the disappointment that settled in as you witnessed it.

“Good. Then I’m leaving now. Good night.” You turned on your heel and began walking in the direction of your home.

“W–Wait! Let me walk you home.”

You didn’t spare him a glance. “No need for that. This is one of the safest neighborhoods in Seoul, actually.”

Another ‘I know’ died on his lips. If anyone on this earth knew how out of danger you were, it would be Mingi.

“T–That’s good, but... it would help me sleep at night if I knew you got home safely.” 

After all this time, you still had a hard time telling him no. Sighing, you shrugged your shoulders in defeat, your resistance crumbling despite yourself. “Fine, you can walk me home.”

The walk was short, but lasted longer than ever and you were regretting your choices of not standing your ground against him. You would never admit it out loud, but his dimpled smile and two moles were your greatest weakness and there was no way you’d ever win against them. 

Mingi cleared his throat. “What have you been up to? You know, since high school.”

“Have you thought about what college to apply for?” Mingi asked and intertwined his fingers across his abdomen.

“I don’t know,” you told him truthfully. 

You lay on the grass, staring up at the night sky. The black canvas was dotted with a million, billion stars, leaving no space untouched. It had been Mingi’s idea to go stargazing, but considering neither of you had a driver’s license or the energy to trek up a mountain in the middle of the night, you figured the view wouldn’t be any different from your backyard.

He turned to you and followed the outline of your profile. God, you were beautiful. “Really? How come?”

“I don’t know. I feel like there are so many options, like how will I know what’s good for me.”

“Whatever you choose, sugar, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Now it was your turn to face him and he flashed you a reassuring smile.“Sometimes, the best choice is the one that feels right in the moment.”

“...Being with you feels right.”

Nothing could compare to back then. Sure, you experienced fleeting moments of happiness, but they didn’t last longer than the life of a snowflake. Did Mingi ask that to see if you were still stuck in the past? If your time together was the peak of your happiness? He didn’t get to do that. To slither his way into your heart and admire everything you had been through without him by your side.

“Nothing special. I’m a real estate agent, so I’ve been busy selling houses and apartments.”

“Nothing special my ass. That’s amazing. But what is expected of the smartest girl in our high school, huh? I always knew you’d achieve great things.” 

Blood pooled beneath your cheeks, burning hotter than a fever of thirty-nine degrees, and you hated how, despite everything, he still turned you into a giddy high school girl who made eye contact with her crush. To be fair, it wasn’t too far from the truth and that was a scary realization on its own. All it took was a measly compliment and you turned to mush.

“What about you? What are you doing these days?”

A silence stretched between you far heavier than anything you had ever felt before. It was as if the question had torn through some fragile barrier, leaving him exposed. His eyes, once sharp and filled with glee, now seemed distant, as though searching for something lost. You could feel the weight of the pause, like a storm brewing in the space between you. What was he really doing these days? More importantly, what had he been doing all this time out of your reach?

“A little bit of everything. Anything I can get my hands on, really.”

“You didn’t study after high school?”

“You know school wasn’t my strongest suit. Stuffy classrooms and obnoxious teachers talking my ear off never got me anywhere, I mean, I barely passed high school. I was more comfortable with my hands in motion and figuring things out as I went. School was ever it for me. It always felt like I was waiting for something that never came.”

Mingi wasn’t wrong. Although he was a smart kid, staying awake studying until the dead of night and then working an underpaid nine-to-five job wasn’t for him. But you couldn’t shake away the bitterness of how he threw away the opportunity of a normal life with you for a bloody ring and a life of unpredictability. The punches he took in that world weren’t just physical — they hit somewhere deeper, somewhere you couldn’t reach. You had always wanted something more stable, something real to hold on to, but Mingi had chosen the chaos, the fight, over everything else. Perhaps that was why the universe decided not to tie your red string to his pinky, knowing it would hurt you more than his decision.

Coming to a stop outside your apartment, the memory of your first encounter after a few years still fresh in your mind. 

“Like boxing?”

