#i miss them and the rascals....

[akq96618]

kaito would gladly obey her

[cinnamon-flame]

Hello I am back with more Viva Piñata doodles! Turns out if you think enough about fluffy piñatas you can force your way through art block (at least for a while)

The typical Viva Piñata experience, I love you Pretztail but why are you like this I drew so many Pretztail as a "do over" of my first Viva Piñata drawing from 2018

that's when it all started

[paperglader]

imgonnagetyouback is the most franchaela post michaela's return from india song to ever be sung. no i will not elaborate.

[fuck-i-like-too-much-stuff]

I feel like this isnt the last we've seen of Tawan

[rascalmonsta]

Massive confession: I miss my dnd ocs :(

I wasn't very good at playing and had a lot of anxiety including roleplaying in the games, but I still very much miss my characters. I recently gave away all my books though, holding onto them while only dreaming about plans was painful af

[cedobols]

still alive. me and my friends wc oc's as kids: dove, fox and little

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

i was gonna post that dust drawing today since it's done but idk if anyone's gonna see it at this hour? you can have this small shattered wip to make up for it in the meantime tho >:'Dc

[microwaving-tesilid-argente]

I managed to find the english book copy today! I can't wait to read it!

WOOHOO!!!! im super happy for you anon i hope you have lots of fun!!!

i haven't been able to get my hands on it myself (not in north america) but i love that it's in print now!

please let us know if they rearranged the panels in a particularly cool way or something 🥹

[skrunksthatwunk]

feeling it a little tonight

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[akq96618]

((not very correct eng translate on my writing))

my 1st impression of white rascals vs after knowing them more:

koo: (rocky's) assistant?? vice leader?? ---> trophy husband , rascals 2nd dad, tired 24/7

rocky: leader, fierce/stern ---> fierce yet kindhearted <3, DAD

kizzy : rocky's right hand ---> rocky's daughter (( SORRY I KNOW UR MORE OF THAT PLS BLAME MY PAST SELF ))

kaito: rocky's right hand ---> calm in-laws-, HE'S SO CUTE????!!!

[lemonlover1110]

𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x f!Reader

Summary: Parenthood has flipped your life upside down. Luckily, there's a small timeframe in the morning when you can appreciate your husband.

Warnings: Minors do not interact! Fluff, DILF!Zayne, Smut, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (m. receiving), Vaginal Sex, Breeding Kink, Praising, Creampie

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi - Bluesky

The absolute silence in the early hours of the morning. Pure bliss. The only time of the day when you don’t have a child screaming in your ear, or tugging at your pants for attention. Zayne’s arm is thrown over you, and while neither of you can sleep, you don’t want to get up in fear of getting the day started.

Oh, you love the two little rascals with all your might, but you tend to miss the quality time with your husband. It’s in that small time frame where you get to talk to each other, and remind each other that before everything, it was you just two. Your union made a family.

“It’s really early.” You comment, your eyes landing on the clock and seeing that it’s five in the morning. But you can’t close your eyes again. Your body is full of energy and ready to start the day, even if the sun isn’t out yet.

“I can’t fall back asleep.” Zayne responds, bringing you closer to him. Your eyes look into his own before you bring your lips to kiss the tip of his nose. You attempt to get up, but his strong arm keeps you down. “Let’s stay like this for a little longer.”

“I have to get started on breakfast. Before Jasmine and Aspen wake up.” You tell him, your hand going to his cheek to caress his soft skin. He gives into your touch, nearly purring as if he were a cat.

“We have time. A lot of time.” He answers, and you chuckle at his words. You end up standing up, and going to the bathroom. Sure, it might seem like you have a lot of time but if you’re still in bed when they wake up then your day is off to a bad start.

“I can get breakfast started, you can stay in bed.” Zayne offers as he watches you brush your teeth from the bed. It’s his day off, the least he can do is help you out. You try to tell him it’s okay through a mouthful of toothpaste, words that aren’t comprehensible but he knows you well enough to understand. A yawn escapes his lips. “Are you sure? You know I’m great with pancakes.”

You rinse your mouth before answering this time, “Jasmine doesn’t like pancakes anymore, but if you really want to help, I’m sure Aspen won’t throw them out.”

“I’ll get on it then.” Zayne responds, your eyes landing on him at the wrong moment. Damn you and your timing. He’s taking his shirt off before walking over to the bathroom. Zayne likes to start his days with a shower– And of course you’ve forgotten and committed the grave mistake of looking.

Zayne’s body has changed. His figure has become slightly softer since becoming a father has reduced his time to work out. The man can barely take a breath without a child screaming, he has no time to go to the gym.

It’s horrible. You hate Zayne’s new body. You absolutely can’t look at him. The moment your eyes land on him you have to tear your eyes away because you just want to jump on him. You can’t look at Zayne’s body without wanting to fuck him. You’re attracted to him now more than ever, and you don’t have the stupid time to do anything.

“My shower won’t take too long.” He walks past you as if you were thinking about the shower. The last thing in your mind is him getting clean.

“Okay.” You try to keep your eyes on the mirror. If you don’t look, the thoughts will go away and you can get the day started. Except your eyes fall on him in the mirror, watching as he gets completely naked. “Damn you.”

“Huh? Did you say something?” Zayne looks back at you, and you shake your head. You try to ignore the dirty thoughts in your head, knowing that you have to get the day started. 

