#making up fake brands was the best part of this

[bixels]

In the past, people in the Animal Crossing community would make fun of Tom Nook as a sleazy landlord. Since then, he's really rehabilitated his image as this 'heart of gold' businessman (he's the one who puts bells and furniture in trees for you to find! he adopted orphans! he donates to charity!), but New Horizons genuinely paints the most devious version of him.

He's successfully privatized settler colonialism: you pay HIM to move to a "deserted island" (which apparently the oceans in the AC world are just full of) and start a colony that he is directly invested in. At best he's running a weird vacation package scam (you arrive on the island with no money and in debt for "using his services"). At worst, he's using you to set up company towns. For god's sake, he literally has his own fake currency that he forces you to use to pay off your debt. But don't worry, he's repackaged it in a way that definitely doesn't sound like an MLM scam: the Nook Mileage Program!

You're no longer just his tenant or his temporary part-timer, you're his business lackey. The entire tutorial section of the game has you spending actual weeks running around completing tasks and doing hard labor to set up his colony. You're even tasked with preparing his properties and finding buyers for them. No, you aren't a tenant anymore. You work for the landlord. You are directly responsible for finding tenants for him. And he doesn't even fucking pay you. Not for setting up town hall and museum, or his nephew's shop –– which is the ONLY store on the entire island that sells necessities –– or bringing KK Slider to town, or helping populate his town. Not a single cent. No, actually, you have to pay HIM to BUY infrastructure like bridges and stairs and park benches. And all the while, he's telling you're the "resident representative"; you get to call the shots! That the reward is the community's progress. That what you're doing is in everyone's best interest (but most importantly, his).

Since NH's release, people have done a lot of legwork to say that Tom Nook isn't a capitalist while the game shows him at his very worst. He owns the only general store in town. You're forced to use a phone that he modified and branded as his own. Buy Nook-branded furniture and merchandise at the self-serve kiosk in the town hall, a governmental building! There's no conflict of interest here!

But hey, if you're tired of being the landlord/business mogul's goon, you can also find work as a deluxe resort home designer for a company that also pays you in their special company currency that can only be used to buy their products instead of a real salary! Because that's what the Animal Crossing franchise needs! More vacation homes!!!

[wandaslovey]

ᴍʀꜱ. ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏꜰꜰ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴏᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 7k

authors note: i’m so excited to share this with you guys - this was so much fun to write! i’m planning on writing the first few parts as chapters where one will pick up right after the other and then once i get to a certain point i’ll do random time skips within the same au. oh also! i’m starting a tag list, so comment below if you’d like to be included on the next chapter! enjoy loves! 💕 as usual, this is not proofread.

content warning(s): legal age gap (w=30, n=33, r=23), natasha and wanda being two hot intimidating lawyers (except natasha kinda steals this show in this part, especially in the beginning. don’t worry though, wanda will have her time to shine!), conversation about kinkery and reader knows very little

if you’d like to read the drabble that inspired this series, click here

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you stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your white button-up blouse for the 10th time. you huff, frustrated that your wardrobe just wouldn’t cooperate with you this morning. as you look yourself over in the mirror—the rest of your outfit consisting of a mid-thigh black pencil skirt, some black nylons and black combat boots—you couldn’t help but wonder if your attire was okay for the interview.

the interview…you can’t believe you landed an interview at thee M.R. law firm. you knew how unqualified you were for the position, so you felt extra pressure to compensate somehow with your appearance.

you turn to the side in the mirror, first left and then right, scrutinizing yourself at every angle. you readjust the pieces of hair framing your face that you pulled out of your bun, before deciding you’d done all you could to look your best.

you glance at the clock on your nightstand in the reflection of the mirror, seeing it was time to go. you grab your knock-off brand purse and slip out of your apartment. when you walk down the stairs and open the door to the outside, the noise from the city fills your ears. the sounds of cars, horns, sirens, music and people all blended together, creating a sort of hum all new-yorkers were familiar with. you step out onto the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding some tourists that were taking a picture in front of the trendy restaurant you lived by. you hail a cab, quickly sliding into the backseat and telling the driver your destination.

now that you were settled in your seat with only the taxi drivers quiet music to distract you, the nerves you’d been attempting to snub out suddenly hit you full force. there was no way you could do this. you were sure you were just wasting your own time and the poor person who had to interview you. you knew your 6 months working as a receptionist at a dentist office nowhere near qualified you to manage things at M.R. law. you mentally curse yourself, thinking you must’ve been half asleep and entirely too desperate when you sent in your application at this place. you needed a job though—urgently. with your roommate moving back home, and no one else taking her place, you were stuck with paying the rent on your own. on top of that, you were still paying back loans for school. you knew you should cut your losses, leave new york and transfer to a much more affordable school, but you really wanted to stay as much as you could help it.

every stoplight you hit along the 20 minute drive only makes you more nervous. the fluttery feeling in your stomach turns into full blown pterodactyls by the time the driver has pulled up to the very tall M.R. building. you pass some folded up cash to the driver, mumbling out a quiet ‘thank you,’ and then step out of the car. you stare up at the intimidating building, the lettering of “maximoff-romanoff law” taunting you—daring you to step inside. you let out a stubborn exhale, squaring your shoulders and walking in with a confidence as fake as grape flavored candy.

you stride over to the front desk, noticing that the only employees in sight are all women.

“hi, i’m here for an 11 o’clock interview,” you tell one of the women behind the desk. she offers you a polite smile, giving you instructions to head into the elevator and up to the 8th floor. you nod your head, thanking her and make your way to your doomsday interview.

as the elevator doors shut behind you, you find yourself all alone in the small space. there was no background music to distract you now. you stare at the floor, noticing a slight glint to the black tiles you were standing on. you listen to the beeps counting up each floor, your eyes dragging up the stainless steel panel when the number reads 8 and the final beep sounds. the doors open and you’re immediately greeted with the sight of more women pacing around the place. some seemed to be in a rush while others were leisurely walking across the floor while chatting with a co-worker. you walk over to the front desk again, repeating what you had told the other kind lady downstairs. she gestures for you to take a seat on the couch in the waiting area, letting you know someone will grab you in a few minutes.

you take a seat on the black leather couch, figuring this piece of furniture probably costed more than the rent for your apartment. you cross your legs, interlocking your fingers together at your knee. you glance around the office, taking in the decor. it was very tasteful, some touches of greenery that went nicely with the black and dark woodsy vibe this floor was going for. you try your best to ignore the bile rising in your throat and the pterodactyls still swarming in your stomach. it was a good thing you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.

as two minutes turns into ten, and then fifteen, you can’t help but feel the urge to just get up and leave. you felt so out of place here; you couldn’t imagine working at this place with all these women who were so obviously out of your league.

just as you were settling on the idea of ditching this interview, you hear clacking footsteps making their way over to you. you didn’t dare look up yet, pretending to be very interested in the tiny hole in your pantyhose just above your knee.

“miss (y/l/n)?” the most heavenly, sultry voice calls out to you. your eyes slowly trail along the tile, up the woman’s legs covered in black slacks, her blouse and matching black suit jacket, and then finally her face. it was her.

thee mrs. romanoff.

mrs. romanoff was the person who was going to interview you? you couldn’t believe your eyes, or the situation. you clear your throat, realizing you had yet to acknowledge her calling out to you.

“yeah, that’s me,” you reply, standing on slightly wobbly legs. you watch as mrs. romanoff’s eyes slowly take in your appearance, her eyes lingering on your frame. you feel a little scrutinized, wondering if you really did mess up with what you were wearing.

“follow me.” she turns and leads the way. you stumble a bit as you follow behind her, not expecting her to have as long of a stride as she does.

“you’ll have to forgive me for the wait—we had a couple meetings run over this morning,” she talks to you over her shoulder, slowing her walk a little when she notices you’re not directly behind her like she thought.

“oh, no worries. i didn’t mind the wait.” that was technically a lie, but it wasn’t the wait that bothered you as much as the fact that you were left alone with your thoughts a little too long.

she rounds a corner at the end of the hall, pausing and gesturing for you to enter in one of the two doors that were side by side on the wall to the right. you walk through the doorframe, stepping into what you assumed was her personal office.

“have a seat, miss (y/l/n),” she says in a low voice, walking from behind you and around her desk to sit in her chair. you sit in one of the two chairs across from her, your heart thudding violently in your chest from being in such close proximity to her.

you adjust your seating position three times before finally settling in place, forcing yourself to sit still. mrs. romanoff humors you, remaining silent and patient through your nervous fidgeting.

“so, i have to say i was a little surprised to see your application come through to my desk,” she starts and you immediately feel your cheeks grow hot, the feeling of being in a place you don’t belong filling your whole body with dread.

she pauses, and you realize she was waiting for you to respond. right. this was supposed to be where you attempt to prove yourself adequate to work in this position.

“yes, um… well, admittedly i myself did think it was a stretch to apply here, but then i figured, i’m a fast learner, i’m very thorough in all i do and i enjoy learning new things. i thought i’d try my hand at something i haven’t done before.” you rattle off an answer that while it was true, it was also something you rehearsed 20 times in the mirror while getting ready before you got here. you were almost positive the slight robotic edge in your voice was noticeable.

mrs. romanoff hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly at your rehearsed answer. “how well can you handle multi-tasking in a fast paced environment?” her lack of acknowledging your first answer puts a damper on your already fake confidence. you shift in your seat again, finding it harder to maintain eye contact with the sea of green that was her eyes.

“i would say i fare pretty well. i’m usually very good at managing stressful situations.” that was a complete lie—but most people bullshit their way through interviews, don’t they?

“usually?” she echoes, tilting her head to the side. she purses her lips, half attempting to hide a small smirk. she easily picked up on all your nervous antics the moment she saw you. you averting her gaze, walking unsteadily, fidgeting in your seat and the cute rose-y blush currently coloring your cheeks.

you clear your throat, interlocking your hands together in your lap. you notice they’ve already started to feel damp with sweat. “yeah, yeah most of the time i’d say so.”

“well, miss…” she glances down at what appeared to be your application and resume sitting in front of her on the desk. “(y/n)..you don’t sound very sure of yourself.” she sits upright in her chair, crossing her arms and leaning over the desk. your heart beats impossibly faster, the feeling of intimidation settling deep into your bones.

“no, i mean, i am sure—totally 100%.” you try to laugh, but it comes out sounding as nervous as you feel.

“okay, if that’s how you’d like to proceed…” she trails off, looking down at the papers in front of her again. you didn’t know what she meant, but your eyes fall desperately to the same papers she was looking at, as if they could provide some sort of answer to you. “what are your greatest strengths and weaknesses?”

you internally breath a sigh of relief. this was another answer you’d rehearsed in the mirror, it just needed to sound less robotic this time. “i’d say my greatest strengths are, i’m very punctual—i’m always on time if not early—um, i do all things thoroughly, as i mentioned before…i’m very reliable—hardly sick or need time off for family things, and i enjoy a good challenge. my greatest weakness is that i like to be very organized and sometimes i can spend a little too much time completing a certain project before moving onto the next.” you exhale after you finish talking, your eyes flicking across her face to try and get a sense of how she’s taking in your answer.

as you speak, you can’t help but notice that she was watching you so meticulously. it seemed that she was taking in not only your words, but your facial expressions, hand gestures and body language.

she looks at you for a moment as if she’s thinking hard on something. without taking her eyes off of you, she presses a button on her desk, the small ding from an intercom sounding. “joan, please track down mrs. maximoff and have her come into my office right away.”

your heartbeat now thrums loudly in your ears, your breath picking up its pace. you were not only going to be in the presence of mrs. romanoff but now mrs. maximoff too? never in your life had you seen such a powerful couple—and that was only in photos and billboards you’d seen around the city!

“is everything okay?” you ask nervously, feeling the permanent blush on your cheeks travel to the tips of your ears.

“everything’s fine, (y/n),” she gives you a smile but it was anything but reassuring. in fact, there was something about the expression that felt more intimidating with how devastatingly beautiful she was.

she grabs a pen and starts writing something on the paper. whatever it was was brief, but you couldn’t see clearly from your seat.

a quiet knock comes from the door and your posture becomes rigid as you hear who you assume to be mrs. maximoff entering the room.

“you called for me?” mrs. maximoff asks as she walks the length from the door to mrs. romanoff’s side. she walks around your chair and stands next to her wife, placing her palm flat against the desktop and leaning some of her weight on it.

“yes, i wanted you to meet our new interviewee,” she smiles with her lips and gestures to you in your seat. you look between the two beautiful, impeccably dressed women, feeling extremely small and insignificant. mrs. maximoff turns to look at you for the first time, a warm smile gracing her features.

“hi,” she offers simply, extending her hand to shake yours. you sit forward, reaching your arm out to shake her hand across the desk. her hand was incredibly soft and a little cold to the touch, but you wouldn’t expect anything less since the office was kept at such a cool temperature.

“mrs. maximoff is going to sit in on the rest of our interview. is that okay with you?” mrs. romanoff asks, her eyes daring you to object.

you quickly shake your head from side to side, shifting once again in your chair. “no, no that’s perfectly fine,” you reply easily, though you were feeling anything but fine. you notice mrs. maximoff giving her wife a curious glance but she doesn’t otherwise question it.

“let’s move over to the couches so we’re a little more comfortable,” mrs. romanoff stands up and heads over to the long olive green velvet sofa. you follow suit, except you take a seat in the smaller sofa, designed for only one person. mrs. maximoff sits closest to you on the long couch, brushing some of her pretty brown hair behind her shoulder. you watch as she glances back at her wife, mrs. romanoff giving her a certain look that you weren’t sure what it meant.

“so, (y/n), tells us what your career goals are,” mrs. romanoff proceeds with the interview as if the interruption never happened. you find yourself even more nervous to respond now that there were two, hot, older women sitting before you.

“umm…for now i really just need something steady that will simultaneously be giving me good work and life experience.. long term though, i’d like to become a therapist once i finish my masters program.” you bite your tongue once you finish your sentence, realizing this is not the sort of job where you tell your interviewers you’d like to pursue something that has nothing to do with their company.

“what appeals to you about becoming a therapist?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side curiously, just like mrs. romanoff had done earlier in the interview.

you lean back in your chair, a little surprised at her interest in your reply. “well, it’s a cliche answer, but i’m very passionate about helping people. it’s impossible to go through this life without getting seriously hurt and dealing with trauma. the vast majority of us have no idea how to cope or process through our experiences, so just knowing what i know, i’d like to try and be of some help for those who need it.”

the two lawyers look at you thoughtfully, mrs. maximoff nodding her head as you speak.

“that’s a very admirable passion. are you currently enrolled in a masters program?” she asks, crossing one of her legs over the other as she gets more comfortable in her seat.

“i am,” you reply with a shy smile. you never wanted to come across as bragging about your education, so you always sought to speak about it in the most humble way.

“you like school?” mrs. romanoff chimes in, leaning forward as she speaks.

your smile turns a bit rueful as you reply. “yes..i do. i know so many young people my age loathe school and all the hard work that needs to be put in, but…i love everything about it. i love taking notes, making flashcards, studying, taking tests, everything about it, i just love. i know it sounds a little crazy.” you laugh once, suddenly feeling more relaxed as you speak about something so genuinely. you feel a little more surprise again as you hear mrs. romanoff chuckle with you, nodding her head towards her brunette wife.

“sounds like somebody i know. this one here was a school addict. i had to practically pry textbooks out her hands just so we could do anything other than study,” she chuckles again, mrs. maximoff joining in with her.

“i won’t apologize for being so pointed about my studies. we both got straight A’s, didn’t we?” she jokes light-heartedly and you find yourself smiling warmly at their light banter.

mrs. maximoff turns back to face you, a smile still touching her lips. “what else do you do aside from school?” her question makes your face fall slightly as you now had to admit you were technically unemployed. you knew that didn’t look good for potential employers.

“right now, not a whole lot. just keeping busy with my studies,” you respond vaguely to which they both hum in response.

the pair of them continue asking you questions, except they become progressively more personal until they don’t attain to work or working at this position at all.

“do you like living alone? or do you prefer living with others?” was one of the questions mrs. romanoff asks you after you had explained you were currently without a roommate.

even though it was strange, you find that the more you talk about yourself, the more relaxed you feel. mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff both noticed it too. they could see more of your personality showing through as the nerves slowly but surely dissipated.

it had been near 40 minutes by the time mrs. romanoff checked her watch and noticed the time. she looked at her wife, mrs. maximoff seeming to sense her eyes on her as she automatically looked to the side. they shared a look, one of them nodding to the other before turning back to face you.

“well, we’ve kept you here much longer than was intended—i apologize for that.” mrs. romanoff says as she stands, mrs. maximoff following suit. you stand also, smoothing your skirt back over your legs. as you stand so closely to them now, you notice how they were both taller than you by a few inches, making you feel small again like you had earlier.

“it’s no big deal. i’m in no rush,” you smile shyly as you look up at the two of them. you extend your arm out, shaking both of their hands before getting ready to leave. they both give your hand a gentle squeeze and when mrs. romanoff shakes your hand, she grasps on longer than her wife, holding your gaze with a certain intensity.

“we’ll be in touch, miss (y/n),” she says smoothly, calling you out by your first name, and for some reason the combination between her voice and her eye contact made your knees feel weak.

you swallow thickly, nodding your head and thanking them both for the interview before turning away. mrs. maximoff leads you to the door to exit and walks you all the way out to the elevators. you pace the short distance in somewhat comfortable silence. when you turn to face her to say your final goodbye, your surprised to see mrs. romanoff behind her. she was following so quietly that you didn’t notice her presence.

“bye! thank you again,” you smile, stepping into the elevator once the doors open. the two women stand side by side of each other, giving you a near identical smile which portrayed some sort of knowing behind it, almost like they were expecting something.

“it was a pleasure meeting you miss (y/l/n),” mrs. maximoff calls out to you as the elevator doors slide closed.

you exhale a breath you didn’t now you were holding, slumping back against the elevator walls.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

that evening, you cook up a box of mac n cheese, too lazy to try and find the ingredients to make anything else. not to mention, your mind was still a little bit jumbled after your interview with thee lesbian power couple.

mrs. romanoff’s words kept echoing in your head.

”we’ll be in touch” she’d said. but didn’t your interview totally blow? especially at the end. it wasn’t so much an interview but rather more like a conversation where people try to get to know each other better. maybe they were looking for a personality hire? you really doubted that though.

you eat your mac n cheese while staring blankly at the wall, thinking over the whole exchange with mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff. as you mindlessly feed yourself spoonfuls of your dinner, you realize you didn’t even know their first names. you remembered you had once seen them on a billboard somewhere but didn’t remember exactly what they were. mrs. romanoff’s first name was natalie or something similar? you were at a loss with mrs. maximoff. you decide to google them to put your curiosities to rest.

pulling out your phone, you google their names and the law firm. after doing just a little bit of digging, you see their full names: natasha romanoff and wanda maximoff. ah, so you were close with mrs. romanoff’s name. you wonder if they only go by their last names at the office. it definitely seemed like their vibe to have things be so professional.

as you go throughout the rest of your evening, showering and getting ready for bed, you continue thinking about them. the longer your mind lingers on them, the less “professionally” you think about them. you couldn’t help but notice how utterly beautiful they both were. they both carried themselves with a confidence that anyone would find intimidating. there was something so forceful about their presences, but not necessarily in a bad way. it seemed like natasha—mrs.romanoff—was a little more rough around the edges, but you could see she easily held a soft spot for her wife and life partner. mrs. maximoff gave off a much more approachable vibe, but she was still intimidating in her own way.

as your mind continues wandering, you find yourself becoming more tired before you finally drift off to sleep, your brain fatigued from all your analytical thinking.

『 °*• ❀ •*°』

the first thing you notice when you wake up is the light shining through your thin curtains. you blink a few times, slowly adjusting to the light. you blindly reach over to your nightstand, unplugging your phone from the charger. as you unlock your phone, you notice a missed call from an unknown number nearly two hours ago. you shoot up into a sitting position in your bed, suddenly feeling much more awake. it was just passed 10 am. was the unknown number a call back about your interview?

your fingers furiously swipe on your phone, quickly googling the number for M.R. law. you breath a sigh of relief when you cross reference the digits in your phone and the number online, realizing it was just a random unknown caller. you let your body fall back limply on the bed, your leg dangling off the side as you clutch your phone to your chest. that would’ve been humiliating if they called offering you the job and you didn’t pick up the phone.

as you go about your morning leisurely—not having any classes this day—you try to push the two hot lawyers out of your mind. there was no point in dwelling on them if you’d never hear from them again.

you leave your face bare of makeup, not intending on leaving the apartment and you opt for wearing comfy clothes—or “frumpy” clothes as you called them—instead of something nice.

you head into the kitchen, pouring yourself a bowl of frosted flakes cereal. you let it sit there for a few minutes to soak up the milk, as soggy cereal was your favorite. you’d argue with anyone who claimed crunchy cereal was best. as you wait, you power up your laptop, intent on working on some homework.

you’re munching on your cereal, blue-light filtered glasses adorning your nose as you work on your computer screen. you were mid-bite when you hear your phone buzzing on the counter next to you. you glance down at your phone and frown slightly when you notice it looks to be the same unknown number from earlier.

you continue chewing your bite, raising the phone to your ear as you accept the call.

“hello?” you ask, your voice mumbled a bit as you still had some food in your mouth.

“good morning, miss (y/n),” you hear a warm, velvety voice greet you. after almost an hour interview with her yesterday, you’d recognize this distinct voice anywhere.

“mrs. romanoff?” you just about choke on your food as you swallow, your body tensing slightly as you feel much more alert.

“that would be correct.” you hear her chuckle softly into the phone, your tone laced with obvious surprise she must have found endearing.

“i’m so sorry! i think i missed your call earlier? i didn’t recognize the number- i had no idea it was you, i’m sorry!” you apologize quickly, thinking that if she was actually calling to offer you the job, you might have just ruined it.

“don’t worry about it. i would be surprised if you recognized it given that this is my personal number,” her voice was low and warm. it was entirely too enticing.

“oh.. umm, right. well, good morning,” you stumble slightly over your words, unsure what else to say to her.

“are you normally a late riser?” she asks with humor in her voice.

“what? oh no, not normally no. i just don’t have classes today,” you explain, a little embarrassed at her having called you out on your sleeping habits.

“i see. well, we just wanted to call and ask if you’d meet us for a coffee,” her question came out as more of a statement and you were left wondering why on earth she would want to go out for coffee with you and…wait.. did she say we?

“we?” the words echo aloud from your mind.

“yes. my wife and i,” she reiterates calmly. you look around your small excuse for a kitchen as if the reasoning behind her posing this question was written on the walls.

“like today?” you ask stupidly. of course she meant today.

“yes - today. can you meet us in 15? we’re going on lunch break. i’ll text you the address.” your eyes zip to the digital numbers plastered on the microwave. you only had 15 minutes to try and look presentable, get a cab and meet them.

“ummm..yeah. yeah sure,” you nod your head as if she could see you through the phone. you quickly hop off the stool you were sitting on, walking briskly to the bathroom with the phone still held firmly to your ear.

“perfect. we’ll see you soon.” she hangs up and you all but toss your phone on the bathroom counter, staring down at the device as if it’s offended you. you quickly snap out of it, only having 5 or so minutes to un-hobo yourself. you quickly apply some concealer on your dark spots, powder on a little blush and brush on a coat of mascara in record time. in your haste, you stumble from the bathroom to your closet, trying to find something to quickly throw on. you grab a simple white baby tee, putting it on and then aggressively stepping into some loose light wash jeans. grabbing your belongings, you half jog out the door, nearly slipping down the last two stairs of your apartment.

you quickly get a cab, thanking whatever higher power there is in your head that there was very little delay in one driving by. as the taxi driver takes you to the address you gave him, you sit forward in your seat, gathering your hair in a pony tail near the top of your head. you secure it with an elastic you always keep around your wrist and pull some pieces out to frame your face. you glance in the cab rear view mirror, seeing you looked fairly presentable. you exhale shakily, sitting back in your seat as the same nerves you felt yesterday on the way to your interview were coming back now.

what was this about? i mean, you knew it wasn’t normal to meet with potential employees for coffee. it was especially suspicious because it was mrs. romanoff *and* her wife.

your thoughts are interrupted as the taxi slows to a crawl and he pulls up to the coffee shop. you’d never been to this one before, granted there were hundreds of shops all over the city so there were probably many you hadn’t gone to. your heart leaps in your chest as you see both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff waiting outside for you.

you pass the driver the money, thank him and slip out of the car. as you step onto the sidewalk, mrs. maximoff greets you with the same warm smile she’d given you when you first met. mrs. romanoff smiles too, though it’s not as wide as her wife’s.

“hello again, (y/n).” your heart skips a beat as you hear mrs. maximoff use your first name for the first time. mrs. romanoff had been calling you by your first name since you’d stepped foot into her office. you liked the way your name fell from both of their tongues.

“hi, good to see you both again,” you smile despite your nerves, making eye contact with both of them in a polite manner.

“shall we?” mrs. romanoff suggests as she opens the door for you, her wife placing a gentle hand on the small of your back to usher you inside. you inhale shakily, the unexpected contact surprising you in a pleasant way.

as the three of you file in behind the small line of people waiting to order, your eyes skim the menu, even though you already knew exactly what you wanted.

“cute outfit,” mrs. romanoff murmurs from behind you. you could hear what sounded to be amusement in her tone but you weren’t sure.

you turn to the side to face her, her being on your left and mrs. maximoff on your right just a half-step behind you. “thank you. i threw it on—literally. i was wearing something a lot less presentable when you first called.” you glance down at both of their outfits. the duality between yours and their outfits was almost laughable. they looked impeccably fashionable and you were just in street clothes.

wanda chuckles lightly at your comment. “what were you wearing before?” she asks.

“just an oversized tee and some biker shorts,” you shrug, crossing your arms casually over your chest. you always felt more comfortable when you had your arms wrapped around yourself.

as the line moves and you’re next, mrs. romanoff quickly stands in front of you, her body moving between you and the counter. “what’ll you have?” she gives you an expectant look, ready to give your order.

“an iced mocha?” you ask a little shyly, her show of putting herself between you and the cash register did something to you for some reason.

she nods, and turns to the barista, repeating your order along with hers and her wife’s. you’re about to protest, wanting to tell her she doesn’t have to pay for you, but you feel mrs. maximoff’s hand return to the small of your back, swiftly maneuvering you away from the line and over to the small cluster of tables.

you sit down in a chair she pulled out for you and you scoot yourself in as mrs. maximoff settles in her own seat across from you.

“you really don’t have to pay for me, you know,” you pipe gently, glancing over at mrs. romanoff who was standing at the counter waiting for the drinks before you turn back to mrs. maximoff.

“of course not, we want to. plus, neither her nor i would ever allow you to pay for yourself even if you insisted,” she smiles winsomely, her eyes gleaming with something warm and bright.

mrs. romanoff returns with all three coffees, somehow handling all three and setting them down in a graceful manner.

“thank you,” you give mrs. romanoff a gentle smile as your fingers interlock around the cup and you drag it closer to you.

they both take a sip from their coffees—which were both hot—before mrs. romanoff clears her throat, her eyes narrowing in on you as she leans forward on the table.

“so, i imagine you’re wondering why we asked you here.” she throws a glance at her wife who was already looking at her speak.

“it may have been on my mind…” you trail off, sounding as innocent as possible.

mrs. romanoff smiles knowingly, her eyes appraising you in a way that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“it’s not about the job, as i’m sure you might have figured, but rather about offering a different type of position,” she begins. your brow furrows in confusion. what did she mean?

“a different position? like a cleaning job or something?” you immediately go to thinking about jobs that require little to no experience, figuring that might be all they’d have to offer given your background.

they both laugh at your guess, mrs. romanoff being the one to shake her head no.

“no, not a cleaning job,” she pauses, seeming to measure your expression before continuing. “(y/n), have you ever heard the term bdsm?”

your face goes blank and you look from mrs. romanoff to her wife who appeared to be watching you just as carefully.

“um…i think so? i’ve heard the term a few times before.” your legs feel like they’ve turned to jelly, an unfamiliar pit settling into your lower tummy at the abrupt shift in the topic of conversation.

“what do you know about it?” mrs. maximoff chimes in, tilting her head to the side which causes some of her neatly curled hair to fall forward.

you look between the two of them, unconsciously shrinking further down into your seat. this was such a taboo subject to talk about it public; you found yourself already growing warm from just the thought of this discussion.

“well, it’s..sex stuff…right? like being tied down and whipped?” you speak hesitantly in a small voice, throwing quick glances at the strangers littered across the coffee shop.