Mingi’s eyes softened, but he didn’t speak, his mouth pressing into a thin line. The silence between you both was heavy, filled with things unsaid. It was the kind of silence that made your heart ache, knowing that there was so much left unresolved between you, yet you couldn’t find the words to fix it.

“Good night, Mingi,” you finally said, taking a shaky breath as you turned back to your door again. 

The finality in your tone hung in the air like a weight neither of you could lift. You didn’t look back as you reached for the door handle, but you knew Mingi was still there, standing in the same place, holding onto the same regrets.

Reaching your apartment, you flicked on the lights and quickly discarded your outerwear. You turned on the switches in every room and placed the bag of goods on the kitchen table. 

Disappointment fueled every movement. Grabbing a pot from the lower cupboard, you filled it with water, not caring as it splashed everywhere. When you set it down on the stove, you didn’t bother being careful, letting it thud onto the surface. You waited — oh-so-patiently — for the water to reach its boiling point and shoved a hand into the plastic bag. The expected rustling of plastic and cold drinks didn’t come. Instead, you felt the hard, smooth texture of something else. Knitting your brows together, you took hold of the square object, no bigger than a container of pudding.

In your palm was a plastic box of peeled and cut oranges.

Your head rested on your folded arms, eyes cast on the baby-blue sky taunting you from behind the windows. It was a beautiful day. What a shame you were stuck in a room with thirty other kids and no air conditioning. Your homeroom teacher was late — an uncanny occurrence, considering she always emphasized the importance of being on time and never failed to follow through. Until today.

The door to the classroom slid open with a thud, but the class had yet to quiet down, and by that single reaction, you knew it wasn’t Ms. Choi who had entered. The previously loud chatter of your friend group turned into hushed whispers and skittish snickers that reached your ears, but you didn’t bother to see what had gotten them so giggly. It was probably Jihoon, the new boy in class, who effortlessly managed to twirl every girl around his finger with just a look. He wasn’t your type — you preferred them tall, lanky, and clumsy. Jihoon was on the shorter side and had muscles that seemed unnatural for a sixteen-year-old. Plus, you weren’t into soccer boys. No, your style was more martial arts.

A hand, twice the size of yours, appeared out of nowhere and placed a clementine — your favorite fruit — on your desk, just inches from your face. Your eyes widened, staring at the bright fruit in disbelief. Groggily, you pushed away from the comfortable spot against the desk, only to quickly notice the figure looming over you.

Song Mingi.

“You skipped lunch,” he stated nonchalantly, offering an explanation for the sudden appearance of the fruit.

The muffled squeals of your friends, combined with Mingi’s unexpected act of chivalry, sent heat rushing to your cheeks, leaving you flustered and unsure of how to react. Gift-giving and small acts of service weren’t foreign between you and Mingi. He always seemed to know your cravings, bringing you peeled fruit and sugary snacks without you ever having to ask. In return, you tended to his cuts, massaged the tension from his neck and shoulders after heavy training, and always seemed to find ways to care for him without words. But that was done in private, never in public. Especially not in front of your friends who were having a field day with his new revelation.

“Ah,” Mingi breathed out, picking up the orange once more. 

Silently, he peeled off the thin skin, revealing the vibrant fruit hidden beneath. But he wasn’t done yet. With a casual movement, he stuffed the citrus-scented rind into the pocket of his school uniform before carefully removing the white pith wedged between the clementine’s segments. You didn’t like the white parts. His towering form caught the attention of the rest of the class and by now everyone intently watched the exchange. 

The clementine looked bare now. He held out the fruit again, waiting for you to extend your hand, careful not to let it touch the surface of your desk. A yellowish stain colored his nails, a discoloration that wouldn't fade with just one wash, and the acidic smell lingered, even stronger now. It was the main reason you didn’t like peeling them in the first place.

Mingi, having heard your confession a few weeks ago, made it his mission to always give you peeled oranges. It warmed your chest to know he was keeping that promise.