“Do you want me to make you something special for breakfast?” He asks, raising his voice so it’s not drowned out by the sound of water. Truth be told, you’re not hungry for food. 

“I’m okay, honey. I’m not hungry!” You respond, and you prepare yourself for the scolding that is sure to follow. 

“You have to eat something. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day–” He begins, and your mind zones out, eyes going to the mirror again. You watch him in the shower, the glass door that separates you two slowly fogging up. 

The kids are asleep, and it shouldn’t take too long… What’s the point in holding back? Tonight you’ll be too tired, and you’ll be occupied during the day. The early mornings are for you. 

Zayne keeps talking as you get undressed. You’re as quiet as possible as you step towards the shower, until you finally step into the shower. You hug him from behind, nearly scaring him half to death.

“I see why you suddenly went quiet.” He comments as your hands slowly move down his torso. He definitely doesn’t mind the silence though. 

“We have a bit of time to kill.” You press a gentle kiss on his shoulder as your hand wraps around his cock. You don’t have to see him to know there’s a smile on his lips.

“After you refused to stay in bed? We could’ve just started there.” He argues, but you’re not going to argue. You know he’s right either way, you just had a change of heart. 

“We can stop if you don’t–” You begin as your hand glides on his cock. He’s definitely not going to change his mind now.

“I just made an observation.” He unintentionally cuts you off, and you chuckle. You twist your wrist as your hand moves up and down his length. His breath gets heavy, body getting warmer than it already is. This is one hell of a way to get his blood circulation going.

You let go of him, getting in front of him and gently pushing him against the shower wall. Your hands cup his face, lips landing on his in a hungry kiss. He kisses you with the same intensity, clearly as touch deprived as you are.

Zayne ends up pulling away, lips kissing down your wet neck until they reach your breasts. He licks down your breasts before needy lips wrap around your nipple and sucking. It’s a shame that nothing comes out compared to previous times, but that’s always an issue he can fix– He’s not doing it for his pleasure either way. His eyes look up at you as you bite down your lip.

He unlatches, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your tit. He kisses you again, but this time it’s cut short as you get on your knees. You lick your lips as your gaze lands on what you want for breakfast.

“Don’t be too loud, okay?” You tease him as you begin to pump his cock. The man who is always in control suddenly loses his composure when it comes to you; it’s truly an honor.

Your tongue circles the tip of his dick, eyes looking up at him to watch his every reaction. You could smile with how a single move from him can make him lose all sense. He’s softly moaning as your mouth wraps around his cock. Your cheeks hollow and you begin to bob your head, taking in all that you can without a struggle.

“Good girl.” He manages you to praise you as you please him. Your hands are twisting around the base of his cock. He’s moaning your name as you set the perfect pace. 

You take his cock out of your mouth, tongue running down his length before your mouth sucks on his balls. Your hand strokes his cock while your mouth focuses on his balls. You’re driving him insane and his day just started.

His breathing gets heavier as he bites down his lip to not be too loud. As if the shower didn’t drown out his voice. Your mouth wraps around his cock again, taking every inch of him in your mouth, gagging. Tears well up in your eyes, but it’s all worth it when you look up and see his face contort with pleasure.

His hand goes to the back of your head, pushing your head against him. Saliva runs down your chin, tears streaming down your face. But it’s all worth it with how Zayne sounds. He’s praising you, “Good job. You’re doing so good.”

Until he finally lets you go, and you gasp for air. You get off your knees, hands going to the back of his head and pulling him into a kiss. His tongue enters your mouth while his hands run down your back. He’s taking small steps, making you move backwards until your back is pressed against the glass door. 

“Fuck me.” You breathlessly tell him, pulling away from the kiss. Zayne doesn’t waste a second, nose nuzzling into your neck while he runs the tip of his cock through your folds. He slowly pushes himself inside of you, a whimper leaving his lips as he feels you around him.

A breathless moan leaves your lips as he fills you up, nails digging into the soft flesh of his back. He gives you a second before he begins to slowly thrust in and out of you. You shut your eyes as you moan his name, his dick hitting every right spot. 

“You feel so good, baby. You’re so perfect around me.” He whispers in your ear, hands going down to play with your clit. You’re moaning his name, pleasure consuming you as Zayne does everything right. The man knows your body better than you do, and it makes your situation all that harder. You think about him all day and all night when you can’t have him.

“Zayne–” You moan, his free hand going over your mouth to muffle your moans.

“You can’t be too loud, honey.” He reminds you, scared that a loud noise will incite a cry from the room over. He’s not going to let go until you can affirm that you can be quiet. “Will you be quiet, baby?”

“Hmmm.” You hum, nodding in response but you’re not sure if you can keep the word. Zayne’s thrusts are picking up speed, your back arching as you feel your orgasm approaching. Zayne finally lets go of your mouth, your teeth digging into the skin of his shoulders and biting down. 

You’re squeezing around him, earning a groan from him. You’re biting down hard, surely to leave a mark, but it’s no issue for him. No one is going to see it. The pain mixes in with pleasure, slowly making him lose control.

“Good job. You’re doing so good.” He praises you as your orgasm approaches. He’s supporting you, helping you keep your balance as your knees begin to get weak. “I’ve got you.”

You see white, your climax washing over you as Zayne completely loses control. His thrusts become sloppy, so close to finally finishing. His cheek rubs against your head, moaning your name over and over again. 