“those things can be a part of it, yes—if all parties discuss that’s something they like to participate in” mrs. romanoff explains and then continues. “what else have you heard about it? or is that the gist of what you know?”

you shrug, your shoulders slumped forward and your head bowed slightly to try and obscure your flushed cheeks. you suck your bottom lip into your mouth—your nervous habit.

mrs. maximoff pipes in again after noticing your bashfulness. “a lot of people have that imagery in mind when they hear the term ‘bdsm,’ so it’s understandable that that’s your impression. there is so much more to it though. really, bdsm is about exploring people’s sexual interests in a safe space. you learn about your limits, what you like, what you didn’t expect to like, and so much more.” you listen to her explanation intently, your mind immediately wandering and wondering where this conversation was going to go.

mrs. romanoff picks up off her wife’s words. “some people simply dabble in certain aspects of bdsm while others treat it more as a lifestyle—and for my wife and i, it is a lifestyle.”

you nod hesitantly as they both pause for a second, watching you digest this information. you’re unsure how to respond, feeling progressively more restless in your seat.

they both give each other a look before mrs romanoff nods and mrs. maximoff speaks.

“normally, for people who live this lifestyle, they draw up contracts between themselves and the person they want as their submissive.. now we know this is all very forward, but there’s just no other way to put it. we’d like to have you as our new submissive.”

your face turns bright red for reasons you’re not fully aware of. you weren’t quite sure what being a “submissive” all entailed, but you couldn’t wipe the imagery of being helplessly tied down and whipped from your mind. you’re silent as your brain flits through one imaginary scenario to the next. you were so clueless though, you weren’t sure if the things you were thinking up were things people actually did or if they were just shown in porn.

“me…? i just..well it’s just that..i’m-i don’t know if i would be your ideal candidate,” you stumble out, your eyes glued to the table as you avoid looking at either of them at all costs.

“on the contrary, (y/n), i singled you out almost immediately at our interview. i knew i wanted you. that’s why i had wanda join us.” her face softens as she notices your slight uneasiness. being a bit of a sadist though, she couldn’t help but find your innocence and embarrassment so incredibly gratifying. it only made her want you more.

your teeth worry into your bottom lip again as you look between one set of green eyes and then the other. “do you guys normally.. share, uhm..submissives?”

“not always, but we do like to when it’s possible,” wanda shares, a reassuring smile on her face. you purse your lips, chewing on the inside of your cheek as more questions arise in your head.

“how does that work? sharing i mean.” you knew there were people who participated in polyamorous relationships, and you had no issue with it, you just had trouble visualizing the dynamic.

natasha grins wickedly to herself, realizing now how truly innocent and unknowing you were. she suspected a little yesterday at the interview, but had no idea the true scope of your innocence. wanda also found herself undeniably more attracted to you after this conversation. her hands twitch in her lap, thinking of all the things she could do to you that you probably haven’t ever dreamed of.

“it works (y/n), trust me…” mrs. romanoff says seductively.

“we know this is all very foreign to you, sweetheart. you don’t have to say yes today, just think about it?” mrs. maximoff reaches across the table and affectionately holds onto your wrist. your stomach does a little flip-flop at the term of endearment paired with the affection.

there were so many thoughts and feelings swirling around you, but one thing stuck out above the rest. you wanted to learn more. you didn’t want to say no and close a door on something that you might enjoy.

“i want to.. i mean, um, i will think about it,” you clear your throat for the umpteenth time that day, pulling your hand back from mrs. maximoff’s light grasp. it was suddenly feeling like her hand was searing your skin.

“you want to what?” mrs. romanoff presses, her eyes looking at you with intensity again.

“i just meant that i want to learn more..about this,” you reply quietly, peeking at mrs. romanoff through your lashes. you notice her clench her jaw and flex her fingers that were resting on the table, but you weren’t sure what it meant.

“well, there’s a lot to learn, but luckily i’d say we’re both pretty good teachers,” mrs. maximoff grins more wickedly this time, her expression giving you a new glimpse into something you hadn’t seen in her until this point.

“why don’t we meet up again sometime this weekend? we can answer any questions you have—help you learn more about what we’re asking from you,” she adds, to which you surprisingly feel eager to agree to the idea. you find yourself already wanting to learn more, especially if the people who were going to educate you were two of the hottest women alive.

“yeah…let’s do that,” you nod once, your blush slowly creeping off your cheeks though a slight honey glow was still present.

you all begin to gather your things, mrs. maximoff noticing their lunch break was just about up. the three of you hardly touched your coffees, the conversation too intense to take swigs of the drinks.

the two of them walk you out of the shop, mrs. romanoff hailing down a cab for you. you turn to say goodbye to mrs. maximoff and find that she’s standing closer to you than expected.

“i look forward to seeing you again so soon, dragotsennaya veshch’,” she murmurs, reaching to give your arm an affectionate squeeze. you smile at her, unsure what she said but not caring much to know now.

you step closer to the cab after mrs. romanoff opens the door for you. before you can slip inside the car, mrs. romanoff leans down, murmuring in your ear.

“if you have any questions before the weekend that simply can’t wait, don’t hesitate to text me. you have my number.” her voice was a little rough which makes you shiver.

you nod slowly, sucking on your bottom lip again. you give mrs. maximoff a shy hand wave which she mimics with an amused grin. you sink down into the car seat, mrs. romanoff shutting the door behind you.

as the taxi drives away, you can’t help but look behind you as the two women grow smaller and smaller on the sidewalk. as the car turns a corner, the couple remain standing there until you disappear. you sigh and turn back around in your seat, resting heavily against the cushion behind you.

what just happened?

——————————

tag list:

@poppyshuman @wandamaximoffsbadgirl @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123 @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha

[2handsslan]

lando norris // ln4 fic recs

———————————— 🏎️🏎️ ————————————

one shots

champagne coast - @snoopyracing

“when lando and you spend summer break together you don't expect italy to eventually hold such a special place in your heart... or lando and you go on vacation and everyone keeps thinking you're a couple”

wanna be yours - @snoopyracing

“you're the mclaren f1 team photographer and lando can't help but get jealous at your friendship with logan sargeant”

the breakup of the century - @no-144444

“you and lando break up on horrible terms, can a new album and a special performance bring you back together? is that even what you two want?”

encontrar tu media naranja - @iamred-iamyellow

“during one of your concerts a fan threw their phone up on stage. after you finished recording a video, you tried tossing it back to them and ended up accidentally hitting a world famous f1 driver in the face”

rookie - @propertyofwicked

series

dreamland series - @chilling-seavey

“as a flunking university student in dreary bristol, lando is sure there’s another life waiting for him elsewhere. a life that he can only dream of living with the girl with a million dollar career, verified instagram, and a stunning smile that he swears was created for him. but maybe those dreams stray no farther than his phone screen”

somebody else series - @eroselless

“you just work in hospitality for McLaren and he’s their star driver. what happens when your paths cross and you find yourself questioning your feelings for each other?”

vexing vacation - @vroomvro0mferrari

“when you agreed to join your brother on his vacation, sharing a room with his best friend wasn’t part of the plan. now, that you’re constantly stuck with lando and his relentless teasing, you’re not sure whether you want to strangle him or kiss him”

hermana series - @grandprixprincess

“after running into lando at the singapore gp, he finally shoots his shot. reader is family friends with carlos and is like a little sister to him. friends to lovers”

smau

telepatía - @iamred-iamyellow - smau

nueva vida (pt2)

“spending years in lower divisions finally payed off when you found out you'd be lewis hamilton's race engineer for ferrari in 2025”

fake it ‘till you make it! series - @racew1nn3rs - smau

“after an underwhelming 2022 season, the mclaren formula one team decided to bring in a new, young social media manager in the hopes of increasing brand promotion in 2023. when online banter between the newest team member and lando garners unbelievable fan attention, the two are asked to do the impossible in order to keep the support high: fake a or relationship”

fifth wheel series - @dannyricsmirrorball - smau

“y/n is always fifth wheeling george, carmen, alex, and lily”

just a boy - @hugleclerc - smau

"lando is just a boy trying to fight the guys in your comments without exposing his identity to the public"

tales of candor - @povlnfour - smau

“lando’s girlfriend has a secret identity. she’s not quite the girl next door everyone assumed, and he might just be the inspiration for more than just her instagram captions”

cool for the summer - @theonottsbxtch - smau

“in which lando goes to the same resort each summer and he befriends the owners daughter who works there”

*these are part of my fic rec masterlist, please note none of these are written by me and the author of each story had been tagged! check out my f1 fic rec masterlist for other drivers!*

[sofiawritesstuff]

Platonic

part 1

summary: When Lando’s “playboy” image is setting a bad reputation for him. He’s turns to the person he trust most in this world for help.

pairing: landonorris x bestfriend!reader

warnings: none (i don’t think)

This is my first time writing, I hope you all enjoy and if there’s any advice you guys can give me to improve please do!!

“Please, please! You’re my best friend. I just need this one favour!” Lando begs following you around at a quick pace.

“Exactly Lando” you sigh before continuing “I’m your best friend and as much as I love you I just don’t think it would work or be realistic” you shrug, taking a bottle of cold water from his fridge

“Why? Why don’t you think it can be realistic! Fans accuse us of being together all the time because of how close we are! The only thing that would have to change would be not denying it…and maybe kissing” he whispers the last part

“Kissing!” you shout choking on the water “We’ve done it before!” he defends “Yeah when we were like 11!”

“And 14, and 17!”

“You’re not helping yourself Lando”

“Please, it would just have to be for a few months then we could say we were better off as friends. Please. I don’t want to be in a PR relationship with some random model who’s looking to gain attention for a brand” Lando sighs, visibly upset

“Can you give me time to sleep on it? You know I love you but I don’t want this to come between our friendship”

“We’re strong, think of everything and everyone that tried to separate us before we never let them come between us”

“Which is why I can’t risk loosing you, there a difference between a girlfriend not liking me that tries to separate us and faking a relationship Lando”

“I understand” he nods “I promise you, you will have an answer before the start of the race weekend. I’m gonna head to bed now okay. I love you” you hug him tightly before heading to the spare room in his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time you had turned down Lando, in fact he had asked you out every year from the age of 14 until you guys were 18 before he finally realised that you wouldn’t work.

It’s not thst you didn’t like Lando, you loved him and maybe you did have feelings for him. But the thought of loosing your friendship because of relationship scared you.

For most hours of the night you lay in the bed of Lando’s spare room at his apartment in Monaco, that was quickly known as your room, thinking about what Lando said.

You supported him before his career even started and Lando’s reputation with girls certainly wasn’t the best. The media painted him to be a “playboy” and “unloyal”, which in some senses he was. He had never cheated on his previous girlfriends but he did date his ex’s friends and colleagues.

Maybe it wouldn’t be such a harm to pretend for a few months? But what if your feelings began to grow stronger and you may not be able to go back to the way you were with Lando?

Lando was the same just through the wall, his feelings for you never left him. All the girlfriends he had he never felt for them what he felt for you, which was terrible but also why he was now single. He wanted you to say yes, he wanted you to agree but he didn’t want his feelings to get in the way, especially when he didn’t know that you felt the same way.

The next morning, you woke up to the usual clatter of plates from the kitchen. Which never meant anything good.

“What are you attempting to make this morning Mr Norris?” you laugh watching him by the pan “French toast but it’s not going well” he answers not taking his eyes of the food

“Well for starters, you’ve completely burned the bread. Would you like some help?” you ask holding back a loud laugh “Please”

The two of you started over, putting the uneatable food in the correct bin. You focused on the food while Lando focused on the coffee.

“There you go Lan”

“Thank you, how’d you sleep last night?” he asks putting the food in his mouth “To be honest, not great i’ve been thinking about what you said”

“You have?” Lando asks dropping his food “I will help you, if you promise me that we will still be best friends at the end of everything”

“Pinky promise”

part 2

[slmjaeyuns]

⋆｡ﾟ jake sim fics that feed my brainrot ﾟ｡⋆

my sweet, sweet love

warning: there are suggestive themes/smut that may be embedded throughout the fluff and angst fics as well)! please dni if that makes you uncomfortable!! minors dni, please‼️

part two jake fic rec list here!

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩

all time favourites ♡

(fics contain a combination of genres including fluff, angst, suggestiveness, smut)

♡ unrequited love

♡ act now, think later!

♡ watermelon sugar

♡ pov

♡ your name

♡ jake sim: the first love trope

♡ kiss and make up

♡ skin on skin

skin on skin pt. 2

♡ behind closed doors

♡ brand new moves

♡ good boys go to heaven

♡ let you break my heart again

♡ ready? set…touchdown! tutor?

♡ i’ll save you (again)

♡ be my backyard boy

♡ scooby dooby doo, lookin’ for boo!

fluff ❀

❀ too close

❀ safety precautions

❀ attention, please! (rugby jake)

❀ three questions (he wished were never answered)

❀ the partner project

❀ you can find me in your arms

❀ somewhere in forever

❀ sick

❀ taste of your lips

❀ room for two

❀ 3:04 am

❀ einstein kisses

❀ kisses in the rain

another day(te) in the rain

❀ unnamed (drabble)

❀ i’ve never known someone like you

❀ fake

❀ t-shirt

❀ i love me better when i’m with you

❀ wrong order

❀ prince jake

❀ greeting

❀ jake as a boyfriend (headcannons)

angst ☽

☽ glimpse

☽ the sun

☽ worries

☽ if only i could have treated you the way you deserved

☽ sweetly

☽ skater boy

☽ please remember me when our youth is gone

☽ green with envy

suggestive/smut ☁︎

☁︎ s.o.s - skin on skin

☁︎ ping! we should fuck

☁︎ best mistake

☁︎ change up!

☁︎ air dropping love at 305

☁︎ under the influence

☁︎ simp

☁︎ nonsense

nonsense pt.2

☁︎ boyfriend

☁︎ bad boy gone good

☁︎ my neighbour’s son

my neighbour’s son pt.2

☁︎ silly mistake

☁︎ happy birthday mr. sim

my shy husband

☁︎ drunk texting

☁︎ shooting star

☁︎ best friends!

☁︎ polaroid lust

☁︎ (i just) died in your arms

☁︎ only kisses

☁︎ 12:30 am

☁︎ burn for you

☁︎ ride

☁︎ wish come true

☁︎ mischief

☁︎ what are we?

☁︎ after game

☁︎ loser no more

☁︎ attention, please!

☁︎ double lines

☁︎ love foolish

☁︎ forget me not

☁︎ sex express

[capslocked]

HONNE, TATAMAE & THE OTHER ONE

male reader x shin yuna

9k words

Yuna shuffles into your office with the same sneaky smile, the same easy slouch, and she settles into one of the chairs across the table. There is, apparently, more to talk about.

It's a matter of image, of perception, is what she believes. 

You know every good lie starts with the truth.

So you swallow. You pause. Some other part of you understands Yuna can't ignore who she really is, and you’re not sure you can either.

-

Look - Shin Yuna is the kind of woman that turns heads, even with the best of intentions. A long, lithe silhouette; an easy, rosy sort of youthfulness clinging to the swell of her cheekbones, the curve of her waist. Take a dress that's cut to show a little thigh, or a hairstyle pushed back on one side - earrings, or heels, or just the subtle swipe of red over her lip - it doesn't take much for men (or anyone else) to figure that out. A girl who, more times than not, really ought to have a boy's hand planted on her ass, in possession.

So the opportunity to capture such a form perfected - all toned and graceful and flush for curves, her legs never seeming to end, the slithering fit of the dresses - these were the things they wanted. Package it, put a logo on it - better yet, a ribbon or a bow - and ship it straight to the consumer.

Somebody everyone wants, somebody no one can ever have.

“So,” Yuna asks from the other side of your desk, lips slanting halfway coy. “Are you going to treat me like an adult?"

Her fingers play idly with the hem of her skirt, and she lets a long, slender leg slowly slide out from beneath her.

“In what way,” you answer, half paying attention.

"The photos." She doesn't have the slightest qualms about lifting it higher. The soft creak of leather, and a deepening smile. "Am I not allowed to be a little racy?"

"That's certainly... one way of looking at it."

You glance away from where her stockings wrap around the soft curve of her thighs to flip back through the photos in your lap, one after the other, each a little different from the last. The beach, the sun, a flimsy white slip of a bikini top that hides exactly nothing, her muscles wet and glistening and perfect. Beyond suggestive, it's considerably inappropriate.

But then to a lot of people, Yuna is a lot of things. 

She’s more clever than anyone gives her credit for. And she’s fucking gorgeous, sure. That’s definitely not up for debate, but god is she young - she's barely twenty. And here’s some rather uninteresting food for thought: you couldn't even technically take her for a drink without faking an ID or breaking some law or another, like a real one. So go ahead, chew that down. Girls her age are typically studying, or working a retail job and getting wasted on the weekends. And they aren't typically making six, seven figures turning their head to the camera and asking how much more skin?

You have some thoughts.

Prudently, you’re her publicist, and it’s your job to make sure that the public gets a good look at her and sees exactly what you want them to see. It's unfair. She wields sex like a weapon. She's got the face, the body; it's an easy sell, commodified and commercialized down to the finest detail, the softest curve, the slightest arch of her brow. The idea's to not let anyone look too long, should they catch something you haven't approved yet, or the fact that she's quite possibly a real person with a real life and real feelings, which could easily fuck up her brand, so unfortunately, that's a bit of a no-go.

Sign of the times maybe, no ethical consumption under another something, yadda yadda - it's a shitty business, really, and the whole thing usually leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

(And just to be upfront, as an important disclosure: you are fucking her brains out on the side, which is a different kind of ethical dilemma, with a different kind of flavor to it. 

You’re supposed to be something of a role model - and she’s gone and fucked up bad by falling for you. From her perspective, it probably makes sense. Girl gets boy, bespoke song, credits roll and it's fine. No sin to atone, no 'after'. 

It was supposed to be a one time thing. It’s metastasizing into something you’re not even going to attempt to put into words. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, you know that. And you know the girl has daddy issues, but then you've never had a problem whatsoever playing into it. The possessiveness, the control - she gets off on it. You're pretty sure that she'd do just about anything if you asked her, and you'll admit that the thought alone makes your stomach stir, your mouth run dry.)

Yuna taps her knuckles on the wood of your desk. “What’s the verdict?” 

"Well, professionally," you say, caveat in hand, and you give the photos one last flip through. "I'd say they're fine.”

"Oh?" Yuna cocks her head to the side. Her long, blonde hair curtains over her shoulder, and the smile that shadows in at the corner of her mouth is almost wicked. She leans forward, chin propped on a palm, and you see that her expression is bright, glittering with interest. "And unprofessionally?"

Sure. It's a fair question.

Though she's wearing her stage face, the one that looks all big eyes and doe lashes, a hint of a pout on her plush bottom lip, and she's staring at you expectantly, the way she might look at a man she's just asked for the time.

You've seen her look a million other ways. You've seen her with her knees spread, her cheeks flushed, on all fours, straddling your lap, face pressed into the sliding glass door of your shower, her eyes screwed shut as she chokes out your name. And god, doesn’t she look good in all of them.

Your fingers tap against the photos.

“Unprofessionally," you tell her, and the smile on your face is tight - unknowable. "I think they’re a little… gaudy."

Yuna frowns, and it's just a flash before her expression is carefully blank again, the stage face back in full swing. She's been doing this since she was a teenager, so the mask is impeccable, but you know her, and you know that she's thinking: about the photo shoot, the way the photographer was looking at her, and the way you had looked at her later, too.

She knows what you've seen. She's wondering if that's why.

"Really," she asks, a note of disappointment in her voice.

"Really," you confirm with a small sigh, though you're still smiling. It's a small, private sort of smile, like you're remembering a joke. You don't miss the way she glances down at your mouth either. "Let me be clear, you have a shot at real success. I mean, you have a chance at a career. A real, sustainable career.”

She's sitting there with her legs crossed, her foot tapping restlessly, and when she's silent for a moment too long, the way her eyes narrow just a smidge, her head tipped slightly, you realize how it sounds. Patronizing.

"Look," you amend. You're not the best at apologies, but you try. "I just mean - I think that you could be doing something that you actually enjoy."

"Who says I don't enjoy this," she says, and there's a bite in her tone, a challenge. She's leaning back in her seat now, arms crossed.

"What, taking your clothes off for the camera?" You laugh, a quick bark. Isn’t that a cruel question, and you can see it in the way her eyes flash. "You could do a lot more than that, I'm just saying."

"Right," she says, and she doesn't blink, doesn't even move. Her gaze is fixed, unwavering. "Because I'm not pretty enough."

You open your mouth. Close it.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

"That's not what I'm saying-"

"Do you know what makes me different from the IT-girl-of-the-month? The Jang Wonyoungs, the Bae Irenes, the Kim Jisoos of the world?" Yuna cuts in.

"Yuna, this isn't-"

"You should know. " She laughs. "It's your job, knowing things, isn't it?"

The silence stretches thin between you. She's not wrong. There’s the quintessential beauty, the timeless classic, the fantasy-wrapped-up-as-a-daydream - oh, it's all sexual, but the product there is palatable (read: marketable). An idea the general public wants to take home to their mother, not take to bed. A beauty so docile and innocent, you feel guilty harboring those untoward thoughts it makes you have.

Yuna is somewhere possibly, someway probably the opposite. You’ve sold her as such, as fantasy in sheep's clothing. She's neither afraid to put the images to words, nor speak her desires aloud. It's her own brand of sensuality, and it's what the public wants - has always truly wanted, since the dawn of man and of popstars fucking their publicists - what the public wants but turns itself in knots just to pretend they don't. The only way it’ll end up in anyones’ parents' home is under the guise that it will be smuggled upstairs and held down into the springs of a mattress. Hand over her mouth, or maybe around her throat, just so she'll shut up.

She's not a nice girl, or the girl-next-door, a bride-in-a-box, but you'd known that before. The line between fact and fiction is fine indeed.

"You're different," you tell her, finally.

"When I first came in here, you had no qualms, no issue to raise, and now all of a sudden, everything is too much," she says, and she's not smiling, her tone flat. "If it was a problem from the jump, you would've said so."

“I just think a little subtlety would be a nice change of pace. It could go a long way, I mean, I could show you the data- "

"So you're going soft on me, is that it?"

You blink, and the realization hits.

"Just where was this noble version of you when we first started out? You had no problem then, remember? Put a sixteen-year-old in front of a camera, in this industry, and all of a sudden-"

"Don't."

“And suddenly it's all 'oh no, that's a little too much, we need to dial it back'." She sighs, a single sharp burst. "Why is that? Is it because you think that now you own me? I fuck you, swallow your cum and call you daddy, and now these are your decisions? Is that it?"

She’s standing now, her chair shoved back so fast it nearly clatters to the floor. There's a storm on her face, almost a rage. This now become a familiar story. The one where the girl's too pretty for her own good. Too much, too soon.

"I'm not a child," she tells you, her tone measured, a sharp contrast to the fire in her eyes. "I know what I want. I know how to get it. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'm different. You're right."

She's different, but the girl's clever, too. And she's stubborn. It's a dangerous combination.

You breathe slow. "Then why don’t you act like it."

“If they’re going to call me a slut,” she hisses, and she's walking forward. Her palms land on your desk, hard, and you glance down at her clenched fists, at her neatly kept nails, "you know, after we leak them all those steamy photos online-"

Your mind clicks. You reach to slam the cover of the photo book shut. She's caught your hand, though, in hers, holding it firmly to the desk.

Yuna glances at the photos over again, at the tight fit of the swimwear, or how the ties slip in an invisible breeze. And she's biting her lip, trying not to smile, you can tell. "You know it might be worth it for once," she says, slipping a finger between the buttons of her shirt.

There's a long, tense moment, and before you can register it, Yuna has rounded your desk; she’s closing the distance, fast. 

And she’s lowering her eyes. Putting her lips on yours.

It knocks the wind from your sail, for just the instant. You're speechless.

Because her fingers. Her mouth. Her hair. Yuna's everywhere, and she's warm. It's utterly selfish, you understand: you want her to be yours. You want her to be yours and no one else's.

She’s realizing she might be.

You feel her grabbing for more of you. Wanting. She tilts her head, her breath hot, and you kiss her back, her mouth slick against your own, and the kiss is a fast, deliberate kind of messy. Your teeth catch her bottom lip, and her tongue slips past yours, licking into your mouth, her hands clutching at the collar of your shirt. It's not like it is when you're fucking, which is slow and hot, and she's on her back, legs around your waist, her nails biting into your skin, or when she's bent over the arm of the sofa, her ass in the air and her back arched, her breathless moans a chorus of yes, yes, please. This kiss is more battle, more heat, less gentle and less finesse. It's the kind of kiss that's just short of an argument.

"You're an asshole," she breathes into your mouth, and it's not a compliment.

You smile against her.

"So are you," you murmur, and her lips are parted, her eyelids fluttering shut, her breath coming quick and hot.

"Then maybe you should just fuck me," she says. She's not asking. “Yeah.” You press your words right into her neck, her collarbone. “Maybe I should.”

Your hands are on her hips faster than you can realize what it is they’re doing, palms pressing into her, and then you're walking her backwards, shuffling a few steps until the small of her back collides with the edge of your desk, and you're lifting her up onto the surface, the photographs falling to the floor, scattering.

"I thought we weren't supposed to do this here," she murmurs, pulling away for just a moment, her mouth swollen and wet, her eyes dark. She knows exactly what it does to you: the goading, the taunting - the looks of faux-innocence later over a bare shoulder, her ass in the air. How it can get you to fuck her within an inch of her life. What it’ll get her, the return on investment.

"And I thought we agreed to longer skirts."

Her thighs are smooth, silky, and they part, the lace of her underwear stark against her skin. You slide a hand beneath the elastic band, sinking down, and down, until she inhales sharply.

"The fuck do you end up doing going up the stairs?" you add, and your fingers are tracing the swell of her hip, and you can feel the goosebumps on her skin.

She bites her lip. You sink down to press a kiss to her thigh, and then the other.

"Nothing," she tells you, and her eyes are wide. "I guess it all just hangs out."

She simply smirks right back into you, throws her arms over your shoulders. You’re snared, caught - she’ll always be able to fuck what she wants right out of you.

"Jesus, Yuna." Your hand curls around her wrist, thumb pressed to her pulse, and her shoulders roll back.

You push her down, and she's sprawled across the desk, legs stretching wide, her head tilted back and her chest heaving. “God, you’re so fucking wet, and I've barely touched you. That turns you on? Being a brat?"

She sucks air past her teeth, and you can measure each rise and fall of her chest. The lace under her hips is soaked, her pussy swollen and pink. Like if she doesn’t get your hot, open mouth on her clit this instant, you’re both going to have a problem.

You slip two fingers into her instead, and Yuna keens.

"I know it does," you say, and your voice comes out lower, drier than you expect. She's hot, so wet around you, her pussy fluttering. "It fucking turns me on, too."

"Please," and “god,” is what all you receive back in half whispers, while her legs are spread, her heels now really dug into the square of your back, and she's got a fistful of your hair like she owns it. Her voice is high, her eyes squeezed shut. “Don’t be such a fucking tease."

You're not going to make it easy. She's not going to make this quick.

"What, and you aren’t?"

You curl your fingers inside her, and the noise that leaves her is positively obscene. She's grinding against your palm, her hips bucking, and her lips are parted, her eyelashes dark and thick, fanning her cheeks. She's panting, her thighs trembling.

"No," she breathes. If she’s shaking her head, you can’t tell. "I'm exactly what you tell them I am."

Your hand stills, and it takes a moment for her to realize that the pressure inside her is gone. Her eyes snap open, her mouth twisted.

"Fuck you," she spits. "Put them back."

You're already sinking down to your knees, and you've got her skirt shoved up, the lace panties pulled aside, her hips canted, her pussy glistening. The stockings can stay, fuck, the heels, too. She's so fucking hot, her legs spread apart and her lips red. Her palm shoved into her brow, and her breath just barely more than a ragged huff of air. You can feel her body wound tight and ready, her eyes on the ceiling.

You put your tongue against her, flat and slow. Inaccurate, indiscriminate, licking up her wet cunt. And her whole body arches off the desk, a cry leaving her mouth with her head thrown back. Her thighs are shaking, and her heel presses into your shoulder, and god, she tastes incredible.

"Please." It comes like music, really, a song of desperation. You can hear it. She's singing it for you now. "Oh god, please, fuck-"

So you do her one better. You put your whole mouth over her, and she fucking shivers. You don’t even try to ease into it - you're devouring, ravishing her, working your lips and tongue all over her pussy, lapping the length of her in broad, hot strokes, and she's almost shrieking, her body going taut. You suck on her lips, pressing your tongue into her clit, and when you pull off her, your hand takes over the place where your tongue can't quite reach, her wetness slick around your fingers. Yuna's close - you can see that she is, you can hear that she is, and it's her gasp that lets you know.