Apparently, the universe wasn’t satisfied with your first and second encounters because the third one happened just a little less than a week later. You were meeting up with Hongjoong and Seonghwa at a nearby cafe to catch up on the hecticness of your lives — also known as gossip about your workplaces and bonding over the latest episode of When Life Gives You Tangerines. The name of the drama threw you down a steep hill of memories, but you stood up, dusted off your knees and trekked back up. You didn’t want to associate him with the family of fruit anymore.

The clock had just passed five-thirty AM and you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. It didn’t help that you hit every red light possible. At least the weather was nice. Not a single cloud occupied the baby-blue sky and the spring breeze scattered butterfly kisses along your body. It could’ve been worse. You thought of gloomy clouds and cold rain, and immediately shuddered. Yeah, it definitely could’ve been worse. 

The breath caught in your throat as a bus sped by, just a little over the limit. You exhaled in relief as it passed, but that relief was short-lived when you locked eyes with none other than Mingi on the other end of the sidewalk. It felt as if the universe were laughing in your face, throwing everything you didn’t want right at you. You’d take gloomy clouds and rainy weather over seeing Mingi again. The worst part was that it was a lie because even in the stormiest times, he managed to light up your surroundings, and the erratically beating heart in your chest served as your witness. 

A black hoodie swallowed his towering frame and a pair of chunky headphones covered his head. You couldn’t see him that well, but you assumed the shining reflection around his collar was from his stacked necklaces. The cuts along his face had healed nicely — in fact, they were completely gone — and you wondered if your last encounter had anything to do with it or if he had just gotten better at dodging flying fists.

You always seemed to end things on a bitter note, yet you ignored the sourness on your taste buds and raised your hand in a small wave. He returned it with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle tug of his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead. Mingi bit down on his bottom lip, seemingly contemplating something. Coming to terms with his thoughts, he raised a finger, wordlessly telling you to wait and threw a quick glance at the red light as if it would hurry up from a single look. Although you had every right to ignore him, you just couldn’t. You had always been weak when it came to him, never really able to tell him no and it appeared some things just never changed. 

Mingi’s face lit up as the light turned to green. The man was so eager to cross the street — to get to you — that he didn’t bother checking both sides before walking out. Unlike the others, he missed the speeding vehicle heading zooming through multiple red lights and showing no signs of stopping. You felt it before you saw it. The spike in your left wrist, the rush of the arrow sky rocketing from zero to a hundred. Your legs moved on their own before you could form the first letter of his name. One moment you were rooted to the ground, eyes wide and mouth parted, and in the next you harshly collided with Mingi, hoping your spurt of strength was enough to knock him off balance and away from the dangerous metal chunk on wheels. 

The world didn’t stop spinning, but time slowed down as Mingi fell backward. His hand came up to cradle your head, while the other slithered around your waist. Your own arms were pressed against his chest from the push you gave him. The landing was harsh, but Mingi took most of it as his back slammed against the pavement and your face became buried in the crook of his neck and shoulder. The passersby approached you with questions of worry and concern, their faces etched with confusion and anxiety at the entire situation. Everyone was a bit shaken up at the tragedy that could’ve been. Your body refused to cooperate and the only thing you could do was tangle your fingers into the material of his hoodie, clinging to it for dear life, trying to distinguish reality from imagination. How cruel — he had just returned to your life, only to almost be taken out of it again, permanently.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, his fingers massaging your scalp as the other hand scrunched up the back of your shirt.

A stutter of words slipped out, none of which Mingi could make sense of. He sat up, trying to get a better look at you, but you refused to part from the comfort of his chest. You didn’t need to see it to know your soulometer had calmed down — you felt it in every fiber of your being. Your soulmate was safe, and you were too, now that you were in the arms of a living, breathing Mingi.

“Please, sweets, I need to know if you’re alright.”

Desperation dripped from his voice like sticky honey falling from a dipper and it struck sharply in your core, bringing you back to the present.

“Okay,” you mumbled against his clothes, just loud enough for it to reach his ears and Mingi exhaled in relief. He pressed a kiss on your hairline and your heart fluttered at the domestic gesture. 