“I’m gonna come inside you, okay?” He asks, and you hum in response. The answer is always yes, but he always asks. “I’m gonna knock you up.”

“Zayne.” You feebly moan. Your lips land on his again, sloppily kissing him. You’re scratching his back, making a complete mess out of him.

“Do you want to have my baby again? Do you want me to get you pregnant?” Zayne whispers into your ear, and you could yell yes. Your sex brain is talking for you, making you chant yes over and over again.

Until Zayne’s warm cum finally fills you up. He groans, giving more gentle thrusts until he finally comes to a stop, pulling out.

He holds on to you, helping you maintain your balance. You’re quietly staring at each other, stealing a few kisses until Zayne hears that yell. The yell that makes his sex talk remain as sex talk. He chuckles, kissing your temple before saying, “I’ll get her. You can clean up.”

“Thank you.” You peck his lips before he exits the shower. He quickly gets dressed and walks out of the room to get her. 

“Good morning, Jasmine.” He turns on the light of her room, watching as his sixteen-month-old stands up and cries in her crib.

“Papa!” She yells at the sight of the man, and a subtle smile comes to his lips. She takes a lot of time and attention, but it’s worth it. He picks her up, kissing the top of her head.

“What do you want for breakfast? Your mom said you don’t like pancakes anymore.” He asks even when he knows her vocabulary isn’t quite there yet. But if he doesn’t teach her then who will? “Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

“Daddy.” Zayne’s ears perk up as he hears a different childish voice behind him. He turns around to see his son, holding his teddy bear and rubbing his tired eyes.

“Good morning, Aspen. Did Jasmine wake you up?” Zayne asks, making Aspen nod in response. Aspen walks over to Zayne, wrapping his tiny arms around his father. Zayne pats the child’s back, unable to return the hug since his hands are busy.

“I’m hungry.” The child says, and Zayne ruffles his hair.

“I’ll be making pancakes soon. Can you hold on for a bit?” Zayne watches as Aspen lets go and walks to play with Jasmine’s toys. At least he’s easy to handle– Now the little girl who begins to dig her tiny nails into his cheek is something else. 

“Be gentle, Jasmine.” He takes her hands off his cheeks, making a cry come from her. He could laugh, but he already knows that today is going to be long. 

The day has officially started.

[cybersunnie]

the look of love | collection

01 RAFE CAMERON meets the new art teacher.

includes fem!teacher!reader / uncle!rafe / reader goes by "miss sugar" / fluff / grumpy x sunshine / family dynamics / safe to read! / wc 1.5k

Sarah already had her own family. Two rascals, Jackson and Josie. Meanwhile, Rafe didn’t. He had no kids. Nada. Zero. And he planned to keep it that way for a while.

As much as he loved his niece and nephew, they depleted his desire to have any. They were both rowdy and talkative and an awful lot like their parents. 

It scared him. 

He didn’t need more John B’s and Sarah’s walking the earth. Those little devils.

And yet, he was on his way to pick them up from school.

He never had to before. It was typically JJ, Kie, or anyone who wasn’t him. But apparently, the Pogues were more swamped than usual and had a ‘customer issue’ at their little Surf Shop. Whatever that meant.

Safe to say, Rafe wasn’t too thrilled about it. He was a busy man—the CEO of Cameron Development, to be exact. Children didn’t fit in his schedule. At least, that was what he told himself on the lonelier, quieter days. But family was family, as his dad always said. So, when his sister had called him, pleading, he reluctantly agreed. 

When he pulled into the pick-up zone, driving along the curb, he spotted his niece and nephew. They were hard to miss, not only because they were the only kids in front of the school, but because of the woman accompanying them. You. 

With the sweetest smile Rafe had ever seen, you stood between them, hands clasped behind your back, your eyes darting between the two children as they talked over each other. 

Rafe stopped in front of them and rolled the windows down. The youngest of the two, Josie, was the first to notice. 

An exaggeratedly loud gasp left her lips, her eyes wide. “Uncle Rafe!” 

That set off a chain reaction. 

Jackson looked up, his brows furrowed. “Uncle Rafe?” 

Rafe didn’t know if he should feel offended.

Then, your gaze shifted away from the kids, meeting his eyes through the passenger window. Time slowed. He saw your smile soften, and you waved at him. His heart lurched out of his chest, the feeling foreign and borderline uncomfortable. 

What the fuck?

But he didn’t have time to dwell on the feeling as his niece and nephew rushed towards his car.

“Uncle, uncle, uncle,” Josie chanted, panting like she ran a mile. “You’re pickin’ us up?”

Jackson stared at him with narrowed eyes. “You never pick us up.” 

Damn, what was this kid’s problem?

“Yes, Josie. And, well, they’re busy at the Surf Shop,” Rafe sighed, unlocking the car doors to let them in. “So, you guys got me for today.”

Through the rearview mirror, he watched the children clamber into the vehicle, feet kicking and hands flying as they argued about trivial matters—I always sit on the left side! So? I got in first. You’re being a butthead! I’m telling mommy you called me a butthead!—and so on. He chuckled, his lips curving into a grin.

Suddenly, you spoke, “They’re special, huh?” 

Your voice was warm and inviting. He didn’t know a person could sound so lovely.

When Rafe looked at you, he forgot how to speak. Every word he knew? Gone. And you barely did anything. You were just standing before the passenger door, staring back at him. He couldn’t help but notice the smudge of orange paint on the bridge of your nose. 