"I'm -" she says, her voice reaching higher, her nails digging into the flesh of your shoulders, the wood of your desk. The sound she makes is wretched and beautiful. "God, I'm cumming, I'm cumming - fuck!"

The licking, the lapping, the fucking fingering. You can feel her slicked cunt pulse and throb in a satisfied, anticipatory kind of way. Even if she wasn’t audibly wet around your knuckles, you’d read Yuna like a map.

Your thumb taps across her clit, once - twice, thrice, and it’s just that.

She arches off your desk, thighs trembling as your tongue works her over, This hard, hungry kiss, and she tastes as sweet as she looks - as filthy as she acts, too. Her pussy is slick, her hips rolling, her body trembling, and she's making soft, little ah, ah, ah, sounds into the wet seal of your mouth. She's trying to keep it quiet, because she knows as well as you, everyone in the damn office does, probably - it's one thing to play at being a slut. A complete other to really fuck like one.

Your finger slips in and out of her pussy, and then another. They fill her up. The knuckles bending and pushing deeper. Yuna's fucking ruined - your desk is ruined.

But then there you are, complicit, and perhaps a little evil: licking and licking and licking right into her, making her grip twist in your hair and her thighs clench around your face. You can feel it in how her breathing is coming fast, faster, her whole body growing taut, and it was never going to take long, you figure, the way her hips were rolling the moment you got your hands on her. You can tell. She's close, and she's so pretty, all flushed and writhing, her skirt hiked up, her ass perched on the edge of your desk, and when her mouth falls open and her breath catches in her throat, you pull yourself up to watch her, the heel of your hand pressed against her clit, and she's shaking.

"Look at me,” you tell her, a kiss trailing unsatisfyingly into the crease of her thigh, your voice running coarse.

She does, her gaze glassy, and the sound that leaves her mouth is a sob. That’s all it really takes.

“Show me. What face you make when you cum on my fingers sweetheart, show me what a slut you actually are-"

You can watch it all in real time, the panting, the heaving. The sculpted lines of her pretty face screw up, real tight, and she lets out another moan, breathier this time, her mouth hanging open. She does it again when you press down. And Yuna fucking shakes, her hands balled, white-knuckling, and the desk rattling beneath her.

It's all a matter of slight degradation, you’ve learned, the barest humiliation. Like the paradoxical freedom she knows she can find in a hand clenched tight around her throat or her hair pulled and twisted into a fist or the sharp sting of a smack across her ass. Her pretty face. She likes a little something that burns. Something sinewy, visceral, raw: you call her a whore, a filthy fucking cumslut and it makes her body curl like she has hot metal pressing into her skin. Makes her breathless, like she wants you to own her.

Sometimes it's better than being fucked.

(Sometimes.)

Because just look at her: she’s in the middle of coming apart, mouth fallen slack, brow furrowed - and she gets real quiet when she cums, the absolute opposite of the journey she’d taken to get there, all those loud little, uh-uh-ah, fucking please god, her moans, her whimpers - her orgasm ripping right through the middle of her, the hourglass of her entire body stiffening on borrowed time as it washes across her features.

You let out a loud sigh, something she can moor herself to that isn’t your fingers, the desk, or your hair at the roots. Yuna can be every bit as uncomplicated as she can be complex, but god, you love her most like this: an unrehearsed, beautiful mess.

"Baby," you tell her, because it's easier to just call her that, and because you don't know how else to end the statement, because you know if you ask, she'll let you - hell, she'll beg for more, and that’s got your brain feeling rather mushily incoherent at present.

"Daddy," she responds - because of course she fucking does; she’s gasping, and her cheeks are still so pink, her body sated, and your heart leaps into your throat. 

It's a problem; you've been trying to work it out for a good few months now, and by this, you mean the little moment you have right after you're done, where your eyes meet, and you smile at her. A problem, too, her lips. A problem, because she kisses you, soft, and slow, and easy. A problem, because her heart's probably already yours.

If anyone were to ask, you would have said there's no greater pleasure than knowing a girl that's almost died to take your cock, but maybe that's the point: it's just supposed to feel a bit better if you're a little head over heels, a little stupid about it too.

"I'm going to use this perfect pussy now," you warn her - just simple formality - because you're already rolling her down onto her back, your cock hard and aching against your trousers.

You've got your hands on her stockings, tugging them down to her ankles, the lace of her panties around her thighs, the neat garter of her garter belt wrapped around her hips, her cunt bare beneath it. You unzip, too slow. You tug yourself out.

“I’ll be good,” she says to you, a promise.

“Yeah,” you return to her, “I know.”

And you slip your cock into her cunt, just barely - maybe an inch, maybe more - and you hear a little noise leave her throat, low. Broken. 

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and god, you just can't help it, it's easy; you sink deeper, nice, slow, everything smooth inside her, until another broken sort of gasp spills off her lips. 

And then another: "oh my fucking god."

You snap your hips back in, bottoming out this time in the wet heat of her perfect cunt, and she just fucking collapses. Yuna looks like an absolute dream in this state of half-dress, half-distress: black suede around the ankles, stilettos, with just the perfect heel. There are worse things, you can imagine, and she looks perfect sprawled out against your notes and portfolios, all this hot, aching want. As gorgeous as she is fucked. You tear into her stockings, a little. You’ll tear more. 

You already know you're going to hell. Or at least that’s where you should already be, but you hips crash into hers again, fucking her legs wider apart, spreading her open across your desk for you, getting her slick all over the photos, her career - it’s all so perfectly unfair.

"You have no idea, the things I want to do to you right now," you breathe, your tone hushed, and you're talking again, like you often do. There goes your mouth - but your hips drag back, and then again, her pussy clenching, vice tight and impossibly wet.

It's a long, torturous, lazy sort of a pull, that draws these pretty thin moans from the very center of her.

And the way that feels, your cock buried deep in her cunt: better than good - heaven, if you care enough about labels for it, or the names of things. You haven’t any real way to tell; the gates haven't opened or anything, so all you're working from here is an educated guess. From the fact that Yuna’s eyes have slid closed, her lips parted, and her whole body starting now to tremble gently with it.

"Jesus, this perfect, tight pussy grips me so good, god - such a good girl, always so fucking wet for me," and your mouth is pressed to the arch of her ear, whispering every last thing you know will make her cum again, like a dream.

And she is, she does.

She's twisting up to grip at your hips, her head falling to one side. When you drag your cock through her cunt, slowly, you watch her lips purse and the way the flush moves all the way down the column of her neck, past her collarbone, her shirt half undone and her tits heaving against the white, sheer fabric. You fuck her for a little, and then you roll your hips slow, so slow. 

Until your pace is fucking punishing, deep, and so hard. You can’t help it.

Because it's unbelievable - she's so perfect, so tight around you. Fit snug like a glove, like she was made to take your cock, to whimper and mewl at your mercy. Her lips part further and she keens, her brows twisting in similar disbelief as you pound your length into her. The heat pooled in your belly, the way she looks under your desk: fuck, she's so beautiful like this, properly fucked. 

You'd let her ruin you for life - it's that simple.

"Yuna, you - fuck," you barely say, and you sound more than slightly stunned, so she’s filling in the gaps, elaborating in the spaces you cannot - that she loves it, that you’re so good for her, and so is that, and that, and that - the way it hits, right there, keep fucking her just like that, because right there, right there, right there, right there - the way she props herself up on her elbows to tell you, "you're fucking me so deep, oh my god - yes, oh my god, fuck."

By the time Yuna shudders through another orgasm, a silent ghost of a wail leaving her pretty frozen mouth, her lashes are batting against her cheeks, and she's biting her lip, so hard you're certain she's going to break the skin, her back strung like a bow. It's the look on her face, that soft sort of reverence, and how her lips are swollen and spit-slick, the pretty hollow of her throat. Your thrusts become faster, shorter - your own moan thick in your throat, your jaw hanging slack.

“Here,” you say, and she’s just putty between your fingers, on your cock.

You’re flipping her around, onto a different angle. You know she likes it, the way her tits are pressed against your desk, and it's hot the way her ass tilts right into your hips, arched. Proffering. "Be good for me, and spread yourself open."

She's already so meek when she complies. "Anything, sir. Stretch me out; I want you to make me yours."

God, she's practically purring when she talks like this. She knows exactly what that fucking does to you. Knows that when her eyes draw back, big and watery and full, you're a goner - if your cock wasn't deep in her pussy, fucking her open and raw, the view would nearly be enough. And all of this, the pretense, the pantomime, she knows how to bend the line of your body to her own, because when she turns, and presses her red mouth to the crest of her shoulder, you are hers.

You could probably cum, right now, deep down into the molten hot of her cunt: if your hips keep up their ruthless pace, if her ass was sticking up the slightest bit more - the sound that would come from her.

"Take that perfect cock - and fuck my pussy up," Yuna mewls, her voice saccharine and slurring, a touch whiny. She rolls her hips. Your cock grinds, still, though it stutters now - shallow and quick.

"All this pussy, for daddy's cock," and you're sure that the entire office can hear her now, the moans that escape from her mouth - but you can't even find it in you to care. You're caught, all of her a net you've willingly been ensnared by, and here you figure that's the slightest bit appropriate; you're so fucked, and it's funny, too. Funny enough to laugh about, later. "Nobody fucks this tight little pussy the way you do, sir."

It's a smile she hears in your voice when you say, "is that right? Go on then, let’s hear all the things you'd have me do to your slutty little cunt."

The line's crossed again, in some indecipherable direction. Where, again, exactly, does it matter? There are lines and lines, and none of them quite mark the beginning, the end, the periphery. This time you don't pull back; you dig deep, and it makes Yuna cry out like you’re killing her. Which, in a way - you already have.

So your hips stutter forward again, once more, and you lean into the slant, so fucking deep it's practically impaled. There’s nothing quite like holding this girl’s hips and pounding her from behind. Her pussy alone is fucking incredible. And the sound her ass makes against the flat of your stomach, the crease of your thighs - it's unimaginable, the way Yuna makes these little squeaks of a noise, like half-broken moans, when you fuck deep, deep, deeper into her. The way her arms splay wide and search frantic across your desk. And as you grab her slim, dainty wrist, pin it back and pull her tight - fixing her upright until you have her head lolling back against your chest - you simply fucking pound away.

Fucking all these little curses and sounds of appreciation out of her throat. Your cock forcing out each syllable, "yes," and "fuck," and "god, oh my fucking god - I cannot believe," now on repeat, how her tone grows tighter. How she moans - a lot, like something's being worked loose.

"Uh-uh," and you're holding her steady now, with one broad, strong hand at the back of her neck. "Keep telling me, and maybe I'll let you cum."

Your free hand finds purchase in her hair. Yuna's groan coming out pathetic and wanting, her mouth half open. You wrap her silky golden locks around your fist, her hair thread neatly through your fingers, and then give the slightest of yanks.

Christ, her pussy just fucking soaks onto you. Greedy. Needy.

"Shit," and Yuna gasps when she can, where she's allowed to.

"Oh, is my little girl into getting her hair pulled?" and you can see the signs of affirmation: the muscles inside her flexing, grasping you as you roll in, a small, soft nod, and the way she sighs your name, like a prayer on her lips.

Listen, she can barely speak, the way you're fucking her apart. Yuna's body is wound like a bow, like string and taught wire. Bent into the side of the desk and open for you, her pussy pulsing tight around you with every stroke.

"Sir, I'll do - whatever you need, just - just - let me have your cum, please -" and there, she's begging now, and her voice is tinny, breaking, breathless and airless.

Then it’s her fucking hair. You pull so much on it harder this time, with another measured thrust inside her, your body flush against her ass. Fingerprints searing down onto where her hips flare and taper, impossibly narrow.

You’re probably hurting her. You’re probably ruining her for anyone else - nothing will ever satiate her more than the way she sobs as your fingers twist tighter through her hair. Around her fucking miracle of a waist. It's an obscene sound that echoes down to your cock, as deep, hot and fucking filthy as her cries when she cums for the third, fourth?

"Just," Yuna barely makes, her eyelids heavy, her gaze flitting somewhere behind her. "Just look at you, fucking me so hard, filling up my tight little pussy, making me take everything your cock has to give. God, you love wrecking my perfect little hole, don't you?"

No, or yes, or probably. You’ll figure out the details later.

"God, I love it when you get real messy, when I get you like this-" your words run seamlessly into the searing heat between your bodies, like punctuation, like the end of days -

"Use me." She doesn't just say it. "Take me, and cum in me, wherever you want. Daddy, you can have my mouth, or, or, you can - you can finish inside me."

And god, you could, you really could: just the timbre of her voice does things to you, the way that it curls around the words daddy, and sir, and you're fucking me so goddamn good. She's saying them now, her whimpers breaking into outright moans and all: shit, please, please - you're gonna make me cum - oh - oh fuck! And when she's wound that tight, a quivering, sopping mess of a girl, you put your fingers against her clit, circling and pressing in tempo to the thrust of your cock.

The cruel metronome that makes. Hell, it fucking sends her.

She’s begging you to finish inside her. It's fucked up - and she knows it. She wraps her heels around the square of your back, and the tension rises, and rises, the coiled spring tight and waiting - just a push away, so you slam into her once, then twice more, the push of a hand splayed between her tits and your fingers digging into the muscle of her thigh. She wants you to cum in her pussy, fill her right up; she tells you that, again, that she wants it, and her voice is raspy, high. That she wants you now, as if she didn't before, and how does this compare, because she needs it now.

You hold out for just a little. You’re holding your breath. Just a little, just until Yuna’s eyelashes flutter open over her shoulder and she says your name, so sweetly, and says, "please, just, inside."

You shouldn't.

You can't.

So here, barely able to think at all, you end up doing the unthinkable - thinking all the while of pumping her right to the finish and draining your balls straight into the deepest reach of her cunt, how fucking tempting it may be - you muster an ounce of good judgment still adrift in a sea of lust. Your throbbing cock draws out of that wet, inviting heat and into your fist, and watch how that makes her begin to unspool: the way she tries to press her knees shut. She's sobbing for it, pleading, her lashes dark with tears. "No, no, fuck me, please, I'm begging you. Please, I'm going to be so good - god, please -"

You tug her back, look her in the eye, and let out a loud, shaky exhale. "Knees, princess."

She's too wracked with need to do anything other than comply. Her jaw drops. “But-”

"Mouth," you cut in, sharp enough that her gaze lifts, and you're right there - on the precipice, so close, watching her tongue dart out of her mouth to run across the swell of her bottom lip.

Watching her knees fold into the carpet, her stockings down loose around her thighs, her underwear hanging off an ankle. The rise and fall of her chest like rolling waves, and you can see her hands fisting on her knees, and her face: you watch the emotion flash over, like water on glass, and a moment is all it takes. She leans her face forward to your hand, as you wind her hair into your fist, her lips parted and her gaze lowered. She's obedient, taking the weight of your cock with her pretty pink mouth like the fucked-up-little-fantasy that she is, opening so nice and wide.

Her eyes flit up to yours, her mascara-ringed lashes fanned against the pink of her cheeks.

"My face," she tells you, or something close to it, "fuck my face. Go ahead, use it - cum all over me."

Your cock slides halfway home, her cheeks hollowing, and when it presses to the back of her throat, she gags. You curse and tip your head back, the wood of your desk digging into the flesh of your palm.

"What did you say," you half groan out. "Baby," you add, just for good measure, just to play along, "c'mon."

The tip of Yuna's tongue sweeps and swirls just beneath your cockhead, and she moans her answer around your length, lapping at a leak of precum. "I said," she's repeating now, her cheek brushing across your shaft, and you shudder. "Fuck, what I said was I want you to cum all over my face."

Jesus.

You bury your cock into her mouth once, twice. Let it sit there. Let her really struggle for it, the angle just a tad awkward from above. Let her lips stretch wide, and her shoulders shake a little - tears start to gather, pricking her eyes, her lipstick a mess, the way your cock fits, plugging up her throat so full. You hold her like that for just a second, a little less - until Yuna's moaning, the vibration low in her mouth, and her eyes flutter open, closed.

"Fuck," you spit out, and "perfect," and your voice is shot, your whole face warm, and you're going to cum on her - everywhere on her. Yuna, who’s been staring up at you in wide-eyed submission, gives you a little nod, like she means it.

Like she’s earned it.

And maybe she has: it only takes one last look to seal it - her hand curled around your cock, her cheek matted with her own spit and lipstick, the bright smudge of her own cum from the point of her chin to the cleft of her cupid's bow, and her eyes are locked on yours, eager and hot. Maybe she hasn't - and maybe you should make her beg, fuck her mouth some more - it's almost cruel, how she looks. A perfectly pretty picture, poised and pliant and waiting, and she's right there, beneath you, and fuck - this is so wrong, and you'll ruin her, you'll mark her up like this. She'll be painted like a work of art.

Your pulse thickens. Stands right up in your veins.

Then, your control, snapping: her pretty lashes flutter, her mouth gone slack, her jaw still tilted up like she expects a gift, an offering, her palm wrapped so nice and snug around the base of your cock, her expression dazed, and so easy, and perfect, so eager. You tilt your hips just a fraction further, and she fucking swallows, her tongue tracing the underside where you throb harder, heavier - her body lilting up as you press in so deep.

“God,” you breathe in, out. It hits hard. It hits fast. “Yuna-”

A tensing of your stomach coils up through like smoke, and your grip tightens on the edge of your desk, the other in her hair, a helpless, desperate thrusting, and there - it's a wonderful, brilliant sort of explosion, like light, the white-hot burn of a fever breaking. You cum all over her face and into her hair, spilling out streaks of hot, filthy white onto her sculpted features and the sweet line of her throat, and god, there's so much, she's taking it so easily, all her breathing hot and heavy and loud.

Her skin alabaster and porcelain; cotton and canvas; she lets you fucking paint her, all messy and ruined.

In fact she’s even smiling like she’s holding in a laugh, all gooey-soft with satisfaction, and you're jerking your cock slow through her slender fingers, even after there's nothing else left to give and every inch of her face is marked - the way she wears your cum like new skin. You feel the shockwave tear your nerves open, and then the calm, right on its heels, spreading out from your core to your fingertips, out through the roots of your hair.

"Ah," you exhale, a tight gasp. Yuna takes the entirety of you into her mouth, sucking down your length - harder - as she swallows back a final, sticky load, her own hair sweat-slick to her face.

Just look at the damage: that’s a story not even you’d be able to spin. There's cum on her nose, dribbling past her cheek. On her jaw and on her cheek. Filthy white streaked all over her parted lips, her neck. Down her shoulder blades, and soiling her hair, and leaking down past her collarbones.

(Christ, was this better or worse? You can't even tell. Every version of her that's been served on a plate for you has seen fit to make you sweat.)

When the dust begins to settle, you’re left panting and spent. Yuna, the collateral on this fine, whiny, disaster of a deal. A collection of photos, and some thoughts and ideas, that now sit disheveled on the ground. There's a scathing voice inside your head that's demanding to be heard, reminding you all-too-casually that this is not any way to manage a client. She could snap her fingers, call out to that sycophant at the top floor, and your career would be over - she could do anything she should ever desire.

You know, on a baser level, this, and worse: the duality of the thought. Her tight cunt on your desk, you on your knees; the sharp gasp you can steal from the top of her throat, perhaps when she feels the gentle pressure of teeth around one rosy nipple. The pinch of your thumb and index finger around the other. Her nails down your back in ten angry lines, and the throb in her throat, while you slide the whole width of a hand, rough, over the flesh of her ass.

Maybe the desk, like everything else, can just join the pile on the floor.

"Yuna," you say, the vowels pitching like a sigh.

Her palms find the sharp crease in your pants and slide upward. She's gazing up at you, bright, her face sticky with you.

"You can't send me out like this," she tells you, matter-of-factly, letting a smile cross the lines of her lips - or a smirk. A wordless extension of the previous sentence - of a few.

You pull out and away from her: a white and gray dotted tie hanging loose, unknotted; a button still fastened somewhere mid-center, your trousers pulled off and loose down just below your knees, the fly gaping open. She's in a similar state, the cups of her bra slipping loose, her mouth flushed, lips swollen and red, the outline of how she’d let you use her in a smeary, runny stain across her cheek.

"Maybe let your manager know," you tell her, pulling your belt in place, and you think you catch her eye rolling. "That you're going to be late."

Yuna doesn't hesitate.

"Tell her yourself," she responds, "I'm sure she'll be relieved to hear I'm not actually dead - just having gotten fucked stupid on my PR person's cock."

"I might forget to include a couple details."

"You shouldn’t." Her eyebrows jump. And she's chewing, lazily, on the full curve of her lower lip, her teeth glinting like razors. "Here, before you throw all this to the sharks -"

So, so very dramatic, and with this: her thumbnail pressed beneath your chin. It draws your gaze up - up, and down: from the splay of her legs and the gleam of wetness between them, a brief rest along the arcs of her chest - the room's a total fucking wreck. Your necktie, her skirt, her blouse, her pantyhose. The papers and books all spread, bent, broken, the stack knocked clean onto its side. The skirt's probably still pulled too far up her hips for decency, her breasts shoved up to her neck and the collarbone, and then there's her face - her chin streaked with cum. Yuna smiles then, the corner of her mouth pulled upward.

She might kiss you if you'd let her.

Cum on her lips be damned, she's beautiful like that, like she isn't even trying. And in fact, she never really had to - this girl, she'd do it alone. The idea that someone could be as universally loved as she, is enough, a marvel even, but here she is in front of you, every atom and curve a siren, a study in perfection and composition. Like she’s not just all your mistakes laid out to bear.

"Take a second to take a proper look, hm? Get all the memories in, while they're fresh."

"Because?"

"You can remember I'm only the person you say I am, for you."

"Oh, of course," and the laugh that leaves your throat sounds dry, cracked open. The band of her skirt stretches, snaps back, so neatly that it leaves a pale line on her flesh. And now there are your hands, fitting around her hipbones, a sigh: a short, sudden motion, tugging her up. Yuna gasps: something surprised, delighted. She's all grins and teeth, all clean, bright incisors. 

"Mine," you're breathing, the flat of her stomach underneath the fingers you've placed upon it. "This is mine - you. Yours - you're all mine."

It’s possessive, but, you’re not all incorrect.

"Yeah," she more than agrees. 

There's a ribbon-taut quality in the way it leaves her mouth, the tension in her body coiled up through to the bones. She makes it sound like the beginning of a promise, the beginning of something much larger.

And by the way." She’s still buttoning her shirt. Putting herself together. You’ve seen the triage, the damage control. This is the Yuna you get. 

So, she needs the second - a respite to lick a stray stripe of slick and cum off her wrist - blotting her cheeks with a ball of wet tissue, until all that's left is the smeared lipstick, her stockings splayed around the floor. The pattern you've worn, where your fingerprints would've shown, gets covered up under her skirt and her coat, wrapped up in a scarf.

The smug satisfaction in her tone pulls your focus, just in time, her hair's falling in waves down her shoulders - perfect, but not flawless: there's a creased line, a hint of her throat, just beneath the collar. There's a slight wisp out of place. The buttons aren't arranged all the way from her collar to her sternum.

"I'm going to go with that photoset, with the white top, in the sand - gonna post 'em online and generate some buzz. You even said it yourself: they're fine. " She pauses, pushing away a strand of hair. "Professionally, of course."

"Professionalism." You smile. "Of course."

She walks out carrying the stilettos: pumps in either hand.

"Always. Catch you soon," she promises, and you do catch a last flash of her expression, lips parted, the lower curving into a satisfied smile, right as she flicks the lock on the door open and your office goes back to quiet.

For a split second, it's unbearable: the silence.

And you think again.

She can have anything, get any boy, girl, whoever, any designer, photographer, make-up artist in the world; there's something so unmistakably intoxicating about the fact that the thing she's decided she wants, is you.

[louisupdates]

INTERVIEW: Lottie Tomlinson: we lost our mum and sister. Louis saved me

At the age of 20, the sister of One Direction singer Louis had already lost her mother, Johannah, and sister Félicité. Now 25, the social media star has written a book about how they coped

Alice Thomson | Tuesday July 23 2024, 5.00pm BST, The Times

Losing Mum was so hard. I was only a teenager but at least I knew that her death was a possibility, even though she didn’t accept it. She was 47 and had cancer. But when my sister died three years later, I was on this hotel balcony in Bali and I was screaming, ‘No, my baby sister, no.’ The pain was indescribable. I kept thinking, ‘Why me? This can’t be happening again. When is this going to end?’ ”

We are sitting on Lottie Tomlinson’s immaculate white sofa in her pristine white house in Chislehurst, southeast London, where she is curled up in tiny shorts with a perfect tan and impeccably applied make-up. But her French manicured nails are digging so hard into the sofa I think they might snap, the heart tattoo on her minuscule wrist is throbbing and her eyelashes are clogged with tears.

Her life sounds blessed. The influencer has 4.8 million Instagram followers waiting for her to dispense advice on how to apply mascara; the fake tan brand, Tanologist, that she launched at 19 has gone global; and she has a devoted fiancé, Lewis Burton, who runs a luxury concierge business and whose former girlfriend was the late Caroline Flack. They have an adorable son called Lucky, who is dripping ice cream on her marble counters. Her new book is also called Lucky Girl; her older brother is Louis Tomlinson of One Direction and she was touring the world with the band as a make-up artist at 16.

But after her mother died when she was 18, Tomlinson was left looking after her younger sister and two sets of twin siblings, aged eight and two, while creating her businesses, and trying to process her grief. Her father had left their home in Doncaster years before after a battle with alcohol. “Dad had a drinking problem. We’d see glimpses of his good side but he let us down,” she says. “I ended up trying to take care of him rather than the other way round.”

When her mother died, life felt bleak, “I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and then when my sister Fizz [Félicité] died of an accidental overdose, I thought I could never be happy again,” she says. “I found the lead-up to Mother’s Day devastating without my sister as well. It was a constant reminder that I was now different from my friends. In my dreams, my mum was still there; she was alive. I woke up feeling comforted, only to realise that she’d gone.”

Tomlinson, who is now 25 and a patron of the bereavement charity Sue Ryder, moves easily between telling you how to apply the best tan and how to talk about death. She cares passionately about both subjects and takes them equally seriously, worried that I’ve never tried a bronzer or used foundation before asking how I coped when my mother died during the pandemic. Her soft Yorkshire accent is both reassuring and no-nonsense.

Born near Doncaster, she was only two when Fizz was born and six when the first twins arrived. “I’ve always been the big sister — Fizz and I each got one and then more twins six years later.” While Louis had his own space, the girls all shared one room with bunk beds. “It was chaos, but my mum, Johannah, was a midwife and loved being pregnant and having so many babies,” she explains. “I used to be in awe of the way she could feed the twins at once, one on each hip. She would do the night shifts, while I held the fort at home.”

Within a few years, Tomlinson would be touring America, Asia and Europe, flying first class with Louis, part of the biggest boy band in the world, but until she was 15, the family had only ever gone to France once a year all packed into a seven-seater car, with her mother’s new partner, snacks laid out in the middle. They stayed in a caravan park. On a Sunday, a treat was to go to their mother’s hospital to see the babies.

While Louis just wanted to sing, play the guitar and listen to Oasis, the girls were obsessed with make-up. “From the age of 12, I struggled academically, but I loved cropped clothes and my mum’s highlighters and mascaras.” She learnt how to apply everything from YouTube tutorials, rather than doing algebra. “We didn’t have much money — we sometimes couldn’t afford to top up the electricity meter so used candles — but everything my mum earned she spent on us. We all looked immaculate — I remember her being horrified when I dyed my hair orange. So it was lovely later when we could treat her.”

Saturday nights were spent watching The X Factor. “My mother and brother kept applying; in 2010, he got in and the whole family went for the audition. We believed in him, but we never thought it would go that far.” One day the family were going to the live shows, the next the boy band was formed with Harry Styles, Zayn Malik, Niall Horan and Liam Payne. “He was 18. For my mum it was a big shock. It was all so sudden. The press and fans were in our front garden every day.”

The older twins had already made their first TV appearances — they sound like Doncaster’s Von Trapps. “My mother was gently pushy,” Tomlinson says, smiling at the thought. “When I didn’t get good enough GCSEs to stay at school, she sent me off to join Louis on tour as work experience. I was so scared. I remember her ringing up Lou [Teasdale], their hair and make-up artist, and saying, ‘Lottie has not got through to sixth form; she’s going to come and assist you.’ I was in the car going, ‘No, please don’t.’ But it ended up being the best thing that happened to me. I went for a week and stayed two years. Lou and I are still so close.”

Suddenly, the two eldest Tomlinson children were circling the world, eating room service and ducking the paparazzi hanging out of helicopters taking snaps. “At first Louis didn’t really want his little sister gate crashing his new rock-star life, but now it feels like the best time of our lives — we experienced that craziness together,” she says.