A couple of strangers offered to call an ambulance, but Mingi waved them off, saying it wasn’t necessary and that no one was harmed — just a bit shaken up. He thanked them nonetheless and it did the trick as the crowd dissolved, the people returning to their everyday life, but with a story to slap down on the dinner table.

Mingi placed a palm beneath your left thigh as the other went around your waist to keep you sturdy as he got up from the pavement. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

It didn’t matter how much you wanted to tell him to let you down, that you could walk on your own and didn’t need a chaperone — the words wouldn’t roll off your paralyzed tongue. Feeling the stares of strangers burn into you, you hid your face in the crook of his neck and didn’t pull away until you were safely in your apartment. The entire journey home, you tried to wrap your head around the event: the near-death experience, your body taking over while your mind went slack, the sudden spike in your soulometer. You didn’t dare think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t reached Mingi in time — if you were just a second too late, if you hadn’t noticed the car. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pressed your lips together to distract yourself from the tears threatening to soak Mingi’s hoodie.

You needed a distraction from the what-ifs, and you needed one pronto. Trying to focus on something other than Mingi being flattened by that stupid car, you racked your brain for something, anything else, when it suddenly hit you. In all the seven years you had your soulometer, it had never even grazed, let alone pushed hard against the other end of the scale. 

Back inside your apartment, you plopped down on the sofa and dropped your head into your hands. A throbbing ache pulsed through every part of your head, and the constant buzzing of your phone wasn’t helping. You had an inkling of who it could’ve been, and as you fished it out of your bag, the hundreds of messages and missed calls from both Seonghwa and Hongjoong confirmed your suspicion. You sent them a reassuring text, apologizing for bailing on them and blaming it on your headache. Mingi was leaning against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed over his chest, and his feet crossed at the ankles. His eyes never left your hunched form. He was waiting — for a call, a sign, something that would tell him when to reach your side and offer his help.

In another life, you’d be flustered — happy, ecstatic that he was there, worried for your well-being, wanting to make you feel better. But the nagging thought of the situation — too perfect to be a coincidence — wouldn’t let you go. What were the odds of your soulmate and Mingi both being exposed to danger at the same time? How was it that Mingi’s body was void of bruises just as your soulometer stopped acting up? 

Licking your lips, you inhaled shakily and found Mingi’s gaze. The pull to be wrapped in his arms was strong, almost unbearable and you wondered if he felt it too. The need to run your fingers through his hair, to rest your forehead at the junction of his neck and shoulder while he soothingly rubbed circles in your back. The feelings were more intense than back in high school, now full of want and need that you couldn’t satisfy by being in his mere presence. However, you were willing to put it aside in exchange for your question marks to disappear and there was only one person who could give it to you.

Your voice was raspy and weak, breaking mid-sentence as the words struggled to escape. With every ounce of vulnerability, you asked him, “Are we soulmates?”

Mingi didn’t move for a moment. He looked to the side, his jaw clenching as he uncrossed his arms and gripped the edge of the counter. It was inevitable, really. The question was bound to come up sooner or later, and he wasn’t a fool. Mingi didn’t live in a bubble separate from his worries. They were woven into his everyday life, especially since you’d crossed paths again after all these years, with you at the center of them. The anxiety hovered around you like planets orbiting the sun — always there, needing you to survive, but never able to get too close. Mingi never stopped thinking about you. Since your high school graduation, he’d found himself more often than not lying awake in the dead of night, thoughts circling back to you — wondering how you were, what you were doing, if you were happy. You had to be. Mingi only ever brought you pain and hurt, something he loathed himself for. The lies and secrets were the main reason behind it all, but the icing on the cake was his devotion to boxing, which had long surpassed his love for you. At least, in your eyes, because that was what he had allowed you to see — what he wanted you to think. It would make the end of your relationship easier, giving him a lie to hold onto instead of the truth.

But Mingi was tired of lying. He didn’t plan to re-enter your life to keep the same pattern in motion. He wanted to start a-new and whether he deserved it or not was up for debate, but he was going to try. For you. For himself. For your relationship.

“Yes.”