“Yeah, definitely,” he ultimately said, nodding.

You extended your right hand out to him through the open window. He saw more dried paint on your fingertips. “I’m Miss Sugar, the new art teacher here.”

Ah, that explained it. 

“Rafe.” He shook your hand, his eyes locked on your face. Your hand felt soft but far from fragile. “Rafe Cameron.”

“It’s so nice to meet you,” you beamed.

Did you ever stop smiling? Your cheeks should be hurting at this rate. 

He nodded, letting go of your hand before he looked like a creep. “Pleasure’s all mine.”

“Oh, Uncle Rafe,” Josie called, rummaging through her backpack, “me and Jackson made a paper chain thingy with Miss Sugar! Look, this one’s you!” 

He turned his head, eyes squinting at the paper doll chain she held up. Josie explained they made it during the after-school program, where she and Jackson spent a few extra hours each day. There were nine cut-out paper dolls, with what he assumed to be Josie at the start and him at the end. It was rough around the edges, but what did Rafe expect from a five-year-old? And the longer he stared at it, Rafe figured he was a last-minute addition, his hand glued to Sarah’s doll, the paper there wrinkled. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw you tilt your head into his car, looking at the kids. You seemed proud. It made him wonder what it felt like to have someone be proud of him.

“That’s really nice.” Rafe looked at his niece, who grinned brightly at his praise. He then stared at the frowny face drawn on his doll. “Why’s everyone smiling except for me?”

“Because you’re always grumpy,” Jackson replied bluntly. 

Little Josie slapped a hand over her mouth and erupted in giggles. Of course, his nephew was the one behind it.

Seriously, did this kid have a vendetta against him?

“Okay, you—” Rafe caught sight of your amused expression, and he bit back his words, “—I’m not always grumpy.”

You tried to cover up your laugh with a cough. “Yeah, he doesn’t look grumpy right now,” you defended, though it was far from convincing. Then you shot him a wink, and the gears in his mind stuttered and fell apart. Were you flirting with him? Or was it more of an ‘I got your back’ sort of wink? 

Fuck, why did he even care? He needed to pull himself together. 

“Anyways, I have to get back now,” you sighed, and the kids protested almost immediately. He saw a frown tug on your features, and you moved to the backseat window, cooing a mix of ‘I know’ and ‘I wish I could stay longer’ that eased their complaints. Eventually, you moved to the passenger window again, telling him a sweet, “Get home safe.”

Rafe felt himself having to fight back a smile. “Thanks.” 

You pursed your lips, your fingers tapping the window seal. “Don’t be a stranger, Rafe Cameron,” you said, stepping back from his car.

Jackson and Josie shouted their goodbyes to you before he could respond, but your words rang in his ears. Don’t be a stranger. He watched you wave to him and the kids before turning on your heel, your long skirt dancing around your legs as you made your way to the school’s entrance. Once you disappeared behind the door, he eased off the brake and pulled out of the pick-up zone.

As Rafe drove the kids home, the wind whipped through the open windows, the music on the stereo hummed softly, and his niece and nephew whispered to each other in the backseat. What about? He didn’t know, nor did he want to know. But he suspected they were up to no good. 

Josie cleared her throat with an over-the-top ahem, ahem! “Uncle Rafe?”

“What?”

She didn’t waste another second. “What you think of Miss Sugar?”

Rafe stared hard at the road. He had many thoughts about you: beautiful, messy, stunning, smiled too much, gorgeous. 

“Uh, she seems nice,” he answered, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. “Why?”

“Just wondering!” Josie chirped.

Silence fell between them.

He thought that would be it, and then he heard more whispering. Dread flooded his body. Rafe tweaked the stereo volume higher. They hadn’t caught that you piqued his interest, right? No, that would be ridiculous. They were kids. They would be none the wiser.

At least, he thought so until his niece asked, “Do you think she’s pretty?”

No wonder the Pogues called her Nosy Josie. It all made sense now. And, of course, he thought you were pretty. Who wouldn’t?

Rafe sucked in a breath, scratching his brow. “I’m not answerin’ that.”

Jackson grumbled, “I told you, Josie.” 

“You didn’t!” 

And a new argument ensued. But for once, Rafe was content listening to their high-pitched shouts because that meant the attention was off him. He didn’t want to be pestered about you any further. If Josie had kept pushing, he feared he would be sent down a rabbit hole, you consuming his thoughts.

But maybe he had already fallen down the rabbit hole. He was just too busy denying it.

Soon, Rafe arrived at their home, and the kids hopped out of his car and ran to their parents. Sarah thanked him for picking them up as John B took them inside—Josie sat on his hip, with Jackson walking beside him. He brushed it off, even offering to pick them up from school more often. His sister looked surprised and a little skeptical, but she didn’t question his change of heart. 

While Rafe Cameron didn’t have time for children, he could make time for you.

sunnie speaks! i realized miss sugar is barely in this WHOOPS!!! but i hope you guys found his dynamic w jackson and josie fun, haha! i sure had a fun time writing it :D let's chat about rafe cameron / teacher!reader

if you like my work, consider following @sunniefics to stay up to date on all my future fics!