The teenage Tomlinson found it harder to cope with being photographed wherever she went. “I had some puppy fat which made me very self-aware, and the filler culture was coming in and I felt I had to look perfect.” She had her lips done first at 17. “Then I became addicted: cheek filler, jaw filler, more make-up, blonder hair, slimmer and more tanned. My mum thought I looked perfect, but I was always searching.”

Five years later, when she became pregnant with Lucky and her lips started to swell and crack, she realised she didn’t need the enhancements any more. “I had everything removed, the false eyelashes too. It was liberating.” She kept her boob job, however. “That was just enhancement,” she says laughing. “The rest radically changed the way I looked. My breasts also got huge when I was pregnant and it was a bit painful. But I still breastfed. I loved carrying my child. I felt fantastic even when I was sick and exhausted.”

She leans forward, wraps her bronzed arms around her stomach and whispers, “I am pregnant again. We don’t know yet if it’s a boy or girl. It’s only 13 weeks, so this is the first time I’ve said it publicly. I think I want a big family. I loved having Lucky but after a year I wanted to give him siblings.”

Tomlinson’s influencer career began once she established herself on tour. Soon everything she did, even dying her roots rainbow-coloured, went viral and fashion companies from Asos to Dior wanted in on it. “I was just going for it. I couldn’t believe the money I was making and spending — money I didn’t know existed as a child.”

Then suddenly her mum came home from holiday with flu. “She didn’t want to get out of bed. The doctors quite quickly told her she had leukaemia and she went straight to London for treatment. It all happened so fast. I remember being in London at work and getting a call from her partner — she couldn’t say the words herself, it was too hard for her.” The family were told it was treatable. “We kept so much hope.”

Her mother asked the family to keep her illness secret. “It was hard because you feel so isolated, but I understood. Louis was in the public eye and she didn’t want him questioned. She was determined to fight it and didn’t want everyone pitying her. My friends noticed I was acting differently for a few months. But I wanted to respect her wishes. It was her one request.”

She also dropped everything to go back to Doncaster to help her grandparents with the twins. “The younger ones were two and I wanted to keep everything as normal as possible. I can’t imagine what my mum was feeling leaving her kids to go to hospital.

“I would take them down and treasure seeing her — we tried to keep it light, no serious conversation. The only way Mum could cope was to keep it normal. Then, when the doctors said the transfusions hadn’t worked, she came home to die.”

Tomlinson tries to sound matter-of-fact. “We went to see her in hospital in Sheffield and the next morning we woke up and were told she had died. We felt numb. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Now I am involved with the Sue Ryder charity, I am surprised we were offered no support or counselling at all, from the GP, the teachers, the professionals. They all kept away.” Her nan and grandad picked up the pieces.

It’s not surprising she can’t remember the funeral. “I just remember getting really drunk to numb the pain. I couldn’t come to terms with it. I can’t even remember how we organised it. My instinct was to take over as the eldest girl and step into my mum’s shoes so that is what I did.” Meanwhile, her older brother, who was launching his solo career, ensured there was enough money. “He’s incredibly generous. We looked after each other.”

Tomlinson returned to London months later, after her grandmother said she needed to become a role model for her siblings. Her younger sister Fizz worried her most. “She was very academic — she got straight A’s without trying — but she always said she felt different. She was bottling her grief for so long; it was too much and made her turn to other things. I think Mum’s death destroyed her. Only my mum seemed to understand her. If she had been offered some help at the start, things might have been different.”

Meanwhile, Tomlinson’s self-tanning brand was soon being sold in Los Angeles, New York and Australia, while her own fanbase grew; she hardly ever needed to pay for drinks, meals or holidays. However, she finds the term influencer obnoxious. “I don’t want to act like I tell people what to do. I am more of a content creator,” she explains. “I get paid by brands to create content for their clothes or beauty products and promote that to my followers. I also wanted my own business. I was quite aware that, at the end of the day, I was just working with an app. That’s why I started Tanologist with my business partner. I was always using tanning treatments that would end up turning my sheets orange and my face would break out in spots — this is more natural.”

Louis was also forging his career as a solo artist, eventually creating the song Two of Us about his mother’s death. “We were always so proud of Louis and what he was doing. We were not going to match up to being a global superstar, but we didn’t want to — ‘successful’ looks different for everyone,” she says.

But her sister Fizz was slipping and struggling. “She was old enough to do what she wanted at 19; she was partying and taking stuff to numb everything. She did go into rehab but to me it didn’t feel like an addiction problem, but a way to blank out her grief.” When Tomlinson was invited to Bali, she asked Fizz whether she wanted her to stay behind. “She said she was OK, and then it happened while I was away,” she says. (Fizz accidentally overdosed on cocaine, an anxiety drug and painkillers, her inquest found.) “Louis called me…” She stops talking.

The shock of a second death must have been devastating. She doesn’t speak for a minute while she twists her huge diamond engagement ring. “We weren’t mentally prepared,” she eventually says. “I can’t even remember if the two funerals were in the same church. I think grief has affected my memory a lot and that’s quite common. Grief is such a powerful emotion; it takes up a lot of your brain.”

Five years later, she now knows how to remain positive. “I had an amazing mum for 18 years. I have the most amazing family, my little boy and my career, and that is because of her. The same with Fizz — I had an amazing sister. It’s heartbreaking they aren’t with us any more, but they are together and they are looking out for me,” she says, sounding as though she is repeating a mantra.

Having a baby made her feel closer to them both. “He was a boy — it’s funny, he actually looks a lot like Louis did — and I thought, this is what my mother must have felt. But then I had so many questions I couldn’t ask, even more because she was a midwife.”

Her biggest problem was her terror that something terrible would happen to her son. “I became fixated [on the idea that] something bad would happen to him, so I couldn’t sleep. You go to the worst-case scenario, because that’s happened to you twice, to two of the closest people in your life. I couldn’t turn the lights off at night; I needed to see him all the time. Luckily, it calmed down quite quickly.”

We are still flitting between her story and advice on make-up, exercise and clothes.

“I like sharing advice. If a child lost their mother, I would say there is no magic answer. But the point of this book is to show that you can have tragic things happen and still keep going.”

What would the 25-year-old now say to her younger self, struggling at her second funeral at the age of 20? “I would say, ‘You are going to be OK; you will live a nice life.’ I didn’t think I could. I thought this will be a really sad, lonely life without my mum and sister. I wouldn’t have believed then that I could be happy again. But it would have been nice to hear.”

Lucky Girl by Lottie Tomlinson (Bonnier, £22). To order a copy go to timesbookshop.co.uk. Free UK standard P&P on orders over £25. Special discount available for Times+ members

[evagaetinosgirl]

fresh out of the salon [k.martin x reader]

prompt: kate gets her hair done after the season ends and you're in love with it

author notes: let me firstly disclaim that i don't know shit about hair outside of black ppl hair 💔 and i hardly know that. secondly, i don't know if kate is a natural blonde with dark roots or a brunette who dyes her hair blonde but im pretty sure she's a natural blonde so.. if she isn't just ignore all the times i call her that. thirdly im still getting kate's personality 🙇🏽‍♀️ so this might not be super accurate to her but whatever. anyways enough yapping, enjoy it.

word of the fic: hair

it was only a few days after iowa's defeat against south carolina. kate was quick to call you when she reached her hotel room; feeling drained from the intense atmosphere during the game and also heartbroken she left her basketball college career off with a loss. you unfortunately couldn't make it due to having to focus on softball season. if iowa had played a home game for the final, you could had comforted your girlfriend afterwards but sadly she was still in ohio; having to do a few promotional shoots for a brand.

having to stay away from you longer than nesscary annoyed the blonde, but money is money so she sucked it up. you two relied on facetime and constant talking to stay connected. your teammates teased you all the time about how you been glued to your phone everytime there was a break at practice, but could they blame you? it's kate we're talking about here.

it's around ten pm when the blonde finally facetimes you. her face being close to the camera once the call connected.

"why am i seeing more of your nose than you, kate?" you giggle. getting comfortable on your bed before putting your attention fully on her. kate makes an obvious pout that you can see very closely with her face almost squished against her phone.

"i want a kiss," the iowa basketball player pulls her face away, not too far, to give you a full look of her lips. you roll your eyes, but internally the cuteness levels going on right now from her were huge. you indulge her before counting down so she was ready to kiss the phone screen the moment you were.

she lays back onto the hotel bed pillows afterwards. a satisfied look on her face; kate was truly the only one who can make you do something as embarrassing as kissing a phone screen. you take in her full appearance now. the blonde had obviously slip on some pajamas after coming to her hotel room from the shoot. a matching hello kitty matching pajama set that you recognized as yours is on her body.

"who said you could take my clothes?" you make a fake angry expression that just makes kate shake her head in amusement. "i did and i'm your girlfriend, so deal with it," kate says.

you roll your eyes before noticing a slight difference with kate. her hair looks slightly different than how it was when she left iowa. the darkish blonde of the player now has nicely done highlights on them. when did kate get her hair done? and why didn't she tell you?

the silence from your side of the line makes kate pout, "talk to me, baby. i missed your voice all day."

a flutter goes through your chest at her words; kate always knew what to say to have you swooning. "you got your hair done!" you say. she giggles, looking away from the screen in shyness. the player wasn't used to someone noticing things about her appearance. it was a new feeling of appreciation that makes kate crave to be near you even more.

"yeah. since i was doing those photoshoots, i thought it would be best to give my hair some new life," kate leaves out the part about how the loss to south carolina made her cry and immediately want to go to the salon to feel new again the moment she left the stadium (in the end only getting her hair done earlier today), but that's a topic for later. two things could be true at once though.

"but no selfies?" it was now your turn to pout. feeling slightly sad that your girlfriend didn't send a selfie your way after the first step she took out of the salon. kate wants to kiss away your pout so badly, but can't; curse nil deals.

"i was going to, baby. don't pout at me, it just makes me miss you even more. i had a photoshoot right after the salon and couldn't really text," kate explains. the pout on your lips disappears with you back to missing her.

"it looks so good on you, babes. makes me wanna kiss you"

"then gimme a kiss. the screen doesn't matter to me," kate puckers her lips up. leaning back close to the screen as you do the same.

you two stay up until twelve. during the rest of the call you keep taking facetime photos of kate because for one, she was just so adorable and for two, her new hair was doing things for you. the highlights really brought out her eyes. you were definitely going to kiss her all over her face when she landed back in iowa.

you tell kate to go off to sleep when the clock strikes one, so she can be well rested for her flight back home tomorrow. she pouts until you agree to fall asleep on the phone; who would say no to that face?

© thinkingaboutjaedyn

[willowed-wisp]

to the winter wedding [ ghost ]

part two

Was meant to write something else but this flowed from whatever sleep deprived brain I have…

Growing up you had fated encounters with Simon Riley that would continue into your adulthood. You a combat medic and him, the one you ended up treating.

Simon isn’t nearly as intimidating as everybody makes him out to be

Well that’s what you always thought. He has a lot of baggage but that’s alright because so do you

You’ve known Simon since high school, he was a lone wolf and you faked that pretty smile you wore each day around fake friends

He was the one who found you behind a building while he puffed on a cigarette. You left that spot, but he never forgot you that day- the wolf in sheep’s clothing

From then on you and Simon Riley had frequented run-ins, like the universe was throwing you through a loop. Shoving the pair of you together.

You paid his bus fare one time, no seats except two beside each other. “Can I take a seat?”

“Sure.” Neither speaking, both going to the dreary hospital for separate reasons both involved loved ones.

An hour later, you found him trying to barter the cashier at the hospital shop and once again you jumped in. “You keep popping up and saving the day, huh?” It was the first time he had spoken a full sentence to you- other than the thank you on the bus.

Shoulders shrugged, “Seems like it…”

“How much do I owe you?” Brown eyes staring while you shook your head.

He stopped at the door, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you around, Simon…”

It’s only then he realised, your back to him, that he didn’t know your name with a heavy heart. Watching you walk away.

It was a few years until you saw that boy again. On the battlefield, he was fighting while you were tending the wounded.

Fate even wove you together in the Special Forces- you the 22nd Regiment’s new medical sergeant and jom their new Private.He had remembered you. The one that got away. His luck with women non-existent after meeting you in the unlikeliest of circumstances.

“Long time no see, Private Riley…” You outranked him… something he would have to bite down. He would be a Sergeant if his home life had been steady. “What’s with the mask?” He didn’t intimidate you, no matter how built he had gotten or the growth spurt you bore witness to in the Army. But the mask was a new one for you.

He didn’t wear it in the Army and on his records you didn’t find a photo of him. “We have to stop meetin’ like this…” He was cheeky only with you. His oldest friend- you weren’t an acquaintance- you were Simon’s only friend in any place. Which is why he let you hug him, bringing him in with everything you had.

“It’s nice to see a familiar face, even under the balaclava…” Said with sincerity from all of the friends you had lost on the frontlines, holding their hands when the light faded from their eyes.

Taking medication for the looks on their faces. Or else they’d be branded in your memory forever.

A fucking landmine is all it took for you to almost lose your composure, “Shouldn’t your intel be able to uncover some land mines, Lieutenant Price!” Not a screech, but not kind either. Working to get the clothes off the burns, their smoulder already stopped by the rain clattering down. The poor soldier conscious and aware- eyes looking into yours, “The mask needs to come off, burns up left neck and jaw. Second degree up his left side,” cutting the mask down the middle. “This gonna hurt… I’m sorry…” Your apology whispered into his ear, whatever he could hear over the ringing- you didn’t know. But Simon was aware of it all.

That’s why his scream consumed the air, “Lieutenant, let us work… I’ll do my best, I assure you.” Rushing over to your colleague who had peeled back the rest of the cloth. Nothing had marred his face, only a smidge of burn crept up his jaw from his neck. “You’re lucky… they’ll heal naturally…” You didn’t know whether you were talking to Simon or yourself. A hand held yours, tears daring to peel down your cheeks but you held them there. Blurring your vision of the man you had known for almost a decade.

You were the one to check up on his healing progress, “Shouldn’t you be tending to other people?”

“You’re next on my rotor… and you should be leaving the wound uncovered…” His mask back on. “I guess all pretty boys are idiots…” You’d meant to just think it not actually say it aloud. His already wide eyes were shocked, he gave a laugh.

“Whatever chances of being a ‘pretty boy’ are gone with this scar…” You remained silent, heat on your cheeks. He didn’t comment on how you’d gone shy and then left muttering to leave the mask off until the burn had a chance to heal.

He seemed to have listened, you saw him around the town you grew up in. Where the world moved slow and you felt alone sitting on the park bench. Flurries of white trickled down unto the green, hands braced in your pockets against their cold. Not able to stop the floods of images from flickering, life was short especially in the line of work you earned a living off. You’d been burned, stabbed and shot…

War was ugly and you tried to find the beauty in nature, but even that was turning against you those days.

“Look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

How ironic, “That’s what the boys call you, right? Very funny…” Looking at his bare skin. “You actually listened to orders from a medic… thought I’d never see the day…” Not able to stop your thumbs from twiddling in their shelter.

He sat down beside you, “No. I listened to you, you run a tight ship…”

“People die if I don’t keep myself together,” no matter how hard it was day after day. “How’s your mum and Tommy?” You were in the same year at school as his younger brother, only in that town did you remember this guy was two years older than yourself and you outranked him.

He shuffled a bit, “They’re okay, Tom’s got himself together… he’s getting married next week…” Another fidget from the man, “I’m best man and I need a date for it… ‘or else’…” Trailed off with a laugh.

Then it dawned on you, “Are you asking me?” A slight nod, “To be your date? To your brother’s wedding?”

“There a problem? Got a boyfriend?” Your head shook to him, “Apparently I’m wearing a light purple tie, don’t know if you want t’ match or…?”

Scouring for a lilac dress when you got home, panicking… “Y/N, are you okay?” It was your mother, maybe she could help.

“I’ve been invited to a wedding… as a date, and something about a lilac tie…” Shoulders held like she always did when you freaked out.

“Alright, calm down, you’re a frontline medic for crying out loud… sit down…” On your bed, she joined you, “The only wedding I know of is Tommy and Beth’s… oh my gosh… it’s Simon, isn’t it? He always did make some googly eyes at you…”

“No he doesn’t!” Like a teenage girl you stood and folded your arms, “Mummy, I need help…”

“Be warned, it’s vintage…” That meant it was either ruffled or sleek… you were hoping for the latter.

————

Does anyone want a continuation? Thank you for reading, I love reading comments and all the support xx

PART TWO IS OUT!

————

cod m.list | request guidelines | ghost m.list

[yuyu1024]

Escape

Pairings: Yoongi × y/n

Genre/tags: Arranged marriage

Warning: 🔞🔞 smut/angst, mention of food/eating, cursing, sensual touching, making out, needy/clingy, Pet name, lies, kink, unprotected sex, Smoking, jealousy, insecurity, mention of weight&food/eating, oral (m/f receiving), mention of blood/violence

~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 5.8k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: continuation of Prisoner.

I hope this is a good part 2. 🙏🏻 took me a while coz idk if i should or not. 😅 sorry guys.

(This may continue a bit more...? But please be patient 🙏🏻 as I do have work & usually I try to write before i sleep but lately i've beeen so tired and drained that I cant even function 😅)

***

Another day, another event to go to. You are wearing your best 'pretend' smile. The smile you have practiced for months, to be your default expression whenever you meet anyone in any formal event. It's not that your trying to be fake. You just want to represent your husband the best that you can. And being a shy person, this is what you can do to help yourself.

Although, you wish, that even just one time, Yoongi would show up to these events with you.

At the first month of your marriage, he did. He did that to introduce you to everybody. You could still remember how you two were holding hands and always together. Those were the days when you have spent so much time with him.

But... Now, it's just always you. Alone. Amongst everyone in the whole place, you are the only one who always arrives with no partner.

"Excuse me?"

You twirl around and find the prettiest girl you think you have ever seen in your life. She looks like a goddess.

"Ahm, yes?" Your voice sounded so weak. You haven't said a word in the last hour.

"You are the only one wearing a corsage with a hint of lilac flowers in it... I'm guessing... you are Yoongi's wife?" She asks

"Ah, yes. I am." You look down at the flower pinned on your chest

She's smiling at you. She looks sort of happy to see you. "Finally... I've met you."

You haven't said a word. You are not sure how to approach this. You have no idea who she is and why is she approaching you. Plus, You are sort of intimidated by her. She is a beautiful, a sophisticated woman. She have this energy from her that says she is different than anyone else. You could feel your difference with her. Though you are covered with all highend brands of clothing and accessories. You can still see it.

"Oh, sorry... if I'm invading your personal time..." she says, "I am a friend of Yoongi... well... an old friend... from University" she explains. "Sarang."

"Oh." You smile and bow. "Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Y/N... I'm sorry... I've not met any of his friends yet so...I didn't know..."

"It's fine. I understand."

She looks like she came from a regal family, the same level as Yoongi. Also, her beauty.... takes your breathe away. She remind you of how you reacted the first time you saw Yoongi. In awe.

"Thank you for coming here also..." she says as she walks you around the gallery. "I hope you find something to your liking here that... would be a part of your home or either a gift to anyone you love."

As you two talk more, you learned that she's the one that threw this charity event. She gathered all these arts from known artists, to auction. She says that 100% of the earnings from it will go to the children's hospital that she have been donating ever since.

You have just met her and you are already at amazed by her. Not by just her prominent looks but also the way she talks and speaks her mind is very inspiring and uplifting. Because of her words you find it easy buying two items in the collection. You know all of the money will go and be used for something good.

You chose the items, the two that caught your attention the moment you entered the gallery. Both are paintings of a beautiful flowerfield which reminds you of your past. The field where you would always go with your friends and have picnic during summer break.

Such beautiful memory that you wish you could've not taken for granted. You wish you could re-live those moments again. And the paintings, those paintings you chose might go well in your own study room.

"It's nice meeting you..." she says, cutting you from reminiscencing your past

"Thank you too for inviting us.. though... my husband couldn't come..."

She smiles, lips pressed together. "He hasn't changed at all. Not very social and just focused on just working..."

Hmm.. The way she talks, the way she describes your husband is very detailed. She seem to know him pretty well. 'They are friends' you say to yourself but then at the back of your mind, a thought, just a tiny thought about him and her, is peaking through.

'Is she an ex of his?'

'If not an ex... probably... someone who liked him?'

I know, this is no place nor time to think about these but you can't help it.

Look at her and then you look at yourself. You two are totally opposites. From status to looks. And probably from personaly to intelligence. She is more than you. She is perfect. You think that he and Yoongi might or will get along more than you and him.

"Ahm... I ahm..." you start to feel uncomfortable with all of your self pity thoughts. You need to get a hold of yourself. "Sorry... I'll... I'll just go to the bar and have some drink..." you say as you clutch on to your dress.

"Oh. Okay." Sarang says. "You want me to accompany you...?"

You shake your head, "No... thank you... don't mind me... please go ahead and tour the rest of the guest." You say pointing at the newly arrived guests.

You turn around immediately before she could response again.

This is weird. You're not sure why you suddenly have the urge to drink. Even though you don't drink. Also because, you can't. Literally, can't.

You only drink red wine when you are offered to drink, by Yoongi of course. It's only when he asks you to join him during nights when he needs company or if you two are to discuss things about the family.

You don't drink also because you are a lightweight. You get tipsy and red easily. One time when you had more than three glasses of red with your husband, you instantly changed personality. You have no idea how and what changed besides the stories that your maid said the day after which were embarassing.

You have no recollection of anything besides the fact that you were on the sofa, inside Yoongi's home office, butt naked and only have Yoongi's blazer on you.

"Mrs. Min, what can I get you?" The cute guy behind the bar asks as you reach your destination.

"How... do you know who I am?"

He smiles, "We had the lists of the guests coming tonight... with photos." He pours water into a glass

"With details...? who can and cannot drink... I suppose?"

He nods. "Your husband noted... to not serve any alcohol to you Miss."

"Even... I want to? Or... pay?"

"I'm sorry Miss..." he says, "If you like we can offer you our non-alcohol champagne?"

You sigh heavily. You badly want to drink. Even just one glass to calm yourself. But...you can't. Yoongi have rules and you cannot avoid and disobey them.

He does give you the freedom to do whatever you want but when it comes to what not to do or what he likes, he have a handful.

1. Don't cut your hair short

2. Don't drink when he's not present nor ordered by him

3. Don't leave the house without atleast one body guard

4. Don't wear perfume (he gets dizzy)

5. Use the safeword during sex

And etc.

The rules are quite simple. Nothing to weird nor to hard to follow. It's just you compromising. And also, you do have a hard time saying no to Him.

"Thanks." You mumble, sighing as you take the glass of water and walk away from the bar.

After figuring out you can't drink to calm yourself, you decide to just go somewhere outside, away from the crowd and peaceful to get fresh air. Lucky you, you found an exit that leads you to the garden.

As time have gone by, you're not sure how long have you been there, staring at the fountain, the flowers and even starring down at your feet every now and then. You thought being out here will leave your head empty. Not worrying about anything. But then you'd catch yourself pouting and comparing yourself to all the ladies you have seen in the event, especially the last person you have talked to.

Your self pity and low self-esteem is thriving today than usual. Is it the lack of sleep? Or because of the one guy from earlier giving you a judging look that made you regret wearing the dress you picked? What happened?

These thoughts are not very helpful. Especially lately, well probably more on daily basis, you do wonder why Yoongi chose you. To marry.

They've said, more particularly his parents said, that he didn't like the ones they suggested for him; so he decided to pick you. To marry you instead of those women who is on the same level as him or close to his family's wealth.

Odd isn't it? Why would someone like him, an elite bachelor, pick a girl from a lower class family to marry? What did he see in you? What made him randomly pick you? You are not special, inexperience about life and not alluring as the other girls in his world. What did he saw? How did he even saw you? You were sure you two never met before. So did he hire someone to find a daughter from a poor family or what?

Instead of clearing your mind, you suddenly had these outburst of questions.

"What are you doing here?"

Your eyes widens after hearing a familiar voice. You didn't dare to speak. You just slowly turn your upper body around to see him, walking slowly towards you.

He's wearing a tuxedo. His hair is slightly slicked back and his scar. His beautiful scar. It's him.

You can't believe what you are seeing. He's really here. Why? He's been away for a week because of work and when did he came back?

"Y-yoongi..." you mumble, standing up

"I asked you..." he says as he stands right in front of you. Then you see his eyes darts down at your glass of water, sitting beside you. "Your bodyguard said... you asked for a drink." He looks back at you, his expression is so serious.

"I ahm... sorry..." you lower your gaze.

"You know... you can't drink."

"I'm sorry..." you whisper softly

"Let her have fun." A woman's voice says. "She just wants to have a glass of wine. It won't hurt."

Slowly raising your eyes, you see her, Sarang, standing from afar from you and Yoongi.

Her stance at this moment is unidentical to her persona earlier. It feels like she is a completely different person, though her appearance is the same. Something shifted.

"She did an amazing job.. representing you earlier." She adds

Your eyes then goes to Yoongi. You want to see his reaction to the angelic woman speaking. You are curious. No one talks to him directly like that, blunt and straight forward, even you.

Sarang is brave to talk casually to him.

"Ready the car..." Yoongi finally speaks after a monent of silence. Ordering one of his men to move.

That was it?

"I'll return the items. Keep the money. I don't care." He says while he's looking at you, straight into your eyes. Though you know, even his eyes are on you, he's not actually speaking to you.

"Yoongi le---" she tries to speak again but he didn't allowed it.

Yoongi just slightly turned his head to give her a side eye. He is not pleased. "My wife and I are leaving..." and then takes your hand to hold onto. "Let's go home..." he says that only you can hear.

"Ahm...ahh... okay." You say, lost by the sudden fierceness from him

***

"Get in." He orders you

Carefully climbing in the car, you move to the other side making sure there is a space betweem you two.

"Home please." Yoongi says to his driver as he shuts the door.

"Sir." The man answers, nodding and then pushes a button that closes the opening between the driver to the passenger seat of the car.

We are now isolated.

He looks so tired. Looks like he just came back and went straight to event to pick you up.

"I have my driver with me... you could've rested at home." You say

He sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm fine."

Did he purposely pick you up because he wants to see you? Did he missed you while he was away for a week?

Your mind is filled with questions and curiosity but you cannot dream of these questions to be real. You have to remember, he just married you because he have no other choice. There is no love in between you two. You are married by paper only that is worth a lot of money. Everything you are doing for him is to repay all of his kindness to you and your family.

This is all just a fantasy. A beautiful fantasy.

"Come closer..." he softly says. His eyes are still shut but his arm is arching, gesturing for me to take place in then. "Y/n..." he opens his eyes, calling my name. You scoot over his side. He immediately puts his arm around you, making sure you are close. "You're shaking..." he utters as he goes back to closing his eyes, resting his head back. "You're almost naked with that dress of yours..."

"Sorry..." you say looking down at your knotted fingers. "I thought it will look good....that's why I wore it."

He sighs. "You do look good..." then he shifts in his position and makes sure you're looking back at him. Then he starts leans in, to kiss you.

"Wait..."

He pauses, confused by your reaction. You have never denied his kiss before.

"I'm sorry..."

"What for?" He asks

"Well..." you look to the front, where the driver is. "Do we just kiss or..." you whisper

Yoongi didn't expect your question which made him smile. "It depends." He is looking straight into your eyes, your face are just inches away.

"He might hear us..." you whisper

"I don't fucking care." He moves forward and finally catches your lips.

***

After travelling for almost half an hour, you finally reach home.

"Welcome home, Miss..." The maid greets the second you slide out of the car. she then sees Yoongi, coming out from the other side of the car. "Master!" She bows again. "Welcome..."

They are suprised to see him. They didn't expect him to arrive with you. Looks like none of them knew he went to pick you up.

"Do we have anything to eat?" You softly ask the maid, then you realized that it's already late and that they have to rest too. "Oh... Sorry... never mind... you may go and rest." You give her a faint smile.

Then slowly walking towards the elevator, you could see your husband's reflection through the glass doors. He is busy already with his phone.

"Y/n..."

You glance up, peaking through the reflection. He is walking towards you. So you wirl around and waited for him to stand in front of you.

"Ask your assistant to remove all charities or event under the Lee's tomorrow. Even parties." He says as he undo his bow tie. "And... to not accept any invitation from them...again"

"Why?"

He didn't answer. No answer means he's serious.

"Okay..." You just answer before turning your back at him again.

Thinking about what you are in his world is heart breaking in a way. You are nothing but someone he owns. You just go with the flow of his world.

Yes you do had an idea what you've signed up for but its still shocking nonetheless how everything is unfolding and is doing.

"Aren't you getting in?"

You look up and see that he is in the elevator already, waiting.

"S-sorry..." you say before entering. You try your best to not make eye contact with him.