Then it all just stopped. The beat of your heart filled the silence of the world. The flicker of emotions was instant and irregular — shifting from relief and happiness to disbelief and anger. You couldn’t form a single thought, much less say anything. What could one say in such a moment? Realising your first and only love was more than that and had slipped away. The never ending fear and regret of losing the sole good thing in your life washing out to nothing, leaving you empty. It was good and bad. A war broke out in your head, scrambling to come to an understanding, but the tear between the two sides was so grave it was starting to hurt. The relief of finding your soulmate clashed with the idea that he was right beneath your nose this entire time, purposefully avoiding you for who knows how long.

A sting burned behind your eyes followed by a heavy pressure. Your throat closed up and yet you managed to get your question out.

“How… How long have you known?”

Mingi heaved in a breath. The weight of the situation pressed harshly against his chest as he realized the bear trap he set up years ago was beneath his foot.

“A little after the start of our third year in high school… When you were rushed to the hospital.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Someone thought it would be a funny prank to leave an opened peanut-chocolate bar in your locker, completely disregarding the gravity of the situation. That was almost a month after his eighteenth birthday — the day his soulometer was permanently injected into his body. Out of those three years, you dated for one and a half, and the last stretch of your relationship was apparently built on secrets and lies because he knew. 

He knew and didn’t tell you.

You rose from your seat, your expression shifting from disbelief to frustration. Your brows furrowed, and your lips were pressed tightly together in fury. Mingi had never seen you so angry — not even when some older kids were making fun of Hongjoong for his height or liking boys.

“Why? Why wouldn’t you tell me about it? Mingi, we broke up and you didn’t think to tell me we were, are soulmates?!”

Your voice jumped from a whisper to full-out yelling, loud enough for your neighbors above and below to indulge in the dramatics, and Mingi flinched at the sudden rise in volume. A fire spread from his core to the rest of his body, growing hotter and more intense with each passing second. Despite how familiar the sensation was, it wasn’t his. You were angry beyond salvaging and no amount of water could douse the flames. 

Mingi’s chest tightened as the answer to your long-awaited question tumbled out of him. “Because you deserved a better soulmate!” 

Like that, a weight lifted off his shoulders. There was a very long pause where you just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to speak.

“Excuse me?” It was meek, barely above a whisper as you spoke and a sharp, breaking sound echoed in Mingi’s heart, like porcelain shattering. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Mingi hesitated, his lips parting as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the right words. You seized the opportunity to step in front of him. Unshed tears lined your waterline, one blink away from spilling over and kissing your burning cheeks. Mingi wasn’t any better. His eyes were glossed over and throat was dry. His fingers turned an alarming shade of white from gripping the counter, the veins in his hands more defined than ever.

“Why?” 

“You weren’t happy with me…” Mingi’s voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes as he struggled to continue. “W–with me boxing… and I… I wasn’t ready to give up on that. I thought you d–deserved some happiness before you realized you were stuck with me f–forever.” His words came out choked, his chest heaving as the tears finally spilled over.

The salty tears extinguished the fire that had been brewing in you. What had felt like flames of hell now shrunk to nothing more than a spark, ready to fade. You reached out, your hands trembling slightly as you cupped his face, gently wiping away the tears that had fallen.

“You thought I wouldn’t choose you? Mingi, I was never asking you to give up on what you love. I just couldn’t stand seeing you put yourself in danger, not knowing if you’d come back to me… alive.” Your heart ached as the soulometer inside you throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of how deeply connected you two were. 

Mingi had grown up in a boxing family. His father was a boxer, and his grandfathers on both sides were boxers too. It was only natural for the only child of the Song family to step into his relatives’ shoes and fall in love with the gruesome sport. However, it wasn’t the officiated matches or light sparring during training that had you worrying for Mingi. A little after Mingi turned eighteen, he realized that his talent could not only bring him medals, but money. A great sum of money, actually. 

As the fortune started to come his way, you began to notice the change in him. He wasn’t just fighting for the thrill or the legacy anymore — it had become a business. The sport he had once loved, the sport that had connected him to his family, was now something more — something dangerous, something that had started to consume him. You watched as he took on bigger opponents, harsher training regimens and increasingly dangerous matches, all in pursuit of a prize that was slowly tearing away at the person you once knew. 