[ozzgin]

It is the 19th century and you are returning home by ship. Before you embark, you happen to find a glowing shell abandoned by the docks. It seems that the sea creatures are searching for it. Or maybe it's something else they're interested in. content: gender neutral reader, violence, dubious consent, based on Return of the Obra Dinn

January 1802 What's the matter with me, I wonder? As if my luggage wasn't heavy enough already, I had to drag around a big shell of sorts. Found it by the docks while I waited for my ship to arrive. It has a strange glow to it, this shell. Can't quite place it.

January 1802 Cheeky bastards! The seamen are such a flirt. From the moment I stepped onto the main deck, a handful of them haven't dropped the whistles and stares. One of the topmen - I recall he's Scottish? - he's been pestering me about the ship. "I'll show ye around, can't find a better guide," he says. His mates laugh and clap to his petty attempts.

February 1802 Some of the sailors are dying from lung illness. I was on the orlop deck, playing cards with the three Russians, when the surgeon rushed to one of the cabins ahead. "If it was contagious, we'd all have it by now. Damned if I know what it is, or where it comes from," I could hear him groan. I wondered out loud if I might catch it myself, but then I noticed one of 'em rascals trying to cheat the cards. February 1802 I saw it again tonight. Ever since we launched from Falmouth, as soon as the sun sets, there's an eerie glimmer in the distance. It reminds me of this damned shell. Are my eyes playing tricks on me? Oh, the sea is so terrifying in the dark. There's nothing but black stretching all around. My window is low; whenever the waves break against it, the wooden walls let out a groan that awakens me from the deepest slumber. Surgeon gave me pills to sleep. The creaks of the ship sound like a weeping maiden. February 1802 I think the cursed glow is getting closer. I couldn't sleep anymore, so I snuck onto the main deck. Scotsman found me wandering towards the bow, so he quietly hoisted me up by the waist. I thought he'd tell the Captain, but he sat me on the lower rigging, next to him, and we listened to the waves. I was afraid I'd fall off, but he kept a steady hand on me. I wish I could tell him about the light stalking our ship. Would he think I'm mad?

February 1802 Second Mate returned today on a small boat. We heard shouts coming from upstairs, so we rushed to see what was happening. Bosun had his pistol readied next to the Captain, and the sailors lifted the cargo from below. I thought I was dreaming at first. Some creatures, unholy beings, were caught in the net. They had the body of a human, but thick, fish tails covered in spikes. One of the Formosan passengers muttered something in Chinese, and some of the tail spikes suddenly pierced him dead. The old Miss next to me fainted on the spot, and the stewards urged us to leave. Right before I turned, I noticed one of the beasts pointing at me. It had a monstrous grin on its face. Oh, what a sight! The Scotsman guided me away, but I can't forget those eyes. Was it malice? Such an intense stare, burning straight into my soul. Now that I'm writing all this, a memory has come to mind: the creature had the same shell as mine, dangling from its neck.

February 1802 The pills no longer work. I can't rest anymore. Every time I close my eyes, I hear its wretched voice, calling me from the lazarette. That's where they locked those sea monsters. It sings nonsense, blasphemous lies. We're not fated soulmates. I've nothing to do with those devils. I should've never picked up the shell. I can only pray we reach land soon.

March 1802 God, oh God, what disaster has befallen us? I don't have much time. The gun deck is in shambles, more than half the crew dead. Underwater beasts have crawled their way up our ship; strange humans with spears, saddled on top of crabs larger than I've ever seen. The poor midshipman, oh, a young boy! He set himself on fire to stop the nightmarish fiend. Threw the lamp across the floor, and the flames swallowed both of them up. I scrambled up on the main deck, but there was no peace to be found; colossal tentacles sprawled around the ship, pulling the rigging apart, tearing humans like insects. The Captain's wife was struck by a falling pillar, I saw her crumble right before me. Scotsman is still alive, but his arm is missing a good chunk of it. I don't know where to find the surgeon.

March 1803 They left. They took the last boat, I only found out this morning. I tried to join them, but one of the sailors stopped me. "Witch," he shouted at me, "the beast down by the cargo hold screams your name. You must've called it here, brought this curse upon us." I don't know what he's talking about. Tonight I'm going to the lazarette, I can no longer bear the calling. This blasted fiend, oh, he's ruined me. I'll rot on this wreck. Mother, I don't think I'll ever reach the shore.

Your steps are hesitant as you tiptoe your way around the dried blood and debris, until you reach the locked chambers. The door is bent and folded away, as if hit by a great force. You do indeed notice the round prints against the rusty surface: giant suckers from a blasphemous being.

There he is, the wicked varmint who plagues your sleep! A pale creature is propped up, halfway out of the water, welcoming you with a toothy grin. The shell around his neck glows mockingly.

You throw your own shell at him. The small, ivory object rolls with a hollow thud.

"Is this what you wanted, damned monster?"

"Why, what am I to do with two?"

His voice is harsh and deep, rapping against your eardrums, scratching the inside of your head.

"I've been waiting for you. Can't leave this place without my beloved, can I?"

"There you go again with this nonsense. Villain! Drown me if you must, but spare me your deceit."

His smile falters, eyes narrowing in a frown.

"Is that how you find my love? Some petty lie told by a charlatan? Ungrateful brat, who do you think freed you from their shackles? Who do you suspect has summoned the leviathan, from the deepest trenches of the sea, to save your mortal soul?"

"The kraken left with the storm," you counter as the blood drains from your face. Could it be that you were to blame, after all?

"No, it left after the bargain."