After both of you settled in, the maid follows and taps on level 3. That is where both your rooms are.

Oddly, Yoongi taps on the Upper ground after her. "Can you please cook something light before you leave? My wife needs to eat." He orders

"Yes, Master." She answers just in time when the elevator stops on UG.

"We'll both be down after we shower and get rested a bit."

"Understood, Master." She exists the elevator, bows and immediately walks off.

'My wife'. It is the second time he said that today. He never says that.

"Don't skip meals." He mumbles as the door closes

You didn't answer. You didn't mean to skip a meal or two today. And maybe a few days before too. You were nervous. One main reason is the dress you're wearing right now is very revealing. A satin black backless maxi dress. You wanted be perfect in the dress thats why, even though you know it's not achievable.

*pings*

The elevator door opens on level 3. You step out and about to turn to your wing when you hear him call your name again.

"Where are you going?" He asks

"T-to my room..." you sound so weak, "To shower..."

"Shower here." He says, suggesting the shower in his wing. Meaning in his room. Meaning his bathroom.

"Hmm?" You are lost in translation. Why is he asking you to shower there all of a sudden.

"To my room." And then he undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

"W-what? Why?"

He didn't say another word. He just continued to walk off towards his room leaving you.

"W-wait..." You take two steps forward but then stops.

"Y/N...." you hear the heels of his shoes stop hitting the marbled floor. His back is facing you. "I said, shower here. I didn't ask you to decide." he then turns around and you see his white top basically open now. "Will you go and shower with me or do you want me to peel that dress off you and carry you to my room?"

Flusttered by his remark, you just released an unsolicited shaky breathing. "Ahm... yes... I'm... I'm coming..."

***

[Flashback to Yoongi's side]

(Earlier... as soon as Yoongi arrived at the charity event)

Some of the people in the event went silent for a few seconds the moment they saw you enter the building. They all didn't expect you to show up since your wife was already present. But of course, they still greeted you with a smile and tried to make small talks. They want to be on your good side. They know what you are capable off. What power you hold in this world.

However, you don't care about these fuckers. You dropped by because you received a call from your wife's bodyguard that Y/N is not looking okay.

"Where is she?" You ask the man standing behind you.

"She just left the bar, Sir. And went out to the garden." He reply.

"I see."

One step, you just took one step and somebody already stands in your way to your wife.

"Look who's here."

"Sarang." You say her name, bitterly. You are not expecting her to be here.

"You have been ignoring my invites for quite some time now... I thought, helping others is one of your goals in life that's why you work 24/7?"

"I thought this event was by the Lee's?" You hiss at your male assistant.

"It is, Sir. By--"

"Lee Do-Hyun..." she cuts off the assistant. "My husband..." she proudly says. "Aww.. That kind a... hurts my feelings...that... you have no idea I got married..."

"I don't keep tab on people who's not important to me."

She scoffs but she sounded a bit insulted and her ego got hurt. But she's good at pretending that it didn't bothered her. "You say that now...but a few years ago... I was your muse..." she tries to move closer to you but your body guards stands in between quickly.

"Was." You look away from her and try to search for your wife through the window not far away from where you stand. "My mistake for socializing to a liar, back stabbing... leech like you." You say, then giving her a side eye. "I wish your husband good fortune... or that he loves spoiling you... or esle... he'll found out his wife's true color..."

You're about to walk away, again, but this bitch still wants to talk to you.

"You think... she'll not get tired of you? Of you controlling her? Especially getting married with you... with no love at all?" She snorts a laugh again. "Or maybe... she will not..." she mumbles under her breathe, "Now... It figures... why you picked someone from a low class family... someone with no choice but to stay with you because her family needs your money. I see..." she laughs again, "poor girl... if I were her, I would milk you all of your money so it will be worth it... after all she married a controlling, dominant, and a freaky person like you."

You know Y/N is not like her. She is a nice person. She's not into money like this bitch is. However, you do think about how Y/N thinks about you and her marriage to you.

You admit that you are very controlling when it comes to her. It is one of your negative trait that you cannot put away. It comes natural with you because of the life you have been brought up and your business. You want things to happen in your way and you are also possessive. You do try to controll it when it comes to her but you are not sure if you are doing it right.

Well how could you know, you never talk about it. Even with your wife. You never asked about her feelings and opinions.

"Watch your mouth." You mumble. "You might think you know me from the years we've been together. But you haven't seen half of what I can and would do... if anyone picks a fight with me.." you glare at her. "Consider this a warning."

[End of flashback from Yoongi's side]

*************

"Miss..."

Slowly opening your eyes, your eyes carefully adjusted to the light. You could see the ray of sunshine peaking through your dark thick curtains.

"Miss..."

You turn your head to the side and see your maid bowing.

"It's noon Miss..."

"Oh."

It has been a quite a few days now, since you start waking up this late. You are usually up early. You are a morning person. You also do jogs or walks around the property and sometimes go to the home gym to move, always. But something shifted in your routines.

You are tired, less motivated and no will to get up your bed.

"I think we need to call the family doctor now, Miss." The maid suggested. "You've lost a bit of weight and you look pale."

"I'm fine." You say as you push your duvet off your body and slide down off your bed. "I'll take a quick bath..." you mumble

"Understood." She is ready to come along with you.

"No... I'm fine... I'll just go alone... just prepare food for me please."

"But... Miss..." she usually prepares your bath and always stays with you there. After the little accident you had a year ago when you first experience a hot bath on the tub. You fainted because you fell asleep. Too much enjoyment and you forgot it is not good to stay long in there.

"I'll be fine." You smile and requested for her to leave

"Okay Miss... but... I will be back after half an hour to check."

"Sure."

You slept last night, wearing your silk robe and your fancy cream nightgown, his favorite. You were expecting Yoongi to come home last night as per usual schedule. But he didn't. He didn't even informed the staff that he'll not be home for a longer period.

What happened? You don't know.

The last time you talked to him was the night he asked you to come to his room and shower with him.

Everything that night was magical. For you atleast. But then you ruined it.

When you both entered his dark room, he immediately clung onto you. He held you like everything depends on it. It was more intemate and hungry than the usual and you liked it for some reason. After all the self doubt and insecurity you felt in the party, the intemacy made you feel more than what you feel.

And when he peeled off your dress from your body, you didn't expected him to go down on his knees and lick your soul out of your body. His tongue did more than you know he could do. It brought you to another level of high. And you didn't know you could screech like an animal because of it. He really made sure you are on cloud nine or even beyond that.

"Fuck me... please..." you begged him after you knees weakened and fall down the floor where he is.

"No." He said. He was sturn. "No request for tonight." He said and then he positioned you underneath him where he could properly see you crumble because of him.

"Y-yoongi... please.... I need... I want to come..." you begged

He brought you to cloud nine but then hold onto your pearls when you were about to orgasm.

"I'm punishing you right now..." he said as he lowers down and starts to run his tongue from your chest up. "Next time... don't wear any sort of revealing clothes...when I'm not around.. do you understand that Y/N?"

"Y-yes..."

"Another rule to add... are you okay with that?" He hummed the last words on your ears before he let both his hands squeeze your breast. "Answer me..."

"I don't... mind..." you were squearming underneath him. He was playing your nipples then. "I... I don't mind... Yoongi..." you repeated, pleading.

His punishment continued for another few minutes. It was too much. You were struggling catching your bliss but he's playing you. However, you are patient. You know his kinks and you know what he wants and so you do whatever and accept whatever. Coz you know it is from him.

"Scream my name." He grunted as he pounds you with no mercy.

You were holding on to his massive bookshelf on the wall, your legs were lifted and hanging over his forearm whilst he was thrusting deep in you. You were getting hurt from your back hitting the shelves but it didn't matter. You don't know why but for some reason you can endure everything just for Yoongi. Even pain.

"Nnggghhaaa..." you threw your arms around his neck as he went faster. "Please!" You cry on his neck. "Aaaahhh!!" You screamed the orgasm you have been keeping for a while. You felt relieved and content.

And as you two were catching your breath. You uttered words that surprised the both of you. You said 'I love you' to Yoongi.

It should not be a surprise. You two are married right. However since yours are different from others, those words were never said or mentioned ever after the wedding. It is like a forebidden phrase though there are no rule about it. It's like an unspoken deal that no one says those words since THIS.. YOU TWO... is just a fantasy. You two got together with no love. It is not real. You are just one of his property.

And so, after that night. That magical night for you ended up into this cold, quiet and empty prison. Again. You are back to nothing.

You thought you are on a journey escaping that confinement. You thought that something is going to change. You thought... that you were wrong about him. But who are you kidding? You were just having sex like you used to. It is nothing special. It is the same crap. So you saying you love him is... worthless.

"Did I even mean it?" You ask yourself as you lay down in your hot bath. "I said it... after sex.." you are trying to understand how those words slipped out of your lips. If it all just happened because of such high from the sex.

You can clearly remember how you said it. You paused, looked into his eyes and carefully said it. You know you said it with the intent for him to hear it but when you saw his reaction. It made you realize what a big mistake it was.

"Am I having feelings for him?" You mumble as you lower yourself more into the water. "I should not right?"

You know the answer to your own quesion. Look at him even ignoring you for almost two weeks now. Who are you even kidding thinking it will have an effect on him?

After the 'I love you' incident, He eat dinners without you or he let you eat first before he comes out of his home office. And then when he leaves, he does not inform you now. You just get the news of him flying off somewhere from your maid. Even his men are being cautious with you. He must've ordered them to be distant but at the same time protect you.

How funny that these are his responses to you. You know you deserve it but you're a little bit hurt, your not going to lie.

"Who am I for him to love?" You sigh. "Maybe... I should just prepare myself for the ending of this fantasy..."

*********

"Master." The maids bows as they suddenly sees Yoongi enter the main entrance while they are all cleaning.

Yoongi have not been home for a while. He has been... busy.

"Give them all my clothes." He says to his right hand man. "Sorry if it's quite a lot today." He then says to the maids as he removes his black coat revealing his white button up shirt, stained with blood. A lot of it. No one reacted to the visual that is shown. All the staff are used to it. They know how his world is.

"Where is she?" He asks as he loosen up his tie

All the maids in the corredor suddenly turn heads to the youngest one at the end of the line. She is Y/N personal maid.

"Master." She steps forwards and bows again. "Miss is in her bath."

Yoongi frowns. "Alone?"

"Ahm..." she suddenly stutters. "Sorry, Master! She... Miss wanted to... alone... but I told her after half an hour I will go back."

"How long has she been there?" He then throws his tie on the ground.

"Twenty."

"Okay." He takes a deep breathe and tries to collect himself. "Just go and be on standby in her room. She can't stay any longer."

"Okay, Master." She bows again and briskfully walk back to Y/N wing.

"Are you not going to... visit her Sir?" His male right hand asks. "She have been messaging you since..." he pauses for a bit. "And calling too."

He didn't answer. "Ready my bath please." He orders and just continue walking his way to his room.

"Understood." The man replies

"She can't see me like this." Yoongi mumbles as he walks

"I see..." his right hand man smiles at his master's response.

"Why are you smiling?" Yoongi asks, one eyebrow up.

"Nothing, Sir."

"Just spit it out."

The right man, Mr. Kim have been Yoongi's right hand man ever since he was in his teens. Mr. Kim saw him grew up and be the man that he is now. And for sure, if something changed he would be the first one to notice

And now, the tiny changes in Yoongi's mood and decisions, He might not know or see it but it is obvious for Mr. Kim. He knows it is something about his wife.

"2nd week of your marriage, Sir. She saw you coming home with a bloody lip and injured knuckles. You said you don't give a damn if she sees you looking like a murderer."

"So? What's your point?"

"It's just lately...."

Yoongi pauses and turns around to see Mr. Kim, wearing a smile.

"What are you implying? Just... say it."

Mr. Kim bows and says, "Nothing Sir."

"Hmmm..." rolling his eyes, he continued to walk.

*****

"Miss..." your personal maid rushes in your room, "Master have return." She says.

To her suprise, she sees you standing in the middle of the room, wearing your bathrobe and a towel in your hair already.

You take a deep breathe, not letting your eyes look away from the view you are seeing from your window, a clear blue sky.

"Miss.. shall I prepare your clothes?"

You close your eyes and then removed the towel wrapped around your long hair. "Please..." you softly answer

"What do you prefer to wear today, Miss?" She asks she she begins to walk towards your walk in closet.

"A black dress..." you say as you follow along. "Maybe the one with the longer sleeves."

She nods and then continues to search for the dresses you have that matches your description while you on the other hand looks at yourself in the full length mirror while you undress from your robe.

You stare at your body and see how you thin you are. Not super thin but thinner than what you used to.

It's your own fault. You have been skipping meals when you are stressed and it's not good.

"Miss?" She then lays three dresses on the sofa in the middle, for your choices.

"The middle one." You says.

You then open the drawer for your undies to grab a black lace matching underwear.

"Ahm, Miss...?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to eat with Master, in the dinning today?"

"Hmm... what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just asked me to stay with you when I told him you are in your bath."

"Did he say if he wants to see me?"

The maid didn't answer.

"I guess not." You scoff as you getting into the dress. "Just bring my food in my study room. I'll eat there while I do some reading."

"Understood." She bows and exists the room.

"I'm not gonna wait for him anymore." You say to yourself while looking onto the mirror. "If he's going to avoid me or ignore me... then... that's what I'll do as well..."

Starring once again at yourself on the mirror, you look at your face and then your eyes goes down to your belly.

"I have to learn to go on with my life... with or without him..." you mumble. "I should start to escape this fantasy... a dream that maybe the 'us' will be something."

Part 3 - Twilight

[ghostofhyuck]

NCT Dream as different wedding tropes

AN: Wedding tropes are just *chef kisses* also if I have time, I'll make longer versions of this scenarios. Also Mark and Haechan's part are a bit suggestive.

Mark Lee ; we met at the bachelor's party / bridal shower.

You're single, he's single, you two met at the bar or a club and immediately clicked. You discovered that he was there because his friend is getting married and they're celebrating his last day of being 'single.' And while he was supposed to be there to celebrate with his friends, he spend the night flirting and talking to you. Bonus points if this ends up as a one night stand, and another point if you two met the next day at the wedding. 

Huang Renjun ; best man and maid of honor that clashes.

The modern-day banters to lovers, you're your bestfriend's maid of honor and is obligated to help in the wedding preparations, it's going fine but the best man of the groom tend to clash with your ideas. You two don't get along and at some point fought hard that the couple have to interfere. Ohhh but the tension is there!! and rest assure that after the wedding, the two of you will eventually reconcile and see that you two aren't that bad after all. 

Lee Jeno ; stop the wedding!

You're about to get married to the wrong person. You can't back down because everything's settled and although your heart beats for someone else, you couldn't let yourself face shame if you let the wedding get cancel. The ceremony's starting, the two of you exchanged vows and rings, and when the officiant asked the audience if anyone is against the union of the two of you, there he screams, "stop the wedding!" it's the love of your life. Fuck the shame, you wanted to be with him, that's why you left your groom at the aisle and eloped with Jeno. 

Lee Donghyuck ; flirting with one of the groomsman.

It's your friend's wedding and although you were there as a guest, you couldn't help but coddle your eyes on that fine groomsman. You tried to not be discreet with your glance but it's obvious that he has caught you staring many times. That's why it's no surprise that he approached you during the reception, even offered you a glass of wine and a dance. It'll end with you two having sex in his hotel room while the reception's still going on. 

Na Jaemin ; ex-lovers who met again at the wedding.

As much as you want to decline, it's your best friend's wedding, you need to attend! But he's also there, that's why it's no surprise that you two met again after breaking up. The wedding is filled with romance and love is in the air, that's why you couldn't help but to talk to Jaemin again and think that this is a second chance for the two of you. Eventually it is! because days after the wedding, he asked you out to grab a lunch or dinner. 

Zhong Chenle ; fake boyfriend for the wedding date.

Your friend's getting married and even said that you can bring a date. You've been single for your whole life, and doesn't want to show up to the wedding alone, that's why you dragged your friend Chenle into your little scheme. It is unknown as to why Chenle agreed to be your fake boyfriend for the wedding but everything went smooth. Chenle's very caring and was a gentleman, draping his coat on your shoulders, and even offering you to a dance. They gushed at how sweet you two are and it made you question about your friendship with Chenle at the end of the day. 

Park Jisung ; a wedding after everything you two went through.

This isn't just a wedding ceremony, this is a start and symbol of a brand new start for the two of you. After many challenges and hardships, you two will finally get married!! It's symbolic and it strengthens your love!! You two will be a shy couple who couldn't believe that you two are getting married. All your friends and family will be there, and everyone is just happy because they witnessed the challenges you two went through. You two will live happily ever after as a married couple. 

[sssammich]

💘 supercorp bc its on brand for them

omg ok i finally have some time to write the rest of these so we're gonna tackle this one!

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss

ask meme

---

Lena has to chew on her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing, forcing her face muscles to stay absolutely still. She covers her face with her hand, pressing her palm up to her lips as she attempts to make sense of what Alex is saying to her...to them.

She drops her hand down on her lap and is about to respond when Kara, having been equally quiet beside her on the couch, rests her elbows on her knees and asks the question that's on the tip of Lena's tongue.

"You want us to be in a pretend relationship?"

"I don't just want you two to be in a pretend relationship, I need you two to be in a pretend relationship."

"That's--"

"It can't be that hard," Alex reasons, almost talking to herself, her hands on her hips as she stands across the coffee table of Kara's apartment staring at them with a completely serious face. Lena and Kara share a shocked look with one another.

"And why not?" she challenges, unable to help herself.

"Because you two are best friends," Alex responds smoothly and stares at them expectantly. Hard to fault Alex about that. She and Kara are best friends with each other.

"Run it back again," Kara interrupts. "Explain one more time why we need to be dating."

Alex huffs, though by the way she drops to her knees in front of the coffee table, steepling her hands as she rests her elbows on the wooden surface, Lena suspects that Alex thinks that she's hooked them.

"Because the entire operation hinges on the fact that you're already in a relationship. And since this is so last minute, the most believable option we have going for you is your best friend who you already spend so much time with."

Lena tilts her head. It all makes sense, all things considered. She already spends almost all of her free time with Kara whether at her penthouse or at Kara's apartment (which, for the record, is where they are currently, and where she had been for the better part of the last three hours since finishing up some work earlier that afternoon).

"It makes sense," she says out loud, as if considering Alex's words.

"I knew you were the best Luthor out there," Alex quips, leaning forward. Lena can guess that Alex feels so close to attaining what she needs from the two of them, but Kara beside her doesn't sound as sold.

"I don't know, Alex. Don't you think we've done our fair share of deception and lying?"

Alex rolls her eyes, her hands pressed flat on the table in front of her. "Kara. You are a superhero vigilante with a secret identity. Deception and lying is literally part of your everyday life."

Kara turns to Lena for support, the corners of her lips tugged down and strained. Lena gives her a supportive albeit apologetic smile. "She has a point, darling," she says finally.

The pout on Kara's face is worth a hundred kisses to make go away, Lena thinks, but she doesn't move. "I thought you were on my side?"

"I am on your side. But so far, your sister is making good points. Even though the why is still a bit flimsy."

"I just said the operation--"

"But why does this supposed operation require Kara being in a relationship? Can't she simply be unavailable or that she's not currently in the headspace to date?" she asks, her hand placed on Kara's back, rubbing soothing circles between Kara's shoulder blades. She resists smiling when Kara leans a bit closer to her, as if Lena can't reach her. There's literally no space of distance between them already on the couch.

"Because," Alex starts. "There are going to be relatives and family friends from Kelly's side that'll be relentless--" and this is where Lena is baffled by how Alex is acting, "--to insist that they will have the best and most suitable eligible single daughter or son that's perfect for you, Kara. And you too, Lena. Don't think you'll get out of this scot-free."

Her face furrows in confusion. "Me?"

"Yes! They will, undoubtedly, ruin the wedding by trying to set both of you two up with other people, and we honestly can't have you two distract everyone from our big day."

Lena's eyes narrow at Alex whose own gaze is fixed in staring at her sister. It's an odd request, and her suspicions are raising alarms inside of her mind. Still, she keeps quiet, especially when Kara leans forward, her strong hand somehow landing on Lena's knee as she does so.

"You think we'll be distracting you and Kelly on your guys' big day?"

Lena pretends to scratch at her chin to try and cover her mouth knowing that she can just about hear the pout in Kara's voice.

"God, no. That's not--" Alex takes a deep breath as she straightens herself up from where she's kneeling by the coffee table. "Kara. It's not you two I'm worried about, it's them. They are going to make a big deal and I'm just trying to protect the both of you. And, of course, my wedding day with Kelly. And the truth of the matter is that there's no reason to wait for things to happen when we can prepare and cover all of our bases. That's all."

The truth of the matter. That's an interesting choice of words, Lena ponders, but she keeps those thoughts to herself.

Kara worries her bottom lip between her teeth even as her hand stays on Lena's knee. From the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Alex's gaze dropping to Kara's hand and Lena's leg, no doubt making a mental note of what she's seeing. But Lena's attention is pulled back to Kara who has now twisted her body to better look at Lena beside her. For her part, Lena stays in her exact position, hand on Kara's back, and waits for Kara's lead.

"What do you think?" she asks, her face serious, though something flashes in her eyes before Lena could really read what it had been.

"I think..." Lena begins to say, weighing every word that comes out of her mouth. "It's better to be safe than sorry."

Kara stares at her for a long moment, like it's just the two of them in the room, before sighing and leaning back, suspending Lena's hand between her back and the couch. Lena doesn't mind in the slightest, instead lets the tips of her fingers gently scratch Kara's back.

"That's all?" Kara asks, this time the question directed to her sister.

Lena turns her face enough to witness how Alex strains from smiling too wide when she nods emphatically and says, "That's all. That's it."

The longest five seconds seem to pass over all three of them until Kara sighs. "Fine. We'll do it."

Alex struggles to keep her fist pump under control and Lena wants to roll her eyes.

"Great. Figure out whatever cover story you two think will work the best. Remember, closer to the truth works best."

"I think we'll figure it out just fine, Alex," she comments, her voice taking on an airy tone. "It's not the first time we've had to give a cover story."

Alex nods again before rising to her feet. "Right, right. Okay, I'm gonna go home to the missus, and you two can work on your cover story."

Kara's just about to get up when Alex stops her. "You stay put, I'll let myself out. Have your story figured out by brunch this weekend. Sound good?"

She and Kara glance at one another before returning their focus on Alex. With her free hand, she offers a mock salute just as Kara nods up at her sister.

When Alex shuts the door behind her and leaves the two of them still on the couch, it's Kara who breaks first, tugging at Lena's arm from behind her so she can perch it around Kara's shoulder, their fingers tangled by Kara's bicep, before slumping further down on the couch with a loud exhale. She rests her head on Lena's shoulder, and Lena places a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

"You know, she used to be so much better at lying. Like I didn't even know she worked for a shadow government organization."

Lena chuckles, despite herself, and pulls Kara closer to her. "She was laying it on rather thick, I thought."

Kara tilts her head up, her ear resting on Lena's shoulder as their faces sit only a few short inches apart.

"Good work on the pouting, though. I think you really sold it."

The sleepy smile on Kara's face widens into a proud one. "You like that? I was really considering the waterworks but I think I would have given it away if I did."

"Mm, probably."

"You're a little actress yourself, Luthor," Kara comments with barely contained laughter. "Better safe than sorry. Pfft. You were practically having Alex eat out of the palm of your hands with how much you were agreeing with her. So devious."

"If there's anything Lex ever taught me, it's having the theatrical range."

Kara snorts before shuffling to sit back up. "How mad do you think Alex will be when she finds out that we're already dating?"

Lena shrugs, thinking about all of Alex's possible reactions. "Oh, I'm sure she'll never let you live it down."

"Us, babe," Kara says, leaning forward, the tips of their noses brushing with each other. "She'll never let us live it down."

"She shouldn't assume then," Lena answers before closing the remaining gap between them. Their lips slotting perfectly in place pressed against each other. It's still new, this feeling, but Lena thinks that she'll never tire of it.

Her breath hitches when she feels Kara's strong hand release her fingers only to grip her nape, followed by the smirk she knows is on Kara's lips.

"Wanna figure out our cover story in bed?"

She raises a brow, but Kara just shrugs. "So is that a no?"

Lena rolls her eyes before wrapping her arms around Kara's neck as Kara carries her towards the bed.

"I was thinking we tell people it was love at first sight," Kara muses.

Lena throws her head back in laughter, just in time for Kara to place a kiss on the hollow of her throat. She thinks love at first sight is not too far from the truth at all, and didn't Alex say the closer it is to the truth, the better?

[liillyliilly]

mentos and coke-a-cola kuroo tetsurou x reader words; 15706 synopsis: as vice captain of a co-ed intramural team, you found yourself increasingly close to the members of your team. including the witty, loving, captain of yours, kuroo tetsurou.

FROM TETSUROU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

You think to yourself, how many times did you have to tell Kuroo Tetsurou that you were not in fact his personal gym journal? Sitting at the central table of the university library, you had to quickly set your phone down. Then, you opened your laptop to text him, glad that your laptop blurred photos unless you had clicked on them.

This hadn’t been the first time he’d sent you photos of him. Nor had it been the second. By the eighth time it had become routine, he’d send what he considered the ‘best’ photos from the week to you, and expect detailed analysis and thoughts on the way his joggers hung low on his hips with Calvin Klein underwear showing the brand label boldly.

He always posed without his face showing in the photos. Just glimpses of his chin or cheek in the photos. Even though that had always been your only suggestion for him, just a little more of his face and a little less of the v-shaped muscles near his hips.

Kuroo never understood why the most obvious form of flirting never worked on you. Perhaps it had been because of your systematic desensitization to the possibility that he was trying to overtly make you see him as attractive. Perhaps it was all in his mind. The concept that photos could equate to romance. Or how he began deluding himself into finally overcoming the imposed relationship barriers you had begun building once you joined his recreation team for intramural volleyball at The University of Tokyo.

TO TETSUROU: kuroo put the softcore porn thirst traps away 🤢

FROM TETSUROU: i need your opinion

TO TETSUROU: ??? my opinion? i don’t have an opinion on your abdominal muscles or your back or your arms. I need to STUDY the human ego not your body (my philosophy major homework is kicking my butt right now)

You flit from the message tab on your laptop, opening a pdf copy of your textbook to copy notes from. You just needed to finish two more chapters and then you would drop by Kuroo’s place for dinner. He had invited the whole team, but everyone else said that they couldn’t make it. You had tried to deny his offer, but everyone else in the team said that you should just accept the free food.

The part that you hadn’t known at that time was that there were two group chats related to your volleyball team, Consensual Sets. (The team name had all been Ito’s idea, the setter on your team. Kuroo had strongly suggested Setters of Catan, and you had proposed Block Party. In the end, Ito’s pun won the hearts of the rest of your seven member team.) There was one group chat that had everyone, and another that had everyone but you in the messaging history.

Kuroo had dubbed the secondary chat as his collection of wing-people. But mostly they were unhelpful in actually progressing his romance with you. But this time, the dinner he wanted to have was successfully handled by the other five members. It was simple for the rest of the team to just decline the offer due to fake excuses and then to strongly encourage you to go get food with Kuroo at the end of what had been a long week for you academically.

FROM TETSUROU: you drive me crazy 🤕 (just drop out of philosophy and switch your major, all the cool kids do that my dear confucius)

Kuroo was wiping sweat from his forehead using a towel in his bathroom. Instead of doing cardio at the gym, he had decided to just run back to his apartment on the outskirts of the university. That way he could shower before you’d show up to get food. He still didn’t have an idea about where to take you. There was a fine line between a potential date and forcing you to go to a fancy restaurant against your will. He didn’t want just to go to a drive-through, but then he remembered how much you loved the fries at that one burger shop.

He would always try to make you eat a balanced meal, trying to make your diet secretly better. It was all for your good though, because he was aiming to make you live to be 100 through his secret dietary aids he had been slowly integrating. Hell, you couldn’t even eat pizza without also craving a side salad now because of Kuroo’s insistent nature.

TO TETSUROU: i will forcibly remove my number from your phone pls give me peace of mind and stop acting as a shoulder devil for my future career choices

FROM TETSUROU: you love me really

And you did, you loved him like a best friend. Almost like an overbearing, annoying, childish older brother. But also, as a role model to some degree. If you could call being the captain of your co-ed volleyball recreation league team a role model figure in your life.

It was around thirty minutes later when you finally shoved your laptop into your bag and got onto your electric skateboard to get to Kuroo’s apartment.

Knocking a few times, you had shoved your board under your arm and unclasped your helmet.

He swung the door open with a big smile, “I got Thai. From Suguru’s mom’s restaurant, discounts for friends of that brat.”