You didn’t mean to put him in a tight spot, to choose between his first serious girlfriend and the illegal business that kept him independent. You also didn’t expect him to choose the latter. The decision stung more than you anticipated, the weight of it sinking in as you realized what it said about his priorities. 

You were both young and foolish back then, believing the world was beneath your feet and that one wrong decision could crumble it all. Had you known you were bonded, tied together for all eternity, you would’ve approached him differently and you certainly never would’ve let him go.

“I didn’t know about the soulmate bond. I didn’t know you knew... and you still let me walk away. You were willing to let me go without telling me the truth? How could you think I’d leave you forever, knowing we were meant to be?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I–I swear, I wanted to tell you. So many times. Every time I’d walk past your posters or hear about you from our mutual friends, I’d be one click away from calling you, but…”

The apology hung in the air like a weight, thick with guilt and regret. His voice trembled, each word choked back by the raw emotion clawing at him. The tears streamed down his face, unchecked. He turned his face slightly, the side of his cheek brushing against your palm, as if trying to hide from the pain, but your touch remained steady. You held him there, gently, as his sorrow poured out.

“Don’t hold back, Mingi. I’m not going anywhere, not now, not tomorrow, not ever… So please, talk to me.”

His chest hitched as he struggled to breathe, the weight of the words, the silence and the years of unsaid things crashing over him. Mingi knew he owed you this. An explanation, a reason for his sudden pull back all those years ago. He heaved in a breath and allowed the truth to spill.

“I just… I couldn’t,” he whispered. “Every time, I’d think about it and then–then I’d back out. I thought it was better this way. I thought maybe you’d be better off without knowing… that I wasn’t good enough, that I’d only mess things up. Jongho said you were ha–happy and I didn’t want to ruh–ruin that. ”

“You could never–”

“But I would!” He didn’t mean to shout, but the frustration and sadness, locked up for so long, didn’t hesitate to seize the first opening it saw. “I was still fighting… I never stopped. It only got worse after… after we broke up. The money was good, but the loneliness,” his voice wavered, “the loneliness was unbearable. The only time I ever felt anything was when I saw your face... or when I got beaten to hell.”

Your eyes darted around his face. Jumping from his eyes and lips to his nose and cheeks as if seeking a pressure point that would make all of his suffering evaporate into thin air. Mingi avoided your gaze and you massaged the apple of his cheek to catch his attention again. You never intended for the downfall of your relationship to put its claws in his back and leave a wound so grave it couldn’t heal on its own. In fact, you were so caught up in your own emotions that you didn’t think to take a moment and wonder how it would affect him. The guilt festered in your bones like a leech refusing to let go. 

“I never realized how much you were carrying… I thought I was the one who was struggling, but maybe we both were. I’m sorry, Mings.”

“No.” 

He shook his head in disagreement and your hand fell from his face. The loss of warmth was close to painful and Mingi, not wanting to be apart from you any more than necessary, grabbed your hand and guided it down to his chest, placing your palm above his beating heart — the organ that pulsed in rhythm to your own. Your fingers twitch to grab his shirt, to claw out his heart and keep it in the safety of your hands. To shield it from hurt and pain and agony. You never wanted him to feel such anguish again and you certainly didn’t want to be the reason behind it either. It tore you from within and the emotion wasn’t even yours to begin with. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault.”

“Mingi–”

“Stop it. You know if I’d just listened to you, if I’d stopped getting involved in stupid shit, none of this would’ve happened. There’s no one to blame but me.” 

Tears still rolled down his cheeks and clung onto his lashes, though his eyes were sharp and firm as if daring you to challenge his words. If there was one thing you’d learned during the few years you dated Mingi, it was that once his mind was made up, nothing could change it. 

“We are both at fault, love.” 