He pulls himself up and sits on the edge of his former cage. You observe his features in mild awe: the texture of his skin, the dark locks of hair reaching all the way to the tail, the spikes breaking out of the thick, hard scales.

"What bargain," you ask fearfully.

"The last ones are free to escape, if they leave you to me."

Why, your horrified expression is not quite something he expected. Surely one must feel relief once their freedom has been guaranteed. And not just any kind of freedom - you've been returned to your soulmate.

He's spent weeks chasing the currents, trailing the faint glow in the distance. He hasn't stopped once, tail pushing forward to the promise of a reunion.

Yet, you seem unsure. Perhaps his approach has been too hurried, too nonchalant. You need a little bit of convincing, and he happens to be a master of courting.

His thorax suddenly expands, and you can almost hear the twisting sound of his ribs cracking and breaking under the pressure. A sweet voice rolls out of his mouth, a song you've never heard before. Your heart pounds tremendously, threatening to burst out of your chest, and a foreign panic floods your senses.

Despite your desire to flee, your lids are heavy, eyes slowly closing. Through your lashes, you can discern the beast crawling towards you, the same defiant grin plastered on his face.

It's time for you to come home.

[issues4him]

➼ firefighter!rafe flirts with teacher!reader during the class field trip :]

cw : flirting, tension

the second your school bus pulled into the firehouse parking lot, your stomach twisted. you’d been mentally preparing all morning—lesson plan printed, permission slips triple-checked, bus snacks secured, and twenty sugar-high second graders bouncing in their seats behind you like they’d pre-gamed with red bull. the only thing you hadn’t been ready for was him.

there he was. leaning against the open bay door like a walking cliché, rafe cameron, clad in a tight gray station tee and those stupid navy pants with the suspenders hanging loose at his hips. one hand was gripping a rag, wiping off whatever grease he’d just gotten into. the other was casually hooked in his belt loop. and then he looked up—right at you. his smirk could’ve melted steel. you swallowed, hard, “well, well,” he called out as you stepped off the bus, clipboard clutched to your chest. “look who finally brought her whole fan club.”

you didn’t look at him. you couldn’t. not when you already felt your cheeks warming. “be nice,” you said under your breath, forcing a smile as your students began piling off behind you like an unhinged stampede. “they’ve been excited all week.”

he didn’t miss a beat. leaned in just slightly, voice lower, smoother, “didn’t say i was talkin’ about the kids.”

you blinked, “w-what?”

he only smirked wider and turned to the group, voice booming, “alright, little rascals—who wants to see the fire truck?”

a sea of hands shot up, shrieks of “ME!!”’s echoing through the lot. you took a steadying breath, reminding yourself you were a professional. you were in charge. you were not affected by the man currently holding a five-year-old like a football while explaining hose pressure. well… okay, you were a little affected.

inside the station, it was a kid’s dream—red everything, shiny trucks, walls lined with helmets and gear. you walked behind your class, occasionally reminding them to not touch anything, even as rafe encouraged it with a crooked grin and a wink your way, “we don’t usually let people climb inside,” he said, lifting one of your smaller students up to the front seat. “but i guess i can make an exception. miss is bein’ real persuasive.”

you rolled your eyes, yet unable to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks, “please stop flirting with me in front of seven-year-olds.”

“technically, i’m flirting at you. they’re just witnesses.”

you made a strangled noise, faking a cough to hide your smile as one of your kids yanked on your sweater sleeve, “miss,” they whispered behind a cupped hand, eyes wide and serious, “i think the firefighter has a crush on you.”

you froze, “oh?” you said, voice an octave too high. “why do you think that?”

the kid shrugged. “he keeps staring at you like how my daddy stares at my mommy.”

lovely.

later, during the equipment demo, rafe knelt beside one of the kids, patiently explaining how the hose connects to the hydrant. he looked completely in his element—calm, focused, his big hands moving confidently as the child watched with open-mouthed awe.

and then he looked up at you, “y’know…” he said casually, standing and dusting off his palms, “i think i’m pretty good with kids.”

you raised a brow. “thinking of a career change?”

he tilted his head, “nah. just thinkin’ you and me would make a solid team someday.”

your jaw dropped. he grinned like the cocky bastard he was and walked off before you could respond, leaving you standing there speechless, flustered, and violently aware of the way he looked in those pants.

at the end of the visit, while your class gathered near the bus for a group photo, rafe waved you over, “c’mon, teach, gotta get you in the picture too.”

“oh—i’m good behind the camera—”

“nope.” he took your clipboard and handed it to a fellow firefighter, then gently pulled you in. his arm slid around your waist, low and warm and way too casual for your fragile heart. you barely heard the countdown. all you could feel was him—tall and solid beside you, his hand pressing against your hip, the faint smell of smoke and soap on his shirt. the camera clicked. you stepped back fast, heart racing.

once the kids were loading back onto the bus, rafe walked you over quietly. the teasing was gone from his voice now—something a little softer had replaced it, “you did good today.”

you looked up at him, “so did you.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, like he was working up the nerve, “…you free sometime? without twenty small humans between us?”

you blinked, “are you asking me out, firefighter cameron?”

he grinned. “is it workin’?”

you bit your lip, cheeks hot, “…kinda.”

“good.” he winked, then stepped back as the bus door closed behind you.

and as you took your seat behind the kids, still breathless, still flushed, your favorite student turned around and whispered, “told you he liked you.”

you didn’t even try to deny it

[studioeisa]

hard carry 🧮 mingyu x reader.

your math major soulmate is the only reason you’re surviving college, but how long can you rely on him for help?