You rested your board against the door once you had entered his apartment, removing your helmet and trying to pin down the hairs that had been rustled by your head protection.

You set your helmet down on the coffee table near the entrance, setting your board against the wall unobtrusively, “Suguru’s mom is such a sweetheart, remember when she brought food for our team after our big loss last year?”

Daishou’s mother also bought the team amulets, with Nagas (which you had learned were essentially snakes) surrounding a Buddha for good luck and for protection. Yours hung up in your living room, next to your roommates various other key chains. Before you left the house, you always rubbed the charm. If the luck Daishou’s mom seemed to have was due to the amulet, then there wouldn’t be any harm in trying to get some of it to rub off on you as well.

Kuroo pulls out a chair for you and you sit down proceeding to open some chopsticks. One pair for you, and then you open another for Kuroo, resting the wood utensils onto his plate. He opened the fridge and poured some glasses of water from his Brita.

He smiles to himself when he finally sits down, “We really couldn’t stay sad when we had khao soi and pad kra pao, and that mango sticky rice. I dream about that sticky rice literally every night.”

You agree, accepting the styrofoam box from Kuroo to get some rice and egg onto your dish. Kuroo was busy pouring curry onto his plate.

“It was so sad that we lost last year.” You chew your food, waving your chopsticks around a little in the air, “If only we had gotten more team practice time in, I think we almost could’ve been up to your level Tetsurou.”

Kuroo leans back into his chair, sipping his water, “It would take a lot more than just two practices a week to get everyone on our team last year up to my level. But this year, we might actually have a chance, The Consensual Sets have a lot of connecting people.” He sits forward again, getting some food into his mouth.

“Yeah, I still can’t believe Suguru agreed to join full time instead of just being an alternate! With his regular season on top of our intramural team, he’s gonna be so tired out.” You jab the chopsticks in Kuroo’s direction, emphasizing your point.

“At least he brought us a replacement alternate, Mika is gonna be great to have on the team- even with her lack of skills.”

You roll your eyes, “Mika has skills!”

“Sure.”

The other members of the team had joined Kuroo’s team for a variety of reasons. Ito Yuuta, the setter, joined because he wanted to beat his twin in intramurals this year- and because his friend from high school, Alba, was also on the team. Ito was also the only first year on your team. Alba, a spiker, joined because she needed something outside of her architecture major to keep her extra busy. She was a second year student like you.

Daishou and Mika, who came as a set due to their dating status, joined because Daishou had been convinced by Kuroo to join for fun. You suspected that Kuroo was still carrying some lingering sadness at Kenma not joining the university team, but Kenma was busy with his multi-pursuit endeavors to join a recreation league. Kenma did come to an occasional game to support his best friend though.

Mingzhe, the libero and defensive specialist, was an international student from China. He had joined the team because he was too busy with his Computer Engineering and Science double major to be apart of the regular team. The University had been devastated that Mingzhe denied their offer for him to join. But it only elevated your own team to have such a good player.

The reason you joined? Because you wanted friends. Kuroo had made a poster advertising his desire for people to join a small co-ed volleyball team. You had taken a photo of the poster, went to the open gym time that he had outlined, and the rest became history relatively quickly.

Kuroo hadn’t been captain last year though, it was a collection of older fourth and third years who made the team. All of whom were in the sports marketing major with Kuroo. But they weren’t really playing the game for the love of the sport, but rather for extra credit from their professors. The old team name had simply been ‘Extra Credit for Prof. Singh’s Sports Marketing 5910 Special Study Course’ but it was always shortened to ‘Special Study Kids’ on the excel spreadsheets that listed out opponents and playing time.

Kuroo had shifted the narrative, he wanted this year’s team to be for fun- genuine fun and love for volleyball. And you had found yourself enjoying playing, even though you were sharing a position with Kuroo who scared you with his ability to read the opponents. But Kuroo always told you that without your support blocks, then his own blocks wouldn’t work most of the time. That had been a major ego-boost.

He knew how to do that for a lot of people, you recall. Kuroo could make people feel special, feel seen, without having to do much except for just show off his sincere love for people. A person like him was rare to find even once in life, so you wanted to stick around him for a long time. (Even if Kuroo got onto your nerves, he balanced out his provocations with kindness.)

“Thanks for the food, I can’t believe everyone else said no to free food at your expense.” You pat your stomach, rolling your shoulders a little to get comfortable in the metal chairs Kuroo had.

“It’s no problem. What do you have planned for the rest of this month?”

Pursing your lips, you try to recall your schedule.

“Besides our two-a-weeks, games, and classes, I don’t have much else going on in September.”

“Do you want to come watch a game then?” Kuroo grabs your plate, starting the sink faucet, you grab a towel to dry off the two plates. He tries to bump you away with his hip, but you resist and narrow your eyes. He yields and hands you a cleaned dish to dry.

“Is it the game you were talking about at practice? The reunion game?” You set the ceramic dish onto the shelf, waiting for Kuroo to hand you the other plate to dry.

“Yeah, it’s a bunch of my buddies from high school, we wanted to play a game before some of our pals leave for other countries to play professionally. Remember Bokuto? I mentioned him a few times.”

“The owl furry guy?”

Kuroo chuckles, turning around and leaning against the sink to watch you put the other plate away onto the cupboard shelf. “Yes, the owl guy. And Kenma will be playing, and Akaashi, and Fukunaga, and Kai, and-”

“I think I get it. A Nekoma versus Fukurodani game?” You suggest.

You had met Fukunaga once before, when Kuroo took the team to a comedy show of his the day before a match some time ago. Fukunaga’s set had been so hilarious that you asked Kuroo to personally introduce you to the comedian. Kuroo had been hesitant, for reasons unknown to you, but ultimately gave in to you and introduced the pair of you.

Fukunaga had taken one look at you and immediately pointed out what he liked about you. Which made you laugh, Kuroo hadn’t been entertained by that joke though. His reaction had been furrowed eyebrows, a huff, and defensively folding his arms- you had pointed out how overly dramatic Kuroo could be sometimes. Fukunaga had just smiled and shook his head.

Kuroo clarifies about the game, “More like a Nekoma versus an agglomeration of other high schools. Hinata, this crazy little dude, and my protege Tsukishima will play with Akaashi and Bokuto.”

“Okay, I’ll bite, I’m in.”

He had texted you the details of where to go, when to be there, and what color to wear to show your support for Kuroo’s team. You had been tempted to wear anything but the red and black combo he asked you to wear, but in the end, you wanted to be a good friend and wore what he asked you to wear.

The game was intense, to say the least. A lot more yelling and commands came from Kuroo than you had seen during your own games. It was nearing the end of September, and instead of studying for an exam, you were here in a gym watching a group of cohorts from the Volleyball World of High Schoolers play to their heart’s contentment.

You screamed when Kuroo got a good block, and you remained quiet when the opposing team scored a point. One of the things you noticed was how much higher they had made the net. In the intramural league, the net was at least a few centimeters shorter than the one they were playing with.

The tall blonde made a face at Kuroo through the net, and you almost found yourself laughing at how Kuroo teased him back. A ginger with the jumping power of a kangaroo kept making the most insane plays you had ever seen, keeping you on the edge of your seat for most of the game.

Ultimately, the Nekoma reunion team takes the win. You could see Kenma’s sour expression from where you had been sitting. Kenma immediately went to sit on the bench to play on his nintendo when the rest of his team was clapping each other on the backs.

Kuroo waved you over, face beaming.

When he pulls you in for a hug, you realize your hands get wet, soaked, not even a little damp but instead dripping wet. But he keeps his arms tightly around your waist. It wasn’t one of the usual hugs you exchanged with him, where your arms crossed around his chest and he did the same. In this hug, he had wrapped both arms around your waist, which made you wrap neatly into his chest.

"Your jersey is soaked, did they pour water over you Tetsurou?" You chuckle a little, talking into his body almost.

"Nope. This is all homemade sweat."

You pull away from the hug, wiping your hands on your thighs. Only to realize that your red shirt is soaked through the front as well, an imprint of his body outline on yours. You grimace, knowing that you now smell heavily of a unique perfume you’d dub ‘Kuroo après le match de volley’.

Kuroo shrugs, then wraps his arms around you again, which earns him a groan from you.

"You love me really."

You don’t say anything in response, letting him have his moment.

The post-game dinner was fun, even if you did have to complain to Kuroo about him buying your food for you. He had been too insistent about paying, even secretly paying for you when you went to the restroom.

“You took the train, yeah?” Kuroo asks once you exit the restaurant.

“Yep.”

Nighttime on the bullet train in Tokyo back to the university was always your favorite. Being able to stuff your ears full of music while you watch the passing scenery had such a hold over your emotional well-being. During train rides like that you thought maybe you could study Ralph Waldo Emerson again. But then you push away the thought because you remembered how much of an annoyance you found reading his pieces. You would always prefer Thoreau to Emerson at the end of the day when talking about the Transcendentalist Movement.

Kuroo nods, yelling out, “Kenma, I’m gonna take the train, you’re good to head back to your house! Text you later!” He waves enthusiastically to Kenma, who just throws a thumbs-up in regard to Kuroo’s statement.

The walk is mostly silent, with hands brushing against each other. The train station is vaguely busy. Kuroo had changed into some joggers and a loose t-shirt that had a neckline that was a little too stretched out so you could see his collarbones and the start of his chest. The design of the shirt was a logo for a cologne brand, with cursive writing.

While waiting for the train, you kicked your feet against the pavement a little, listening to Kuroo talk about the game and his favorite moments. His passion for volleyball was clear, but it just wasn’t the only thing Kuroo wanted to do for the rest of his life. His love for teaching other people, and helping others achieve their own passion outweighed his personal feelings. He just had a heart so open and willing to help others, that the blurred lines of what he loved and what others loved had become interwoven.

His belief of lowering the net for others, that helping aspect of his personality shone through with your recreation team. Although it was a casual team, it also meant so much more to everyone because Kuroo’s appreciation and understanding for the volleyball essentials and foundations made everyone want to do better. Made everyone want to play volleyball.

The train roared in, and you lifted your head, going to stand near the yellow painted lines where the door would be near. You turned around, and Kuroo was still standing fairly far away.

“Tetsurou?” You held your hand out for him to take, an effort to urge him to wait nearby with you.

Kuroo freezes. In his mind, his slightly exhausted mind that had lowered inhibitions from physically exerting himself with the game earlier, the two options were to grab your hand or to play around with you. He let his teasing, flirtatious, scheming personality win out over his shyness and earnest kindness.

He bent down, and rested his chin in the palm of your hand, so you had ended up squishing his face slightly. Once you realized that it was his face in your hand, you tried to tug your hand away with a laugh and with your tongue peeking out between your teeth as you bit down on it.

Kuroo didn’t know how to stop when he was ahead. He used his hand to grab a hold of your wrist. Then he gently bit down on the space between your pointer finger and thumb, pressing a kiss to the skin immediately after. And he would’ve continued with the affectionate kisses to your hand, but you swallowed thickly and your fingers began to twitch.

You couldn’t comprehend why you had wanted him to keep going. It was knotting your stomach, and turning the gears in your brain.

He stood up properly, noticing how the train had stopped. He slid a hand into your hand that was still outstretched and stunned from his actions, “The train won’t wait for us, c’mon Confucious.”

That night, you had spent a lot of time looking up onto your ceiling. Tapping your tummy to make little songs as you run through the day you had experienced over and over again.

Your phone dings.

FROM TETSUROU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

FROM TETSUROU: thanks for coming to the game! hope you had a good time watching. kenma got photos of us celebrating after nekoma grad team won

FROM TETSUROU: im really glad you wore red

Kuroo’s head is resting on his pillow, the light of his phone shining on his face as he lays on his bed in the dark. He can feel his palms sweating, and he keeps shoving his face into the pillow before taking a peek at his phone again. Under the blankets, his feet keep bouncing from the mattress as he fights against what feels like hypertension in his blood. You still hadn’t responded to his messages.

You looked at your phone for a moment, your eyes slightly static and blurry. You read his messages, trying to think of what to say. Your red shirt lays in your dirty clothes basket, and a grin starts to make your face hurt.

FROM TETSUROU: i think i love you

FROM TETSUROU: i love you a lot

FROM TETSUROU: do you think you could love me back?

FROM TETSUROU: UNSENT THREE MESSAGES

You look at the notification that tells you Kuroo unsent texts that you hadn’t got the chance to read. You shrug, responding to the messages you did get a chance to read.

TO TETSUROU: the game was so much fun! wearing red for you was also fun, i felt like a cheerleader lowkey- i mean you should’ve seen some of the looks i got from this grandma who clearly just wanted to watch the game lol after the game tho! she said it was nice to see young people cheering so passionately so i guess her dirty looks were all in my mind

FROM TETSUROU: that’s hilarious- whose granny was it tho 💀

TO TETSUROU: no idea but she really liked you 🫣

FROM TETSUROU: 😐

TO TETSUROU: i’ll see you at practice next saturday! goodnight tetsurou, sleep well

FROM TETSUROU: goodnight ♥️

FROM TETSUROU: UNSENT ONE MESSAGE

FROM TETSUROU: goodnight confucius 🙂

The first Saturday of October was a practice for the members of Consensual Sets. You were busy tossing serves over the net for Mingzhe to receive. Alba was jumping on Ito’s shoulders as she asked him repeatedly to let her tape up his fingers this time. Daishou and Mika were tugging on their knee pads, and when Mika started pouting at the way her nails got tugged by the fabric, Daishou knelt in front of her and pulled the pads up where they belonged with a huge smile as he looked up at her.

Daishou and Mingzhe wanted to do some quick laps outside, but you wanted to warm up by doing some flying dives. While the flying dives did hurt your elbows from impact catching your weight, they made for great practice to get you better prepared for your back row position duties. Alba finally got to tape up Ito’s fingers as he looked terrified at giving her the tape he used.

Mika decided to stretch out, only really getting ready to hit some serves for the rest of the team today. Her role as a support, and as an alternate wasn’t needed for most games, but in case of emergency, at least she had created a weapon for herself with that nasty jump float that makes you chew the inside of your mouth.

Fifteen minutes into the practice, when everyone was done warming up and getting water, you looked around the gym. The only other people here were a group of basketball guys playing a game of pick-up on the other end of the courts away from where you’d set up the net. You were the first one to notice a lack of one particular person.

“Does anyone know where Tetsurou is?” You ask, going over the bench were Mingzhe was meditating.

Ito shrugged, “Maybe he couldn’t make it today?”

Alba rests her chin on Ito’s shoulder, commenting, “Perhaps he’s sick? Our fearless leader lost to the measly germs of society. Damn it, I curse the bloodline of those germs.” She dramatically clenches her first and Ito tries to hide an amused smile on his face.

“I’ll text him, I’m sure he’s just running late.” Daishou says, accepting his phone from Mika.

You, as vice captain of the team, decide the best course of action is to start running some drills. 10 spikes, 10 serves, 10 receives, and then 10 blocks. Each person alternated the roles until everyones did their 10x4 drill.

Even after the drill, Kuroo still hadn’t shown up.

“Suguru, any sign of Tetsurou?” You question, getting some water.

Mingzhe, looking nearly sweatless and unaffected by the drills, is still meditating in the center of the court. Alba tried waving her hand in front of his face. But Mingzhe opened one eye right when she started making a face- which caused her to jump back in alarm. Ito audibly laughed at that exchange while adjusting his taped fingers, away from where Alba could see so that he didn’t hurt her feelings.

“He said he can’t make it, something about a presentation for a class of his, apparently it slipped his mind. But he did send me a list of what we should do today. Let’s go for two miles outside!” Daishou shouted out the instruction to the rest of the team, then patted you on the shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, Tetsu would let you know if something happened to him. I think you’d be the first to know if he got hurt or sick or something. Trust him.”

After practice, you make your way to Kuroo’s building, the one where all his classes were held.

You scanned your badge and entered the building, appreciating the cool sports poster that Kuroo’s department had covering the walls. Tall posters of soccer players, basketball players, and even some table tennis players. The coolest one was a blue poster where a soccer player had altered edited eyes to seem like they shined gold, and there was a huge skeleton behind them making the player look imposing and strong. You snuck a photo of the poster, then shoved your phone back into your pocket.

The weight of the spam musubi you got for Kuroo, and the two cold banana drinks made your bag feel heftier than usual. In reality, the actual tangible weight didn’t affect anything. You just felt strange being in a building that wasn’t your own.

And you’d been thinking about Kuroo again. More specifically, the way he’d bitten and then kissed your hand. You felt your throat swallow thickly as your brain flashed images of what it might have been like if he had bitten and kissed elsewhere on your body. Of course, Kuroo had done it as a tease, a little game, you reason.

But why did your heart begin to stutter when you found him sitting in a niche, his hand in his hair as he scrolled through his laptop? He looked exhausted, and slightly upset. He was bouncing his leg, his knee hitting the top of the table occasionally.

You slid into the alcove opposite of Kuroo, pulling out the treats you got for him.

“Tetsurou, take a quick break.” You shoved the musubi and drink in his direction.

Kuroo shut his laptop, then looked from the food to your face then back to the food. He covered his face in his hands as he propped his elbows onto the table. His words were muffled by his hands, “Thank you.”

You reached out and touched his forearm, “It’s no problem, eat up.”

He tried to split the spam musubi but you shook your head, holding your hand up to deny him. He gave a downturned smile as he bit into the sustenance. He let out a hum, “This is really good, this is just what I needed.”

Sipping on the banana drink, you rested your foot overtop of his under the table.

“How did the presentation go?” You purse your lips, trying to give Kuroo your best hopeful look.

Kurooo grimaced a little, “Professor Singh said it needed some more work.”

“What was the grade?” You prepared yourself for the worst. That Kuroo failed and would need to disband the team that you’d grown so attached to. And your next game was in three weeks, at the end of October too.

“Oh he gave me full credit, said it was the best he’s seen this year. But if I want it to be my thesis project for senior year next year, then it would need more tuning. Then he proceeded to give me a list of corrections to make.” He pulled out a sheet of paper that was bulleted, Kuroo gave it to you to read and you started feeling bad for him.

He finished off the musubi, then rubbed his eyes, his reading glasses pushed up onto the top of his head in the process, “This isn’t even half of the things that need to be fixed. Professor Singh said he’d help me though, so it’s not like it’s the end of the world.”

“Still, I’m sorry, that’s rough.” You suck in some air through your teeth, and click your tongue just barely, “I’m sorry.”

Kuroo waves his hand to diffuse the air between you two.

He rolls the sleeves of his white button up down, the arms are wrinkled, and he undoes the top button of his shirt, releasing his throat a little so he can relax into his spot. Kuroo sets his head on the table, his hand on the bottled drink you had gotten him, he rocks the bottle around in circles, the liquid sloshing inside.

You bite the inside of your mouth, racking your brain to look for anything that could possibly ease Kuroo’s contemplations.

“Did you still want to try my electric skateboard out?”

Kuroo jolts up, sitting with his back straight.

“Hell yes. Please teach me.” He holds his hands flat together in front of his face in what you recognized as some kind of prayer posturing.

“Okay, my dorm is just a few miles away, let’s head out.” You pull your backpack over your shoulders as Kuroo tucks his laptop into the shoulder bag he has.

For a moment, you fight against the urge to hold your hand out for him to take.

When you do end up holding your hand out, ready to accept his, Kuroo wipes his hand against his thigh discreetly before he rushes to grab a hold of your hand. His hand is bigger than yours, more rough, but it’s warm and comforting with the way that he intertwines your fingers with his. He swings your connected hands back and forth as he starts talking about the upcoming game, and how he’ll go into the gym with Daishou to join in on Daishou’s regular practices with the university volleyball team tomorrow.

Kuroo was not built for your skateboard, but he had fun trying to balance on it as you tried to support him with hands on his waist.

“I’m ticklish there.” He feels his stomach tighten when you squeeze his sides.

“Blah, I’m trying to prevent you from eating dirt. I can’t hold you by the shoulders since you’re too tall standing on the board.” You explain, keeping one foot on the back of the board to keep it from moving too much as Kuroo wiggles around trying to find a balance.

You probably spent two hours trying to get him to actually start the board up and go further than a few strides away from you. But in the end, he could successfully circle around you without your hands supporting him. Alba and Ito came around to the part of the campus you and Kuroo were occupying.

Alba jumped up and down as Ito covered his ears, awaiting Alba’s yells to call for attention. She was tossing up a Mikasa volleyball, and Ito had a Molten under his arm.

“Let’s play two versus two since Kuroo couldn’t be bothered to come to practice today.” Alba lifted a hand up and spiked the ball in your direction, and you received the ball with ease as you dropped your hips and crouched down. Kuroo caught the ball you had dug out, spinning it in on a fingertip before just palming the ball with one hand.

Ito rolled his eyes and rolled his shoulder, “Not today, it’s almost dark out.”

Alba took her ball from Kuroo, trying to balance it on her head.

“What does our gorgeous vice captain have to say then? Let her decide, my absolute queen.” Alba blows a kiss in your direction, which you fake catch with one hand before pressing your palm to your heart and playfully, although also impishly, sighing deeply.

You glance at Kuroo’s expectant eyes, he adjusted his shoulder bag again. He was still in his dressy presentation clothes.

“Maybe next time, it’s been a long day, my legs are jello and my arms are sore.” You complain lightly, “But Alba, maybe Ito wants to play DIG 2000 on the computer with you?”

Ito smiled, DIG 2000 was a simulation game similar to the FIFA 23 sports video game. Alba nodded, bouncing the volleyball on her head a few times before turning to Ito, “Let’s go back to yours then.”

Ito copied Alba, bouncing the volleyball with his foot instead of head, and nodded, “Sounds good.”

The pair walked off, Alba talking excitedly and Ito listening intently.

Kuroo walked to stand close by you, holding your skateboard in his hand.

“If they don’t start dating, I don’t think I’ll ever believe in love.” He jokes.

You raise an eyebrow, “Really? But you love all people, you got that big heart behind all the muscle. I find it hard to believe that you need proof of romantic love to believe in love at all.” You think about Plato’s symposium which defined love as two people becoming one through a connection and Aristotle's emphasis on philia, the platonic love between friends.

Western love philosophy had always been rooted in two main branches of thought, the classical beliefs of the ancients such as Plato and then the French Skepticism that believed love was a guise for sexual fulfillment.

You noted that you’d have to thank your professor for their in depth analysis about the Love Unit your class had covered earlier in the year. Clearly, more than you realized had stuck into your brain.

Kuroo starts walking back to your dorm, you trailing after him.

“I think that love can be found in all things, but I was more so thinking about Alba and Ito you know? Like, if I see two people like them, who are clearly compatible, then it feels wrong when they don’t become more than just friends. When clearly, like, they’d be brilliant together. The way they bounce off each other for example,” Kuroo focuses his eyes straight ahead, knowing that you’re looking at him with those bright and curious eyes he’d fallen for- knowing that he’d be powerless to look away once he locked eyes with you.

Kuroo continues, “I mean, Ito takes such good care of Alba, and she doesn’t even realize that she reciprocates naturally sometimes. Like all the times she asks to tape his fingers before a game or practice, and he reluctantly lets her? Then he proceeds to fix the tape when he knows she isn’t looking. That’s love.” You can hear the sigh he lets out with his concluding statement.

You take your board back from Kuroo, playing with one of the wheels as you bump your hip into his for a moment, then you give your two cents to the discussion.

“But does that mean they need to be romantically involved? If we’re using our friends as examples, then I’d like to point out Daishou and Mika. Or even Mingzhe as an example. When we see Daishou and Mika, it is very blatant that they’re in love. They equally fawn over each other, they kiss, they feel that physical pull. When we look at Ito and Alba, they never cross that physical boundary. I think that love has a physical element to it as well as emotional. I think they might just love each other as best friends.”

Kuroo swallows, puffing out his cheeks for a second. If you believed that love needed a physical element, then why did you initiate touch with him just as frequently as he did with you? He wasn’t so egotistical to believe that you were hiding feelings from him, but it was a unique argument to think about in his head. He feels the heat in his cheeks and his ears, he’d kissed you before. Albeit, on the hand, but it had been a kiss. You’d let him cross a boundary that he wasn’t sure even existed between you two.

If the kiss had been anywhere else, would you have let him press his lips so tenderly and longingly the way he did? Would you have pushed him away? Would you’ve made a disgusted look? Would you reciprocate, kissing him back?

He’d known you for two years now, and he wasn’t sure about anything besides the fact that he wanted you to stick around him for as long as possible. For eternity if possible. For infinity, if it existed. He wanted that physical element though too, to hold and kiss you. To bite your earlobe, to scratch your back, to hold the back of your knee as he pressed his lips to the inside of your thigh.

He releases a breath, looking at the space between your eyebrows rather than your eyes.

“What about the innocent kind of love? Love shared between kids for example, they don’t necessarily cross that physical boundary you talk about. But you know when two kids love each other. It isn’t just that physical element that adds to the definition of love, it’s simply the feeling shared equally between two people. It isn’t just friendship, but it’s clearly love.”

“I don’t know. That’s a good point though. There’s definitely nuance, and I think I might have philosophized myself into a corner here.” You laugh, smiling at Kuroo.

The layers to this conversation had begun to hurt your head. Philosophy was much easier when it was sitting behind a desk, at your laptop. Philosophy was harder when it seemed like Kuroo was pressing you for answers, for your thoughts rather than a structured argumentative essay with dozens of academic pieces of evidence.

At the end of October was a selection of games to be played all Friday evening. All the intramural recreation teams were at the large gym of the university, and the Consensual Sets put on the team shirts made by Mingzhe. They were a dark grey, with the team name printed on the front, and everyone’s nicknames on the back of the jersey style top.

Kuroo just had Tetsu on the back of his. Mingzhe had put his name in a simple cursive, Alba and Ito swapped names for fun. Daishou had his full first name, and Mika put Mika-Mika as her name. As for you, you put Confucius on the back of your jersey, grateful that Kuroo had given you a nickname that actually suited your personality.

After winning the first two games, you found yourself playing against another team that had been undefeated for the entire intramural season thus far.

It was halfway through the second set, and you were exhausted. But just one more rotation before Kuroo would be back to the front with you and your killer duo block could be utilized for a perfect angle.

When Kuroo would twist his body to the side, and you’d barely skim the ball so that the spiker would be forced to send the ball straight to the libero, Mingzhe. Mingzhe had the freaky ability to reign in the ball and get it to Ito without Ito needing to move too much. Ito would then, of course, set the ball right to Daishou or Alba, depending on who would have a better shot at scoring that moment.

However, in this current rotation, you were on the end of the front row, with Ito in the center of the front. Kuroo was behind you on the back row, Mingzhe on the far back corner. Daishou was on the other side of Ito. Everyone was ready to play. You could hear Alba from the back next to Mingzhe, getting after him for not wiping the sweat off his shoes. Mika was busy refilling bottles, but still ready to swap Alba or Mingzhe if needed.

“Chance ball!” You call out, getting ready to jump up for a block. But at the same moment, Ito shifted his body to try and set the ball that Alba had received. He just happened to get a little too close. So that when he was backing up and jumping to get a touch onto the volleyball, he slammed into you.

Hitting the ground with a thud, you felt the air get knocked out of you. And once you could feel the force your back had slammed into the gym floor, the combination of painful sensations was just too much and you choked out a sound of anguish. Tears were streaming down the side of your face as you were gasping for air, but ultimately just choking on your empty lungs.

“Idiot!” Kuroo shoved Ito, knocking Ito into the net. Ito held his hands up defensively, but understood the reaction Kuroo had had. The referee called an emergency time out, and called over the nurse. Kuroo had picked you up, making you sit up. His hand was rubbing your back, telling you what to do.

Ito tried to go over to you as well, but Alba had grabbed the back of his shirt and gave a look to Ito by directing his eyes to where Kuroo was holding you. She mouthed something that you couldn’t distinguish. But then again, you couldn’t distinguish much due to the panic state you found in perpetual motion within your cells.

“Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.” Kuroo’s jaw was clenched, and his other hand was on your thigh. You kept trying to inhale through your mouth though, your body nervously reacting to the lack of oxygen. “Listen to me, c’mon, please, just relax okay. You’re safe, I got you. Just relax.”

The nurse arrived with a first aid kit, but once she saw how Kuroo was following standard protocol for an injury like this, she left the kit for Kuroo to use. He said a quick thanks, and the nurse went to go check on some other college student who had blood dripping from his mouth. The bloody kid was holding up a tooth and his teammates were clapping him on the back.

Kuroo tilted his head up and called out to where Mika was filling up bottles near the back of the gym, “Mika, can I get a water bottle over here?”

Daishou ran over to Mika, picking one up and running back over to Kuroo and you. He handed the bottle to you and crouched down on the other side of you.

You had taken a sip of the water, and your breathing was normal again, and the only concern was the pain in your mid to low back.