The pinched expression on his face crumbled at the familiar call of endearment. His mouth parted slightly, and a constellation twinkled in his eyes — a sight you had missed incredibly. A twinge of hope flickered to life — hope that you could once be again, despite his careless acts of selflessness. His focus shifted between your eyes and with shaking hands he gently cradled your face, his touch not lighter than a ticklish flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Your own hands found purchase on his waist, fingers looping through the pouch of his hoodie as you instinctively leaned into the gentle pressure of his caress.

Mingi wetted his lips and brows scrunched together in a pleading demeanor. Something was plaguing his mind again and you could feel the train of thought reach out and graze your own, as if wanting you to get a glimpse. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It felt full, crowded.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Mings?”

“…You.” He took another breath, steadying himself, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… May I… I want to kiss you.”

Perhaps you should’ve said no. Perhaps you should’ve ignored him sitting on the steps of your apartment. Perhaps you shouldn’t have let him back into your life at all. But the thought of telling him no — robbing yourself of the feel of Mingi’s lips against yours — burned like hot acid in your stomach. So you did the one thing you were best at when it came to him, you gave in to your heart's desire.

“Then kiss me.”

Mingi didn’t need to hear you say it twice before he pulled your face up to his, lips smashing together as a flood of emotions erupted with the kiss — the kind of feeling only a romantic gesture like this could bring. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his wrists as if to anchor yourself in the moment. A low rumble vibrated from the back of his throat and you pushed harder against him. The kiss was intoxicating, yet liberating at the same time. You swiped your tongue along his bottom lip and he wasted no time parting them for you. The heat between you both deepened and each moment felt like it stretched on forever, the world around you fading into the background. His fingers grazing the side of your face, pulled you impossibly closer, as if there was no space left for anything but this shared intimacy. 

The pounding of your heart filled your ears, a frantic rhythm that matched the urgency of his touch. You were caught in the gravity of the moment, caught between the need for air and the undeniable pull to stay, to keep kissing him like nothing else mattered and nothing mattered. Just you and him. 

You felt one of his hands slither down your spine, a trail of firecrackers following the wake of his fingertips and sending shivers down your body. You couldn’t pull away — not yet. Not when everything inside you was screaming for more. Mingi pushed you closer to him, chests touching and hips meeting in a delicious press, that radiated between you both, causing every nerve in your body to hum with anticipation. 

It was the need for oxygen that eventually broke you apart before the heated situation could be taken to the bedroom, with you pushed against the soft sheets and your legs tangling together. Your chests rose and fell in synchrony, trying to steady the breath that had been stolen in the heat of the moment. A crackle of electricity snapped around the room, the atmosphere still charged with the energy of your kiss, but both of you knew you couldn’t rush past this — there was so much more to say, the fact that you were soulmates, for one. 

Mingi rested his forehead against yours, his breath was warm against your skin, quick and shallow, mirroring your own racing pulse. His eyes searched yours with a mix of intensity and vulnerability. He whispered your name, as if unsure how to bridge the distance between the desire in his chest and the emotions that were beginning to surface.

“We are soulmates,” you whispered before he could say anything else. It was more of a statement, a wake-up call for you than a fact. Your gaze dropped to the strings of his hoodie, the intensity of his stare made your knees feel weak.

Mingi didn’t reply. He rubbed gentle circles over your blouse on your lower back, a relaxing motion. You didn’t need to hear him say the two worded apology, you felt it in his soft touches.

“It was you… every time my meter went up… it was you fighting.” 

He nodded, a solemn smile gracing his swollen lips. “Yes.” 

“...But it hasn’t… gone up since–”

“Since you found me outside your apartment,” he finished for you. “I stopped shortly after that. I– uh, I realized that I wanted you. Or, well, I always knew, but that… that confirmed it. Mmm, I knew, though, that if I wanted us to be together, I’d have to change– stop! I’d have to stop doing the thing that made me lose you in the first place.”

“So… what does that mean for us?”

“It means… that if you want me to, I’ll peel your oranges for the rest of our lives.”

You wiped a stray tear from his cheek. “Even the white bits?”

The corner of his lips curled up in a grin, giving a glimpse of his crooked front teeth, and his eyes lit up like the night sky in the countryside.

“Especially the white bits.”

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