★ math major!mingyu x art major!reader.  ★ word count: 2k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: college/university, alternate universe: soulmates (you and your soulmate can communicate with thoughts), romance, fluff, humor. a math term/solution i am not 100% sure about. reader’s thoughts are in pink while mingyu’s are in blue.   ★ footnotes: this is part of my follower milestone event. when are @maplegyu and i not self-indulgent? alas, brainiac!kmg is one of my favorite versions of gyu— so i’m glad to finally have an excuse to play with it. ily, maple! 

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺ hard carry by got7. no song without you by honne. in the same place by girls on top. let’s love by suho. lilac by iu. mariposa by peach tree rascals. love equation by vixx. common denominator by justin bieber.

Barnett Newman. Helen Frankenthaler. Mark Rothko. 

All fantastic abstract expressionist painters, known for their vibrant compositions and color-saturated canvases. Some of your peers turned their noses up at the movement, presumably because it always took a little more of a critical eye to understand it. 

You didn’t share the same distaste. Most of the time, you enjoyed the colors, lines, and shapes that all served to be a bigger part of a whole. 

If anything, the math problem in front of you was the most abstract thing you’d ever faced. 

You stare at the test paper, your pencil hovering uselessly above the page. The numbers have all blurred together— a mess of equations and symbols that could rival the work of Jackson Pollock. 

It’s almost comical, how you slot so easily into the stereotype of art-major-who’s-ass-at-math. Some people are an exception to the norm. You are not one of them. 

“Fifteen minutes left,” your hard-pressed professor drawls from the front of the classroom, and you snap out of your woe-is-me reverie.

Question five taunts you. If f(x) = 3x² - 4x + 7, find f'(x) and evaluate f'(2).

Derivatives. Okay. You know this. You should know this. 

Except, right now, your brain is a blank canvas.

You purse your lips. This isn’t going to bode well for you, but you’d held out this long. You’ll be lucky to get a C on this test— to pass by the skin of your teeth— and so you deserve to get at least one question indisputably correct. Right? 

Mingyu. You reach out through the bond, desperate. You there? 

Some have said that once you’ve met your soulmate, once you know how they sound like, it’s their voice that rings in your thoughts. If you haven’t, though, you’re left with something more akin to subtitles. Text flashing in your head in a font of your choosing. 

(Your poison is Courier New. You asked Mingyu once, what his font for you was, but he never really ‘got back’ to you on it.) 

There’s a pause— just long enough for you to feel guilty— before a response flashes in your mind. Aren’t you in the middle of a test? 

You can almost imagine his tone. You anticipate it’d be something sharp and warm all at once, which is just your way of coping with how desperate you feel right now. 

I’m seriously failing in the middle of my test, you respond. Hopefully, he can read how frantic and desperate you are. I just need a little nudge. 

A beat. 

You tack on, Please? 

If Mingyu could sigh, he probably would have by now. He’s a man carrying the weight of your academic shortcomings, after all. There’s just enough exasperation in his ‘tone’ when he shoots back, Fine. What is it? 

Your eyes dart over the problem plaguing you. Once you’ve mentally relayed it to your soulmate, he responds without missing a beat. 

Power rule. If you have something like axⁿ, the derivative is naxⁿ⁻¹. 

You blink. Say that like I’m five. 

So help me, God, Mingyu says, forcing you to tamp down a laugh. Okay. What’s 3x²? 

Uh… 6x? 

Good. And -4x? 

-4? 

And a constant? 

Zero— 

You sit up a little straighter, faltering mid-mental correspondence. So f’(x) is 6x - 4.

Mingyu can’t really sound amused— or proud— but you picture it all the same when he urges you to go on. And f’(2)? 

Your pencil is already scribbling furiously across your test paper. Eight, you triumphantly declare. The answer is eight. 

There you go, he answers. 

For not the first time, you wish you’d already met him. It must be nice to have a smile in your mind, a cadence instead of sentences. But you and Mingyu had agreed that neither of you were in a rush. You were both uni students wanting to explore your individual lives at your own pace before attempting a happily ever after. 

It’s only through your ironclad will that you’ve resisted the urge to look him up, to find out if there was a math major named Mingyu within your area.

This is the last time I’m going to help you cheat, he says as you move on to correct your answers for some of the other questions.

A corner of your mouth twitches upward. That’s what you said last time. 

Yeah, well, I mean it this time. Get a tutor or something, woman. 

Are you presenting yourself? 

Don’t tempt me with a good time. 

Your professor keeps you from responding immediately. “Five minutes,” she calls out. 

Your fingers tighten around your pencil. It wouldn’t be the first or last instance where academic integrity might be compromised because of the whole soulmate bond, but Mingyu is right. You can’t keep summoning him like your personal math genie. 

Fine, you concede. I’ll stop bothering you with my [math] problems. Nerd. 

Mingyu asked for it, so, really— he’s to blame for missing it. 

It’s an odd feeling, this restlessness that comes in the absence of your out-of-the-blue inquiries. The two of you still occasionally reach through the bond to exchange an amicable word or two, maybe recommend a song, but gone are the times you’d come running to him for help. 