“You took quite a fall there, Confucius.” Kuroo brought his hand up from your back to caress your head, soothing you.

Daishou chuckled, sitting down, and stretching his legs out. But he scrambled to get back up when Mika asked for his help carrying all the other water bottles over to the Consensual Sets break bench.

Ito was busy sulking over on the bench, getting chewed out by Alba and Mingzhe for not listening to your call of ‘chance ball’. In that scenario, Ito was supposed to wait until after the rally went back over to the other team instead of trying to catch the ball to set it.

Ito was just awaiting when the true test of his spirit would be put through the wringer. That of course would be the eventual moment when he was on the receiving end of Kuroo’s fury.

Everyone on the team knew, if you were at the center of an issue, Kuroo would ultimately be there resolving it. Usually you never get too injured, it was just supposed to be a casual intramural team, but the seven members of Consensual Sets had grown into a tightly knit friend group who really wanted to chase down the championship at The University of Tokyo.

That did put some more strain on the level of ability everyone had, and the intensity of which Ito had been aiming to score just another point. But it also reminded everyone, you getting hurt, that this was a casual team. There was nothing to be gained except for a fun time and some good stories to tell.

Kuroo was glad that you hadn’t landed too badly, he’d be much more angry at Ito if you would’ve landed on your head or your bad knee that hadn’t healed up all the way from the sprain you got a few weeks ago. Now, Kuroo tried to focus on keeping his heart rate down so you wouldn’t be able to hear it pounding in his chest.

Completely aware of his own protectiveness for you, Kuroo had been the first one to react to the collision between you and Ito. He’d always been the first one to make sure you were okay. And he wanted to keep it that way.

You decide that you want to get back into the game, leveraging your hand against Kuroo’s shoulder, “We still have to finish the set, we’re ahead by three. Just five more points and we win.” You tried to stand up, only to get dizzy and stumble back. Kuroo caught you again, bringing you back to the ground to sit in between his legs so he could hug you from behind.

“Yeah, no. We’re gonna have to cancel this match for a different day.” He rubs his thumb over your elbow, trying to ease the bruise that was forming there.

You spin your head around to face Kuroo. He can feel the way his Adam’s apple bobs at your face being so close to his.

“Yeah, no, trade Mika in for me. Let’s finish the game.” You pouted a little, and Kuroo could only roll his eyes in response. He never could say no to you indefinitely. He did make you finish the water bottle before he would let the game resume with Mika’s substitution in your place.

And the game does get finished, a sequential five points with Kuroo getting a block kill for the winning point. He had made you sit on the bench, wrapped in his blue Nike windbreaker.

Everyone, except for Daishou and Mika who rode to the gym on her motorcycle, piled into Kuroo’s Toyota Sienna minivan. You sat in the passenger’s seat, as usual, and Ito was relegated to the very back of the car with Alba sprawled out trying to take a nap. Mingzhe enjoys the silence of the middle row all to himself, adjusting the temperature to be freezing. You rest your head on the window, looking outside at the busy streets.

“Who’s getting dropped off first?” Kuroo hands you the collection of semi-final medals, an award for making it to the top four teams. The finals would be in three weeks, and you fully intended to take the championship trophy home.

“I live the furthest away, so you can work your way towards your apartment if you drop me off first.” You say, putting the medals into your duffel bag. You’d pass them out at team practice in a few days.

Alba sits up, and Ito’s relieved to have her legs off of his thighs.

“I have to work early, like super early tomorrow morning. Drop me off first please.” Alba announces, poking her head next to Mingzhe’s seat so that she can have Kuroo hear her better.

You groan, “Alba you live the furthest from me, Tetsurou would have to go back and forth to drop me off second.”

Ito raises his hand, inserting himself into the discussion, “Yeah, but I live closer to Alba, and so does Mingzhe. Kuroo can just go to the East Campus first, and then drop you off last.”

Kuroo grins, “Sounds like we have a winning plan. Alba, Ito, Mingzhe, and then you, Confucius.”

The engine starts, and Kuroo double checks the GPS before merging onto the main street highway.

“I still think it’s illogical to go past your house to drop everyone off, then go past your house again to drop me off.”

“Just stay the night at mine then?” Kuroo says, keeping his eyes on the road fully, not even considering glancing in your direction for worry of getting seen right through by your perceptive instincts.

Alba bites down on her lips, squeezing Ito’s arm in anticipation for what will unfold. Ito tries to push her off, but she just holds on tighter.

Mingzhe is too busy swiping through his Tinder to pay attention, but he’s passively listening in on what you could possibly say in response. Mingzhe needed to find a date for the Chinese cultural exchange event the school would be having, and you had to hear about how all his potential dates were just not up to his par. The exchange event would be a few days before the Intramural Finals.

You think for a moment, it would save Kuroo a fifteen minute drive in the bad traffic. And anything to avoid the traffic of an evening rush would be best, especially since Kuroo was bad at estimating when he’d need to buy gas again. If you stayed at his place, then you would have a ride to your early morning Saturday class without having to ride the bus onto campus. In addition, you’d get free breakfast since you knew Kuroo liked to make big meals in the morning.

“I’ll get a ride into school yeah?”

“Yeah. I have a class at the same time you do tomorrow.” He lied. His earliest class would be two hours after your class.

“Then I guess so. You got an extra toothbrush?”

“Dozens.”

Kuroo’s apartment smelt like him. But in an unfiltered, undiluted way. You inspected some photos that he had around, but you were more interested in the calendar he had posted on his fridge.

He had everyone’s birthdays written down on a notes section of the entire year overview calendar. Your birthday was circled multiple times, and the entire week before and during your birthday had been highlighted bright yellow. He had already started brainstorming ideas about what to get you, and had a few sticky notes on the fridge listing things.

You noted some books you had mentioned, a website address of what you identified as a custom volleyball brand with a drawing of a volleyball Kuroo had done, a bunch of question marks around his note of matching hoodies, and then a heart around the words ‘ring’ and ‘house key’.

Kuroo saw the way you honed into his fridge and tried to pull you away, “You’re spoiling your surprises.”

You folded your arms, “I don’t like surprises.”

“Fine then, you’re spoiling my surprises. I get you things, and my reward for doing so is seeing your reactions.”

You waved a hand, dismissing him. He had told you that the toothbrushes were under his sink.

While you were in the bathroom, brushing teeth and then taking a shower, Kuroo quickly cleaned areas of his apartment that you might meander into. Once he was satisfied with the cleanliness, he tried to remember how to set up his pullout couch.

Changing into your backup sweatpants and the loaned Nike sweatshirt had given you in tandem with his windbreaker, you hugged yourself to embrace the soft fleece that was coating your skin.

Once you saw the pullout couch, with a pile of folded blankets on top of a grey pillow, you started to make the bed. Unfurling the blankets and slightly fluffing the pillow. Before crawling under the blankets, you decided to scroll on your phone for a minute, setting alarms for the morning and responding to some texts from your friends and teammates about today.

“What are you doing?” Kuroo had changed into shorts and an oversized shirt that he tucked slightly into the waistband of his shorts.

“Texting?” You answer.

“No, what are you doing sitting on the couch?” Kuroo was holding a pillow from his bedroom, the one he used to press against the side of his head. (Also the one that had caused his incessant case of bedhead spiky hair.)

You uncross your legs, dangling them over the edge of the couch, “I’m sleeping on the pullout couch?”

Kuroo tosses his pillow onto the couch, crawling under the blankets you had set up. When he pulled the blankets over his shoulder, you were tugged back a little. In response, you just stood up and went around to kneel in front of Kuroo, attempting to make eye contact.

“Where do I sleep?”

He reaches his arm out and pats the space next to him.

“No.”

He sighs, rolling onto his back as he brings his hands behind his head. The obvious flex he does in his biceps from the way his shirt sleeve rolls down does not go unnoticed by you.

“Then I guess you’re sleeping in my bed then, first door on the right. Goodnight.” He immediately covered his head with his two pillows.

You tried to pull one of them away from Kuroo, but his grip was stronger than your slight strain to jerk the pillow out of his grasp.

“You win this time. But next time, I will take my rightful spot on the pullout couch.”

Kuroo mimics you, imitating a high tone, his voice is muffled by his pillow barriers around his face. You stick your tongue out at him even though he can’t see it.

At least his bed was comfortable, and cold. Cotton sheets that definitely had to be a higher thread count than your own, and he left you with only one pillow. He had a few plushies from all the times the pair of you went to a big box store to buy groceries, and instead of buying bananas or a fresh watermelon, he’d spend his money on collecting an array of large stuffed animals.

You had asked him once about why he bought them. He just said because they were cool to have around his place. In reality though, you had gone through his phone once, when he was going through yours for fun trying to find dirt or juicy gossip, and you found out the truth about his assortment of plushies. You went to his notes app and only found a list of things he wanted to buy for his future kids, and a list of maybe fifteen stuffed animals was at the top. He’d already crossed off around ten of them, so he needed only five more to complete the collection he wanted to curate.

It was a cute sentiment that he had, thinking about his future children so soon. Which is why for his upcoming birthday, in a few weeks, the same day as the final for the intramural championship, you had three stuffed animals in a bag in your closet to give to him to celebrate the eventual win.

Kuroo looked through his phone, spending some time watching volleyball videos before going to sleep. He was also biding his time, wanting to check in on you before he fully went to sleep. He just wanted to make sure you were sleeping well before he let himself sleep. His phone beeped, once and then twice.

FROM SUGURU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

FROM SUGURU: got some good photos of you and our dear vice captain, say thanks to me, mika 💖, and mingzhe for actually CAPTURING the way you are so sickly deadly embarrassingly openly precisely adoringly obsessively entirely fervently passionately feverishly restlessly frantically FREAKING HEAD OVER HEELS IN LOVE with her

TO SUGURU: 🖕

TO SUGURU: she looks good in the photos

FROM SUGURU: i feel ill thinking about what your plan with these photos is now 😟

TO SUGURU: exposing your rough drafts for proposing to mika in the gc RIGHT NOW

FROM SUGURU: I’LL MIC DROP THE DRUNK VIDEO OF U WHINING ABOUT NEEDING OUR VICE CAPTAIN TO KISS U AND HOLD YOU- I’LL DO IT DON’T TEST ME MF

TO SUGURU: hand hovering over the collection of mika stalker photos you have that you’ve sent to me

FROM SUGURU: literally this close to posting on my instagram the HUNDREDS of text messages you’ve sent me about her, including the ones from the day Consensual Sets spent at the beach, AND the ones from the week after she broke up with her loser ex, AND the ones from that time you almost kissed her, and then the other time you also almost kissed her like the love sick loser you are

TO SUGURU: i’ll kill you.

FROM SUGURU: i’d kill you first + here’s more photos mika my darling angel, wants me to send to you that i took on my phone. you better be grateful to me for forever you ass. I’m single handedly providing all the pictures for a wedding video slideshow.

FROM SUGURU: ATTACHED: 5 IMAGES

FROM SUGURU: date her asap. mika wants double dates and i’m tired of asking mingzhe to find strangers online to satiate mika’s yearning for the double date extravaganzas she wants. Ok goodnight pookie bear tetsu i hate your guts 🔪🫰🤬💯

Kuroo lets his falling phone hit him in the face as he huffs. He didn’t sleep well that night. The same iteration of her getting slammed into and crashing onto the ground keeps replaying over and over again. Kuroo wakes up in a cold sweat two different times that night.

“Thanks for the ride onto campus,” You click your seatbelt into your seat, as Kuroo taps the steering wheel a few times.

“No problem, I have class too, remember.”

“Ahh, yes, you and your fancy finance and sports marketing double major.” You giggle, holding up your pointer finger into the air in an ‘actually…’ pose that you know Kuroo hated.

He puts his hand behind your seat, hand coming near the back of your head behind the head of the chair, to reverse out of the parking lot.

“Don’t forget my minor in chemistry.”

“So weird. You’re going into sports promotion and business, but you have a science minor?” You shake your head in disbelief.

It never shocked you at just how smart Kuroo could be sometimes. When he did or said things that made you wonder if you were actually learning anything at university. Or when he could treat you to an entertaining story about his lab classes, those were the memories you’d take with you into the future. Stories Kuroo shared about his college experience, which often contrasted with your own experiences.

All through the differences though, the pair of you had become so close.

The way your friendship had increasingly deepened, and at such an unprecedented rate for you, had you feeling like he’d been doing much more for you as of late. You hoped you hadn’t been imposing on him since you stayed over at his apartment. Even though he had been the one to suggest it, you felt guilty at accepting the offer. You felt guilt that you’d been possibly taking advantage of him.

He’d been the most caring, and considerate friend you’d ever had. The closeness of you two began to feel like each time he did something, you’d need to supplement it with your own acts of kindness. Drowning in friendship wasn’t an expected result of joining a intramural volleyball team.

Kuroo shrugs a little, speeding up a little more, “I think it makes me stand out. Plus, who doesn’t love chemistry? It’s just like math with better concepts.”

You play with the hoodie strings of a borrowed top from Kuroo.

He notices your silence, but doesn’t comment on it, just continuing the drive to your building. He let you out near the entrance. The tall Humanities building had walls made of glass windows, letting people look in on lectures and socratic seminars. The concrete details blended with the fragile glass details in a dichotomous way that just worked so well.

When you shut the door to the car, Kuroo rolls down the window, calling out to you before you enter the building. Your roommate stood on the steps, holding your backpack that you’d asked her to bring. She lazily scrolled through her phone, waiting for you to talk to her and then you could go to class with her. She’d never been much of a morning person.

You turn around and rest your arms in the empty space left by the window being rolled down. Tilting your head, you waited for Kuroo to say what he wanted to say.

“You know you’re mentos right?”

The confusion is blatant on your face. You clarify, “I’m mentos? I thought I was me?”

Kuroo smirks, “You’re mentos and I’m coke-a-cola.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your roommate called out to you, letting you know that class would start soon and she wanted to get a good spot in the lecture hall. You waved to her, signaling you’d only be a few more seconds.

“You’re my chemical reaction.”

You laugh, “You make no sense sometimes I swear, but okay. I’ll be mentos and you can be coke-a-cola.”

Kuroo watched as you bounded up to your friend, sliding your backpack on. Your roommate asked about the top you were wearing by tugging on the waistband of the deep red hoodie. Kuroo knows he’s being talked about, because you jut a thumb in his direction and your roommate turns around to look at his car and she nods with understanding.

Kuroo doesn’t see your roommate wiggle her eyebrows, or how she makes a kissing face at you teasingly. He’s too busy driving to the library to find a spot to nap while he waits two hours for his own class to start.

The final two games would be critical. On November 17th, that Saturday, the gym for intramural volleyball would declare the winner. Out of 32 teams, and after five months of training, games, and unique coaching opportunities, there could only be one winner. Consensual Sets would go against EZ Pass, and Ice Ice Blockers would oppose Monster Spikes. You had found it funny how the final four all had different volleyball skills as their team name, setting, spiking, passing, and blocking.

But before the Intramural Finals, Mingzhe still needed to attend the Chinese cultural exchange event on Wednesday.

On that Monday, Mingzhe was complaining to you during team practice.

“Listen, I still haven’t found someone to be my plus one.” Mingzhe paced a little in front of you, as you wiped off a volleyball. You wanted the ball to be cleaned properly before the team would start playing with it.

“Just ask Daishou or Ito, it’s your pick. Either way, you’d have a great time.” You pull out your elbow grease to get a particularly nasty scuff out of the ball.

“It needs to be a woman. It’s a date type of event.” Mingzhe suddenly turned on his heel, facing you straight on. You brought your head to the side, eyeing Mingzhe’s rapid shift in mood. “You. You should be my plus one.”

You gape, loosening your hold on the ball that Mingzhe just ends up taking from you.

“It’s perfect! You’re interesting, we have a good friendship, fake dating for this event would be easy-peasy.” Mingzhe smiles, looking entirely too self-satisfied.

“Fake-dating?” Sourly, you try to take the ball away from Mingzhe, who just brings it closer to his chest.

Kuroo comes around to the pair of you, putting a hand on Mingzhe’s shoulder. “What’s happening? We need this ball to do the drills, it should be good by now yeah?”

Mingzhe hands the ball to Kuroo, “I was just finalizing plans for our date on Wednesday.”

Kuroo almost drops the volleyball that was placed into his hands. But he grasps onto it, trying to appear composed and chill. You tug on your knee pads, making sure they’re secure. In doing so, your shorts ride up a little and more of your thigh is exposed. Kuroo again almost drops the ball at how quickly his eyes flit to the exhibited skin of your legs.

“Date?” Kuroo wonders if the word sounds as dumb as he felt saying it.

You raised your shoulders, “Yeah.”

Mingzhe claps his hands, “Our fourth date, remember?”

Mingzhe was already trying to get into the acting persona of a fake relationship and you were not amused, shoving his shoulder roughly as you walked over to Alba. Kuroo had interpreted the shove as playful, as romantic, as being adjacent to love.

Kuroo looked between Mingzhe and you. Then he looked at Daishou desperately asking for help with his glance but Daishou was too busy helping Mika with her knee pads again. Kuroo then went back to looking at the space you had occupied.

His heart lurched, and just like a bad sickness, he couldn’t help but continue his downward spiral.

“When did you guys start dating?” He folds his arms in front of him, shuffling his feet a little.

“A few weeks ago. Just trying it out, you know.” Mingzhe said, “She’ll be going with me to the exchange event, it’ll be fun to see her dress up formally for once.”

Mingzhe, unaware of Kuroo’s radiating tension, goes over to where Ito had called him.

Kuroo, dumbstruck and frustrated, called out a change of plans, “We’re doing a three versus three.”

You stood on the other side of the net, blocking spikes from Daishou. Each time Kuroo served, he went straight for Mingzhe’s throat- putting more force than he typically did. Alba was drenched in sweat by the end of the single match. Ito had his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Are we done yet Tetsu?” Ito asked, and Alba made her way under the net, patting Ito on the back.

Mingzhe had fallen to the ground and was laying on his back, sweat dripping from his black hair to the gym floor. You had half a mind to join Mingzhe. But Kuroo still looked fired up.

“Yes, we’re done for today, Ito. Good practice everyone!” You called out, and Mika gladly started packing up the shared bag she had with Daishou. Kuroo looked at you with pursed lips.

Kuroo and you stayed behind to take down the volleyball net, and as he began folding the white ropes, you began to speak, “Our three versus three is supposed to have more balance than that. You weighed the sides wrong. Alba never has to spike that much, she needed to practice her receives today. You just kept serving straight to Mingzhe, not to mention you had Suguru aim solely for Mingzhe too. He’s going to be exhausted tonight.”

“Worried about your boyfriend? He’s supposed to be essentially a professional anyway. Mingzhe is fine.” Kuroo kept folding the net, however, you could see his knuckles were white and each time he folded the stringy-material he left a mark on his hand from the unneeded strain he was putting

“Mingzhe is a friend. We aren’t dating, Testsurou.” You take down the side rods, detaching the sections so you could carry them easier.

“Oh really? Four dates in a row sounds pretty serious.” He gnaws at the words he sends your way. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you two were going to start acting like Suguru and Mika soon.”

You put the rods away, not saying anything to Kuroo’s comment.

He pushes further, “How long have you liked him?”

“It isn’t like that.” You face Kuroo, hands on your hips, “Mingzhe was joking about it being our fourth date. Calm down. I don’t know why you’re so pressed over this.” You say.

“You two don’t go well together.” Kuroo claims, “He’s not right for you. He’s going back home at the end of the year anyway.”

You take the folded net from Kuroo, but he tugs it away from you, pulling you closer to him.

You’re both gripping the net, standing barely a foot apart. Kuroo is looking at you, a twitch in the vein of his neck tells you he’s upset without him having to say anything.

“It’s not even a date, Tetsurou. I’m his plus one. He just needed a girl to go with him.” You explain, trying to get the net away from Kuroo, but his hold is stronger than yours.

“It isn’t a date?”

“Not in my book. It’s not a romantic date. We’re going as friends. Why, just why does it matter so much to you?”

He lets go of the net, and grabs a hold of your arms instead. He opens his mouth a few times, only to close his mouth soon after. Fully taking the net away from you, Kuroo puts it into the storage room.

You sigh with exasperation, going to grab your skateboard.

“Let me drive you, it’s dark out.” Kuroo swings his keys on his pointer finger.

You turn around, tilting your head down slightly to glare at him, “Are you going to throw another fit?”

“Geez, someone’s mad.”

Your jaw drops, then you shake your head with a snicker dying out on your lips.

“You can be so hot and cold sometimes Tetsurou. Did you know that?”

Kuroo holds the gym door open for you to exit. He locks it up once he steps out as well.

“That’s why I’m the coke-a-cola, and you’re the mentos.”

“I really need you to explain your analogy to me.”

The Chinese Cultural Exchange Event at the ballroom of The University of Tokyo really was a stunning celebration. Lanterns were hanging from the second floor open balconies, and the marble pillars were covered in a mixture of bamboo and woven leaves to showcase the Horticulture Department’s skills of arranging foliage. There were tables filled with classic Chinese dishes, along with unique Chinese-Japanese dishes from the diaspora history of China to Japan.

You were surprised to see just how many exchange students the university had from China, it seemed like there had to have been at least a hundred or more Chinese exchange students, including Mingzhe.

Mingzhe has asked that you wear red and black to match with him. You thought it was funny that so many men in your life asked you to wear the red/black combination so frequently. Your dress was formal of course, but you had opted for a loose silky maroon dress that had black lace detailing.

The long sleeves of the dress were a sheer black, so that air could filter to your arms as well. Even though you never opted for a sweetheart neckline most of the time, the lady at the store had said you’d look great with this specific dress. So you had bought it and called it a day.

Mingzhe, as you were coming to realize, must have been rich because there was no way his tailored suit would’ve cost any less than one million yen. Mingzhe clearly had only worn red leather shoes to match slightly with you, because otherwise he was in an all black outfit.

You put on a forceful smile as Mingzhe puts his hand on the small of your back and introduces you in Mandarin to one of his friends. Once the conversation died down, you leaned over to Mingzhe with gritted teeth, “I’m actually going to murder you. You didn’t tell me that the Chinese exchange student association at our school was filled with rich kids.”

An older lady, presumably an exchange coordinator, stops to compliment your dress, in Mandarin. You fumble over the words of thanks that Mingzhe had taught you a few minutes ago. When Mingzhe laughs into his cup of water, you elbow him in the side discreetly.

“Just what are you telling people about me?” You demand. Mingzhe hands you a glass of water from the plate a dressed up server was walking around with.

“Girlfriend, three months.”

Your eyes widen, and Mingzhe chuckles.

“Close friend who I play volleyball with, who graciously accepted my invitation to join me tonight.”

Moving your head up and down appreciatively, you sip on your water, “That’s more like it.”

Scanning around, you tried to see if you knew anyone. Which was a long shot, but-

“Kenma? Is that you?”

The dip dyed blonde makes eye contact with you and raises a hand. Kenma makes his way over to you, eyeing the way Mingzhe had his arm around your waist with suspicion.

“It’s nice to see a familiar face.” Kenma comments, shaking hands with you and Mingzhe.

“What are you doing here?”

Kenma smiles, pointing to an enamel pin on his suit jacket, “Got a sponsorship from a Chinese company. Said Chinese company has a college aged daughter, and thus, here I am as a plus one as a favor to my sponsor.”

You nod, trying to make an estimation for just how much net worth Kenma had. Mingzhe started talking to Kenma about what games he’d seen Kenma play, because apparently Kenma’s streams were popular on a Chinese video server called billibilli. You were glad that your parents limited your screen time as a child, otherwise you’d be just as chaotically involved in the conversation Kenma and Mingzhe were having about a new game that was releasing soon.

The rest of the night was spent listening to more of Mingzhe’s Mandarin speaking skills, as you swished around in your dress waiting for the time to go.

Mingzhe threw back a shot, well, a quick drink from a flask that a student had snuck in, “Let’s dance!”

You tried to pull back, but Mingzhe grabbed you by the hands and pulled you into his chest. A smile that you’d never seen on his face appeared, and instead of harmonious traditional Chinese pop music, someone hijacked the music- rap music you were sure was not school approved started blasting.

The administration looked furious, but Mingzhe just kept giving you that face splitting smile. He mouthed his words again, and the only response you could give was moving his hands from your back to your waist.

The club style dancing eventually devolved into a mosh pit that was quickly disassembled by the administration due to the cutting of music. The students groaned, but the administration said that the event was over and that everyone needed to get back to their housing.

Mingzhe dropped you off at your dorm, running a hand through his sweaty black hair.

“Had fun?” He asked.

“Yes. It was very fun.”

Instead of just waving, Mingzhe opened his arms up, and you gave into the offering of a hug.

His hugs were different from Kuroo’s hugs. For one, Mingzhe was shorter than Kuroo, so you could feel more of his face than just solely his chest or neck. For another, Mingzhe didn’t smell like Kuroo. Mingzhe was mintier, like spearmint and peppermint- it burned your nose a tinge. Mingzhe was also lankier, arms not quite packing as much heft to them like Kuroo’s did.

“Don’t look now, but I think someone is spying on us.” He whispered into your ear, and you grabbed onto his shoulders tighter. The bounce of his body as he laughed shook you, and you slapped his shoulder. “You really shouldn’t trust me when I say things like that.”

“If people knew even a fraction of what I know about you, you’d be immediately canceled.”

“Good thing no one knows me like you.” Mingzhe swiped at your cheek with two knuckles, a gentle caress. “You know I have feelings for you right?”

You nod affirmatively.

“But I’m also guessing, and tell me if I’m wrong, but there’s a different black haired boy on our volleyball team that holds the key to your heart?” Mingzhe murmured. You could practically hear the deep ache in his soul.

You nod again.

“Well, I can’t win them all. Here’s to being good friends.” Mingzhe grabbed your hand and shook it a few times, “When we win on Saturday, make sure to at least give me a little peck on the cheek.” He brazenly states.

“No promises.”

Mingzhe throws his head back, dimples coming out to show off.

“Thanks for a great night Mingzhe, I’ll see you on Saturday.” You pat him on the cheek, separating the pair of you. Your heels were killing you, and all you really wanted to wear was the fleece hoodie Kuroo gave you that you hadn’t returned for weeks now.

He salutes, walking backwards for a moment. Then he calls out with mirth laced into his words, “I always get cock blocked by the middle blockers I swear to the gods.”

And you thought, Mingzhe was absolutely correct.

TO TETSUROU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

TO TETSUROU: she seemed to have fun tonight at the little event thing

Kenma had paused his late night stream, sending photos of you and Mingzhe dancing- leaving absolutely no space for Kuroo’s mental sanity. Kenma knew that sending the photos could possibly instigate something that he didn’t want unfolding.

FROM TETSUROU: i don’t care.

TO TETSUROU: hmm yeah sure

FROM TETSUROU: i dont care- i just want her to be happy, genuinely happy. like so happy she literally feels sore in the mouth from smiling so much

TO TETSUROU: there it is

TO TETSUROU: look, here’s the situation. she isn’t into mr. libero chinese model guy- she likes you.

FROM TETSUROU: i wish

Kenma felt his eye twitch at Kuroo’s message. How long did Kuroo have to keep the back and forth before Kenma just wrote out a confession for his friend and mailed it to you?

TO TETSUROU: she likes you. the only logical conclusion is that you both are giant pussies who are so afraid to break the friendship between yall that you’ll end up missing each other in the process. like those stupid freaking robots on mars, the ones that battery died before they could share data.

TO TETSUROU: regardless, she’s hot, you’re hot, get together and have a bunch of weirdo genius kids or whatever it is you want the point is that you need to say something before its too late

TO TETSUROU: stop ignoring my messages.

TO TETSUROU: tell her on saturday. after you win the finals and get those gaudy trophies- just like pull a tetsurou move and pull her into you and kiss her so good she forgets her name.

FROM TETSUROU: i always knew you were a freak on the down low

TO TETSUROU: i always knew you were a freak out in the open but a sweetheart teddy bear on the down low. we could go for hours, but the main thing here is: tell her, kiss her, live happily ever after

FROM TETSUROU: i feel sick

TO TETSUROU: you care too much. and you know what? SHE LOVES THAT ABOUT YOU- im tired of telling u what to do. Tell her, dont tell her, grow old without ever experiencing the touch of your woman, do what you want. but honestly, if i have to witness one more longing gaze ill vomit so for my sake, your best friend, tell her and be happy.

Kuroo powered off his phone.

Then he immediately turned it back on to look at the photos Kenma had sent him. He kicked off his blankets with his stewing offended reaction to the photos. Plugging his phone in, Kuroo got a glass of water from his kitchen.

The moon wasn’t out, or at least it wasn’t visible. Storm clouds thundered, lighting struck the ground in bolts of blue and grey. At least the weather understood him. He could always trust the universe to send him a message with what the weather was. Sunny days would be happy, rainy days would be brilliant, and stormy nights would reflect the inner turmoil of his spirit.

He scratched an itch right above his knee, leaving white marks from how his nails drug against his skin. The clock told him that it was Thursday at two in the morning. He counted on his fingers. The end of the finals game would be around eight in the evening on Saturday.

He had sixty-six hours to decide if he would give his heart away. Sixty-six hours to conjure up a magic spell to make him anyone besides himself as he uttered the words, “I love you.”

Sixty-four hours goes by much quicker than Kuroo would expect.

“Okay, listen up everyone.” Consensual Sets was huddled up, you were giving your final speech of this year. Your team had won against EZ Pass, and now the final match would be against Monster Spikes.

You were aware of how tired everyone was. In the third set against EZ Pass, Alba twisted her ankle, leaving the team to substitute her out for Mika. Resulting in an extremely close third set, but in the end, you were able to do a block kill and Daishou was able to get a good spike in to secure the win in Consensual Sets favor.

Alba sat on the bench, with a bag of ice on her ankle. Although she’d never say it, she was angry. Her face was entirely blank, devoid of any emotion. No comments or out of the blue thoughts rambled out of her- and you knew that Alba was fermenting in her own self pity.

Ito was sitting next to Alba, as the rest of the team stood around with arms around shoulders. You could feel the sweat from everyone’s bodies in the team circle.

“Monster Spikes as a whole lacks the ability to connect. Their passes are sloppy compared to ours. Ito, your setting skills outweigh that other setter. Kuroo, your blocks are always on point. Alba, Daishou, Mika, you're some of the best spikers I’ve seen. Not to mention Mingzhe being our solid foundation as libero, nothing gets past you.” Your speech wasn’t organized, it wasn’t even meant to be motivational.

But you continued, “These past six months, I wouldn’t trade them for anything. So many team practices, so many late night drives, so many junk food purchases.” You look down to the gym floor, “I was so worried when I started college that I wouldn’t find my people. But look at me now, I have the best friends in the world and we’re playing in a championship. We don’t need to be a school sponsored team, just being on a intramural team is enough to make me glad.”

You don't see the way that Alba wipes at her eyes. You miss the way that Mingzhe and Ito share a big smile at each other. Mika rubs your back, urging you to continue. Daishou and Kuroo kick each other in the shins, an amicable gesture between rivals turned competitive friends.

“So, you know what, let’s go out and win this. Connect every receive, every toss, every spike. We are the blood that flows through, let’s make it easy for each other to show off our skills.” You stick your hand into the center of the team. Everyone stacks their hand on top of yours.

Kuroo had told you that you should be the one to give the final speech, you should be the one to speak before the final game with this team. His selfish desire to hear you tie up the loose ends of a season of volleyball, knowing how he’d fumble the speech due to his inability to accept that this team would never be the same after their last game.

But also, Kuroo knew that just hearing you talk would soothe his nerves before this game. Hearing you express your thoughts and emotions about your team, the team he shared with you, would do wonders for his confidence in the game.

After listening to so many of Kuroo’s pre-game speeches, you had an idea of what would be good to say. In the end though, this speech was uniquely yours. A testament to the power of connection.

Kuroo locks eyes with you. You nudge your head in the direction of everyone’s hands, he shakes his head, mouthing that this call was all yours. You mouth a thank-you to Kuroo.

Looking around at your friends, you give the last cheer of the year, “3, 2, 1, let’s play!”

Kuroo wins the coin toss, and Mika serves first.

She starts with a jump float that undeniably starts the team off on the best footing possible. A service ace right off the bat, and Daishou can’t help but pump his fists and give a yell of excitement. He loved to see his fiancé play a game that had become the center of his universe, more accurately though the center of Daishou’s universe was a mixture of volleyball and Mika.

The game picks up with an indomitable force, the speed and increasing frequency of you having to jump up to block or to give a feint hit is more than you’re used to. Kuroo’s breathing is heavier, and between points scored, he keeps his shoulders low. Ito keeps shaking out his hands, then rolling his dominant shoulder. The only one who still looks moderately normal is Mingzhe, who’s sporting a dimple on only one side of his face.

After set one, Consensual Sets is ahead 1-0.

Four more to go.

1-1.

2-1.

2-2.

Alba is sitting on the edge of the bench, eyebrows furrowed, her hands grip the plastic seat. Each time Daishou spikes, Alba purses her lips.

During a time out, you sit next to Alba.

“Thank you.” It’s a quiet moment shared between you and Alba, everyone else getting some water for a moment. You express your gratitude plainly, because that’s all that's needed to get the sentiment across. You appreciated her, and she knew it too.

Alba’s bottom lip quivers, “I just wanted to play one more game with everyone. With Mingzhe behind me, with Ito sending me those smooth tosses, with you and Kuroo as my wall of defense. With Daishou shouting at me telling me to fix my form. With Mika telling me to ignore Daishou. One more game with everyone.”

You pat her knee.

“Alba, we couldn’t have gotten here without you.” Smiling, you hold her hand, “Remember, this is all for fun. And as long as you’re having fun- then we’re winning. You’re on the court just as much as I’m on the court, even if it might not seem like it.”

She wipes her face with the back of her hand, “You suck- making me cry like this. I'm such a baby, screw you.”

Ito laughs once he hears Alba’s comment, full body laughing. It's a new sound for everyone on the team, to hear the joyous childlike giggles erupting from the most stone-faced member of Consensual Sets. Following suit, everyone else joins in, laughing. Mingzhe even snorts.

The opposing team raises their eyebrows at you all, but in the end, it's just a game of volleyball. It's a game being played by a group of friends who like spending time together. You weren’t sure that friends was the right defining terminology anymore. There had to be a word for what everyone shared, because it was deeper, more meaningful, richer than just being ‘friends’.

Kuroo watches as Alba punches you in the arm, and the grin you give in response stuns him. You stand up from the bench to escape Alba’s gentle wrath. You bump into Kuroo, turning around and giving him that smile that made him feel like himself.

He just can’t help the way he grabs your face and slots his lips to yours.

To his surprise, you wrap a hand around his neck and pull him in closer. He rubs his thumbs on your cheekbones, letting his cold nose bump into yours. You tilt your head so you can breathe through your nose a little better. He moves from your lips to the side of your mouth, rapidly placing gentle pecks there before doing the same all over your face.

Wrinkling your nose, you make a noise of complaint at being gross and sweaty.

When you pull away, Kuroo’s face follows yours, trailing closely. He reminds you of a cat trying to nudge their way under your hand. He connects to your lips again, humming against the plush of your skin. Thinking back to his failed confession at the train station, he nips at your lips before kissing them lightly. It’s hard to kiss when he’s smiling this much.

“As much as I love a free show, we have a game to win.” Mingzhe tugs on the back collar of Kuroo’s shirt, ripping him from you. Kuroo wriggles out of Mingzhe’s hold, trying to attach himself to you again, but gets shaken out of his one track mind, his desire to just keep kissing you, when the referee blows his whistle.

Serve. Receive. Set. Spike. Block.

Block. Receive. Set. Spike.

Receive. Set. Spike.

Block. Spike.

Spike.

3-2.

“LET’S GO!” Ito screams, whipping his head around to look at Alba. She waves a little from her spot on the bench. Ito thinks to himself, if Kuroo can confess, then surely he can too.

Although, Ito’s kiss is much less tame than Kuroo’s. Ito’s kneeling on the bench, arms wrapped around Alba’s torso as she’s practically hanging off of the bench, only supported by Ito’s hold.

Mingzhe throws his hands up in the air when Daishou and Mika kiss as well.

“Can nobody just appreciate the win? What's with all the kissing?” Mingzhe speaks into a void, rubbing his forehead with exasperation.

“This is appreciating the win.” Kuroo wraps an arm around your waist, pinching your side. The pinch makes your body move closer into him.

“Oh yeah, suddenly everyone on our team is in love and I’m here, just the best libero in a loveless existence. At least I’ll always have volleyball.” Mingzhe jokingly states, hugging the volleyball to his chest.

Alba holds up a marker, “I can draw a kissable face on the ball if you want Mingzhe?”

Ito laughs loudly again, resting his chin on Alba’s shoulder.

Mika, in her wisdom, tells everyone to line up for a group photo before awards are handed out.

Three sequential clicks of Mika’s phone, and one of your opponents double checked that all the shots they took were good. Handing the phone off, the tall girl who had kindly taken the photos of your team shook your hand.

“You’re one of the best blockers I’ve seen on an intramural team, how’d you get so good?” She asked.

You shrugged, but Kuroo spoke up, “I taught her everything that she knows. But also, my girlfriend is a quick learner too, an easy study if you will.”

The girl nods, bowing curtly before going over to her own team.

You grab the front of Kuroo’s shirt, pulling his face down to yours.

“My boyfriend really is a handful. What should I do about that?”

Kuroo smirks, grabbing a hold of the front of your shirt as well.

“Definitely kiss him. That’s the best solution.” He nods his head.

“One question first,” You comment, smoothing out his shirt where you had twisted the fabric, “Explain the mentos and coke thing.”

Kuroo slips a hand under your shirt, resting on your bare hip, “You put mentos in a bottle of coke then, bam. Explosion. One of the coolest chemical reactions I know of.”

“Wanna try that out?”

“Yes, please.”

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: my epic teammates, my best friends, my family.

FROM SUGURU: i’m going to be sick why are you so sentimental

FROM ITO: alba and i are on our way don't start without us!

FROM MINGZHE: ur lucky i got a flight in time for this

FROM ALBA: i bought you a photobook for all our pictures! and i got tetsu some mentos like he asked

FROM MIKA: sugu and i will be there soon, needed to get gas for my bike

FROM SUGURU: what's the point of having an engagement party if we can't even play volleyball

FROM TETSUROU: suguru i’ll make you chopped liver. i don't know who told you we wouldn't have a volleyball at the party ??

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: make sure to add songs to my playlist for tonight! thanks for getting mentos alba! Make sure to sign your names into the guestbook when you get here

FROM TETSUROU: me too?

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: tetsurou what am i going to do with you for the rest of our lives ����

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: ATTACHED: 3 IMAGES

TO SUGURU, ITO, MINGZHE, ALBA, MIKA, AND TETSUROU: consensual sets reunion + their engaged captain and vice captain (look at how cute my ring is 😭 thank you tetsurou 💖) (also peep the coke and mentos explosion behind us in that last photo!!!!!!)

FROM TETSUROU: wedding in 5 months be back soon everyone! it was nice seeing everyone again. love you all ! 🙏🏐💍

[respectthepetty]

scared of your thoughts on fk - i think they confuse their friends & each other - feels so intricate

You asked about one specific pair, but . . .

You opened a floodgate!

I already wrote that I like fan service; therefore, I like First and Khaotung's special brand of teary-eyed fan service. However, I also wrote that JoongDunk are my GMMTV favorites because Joong is always hyping up his homies, and Dunk stays Pretty Boy Petty.

So I'm excited to see all four promote The Heart Killers when the show is ready to be released since I think it'll be a hoot watching First and Khaotung call each other best friends with tears in their eyes while Joong sits next to them commenting on how banging Dunk's body is and Dunk openly agreeing that his body is, in fact, banging. Joong and Dunk are always firing shots at First x Khaotung for no good ass reason, so I'm thrilled they will get to do it to First and Khaotung's faces for an extended period of time.

Because to me, most fan service is good since it allows people to see people of the same sex casually being affectionate with each other without the belief that it should be shameful or hidden, so give me all the styles of GMMTV fan service! Give me Force x Book's eighty year friendship, Pond x Phuwin's nerdy fashion model energy, Earth x Mix's marriage and divorce era, Tay x New's fist fights over dessert, Off x Gun's evolution of skinship, Jimmy x Sea's intellectual companionship, Gemini x Forth's "fuck it, we ball' attitude, and all the other 31 Flavors of Branded Pairs the BL world has to offer us.

Because I really do not care what these men do or do not do or if it is real or not. What bothers me is these companies (not just GMMTV) encourage this behavior, then when fans get toxic, the companies leave the actors to deal with the fallout. I also don't like that out actors aren't as well protected and even straight actors and their girlfriends are targeted by fans, which only encourages queer actors to stay closeted while delivering a queer performance and for straight actors to feed into this mind fuckery by being in a pseudo-monogamous relationship with their acting partner which is an extension of our heteronormative societies and their belief that affection can only be reserved for one person.

So my thoughts on First and Khaotung are irrelevant because I'm going to like all these pairs regardless of what they give me. Max and Tul were as open as possible about Max having a girlfriend and Tul being gay, yet that in no way influenced how I enjoyed their fan service. Yin and War have stated several times that what they do is their job, and I'm still clapping every time War chokes Yin. And as much as I truly believe Mos and Bank are married, if they came out today and said they actually hate each other and cannot stand the sight of each other, I'd be proud at their acting skills all these years because I have faked liking my coworkers for a lot less money.

As a Catholic and a slut, I think there is a great sociological study here about how branded pairs help with queer representation regardless if the people in the pairs are queer or not, yet how the pairs must still fit into a digestible frame of traditional (hetero) relationships with affection only being given to one person forever and ever until death (or their contracts) do them part.

So First and Khaotung aren't the only ones confusing people because this entire setup is confusing. They aren't creating some intricate strategy but these companies are. These actors are just out here telling their homies they look cute and going on (hopefully) company-sponsored trips. And if they like it, I love it.

Because I've been pretending to like Karen from Finance for years when I can't stand that bitch, yet I still have a job that pays my bills, so "get it how you live it."

And make it a little queer along the way.

[darsynia]

New (Nomad Steve/Nurse!Reader)

MCU MASTERLIST | STEVE ROGERS MASTERLIST | Ro Roll

Summary: As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he met you.

Word Count/Warnings: 2,400 | None

As 1/7 of my Birthday fics for @ronearoundblindly, NEw is a first kiss hurt/comfort fic about writing your own happy endings. It's a hugely busy week for you and there's no pressure to respond right now, they'll all be here when you have time!

Excerpt:

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

NEW

It takes Steve a painful amount of time to adjust to hiding.

It isn’t just that he’s recognizable, it’s that he’s always stood out, always. As a small baby he’d been gasped over by strangers, as a sickly child he’d see concern and aversion in their eyes, and once he’d grown into a scrawny adult, those reactions had just intensified. 

Some accused him of making himself sick to avoid the war, as though he could have secretly known it was coming and starved himself into stunted growth just in case. For some, it didn’t matter what he looked like-- any man who wasn’t at war was fair game for ridicule. Even those who didn’t care either way found his presence unnerving simply because men his age were scarce. He reminded them of the people they missed, the people who didn’t have the ‘protection’ of being physically unable to join up. 

If his life was a narrative, he’d be the best protagonist he could be.

Even so, there was a special kind of hell in wanting so desperately to fight for justice and be told how lucky you were to be disallowed. Back then, it had been important to him not to hide. There were certainly others in the same boat as he was, men who needed groceries, to watch the news in the theater, to have a walk in the fresh air. So he went out anyway. He was the example, the target, the archetype.

Once he had the serum, hiding meant all the hard work by Doctor Erskine and Howard Stark would be for nothing, so he didn’t. Even in tights.

The symbolism was even stronger when he came out of the ice. Now, people look to him as a lodestar meant to bring them all back to decency and safety, and he wants to, but with action, not iconography, no matter how potent. 

That hadn’t been enough, and now they’re here.

“You’ve been tying your shoes for five minutes, man. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Sam.” Steve finishes up quickly and straightens. “Daydreaming, I guess.”

Sam leans over and looks out through the thin rectangle of night sky visible through the thick curtains. “At this point I think you can just call it dreaming. Stay safe out there.”

Steve watches Sam head off into the kitchen before he slips out of the apartment door and locks it behind him. He and Sam keep nocturnal schedules, but Natasha’s expert-level camouflage skills have netted her a day job that keeps them all afloat. Their plan of moving from community to community taking seasonal jobs has worked well so far. 

This is the most ‘domestic’ of their locations to date; they’re spending the lead-up to Christmas in a small city in the midwest full of people who know how to keep their heads down and get things done. No one’s expecting a trio of superheroes to settle in a satellite town whose main attraction is a vintage bowling alley, but there are other calculations to consider. People make eye contact here. They bring their real selves to the conversation, and Steve’s been struggling with some real guilt about that. 

As soon as two weeks ago he’d have said that keeping to himself was the easiest part of his life right now… but that was before he’d met you.

Lately it feels like exhaustion is your religion. Stay up way too late, stumble home confused and euphoric and try to will yourself to sleep, then wake up and perform miracles to get yourself back to the hospital for your shift. You’ve always been a night owl, but your shift supervisor practically considers you the ward’s brand ambassador, and to keep the peace, you agreed to stay on the day shift. You’d gotten the schedule down to a science, right up until a tall, gorgeous complication started to jog at the track after hours.

The name he’d given feels fake, but nothing else about him does, and you know all about needing to distance yourself from the horrible things you’ve seen at work. You suspect he was a soldier until he got out, and after that probably a firefighter, but you’ve never asked. Mostly, you just try to keep up with him. The sum total of the words you’ve spoken to each other probably wouldn’t make for a single meet-cute in a romance novel, but they feel consequential enough to you.

As it has for the past week, your heart starts racing when you get close to the track. The problem is, you were run ragged today, and you feel just like the mermaid from the original fairy tale. Every single step is like knives stabbing the balls of your feet, and your arches are singing ‘fuck you’ so loudly you expect Ursula to show up any minute.

You stop on the bench right inside the gate to let the burning pain subside a bit. The last thing you want is for your burly new crush to think you’re a lightweight, not now that the months of forcing yourself to run after work have paid off so nicely with… well, him.  

Besides Frank, the school’s night security officer and all-around nicest tough-guy in town, there isn’t anyone else visible on the brightly-lit track. You take the opportunity to cross your ankle over your knee and reach for your shoe in preparation to swap it with the sneakers in your bag. These are a new pair, and you’d planned on wearing them every few days to break them in. As soon as you get your heel off you understand just how much you screwed up by not bringing  the others in to swap into once you realized how go-go-go your day would be. The swelling is bad, and the beginnings of blisters sting in various places. There’s no way in hell you can jog today, and walking home is going to be excruciating. It’s a god-damned miracle you have the day off tomorrow.

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” you mutter under your breath. The John F. Kennedy High School campus is the same distance from the bus stop as your apartment is, but in the opposite direction. Your feet had already been screaming, why hadn’t you gone home instead?”

“Thought you weren’t coming!”

Your crush’s voice cuts through the late November chill, warming your heart. You look up and see him crossing from under the bleachers, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. He’s far enough away that you let yourself sigh, half in addlepated pleasure in seeing him, half in utter frustration at yourself. He’s the reason you came, of course. You’d walk across fire to spend time with this guy, and by the time you head home, that’s definitely what it’ll feel like.

“Sorry, long day,” you tell him once he’s close enough. 

Hurrying, you yank off your second shoe and nearly swallow your tongue from the pain. Tears stand in your eyes, exacerbated by the surprise when you look up and your new friend is right there, almost like he'd teleported over. He’s crouched in front of you, and there’s nowhere to hide from his concerned scrutiny.

He confirms your assessment of ex-military by the professional once-over he’s doing, even more so when he takes your shoe out of your weary hand and tests the bend of its sole with a practiced hand.

“Don’t say it--”

“These are not very good shoes,” he pronounces. With a move as graceful as a ballet dancer, he shifts onto the bench beside you, still examining the shoe. You snag it from his hand and tuck it into your backpack with its mate, pulling out your tennis shoes before zipping back up.

There’s no chance you’ll be able to put them on, but, one thing at a time.

“You’re right. I didn’t expect to be the runner on the ward today, but we were shorthanded.” You wince at your feet, both of which are looking decidedly puffy. Shit, will either pair of shoes fit, at this point? “There’s a ‘best foot forward’ joke I could be making about hoping you’d be here running tonight, but honestly, I’m too wiped out to make it.” You look over as you finish speaking and catch his pleased reaction. It’s understated, but it’s there, enough to make you brave. “I have the day off tomorrow, maybe I can give you a twelve hour rain check? I bet you’re even more handsome in sunlight.”

To your dismay, his face falls and he looks down. You turn your head away, unwilling to see the evidence of just how badly you’d gauged this. He’s very clearly not interested.

“Or not! ‘Not’ is also okay, sorry about that, I--”

The words dissolve on your tongue at the gentle touch of his knuckle on your chin, turning your face back toward his in the time-honored tradition of romantic male leads.

“Please don’t-- Running with you has been-- Believe me, during the day-- I would like to, I just can’t.” Disappointment is etched across his handsome features, but more than that, you can see the way his mind is racing just like yours had just seconds ago. The man looks like he’s desperate to rewind to a moment that doesn’t feel like this.

There’s a remedy to that, and after a day of doing your best to fix everything and everyone around you, it feels like the most natural thing in the world to surge up and touch your lips to his. 

You meant to pull back right away, mirroring that thing where a couple knows each other so well that gentle brush is all that’s needed-- but your midnight warrior is still in the middle of the book. His large hand shifts to cup your cheek, holding you still for his head tip where he deepens the kiss and scrambles your brain. It’s impulsive, desperate, and honest. You grab at his clothing, needing to believe this is real, even as the two of you follow kisses with more kisses like you’re saying goodbye in an airport.

“Doesn’t look much like you’re runnin’!” the security guard calls out, his words so distant they almost don’t register at first.

That ends things abruptly, but the two of you don’t move much farther apart than a few inches, his hand still on your face, yours with a handful of his sweatshirt, right over his heart.

“Textbook,” you whisper, flattening your hand out to smooth over his chest. It’s solid muscle under there.

“Oh?” he asks, pulling his hand away swiftly like he’d forgotten how to be a gentleman in his eagerness to touch you. It’s charming as hell.

“This whole operation, it’s right out of the romance novel guidebook,” you praise. “I ought to look for cameras.” A shadow crosses his face, and you suddenly put the pieces together. “Shit, you’re hiding from something, aren’t you? That’s why you freaked out about coming here in the daytime.”

He’s already standing, but instead of stalking away from you, he’s looking around the track, turning in a circle of deep concentration. He’s looking for cameras, but not in a joking way, not as part of a bit.

“The school district would rather spend the money on Frank than cameras, if that’s what you’re looking for,” you murmur, pushing your voice into steadiness out of sheer determination. “The city contributes. It’s been so much safer when everyone who wants a night walk comes here, but there are fewer of us out in the winter months.” The fall chill is actually helping with the pain in your feet, so that's something.

Your mysterious crush is facing you again, apparently satisfied that the two of you aren't being watched by anything more permanent than good old Frank. “I’m sorry,” he says. The words have a horrid finality to them, but you’re focused on his eyebrows. They’re not on board with the rest of his body language. They’re beseeching, rather than resolute, hopeful rather than harsh.

You have one chance to get this right.

“There are some things I love about my coworkers, and let’s be real, a lot of things I don’t-- but do you want to know the thing I like least about working in a hospital?”

Your whole body is practically vibrating with adrenaline, and you realize this is your opportunity to shove on your shoes. As you do that, you refuse to look up at him. The goal is to bring his critical thinking skills back from ‘fight or flight’ mode. Then maybe you can get the two of you on the same page again.

It takes over a minute, but he lets out a long breath and sits down beside you. “Tell me."

“They’re terrible gossips,” you say, looking right at him. He’s not allowed to make the obvious (ruinous, new-relationship-wrecking) conclusion about what you’re saying, not without having to look you in the eye while he does it. “I can’t stand that shit. That’s why they send me on the errands. I’ve got everyone trained to stop talking when I walk by, at this point.”

His relief is visible. “I can respect that.”

“Good.” You set both feet on the ground and decide to test things out by standing. If you’re wobbly, you feel certain he’ll reach out and catch you. “Tomorrow night?”

“Wait,” he says, the picture of confusion. “You’re not-- You think I’m hiding from something and you’re not going to ask about it?” Even in the dim glow of the nearby track light, you can see the clench and release of his jaw.

“For all I know, you’re hiding from your last girlfriend. I know I’d find it hard to give you up, and I’ve known you for what? Two weeks?” Your feet are screaming at you about as loudly as the critical voice in your head, but happiness has made both just distant enough to achieve your goals. 

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you take to be a good sign. “Would that still be ‘textbook?’ This is all new to me.”

All of the cheeky, sarcastic, and cheesy thoughts that cross your mind would ruin the moment, so you go off script. It’s not the best, but it’s not awful, either.

“New is terrible for work shoes, but it’s lovely when it’s you. See you tomorrow night!”

Stay tuned for more stories in the Ro Roll! Would you like more of these two? Let me know 💚

[poppyflower-22]

Charles Leclerc

(These are just small discerptions that explain the one shot or parts as shortly as possibly)

I just find this so cute.

Still adding!

Fluff:

It seems Charles and reader have another son. Feat Ollie. HERE

Reader is a single mom. But Charles is in it from the start. HERE

* Charle's adopts Oscar. Feat Ollie being the best son. Humor. HERE

Bearman reader. When Ollie gets into F1 for just one race, his sister is there. She has always been there. Charles and reader being cute and Ollie being the cute sibling. HERE

Leclerc sister. Reader is going out, much to her brother's misery. HERE

* Hornor reader. Charles thought he would spend forever in Ferrari, but reader makes him see through the fake promise. Red Bull Charles. HERE

Charles wins and what better way celebrate then with the princess of Monaco. HERE

Sainz reader. A game of never have I ever has Charles running for his life and the rest of the grid. HERE

Reader gets jealous of Leo until he becomes a mama's boy. HERE

Social Media:

* Reader makes friendship bracelets and gives them out at the races. Everyone wants one. Everyone. Fans love her. HERE

Wolf reader. They are the modern Romeo and Juliet but with a happy ending. Feat Jack at the end. HERE

sports commentator reader. Reader is a Mecedes fan and Charels tries to make you switch teams. HERE

Sturniolo reader. Age gap. Hate comments. HERE

McLaren admin actress reader. HERE

Verstappen reader. Max didn't know until there went public. HERE

Horner reader. Reader releases a song, but her last relationship was four years ago. So, who is the new song about? HERE

Reader is a knitter and makes clothes. Feat Lewis the fashion icon. HERE

Hornor reader. Driver. Red Bull didn't give her seat, so Ferrier did instead. HERE.

With F1 couples breaking up, fans try to protect one of the last standing ones. No breakup. HERE

Verstappen reader. With Checo retiring. Who will take his seat? Humor. HERE

Another knitting reader. HERE

* Verstappen reader. Driver. Enemies to lovers. Protective brother Max. HERE

Actress reader. Fans see your chemistry with your new co start and love it, Charles on the hand. Dose not. HERE

Vettel reader. Now Seb isn't on the grid, everyone team wants her to cheer them on. Though Charles takes it a step further. HERE

Reader releases a new song fan can't help but think it's about a certain F1 driver. HERE

In The Middle:

Master list of all different Charles one shots. HERE

Charles is dating the princess of Monaco, but people don't believe him. HERE

Reader is sick and they find out the only person to save her is her unknown brother. Raeder is a Verstappen. Abandoned Verstappen. Sick reader. Royalty reader. HERE

Ferrari reader. Things need to change, and Charles calls you for help. HERE

Charles with witch reader. Charles breaks the Monaco curse. HERE

Series:

Engineer Reader. Social media. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE.

Reader decides to hard Lauch her relationship and people react badly. Age gap. Australian reader. Hurt/comfort. People are hating on reader. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE. Part 3, HERE

Leclerc sister. Full series. HERE

Full series. Charles is the ex-boyfriend. Ends with Aarron Taylor-Johnston at the end. HERE

Polly/Lando:

The boys love language seems to be polar opposites. Social media. HERE

* Max Verstappen's half-sister. Link is to the end of the series, but all chapters there. HERE. (My favorite serries)

The boys forget to get reader for their trip. She makes them grovel. Social media. HERE

Polly/Max:

F1 commenter. With recent interview people are picking sides. But maybe they don't have to. Social media. HERE

No one considered polyamory before branding the reader a slut. Social Media. HERE

Polly/ Alexandra Saint Mleux:

Obsessive exes. Slight Social media. HERE

Charles and Alex get clingy when reader is away. Partly Social media. Part 1, HERE, Part 2, HERE

You three raised your daughter together and now its time to show the world. HERE

Alex and Charles are public and not with Reader. Reader starts feeling left out. Leo is Reader's dog. But maybe it's too late. Max being a good friend. Hurt/Comfort. Made me cry a little. HERE

Dark/Possessive:

He is yours and you are his. Dark Charles. Babby trapping. Social media in part 2. Jealous. Smut. Part 1, HERE. Part 2, HERE

Smut:

Dinner with friends, turns into Charles reminding you, you are his. HERE

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