He’s sitting in the library, his notebook opened to a half-finished proof. His pencil twirls idly between his fingers as he attempts to focus. Instead, his mind keeps drifting to what was once a daily occurrence. 

Panicked whispers of Mingyu, help. Last-minute pleas for salvation. Complaints about how math is ruining your life, how this would most definitely not be useful in the real world. 

(He would never admit it, but he had always liked when you tangented into the last one. It felt a bit like a betrayal to his field, the endearment he felt whenever you’d flood his mind with paragraph after paragraph cussing out Newton and Leibniz for inventing calculus.) 

With a sharp sigh, he stabs his pencil into the spiral binding of his notebook and leans back, rubbing a hand over his face. His fingers drum against the desk. His leg bounces. He debates reaching out first— just to check, just to make sure you haven’t actually given up on math altogether. But what would he even say?

Hey, fail another test yet? Are you alive, or did calculus finally take you out? I kind of miss you annoying me. Don’t let it go to your head.

No, no, and definitely not. 

He doesn’t even know you like that. You’re soulmates and that’s pretty much it. He’s lucky that you’ve been rather chill about the whole affair, not hurrying to meet him and lock him down like other soulmate horror stories he’s heard. 

He knows bits and pieces. Your major, your love for survival reality shows, your utter distaste for anything beyond multiplication. 

Mingyu mumbles something like “for fuck’s sake” to himself. He tries to refocus, and he manages to make it halfway into his homework when it comes. 

Mingyu. 

When you wanted to tell him something inconsequential, like The new Fantastic Four movie sucked or I’d kill for a slice of pizza right now, you went straight into it. You only ever ‘said’ his name when it was related to numbers. 

Took you long enough, he says, his lips twitching. 

Shut up. I was trying to figure it out on my own this time. 

And? 

Your brief moment of hesitation has Mingyu wondering if he’s too cruel. His mother had always advised him to be nice to his soulmate, to not overwhelm you, and he contemplates throwing in an apology. Before he can, though, you’re back in his head. 

I need you. 

Something in his chest tightens. He tells himself it’s just relief. 

(The truth of the matter is this: Mingyu liked being needed by you. He wasn’t sure yet why, but he did.) 

Yeah, yeah, he responds as he absentmindedly sketches a heart into the corner of his notebook. What’s the problem? 

You’re starting to think that a tutor might not be that bad of an idea. 

While Mingyu is always obliging, the guilt of relying on your connection was beginning to weigh on you. You scoured the university boards until you found a girl named Somi willing to meet with you twice a week, and it was going pretty well. 

Still— is it weird to admit that you kind of miss running to Mingyu? 

You try your darndest to keep those thoughts catalogued. A couple of your friends have talked about accidentally slipping some of their innermost thoughts to their soulmates, and God forbid Mingyu find out that you crave his dry wit. 

You can’t miss somebody you’ve never met. 

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself as you go to Mingyu less and less, instead filling in the gaps of your conversation with menial, everyday things. 

What coffee do you usually drink?, you ask him one afternoon. 

You’re in the world’s slowest-moving line, at the cafe you and Somi frequented for your tutoring sessions. Your phone is dead, you’ve analyzed the art on the walls at least seven different ways, and there’s no one around for you to talk to. Might as well abuse the soulmate connection. 

His response comes in by the time you’re nearly at the front of the line. Iced Americano, he responds. Why? 

No reason. 

“Next.” 

You offer a sympathetic smile to the dead-eyed barista at the counter. “Once large iced Americano, please,” you say. 

You go to stand off to the side. As you’re waiting for your order, Mingyu asks a question of his own. 

What about you? 

What about me? 

What’s your go-to order? 

You contemplate it for a moment. Salted caramel cream cold brew. 

The barista hands you your drink. A corner of your lip twitches upward as you accept it, Mingyu’s response coming in at the same time. 

That sounds obscene, he taunts. A toothache in the making. 

Hey. You’re mentally britsling, readying to defend your coffee of choice. I’ll have you know— 

“Oomf!” 

This was sometimes the problem about getting lost in your thoughts. You tend to get dragged out of the real world, stuck in your conversation. You exchange a quick apology with the person you bumped into, the tips of your ears flaming red. 

With your drink in hand, you make a beeline for the table that you and Somi always sit at. You’re distracted enough to forget that you were mid-‘conversation’ with Mingyu, and so you barely register that your usually punctual tutor has yet to arrive— or that someone else is coming up to your table once you’ve settled in. 

Later, you will get a text from Somi telling you something came up, but not to fret; she called in a friend to help. Someone who was more than willing to pick up Somi’s slack after joking that he’d already been doing it for the soon-to-be-love-of-his-life. 

Your gaze flicks up to the boy standing in front of you. 

‘Cute.’ ‘Cute.’ 

It’s a two-way record scratch. 

The stranger hovering by your table seems to freeze, too, and the pieces fall together in your head like a puzzle— no. It’s like when you squint at an abstract painting and the whole thing comes together.

You had said sorry earlier, hadn’t you? To the person you bumped into. He had apologized as well. 

Now, there was a voice to the words in your head. A face to the soulmate you’d been missing.

“Hey,” your soulmate says, he says out loud. 

He plops down into the seat across from you, trying and failing to fight off the biggest smile on his face. There’s no need to exchange introductions. He says your name, and it’s so much better than anything you could have ever imagined. 

When Mingyu sets down his drink, you actually laugh. 

It’s a salted caramel cream cold brew.